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* ,v> 

• *:;*! 


•« 
•*,•/ 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 

4\ 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 



or 



General Literature and Science. 



VOL. XII. 
OCTOBER, 1870, TO MARCH, 1871. 



NEW YORK: 
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, 

9 Warren Street. 

I 871. 



C/ 



bbObbO 



JOHN K0« A CO., 

ranmus and stekbotvpbrs, 

•7 ltO«B ST., NSW YORK. 




, UnioQ with thc^ i. 

_ Tile Church tn, «o8. 

Copcrnlcut. One Word more mbout« ^73. 
Cadiolic Literature and the Catholic Public, ^qe^ 
C«l^lidty and Pantheism, 509. 
~ I Lodgiog 'Houses of New York, 645, 



I aad the Sibyls, 31, 170, 341, 451, 613, 7v9* 
IH. Nvin&mii's Grammar of Assent, 6a», 

, The Higher, 7a i» 



FwMHfc 'i History of Knglajid, ^ js^, 47^. 

FAmme, A Kreak of, 13a. 

Pwmot^ The Imh Brigades m the Service oforjt 

fMlM** <»f the Desert, Sayings of the, 508* 

nrtll lir What of Our ? 735, 

FcftM-Day Literature in Meitico, 786. 

WnMiSnXtnf^^ Which is the School of Retiglous ? 

, The Three Rules of Rusti<c, 304. 
of Aiiseiit, Dr. Newmaa's. 60a. 
S» Earmg, oa Christiaully, 76^* 



HAodir. 



1, M. Froude'a^ 60, J55, 476. 
..cs of AmencaDt 56c». 



IrlAli ^Ti^es io the Service of Fnusoc, 313. 
lv:Kta^ *7K 
Italiaa Laity, S44. 






of, 98, 46t, 384* S33» 670, 753. 
. fljid the Catholic Public, 39Q, 
.^e de, 654. 



Mary Queen of England, 18, 

Maryland, Early Jesuit Missions in, 114. 

Mellcrnich, Prince Clcmeut von, 13^ 

Merry Christmas, 463. 

Mrs. Gerald's Niece, 546, 

Mysilical Numbers, 66o« 

Milesian Race, Origin and Characteristics of, 681. 

ISevf York, Common Lodging -Houses of, (25. 

Nature and God, 694. 

New England in the Seventeenth Century, 709, 

Oxrord MovemcnL The, t^. 

Our Winter Evenings, «»j, 36a, 49s, 644, 

Paris, The Charities of, 43. 
Poetry of William Morris, 89. 
Precious Stones, A few Words about, lai. 
Prince Clement von Mctternich, «39, 
Prayer, 816. 

Rachel, aoo. 

Rome, The Invasion of, fl>78, 407. 

Rustic Grammar, The Three Rules of, 304* 

Rome, Letter from, ^^o. 

Steps of Belief, aflg. 
Soublaco, A Visit to, 380^ 
Siatua the Fil\h, 577, 
SL Patrick, 741, 

The Passion Play, 81, 
The Great Commission, 1B7, 
The Invitation iriceded, »5o« 
The Bell of the Wanderers, 593. 
The Two Godmothers, 733, 
The Ghost of the Lime Kiln, 8jS. 

Union with the Church, i. 
Uncanonlzcd Saints, 781, 

William Morris, The Poetry of, 89. 
What of our Fisheries? 7^5. 
Which is the School of Religious Franduleoce ? 
79a. 



POET R Y 



A Beautiful Legend, 739. 

Omnte, The First Canlo of the PmrgatcrU of, 145. 

Not all a Dream. t6. 

On ft Picture ofSC Agnea, 377, 
Oar Saait of To-day, 843. 

Per Donslnutti Nostrum lesum Christum, 694^ 
SC AffOCt^ On a Picture oi; ja^. 



Salve Mater Salvatorls, 531. 
Sutions of the Cross, 8aj. 

The Bells of Abingdon, 70, 

The First Canto of the Pmr{ai9rU of Dante, 145. 

The Stepping-stunea, 907. 

The Hemlocks, 643. 

The Stations of the Cross, Saj. 

Veoite Adoremus, 450. 

X = Y, 545. 



Contents. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



Almanac for 1871, The Illustrated Catholic 

Family, a8a. 
Art, the Princes of, 385. 
American Socialism, History of, 856. 
Antl-Janut, 715. 
Aspcndale, 859. 

BotUlla on the Infallibility of the Pope, 140. 
Hrightly*s Federal Digest, 718. 
Books and Reading, 859. 
Beckoning Series, The, 859. 

Companions of my Solitude, 436. 

Cur4 d*Ari, Life of, 4*9. 

Christian Heart-Songs, 431. 

Christopher Columbus, Life and Voyages of, 573. 

Charley Roberts Series, 575. 

Cornell*! Physical Geography, 575. 

Damascus and Jordan, The Rivers of, 43a. 
Dick Massey, 576. 
Double Play, 859. 

Elements of Astronomy, 988. 

Elm Ishmd Stories, 288. 

Ecclesiastical Celibacy, 730. 

Essays Written in the Intervals of Business, 855. 

Felix Kent, 719. 

Greek Book, A First, 14a. 

Geology and Physical Geography of Brazil, 438. 

Gregorian Chants for the Mass, 430. 

Glenvelgh, 576. 

Guardian Angels, Memoirs of, 860. 

Heart of the Continent, The, 143. 

Hamlet, 575. 

Helping Hand Series. The, 574. 

Household Book of Irish Eloquence, The, 854. 

Irish Names of Places, The Origin ani History 

of, 437. 
Irish Fireside Tales, 575. 

KeighUj Hall, and other Tales, >4i- 

Latin Grammar, 149. 

Lathi Competition, An Introduction to, 143. 

Lives of the Irish Saints, 385. 

Letters to a ProtesUnt Friend, 3S8. 

Lake Shore Series, The, 431. 



Life and Home, 431. 

Light at Eventide, 433. 

Letters Everywhere, 432. 

Las Casas, Life of Bartholomew de, 573. 

Lacordaire's Conferences on God, 574. 

Lacordaire's Conferences on Jesus Christ, 574. 

Little Prudy's Flyaway Series, 575. 

Leandro, 576. 

Lecture of Archbishop Spalding, 7x7. 

Life of Madame Louise de France, 719. 

Lectiones (^otidianac, etc., 730. 

Lost in the Fog, Ssg. 

Mitcheirs New Series of Geographies, 141. 
Manual of Composition or Rhetoric, 143. 
Mommsen*s History of Rome, 142, 432. 
Misunderstood, 388. 
Mythology, The Student's, 431. 

Nederland aan Pius den Rcgende, 430. 
Nature's Aristocracy, 857. 

Old Religion. The, 853. 

Pastoral of the Archbishop of Baltimore, 141. 

Pcabody Memorial, 142. 

Proverb Series, The, 574. 

Patranas Library, The, 575. 

JPiano and Musical Matter, 576. 

Plane and Plank, 859. 

Rosa Abbott Stories, 574. 

Songs of Home, .S74* 

Second French Reader, 860. 

Suburban Sketches, 858. 

Simon Peter and Simon Magus, 853. 

The Green Island, 575. 
The Black Prophet, 575. 
Tractatus de Rcclesia Christi, 730. 
Ten Times one is Ten, 856. 

Upward and Onward Series, The, 859. 

Vatican Council, and its Definitions, The, Bs*. 
Virtues and Faults of Childhood, 860. . 

Wonders of Acoustics, 433. 
Wonderiul Balloen Ascents, 576. 

Voung Catholic's Guide, The. 7*0. 




The Mercersburg Revitw^ the weU- 
kn in of what is called tJ»e Mer- 

Cti ■ '-'ology, is one of the ablest 

to us, most interesting theo- 

cai publications received at this 
oUttcc. The writers are members of 
the (German) Reformed Church, and 
ocrupy in relation to their own de- 
iKynnnation about the same position 
that the Puseyites, Anglo-Catholics, 
or Ritualists do in relation to theirs, 
though they are profounder theolo- 
grans and, if we may say so, under- 
stand far Letter the philosophy of 
the church — \\^ relation to the Incar- 

lion, its position in the divine eco- 

»ray, ami its office in tlie work of 
galvation. In their church theory they 
approach the Catliolic doctrine, and 
too nearly, it seems to us, for them 
to be excusable in remaining in a 
Protestant sect. 

The article we have referred to in 
the J uly number of the Mercersbur^ Re- 
view discusses the question of union 



• I. Unkm with (k* Ckmr€k tkw Soirmn Duty 
tf«^ nU4f*^ p^ffifUgt 9/ all nifko wtiutti 6f Saz'fti, 
n, " :• •■ ifh, D.D. Fourth cditioo, 

:fyf Boston; Robcrtk Bro- 
♦U n. 1568. 

vrjf Revirxv. New Series. 
♦**' villi ibc Church.*' July, 1870^ 

rL._ .^,^ — i^ ..^.^^rmcd Chtirch Pubiicalion 



with the church, and reviews willi 
great fairness and ability the two 
works, the titles of which we have 
cited in our foot-note. The reviewer, 
Rev. J. \\\ San tee, says of them : 

•*Thc authors of these volumes repre- 
sent two tendencies in religion ; these are 
wholly diverse^ and may be regarded as 
types of different sysrems of thought, as 
well as of Christianity. The first one is 
a pr.iclical treatise on union with the 
church, and moves in the sphere ol Cliris- 
tianity* as apprehended in former ages, 
and now, to a great extent, in the German 
Reformed Church, and makes earnest of 
the church of Christ, as a real order of 
grace, into the bosom of which souls are 
to be born — reared — nourished and pre- 
pared for heaven. The second moves in 
an order of thought altogether different, 
which sees nothing special in the church 
— nothing in her hcavcn-ordaincd means, 
but seems to regard the church only as a 
place of safe keeping for the soul, after 
the work of conversion — the new birth — 
has taken place, there to be kept safe, 
until God calls it into another world. The 
one regards the church as the * mother 
of us all ;* the oihcr, as a place where no- 
thing is 10 be had for spiritual support, in 
the way of growth, but only a place of 
safely* This may be seen from the foU 
lowinj^: ' It would be a difficult and al- 
most endless task to exhibit all the good 
effects which will result to you from a 
right connection with the church. They 



^ 



Union with the Church, 



are as extensive and various as the influ- 
ences of religion itself, which it is the 
great aim and end of the church to beget 
and unfold in the heart and life of all. 
Many of its influences are so silent that 
they cannot be traced in their details. 
(lently as the dew do its cheering, refresh- 
ing, and life-givinf^ influences distil on the 
heart ; and it is because these intluences 
are so gentle and silent, that they are so 
diflicult fully to appreciate.' Ilosea xiv. 
5, 6, 7. (Union with the Church, pp. no, 
III.) Now turn to the other volume, and 
there you have another theory, as the fol- 
lowing shows: * Israel Knight opened his 
Bible at Ez. xlviii. 35, rending, " And the 
name of the city from that day shall be. 
The Lord is There" Closing the book, 
he reflected. At length ho said, " Oh ! that 
I might find the city with that name." 
Israel Knight had come to this recogni- 
tion. . . . Some-iL'Keri\th£re is a churchy 
a peculiar ftuypli\ whose name is rij^htly^ 
" The Lord is There y * Being a you th who 
lacked little of his majority, he address- 
ed to bis guardian the following : 

" Respectkd Sir : I hope I am a Chris- 
tian. As I have had but little experience, 
and have examined but few books except 
those used in my classes, I am undecid- 
ed what church I had better select with 
which to connect myself. Please advise 
me upon this important subject, and 
oblige, yours obediently, 

" ISRAF-L K.NIGHT. 

" He received this reply : — My dkar 
Young Friend : I hope you are a true dis- 
ciple of Christ. He that docth his will 
will know of the doctrine. Love the Lord 
your God with all your heart, and your 
neighbor as yourself, and you will find 
the truth. An old man like myself sees 
through dififcrent spectacles from those 
used by young eyes. God is good. He 
gives wisdom to all who seek it with a 
humble mind. Therefore, look for your- 
self; but my advice is — h^ok on all sides 
before you cleave to any. Be cautious abou t 
starting to make your jar, lest, like the 
one you found in Horace, as the wheel 
goes round, it turns out an insignificant 
pitcher. Yours truly, 

*• Em R ATM Stearns. 
{Where is the City? pp. 7, S.) 

" Now. here is a soul, a (^hristian, all 
right in its own estimation, hunting the 
-church, and is encouraged, not to cleave 
10 any one until he has seen on all sides, 



that is to say, that soul found all in the 
sphere of nature that it needed, and on 
that plane is to fight the battle of life io 
the world, and in some way, neither he 
nor his guardian could tell, is to make 
his way to heaven. Here are two dis- 
tinct schemes— distinct theories of the 
church— of our Christian life set forth, 
which aflect the life and condition, ever)-- 
thing of importance which has a bearing 
on this and on the future life. This last 
scheme is modem, and it has, to a great 
extent, supplanted the faith of early Chris- 
tianity, which faith is found, partially, in 
a few branches of the church of the Refor- 
mation. The larger portion of our Protes- 
tantism has succuml)ed and is moulded 
by this scheme, and has very little in 
common with the maxirn imprinted 00 
the title-page of the little volume by Dr. 
Harbaugh, while this ancient faith recog. 
nized the church as a divine order of 
grace — a real institute from heaven to 
men. for the salvation of souls. The 
theory of Christianity — of the church — 
which we find in the volume, * Where is 
the City?* is the one prevailing generally 
in New England, radiating from thence 
into all parts where New England Influ- 
ence and theolog}' extend, moulding the 
Christian life, conditioning society, and 
even reaching over to the state. The £id' 
liotheca Sacra stands in the same stream, 
for in the notice it gave of this strange 
book, there was no intimation of dissent, 
and its theory and position were accept- 
ed as seemingly right, sound, and pro- 
per. As German Reformed, trained in 
the system of religion represented by 
Dr. Harbaugh, a book with tendencies 
like that * Where is the City?' cannot be 
safely recommended as suitable reading, 
especially for the young l)ai)tized mem- 
bers of the church of Christ. There is 
no doubt but that the tendency and in- 
fluence of the book are of the Imv, hu- 
manitarian order, which have been and 
ever will be pernicious to true vital pie- 
ty, and the less paper and ink are wasted 
in the production of such books, the bet- 
ter for society and the church : whereas, 
a book like that of Dr. Ilarbaugli will 
live and go on its mission for good, point- 
ing the reader to Christian responsibili- 
ties and duties, and directing him to the 
way which leads to a spiritual home, 
where food for the soul is found — where 
it may grow in grnce — where it may live 
and prepare for a better life." {Afereers- 
I'ur^ Review, pp. 374-376) 



Unian with the Church. 



Isratl Knight believes himself al- 
ready a Christian, though the mem- 
ber Qi no church, when he starts out 
on Ins hunt after the church. But 
if he is already a Christian without 
tiicfhirrch, what need has he of the 
? If one is a Christian, is 
t*, enough ? Nevertheless, the 
author conducts him through the 
Baptist sect, the Congrcgationalist, 
(lie Methodist, the Ei>iscopal, the 
Univcrsalist, the Swedenborgian, the 
Spiritualist (Spiritist), the Unitari- 
an — virtually the whole round of 
PtoiestaiU sects — in pursuit of the 
city, that is, the church. Israel, after 
I thorough examination of all these, 
and unable of course to find the 
church in any one of thcra, comes to 
!he conclusion that the church is no* 
vhcrc or anywhere. We give the 
conctusioQ as cited by the reviewer, 
wuh his comments : 

*'He IS a Chrisilan, and with this im- 
prcsi&iori he starts out in his search, and 
*wc:irv% long hunt he has of il, turning 
QUI m tlic end that his effort ivas fruit< 
1«J, that lie found ' The Loni is there * 
ifwcribed nowhere, but . . . Israel said, 
There is peril in my thus halting between 
'fpioiotis^ Henceforth I will seek to be 
*»Jii^Jpte of Christ. 1 shall love all men 
iWugtt (liey love mc not* In whatever 
pUcc I 6nd a true worker for the good 
o< his rcUow-man. l will be to him a bro- 
ther. And with this simple, yet sublime 
fciiih in his heart, he went forth again 
l■^t^ the world, no longer seeking the 
'^rt. He had found it, iuxd over all the 
n cither side he read this in- 
\i : Thfrffrre, thou art inexcnsa- 
<m, whos&cver tAoit art tA.tt jucfy- 
y4%. 349,) And was this the city 
^^f «':; Knight found ; and after alL what is 
*»*^ Where does it differ from the an- 
f >? Wherein is it better than 

' -I and hundreds of others? 

*' ' !! !i .s not the city to which the apos- 
tle pohiis; il is not the kint'dom of God, 
*^^i «'4s at hand in ihe person of Jesus 
^Ijn-vi Who coald recommend such 
J^iJing to the young or to any one ? We 
«v» had too much of this same kind of 
ttiik-and •water Irash, from which we are 



5uJ!ering, and such books, with such hu- 
manitarian tendencies, deserve the se- 
verest condemnation." {.Mtrcers!fur^ AV 
view, p. 373, 3 79.) 

The reviewer*s comments are very 
true and just, but we cannot agree 
with him that the no-churchism of 
Where n the City ? is peculiar to New 
England theology, or that it is any- 
thing but the strict logical as well as 
practical conclusion from the princi- 
ples of the Protestant movetnent, or 
so-called Reformation, in the sixteenth 
century. We know that Dr. Schaff 
attempted, in a work published some 
years since, to maintain that the cur- 
rent of Christian life flows out from 
Christ through the church of the 
apostles, dowti through the church 
of the fathers and the church of the 
medioeval doctors in communion with 
the see of Rome, and then, since the 
sixteenth century, down through the 
church or churches of the Reforma- 
tion, and therefore that Protestantism 
is the true and legitimate continua- 
tion and development, without any 
break, of the church of the ages prior 
to the reformers. This is mere theory, 
suggested by German nationalism, 
and ridiculed in a conversation with 
the writer of this article by Dr, 
Nevin himself, the founder of the 
Mercersburg school, or, as the (Ger- 
man) Reformed Month iy calls It, Ne- 
vinism, and now abandoned, we pre- 
sume, by the author himself. It is a 
theory which has not a single fact in its 
support, and which was never dream- 
ed of either by the reformers them- 
selves, or by their opponents. The 
reformers sought not to continue the 
church of the middle ages, but to 
break with it, to discard it, and re- 
store what they called " primitive 
Christianity," which had for a thou- 
sand years been overlaid by j^opery. 
They believed in corruption, not in 
development or progress. 

Protestantism in its original and es- 



Union with the Church. 



sential character is a revolt, not simply 
against the authority of the pope and 
councils, nor simply against abuses 
and corruptions alleged to have crept 
into the church during the dark ages, 
but against the whole church system 
as understood by the fathers and me- 
diaeval doctors. The Protestant move- 
ment in the sixteenth century was a 
movement against the entire Christian 
priesthood, a protest against the whole 
system of mediatorial or sacramental 
grace, and the assertion of pure imme- 
diatism. Protestants have no priests, 
no altar, no victim, no sacrifice, no sa- 
craments ; they have only ministers, 
a table, and ordinances, and recog- 
nize no medium of grace. Some of 
them indeed practise baptism, and 
commemorate what they call the 
Lord's Supper, but as rites or ordi- 
nances, not as sacraments conferring 
the grace they signify, not as effective 
ex opere operate^ but at best only as 
ex opere suscipientis. No doubt, the 
reformers retained many reminiscen- 
ces of Christian truth, as taught by 
the church, not reconcilable with their 
protests and denials, and which cer- 
tain Protestants, like our friends of 
the Mercersburg school, and the Ri- 
tualists among Anglicans, seize upon 
and insist are the real principles of 
the Reformation, and that what among 
Protestants cannot be harmonized 
with them should be eliminated ; but 
the whole i^oc, the whole spirit, cur- 
rent, or tendency of the Protestant 
world repudiates them. Undoubt- 
edly, they are more Christian, but 
they are less true Protestant than the 
Evangelicals, who reject their teach- 
ings as figments of Romanism and 
themselves as papists in disguise. 

The authentic Protestant doctrine 
of the church is not tliat the church 
is an organic body vitally united to 
Christ, but the association or aggre- 
gation of individuals who are per- 
sonally united to Christ as their in- 



visible head. The church 
the Protestant sense, the r 
the union of the indivi( 
Christ, but the creature oi 
such union. It is the unior 
tians that makes the churc 
union with the church tl 
Christians. Presbyterians 
gationalists, the Dutch ] 
the German Reformed, Baj 
thodists, and others, before 
a candidate to their churcl 
him to see if he gives satisf 
dences, not simply of a rig 
tion and belief, but of ha 
" hopefully converted," or re 
by the direct and immcdiatt 
the Holy Ghost. Compan 
Protestants hold what is c 
tismal regeneration, and r 
tant can consistently hold i 
ry consistent Protestant der 
naturally infused virtues, oi 
faith and sanctity, and hold 
is justified by faith alon« 
Episcopalians hold that ii 
regenerated in baptism, bu 
as they so hold, they are : 
Protestants, and we find 
Anglicans who are faithfu 
neighbor the Protestant G 
to the Protestant movem 
nothing of the sort, stign 
doctrine as a relic of po 
are laboring to expunge it 
Book of Common Prayer. 
Protestants may be di\ 
two great families : the sup 
ists and the naturalists or r. 
With the latter we have 
nothing to do, for they hard 
to be Christians, and see in 
only a voluntary associatic 
viduals for mutual edificatic 
sistance. The former class 
the necessity of regenerati 
new birth, indeed, but they 
it is effected by the immedi: 
rect operation of the Holy 
the soul, without the visil 



Unian tvith the Church, 



5 



It as a medium, and must be ef- 
kted before one can rightfully be 
admitted to church membership. The 
conclusion, then, follows necessarily, 
tbt one not only can be, but must be 
a Christian, if a Christian at all in the 
sense of one bom anew of Christ, with- 
out the sacrament of regeneration or 
union with the church, and as the 
'•oinh'tion precedent of such union, 
Krad Rnighl is, then, only a true and 
Jilt Protestant in assuming that 
I jugh the member of no church, 
AChnstian, and that he can live the 
Hie of Christ without union with any 
church organization, 

ITie Mercersburg reviewer is quite 
right in asking, by way of objection, 
if one can be a Christian with- 
^lUt union with the church, what is 
the use of the church ? but he con- 
demns the Reformation in doing so. 
For ourselves, we confess that we 
Have never been able to see, on Pro- 
Icstant principles, any necessity or 
use for the church ; and so long as 
we remained a Protestant, we were 
tvowedly a no-churchman. When 
one has attained the end, one does 
BOt need the means. Our first step 
in the passage from Protestantism to 
Catholicity was the conviction that 
without the church we could not be 
united to Christ and live his life. 
Indeed, no consistent Protestant can 
admit the church idea ; and Protest- 
antism IS essentially and inevitably the 
denial of the church as a medium of 
I the Christian life. The church, if she 
I ttks ai all as the medium of union 
1 with Christ, in whom alone there is sal- 
■itation, must be instituted by God him- 
^lif through his supernatural action ; 
bat none of the so-called Protestant 
churches have been so instituted; 
none of them have had, it is histori- 
aUy ccftain, a divine origin ; and they 
liave all been instituted by men whose 
oames we know^ and who have had 



from God no commission to found a 
church or churches. Consequently, 
those churches so called have and 
can have no Christian character of 
their own, and none at all, unleasa 
ihey derive it from their individual 
members. They are, then, really no 
churches, but simply associations of 
individuals who call themselves Chris- 
tians. There is and can be no Pro- 
testant church ; there are and can be 
only Protestant associations or socie- 
ties ; and therefore there really is no 
church in the Protestant world with 
which one can unite, or with which 
union is necessary as the medium of 
union with Christ. 

Dr. Harbaugh professes, indeed, {p 
differ from the doctrine of Mr. Israel 
Knight, but is not as firm in denying, ' 
as is the Mercersburg reviewer, that 
one can be a Christian outside of the 
church ; nor does he explicitly assert 
that union with the church is abso- 
hiteiy necessary to the Christian life 
or to salvation. His doctrine is that i 
'* union with the church is a solemn « 
duty and a blessed privilege.** He] 
indeed asserts, in his fourth argument, 
p. 87, that *Mt is necessary to be 
united with the church because, ac- 
cording to the Scriptures, we are 
united to Christ through the church ^^ , 
The Mercersburg reviewer argues fi-om 
this that Dr. Harbaugh holds that 
one can be united to Christ only by 
being united with the church. This 
may,be Dr. Harbaugh's meaning, but 
he does not unequivocally say it ; and ] 
if he means it, his other eight argu- 
ments for uniting with the church are 
quite superfluous. Once let it be set- 
tled that there is no salvation without 
union with Christ, and no union with 
Christ without union with the church, 
and no additional argument is need- 
ed to convince any one who loves his . 
own soul and desires salvation that^ 
he ought to become a true and liv- 



Union with the Church. 



ing member of the church, the living 
body of Christ The one argument 
is enough. 

Yet assuming that Dr. Harbaugh 
does mean all that the Mercersburg 
reviewer alleges, he fails, as does the 
reviewer himself, to recognize the in- 
destructible unity of the church. Both 
concede that the church is divided, 
and both contend that it suffices to 
be united to some one of the many 
parts or divisions into which it is di- 
vided. " We freely confess," says Dr. 
Harbaugh, pp. 11,12," that the church 
is divided into many parts, and we 
mourn over it. It is a great evil; and 
those who are the means of dividing 
it are ceruinly very guilty before God. 
(Jlirist instituted only one church, and 
it is his will that there should be but 
one fold, as there is also but one 
shepherd— one body as there is but 
one head. . . . Grant that the 
church is divided, and that this is a 
great evil ; it does not destroy it. The 
church still exists; divided as the 
branches, yet still one as the tree. 
The church can exist, does exist, and 
is still one church, under all these 
divisions." 

The tree includes its living branches 
in its organic unity, and there is no 
division unless the branches are sever- 
ed from the trunk or parent stem, in 
which case they are dead branches, 
and are no longer any part of the 
living tree. If the church exists in 
her organic imity, and the branch 
churches are in living union with her, 
there is no division of the church at 
all, and the Mercersburg school is 
quite wrong in assuming that there 
IB, and that " it is a great evil." In 
such case there are no divisions of 
the church to be regretted or mourn- 
ed over. The variety and number 
of branches are only proofs of her vi- 
gorous life and growth. But if the 
branches are divided from the trunk. 



severed from the tree, they j 
not living branches, and ur 
them is not and cannot be a 
of union with Christ, or of 1 
life. 

But our Mercersburg frier 
they hold that " the church i 
into many parts," maintain 
unity is still preserved. "SI 
one church under all these d 
We cannot understand this, 
not understand how unity cj 
vidcd — and if not divided, i\ 
is not divided — and yet rem. 
vided. To our old-fashione- 
thinking, the division of un 
destruction. The branches 
may wither, be severed from t 
and burned, and yet its orga 
remain intact ; but we cann( 
stand how branches divided 
tree, and no longer in coi 
with its root, are still living 1 
and one with it. 

Our friends of the Mci 
school, under the lead of D 
have conclusively shown : 
church of the apostles* cre< 
organic body, growing out o 
carnation, vitally united to C 
Incarnate Word, and living 
in his life. It is the living 
Christ, and therefore neccss 
and indivisible, as he is one i 
visible. How, then, can thi 
be divided and still exist as oi 
or how can it exist as one 
body under the several seel 
visions, which are none of 
eluded in its unity and intej 
all of which are separate bod 
pendent one of another? Wh 
ic union is there between the 
Reformed Church and the 
ant Episcopal Church, or be 
ther of these and the Roman 
ITie unity to be asserted is 1 
of the church, not as an invisi 
or as a doctrine or theory, but 



Union zcith the Church, 



5;ajiic» therefore a visible, body. N one 
of ihc parts into which Dn Harbaiigh 
«ys she is divided can be included in 
her unity, unless visibly united to her 
as the branch to the trunk, or, fur 
instinct, as the see of New York is 
'^ 1 to the apostolic see of 

J^ I which it holds. There 

a ay such vusible union between the 
divisicrns in question. The Roman 
Church communes or is united with 
no Protestant sect, and the Protestant 
«ctsas organic bodies do not inter- 
nune with one another. They 
r mutually independent bodies, and 
*re no more one body or parts of one 
Wy than France and Prussia, Great 
Bniain an<i the United States, are one 
^ of one empire, kingdom, or 
1 wealth. Each is complete 
with its own constitution and 
own centre of authority, its 
«wn legislature, executive, and judi- 
ciary, subordinate to and dependent 
00 no other body or organism what- 
ever. Sd much is undeniable. How» 
tlK?i^ rnn they be parts or divisions 
<>»' -c whole, with which they 

lu* ible connection, and be 

Hiaiic one in its unity ? The suppo- 
iiion \% absurd on its very face. 

It will not do to say that, though 
these parts or divisions are united in 
on« hody by no visible bond of unity, 
in ly separate and mu- 

tui , _nt bodies, they are 

yet united t)y an invisible bond, and 
therefore are really parts, divisions, 
l<randics of the One Holy Catholic 
i^urch ; for tliat would imply that 
ibc church is simply an invisible 
church, not a visible organic body, 
^ it i$ conceded she is. Doubtless 
ikeduirch is both \-isible and invisi- 
lit; but the invisible is ^^ftmna of 
4^ vii^ible. as the soul is \\iQ,f<ymia or 
UbinuV !e of the body. The 

^WMblL 1 himself, or, rather, 

Holy Ghost, who dwells in the 



visible, and applies to the regenera- 
tion and sanciification of souls the 
grace purchased by the Word made 
tlesh, the one Mediator of God and 
men. Union with the invisible church 
is the end sought by union with the 
visible church; and, if that union is 
possible without union with tlie visi- 
ble body, we must accefit Mr, Israel 
Knight's conclusion that there is 
Christianity outside of the church, 
and that one can be united to Christ 
and live his life without being a mem- 
ber of any church organization, which 
the Mercersburg reviewer denies and 
ably refutes. 

The question raised by the works 
before us is as to union with the 
church as an organic body as the 
necessary medium of union with 
Christ, and of living his life. A union 
of the sects in doctrine, in usages, in 
spirit and intention, avails nothing, 
unless they are in vital union with this 
organic body, the one body of Christ 
This is the great fact that Catholi- 
ciidng as well as other Protestants 
overlook. After all their talk, they 
forget that the bond of unity must be 
visible since the body is visible ; and 
hence St. Cyprian, in his D^ Unihite 
Eccksiis, argues that, though all die 
aposdes were equal, our Lortl confer- 
red the pre-eminence on one, and es- 
tablished one cathedra, whence unity 
should be seen to take its rise. Over- 
looking this, Protestants are able to 
assert only an invisible Catholic 
Church, which is simply no organic 
body at all, and leaves Christ with- 
out a body dirough which we can be 
united to him, or a pure disembodied 
spirit, «ind as strictly so as if the Word 
had never been made flesh and dwelt 
among us. Our Mercersburg friends 
see and admit it. We ask them, 
then, is or is not this organic body 
divided? If so divided that the 
several parts or divisions have no 



s 



Jnian with the 



trch 



longer a visible l>ond of unity as one 
organic body, unity is destroyed, the 
church has failed, and the gates of 
hell ha%'e prevailed against her; if 
not, if the unity of the living organic 
body remains, then no union with 
any body not in visible communion 
with this one organic Ixjdy is or can 
be union with the Holy Catholic 
Church of the creed, or the medium 
of union with Christ. \\<t do not 
here misrepresent the Mercersburg 
school. The reviewer himself says : 

" The church is one, as thfr<^ is but one 
hfidy, and this fact was maintained for 
sixteen centuries, iroublcrs were silenced, 
and branded as heretics, and some of tlie 
reformers fell the force of this indisputa- 
ble fact, and there was manifested a spirit 
of compromise, which, howcv^er, could 
not succeed, and presently the Reform a* 
tion divided into two confessions, com- 
ing down 10 our days. Not only this, 
Imt these divided and subdivided* run- 
ning into endless divisions, and not the 
most exact rulesof calculus can calculate 
how small the fragments may become, or 
where the divisions will end ; and \rliat 
is worse than all, these now live on each 
other — prey on each other — attempt to 
devour each other, as the lean and fat 
kine, so thai it is true and cannot be 
^insaid, Protestantism, wnih its divided 
interests, engages noi in fighting the 
world and the devil, but fighting itself. 
This surely is a blot which the warmest 
friends of the system can neither justify 
nor defend, and it is equally irue that 
this very fact stands in the way of many, 
as an opposing barrier, and keeps many 
(inexcusably) from a duty which ihcy so- 
lemnly owe to God and to their own 
souls; namely, a consecration to the ser 
vice of God, in soul and body. How long 
this unfortunate condition will continue, 
no human eye can see. It must ever lie 
heavy on the Christian heart longing for 
unity. In this confusion, where sects 
multiply so rapidly, we have always a 
want of uniiy. The church, however, 
cannot be divided as our modern Protes- 
tantism presents the case. The faith of 
the church cannot be so uncertain nor 
unwavering as it is presonicd ; if it be so, 
it becomes of all things most uncertain/* 
{Afffterj&Mfg Review t p. 390.) 



I 



The reviewer also 
proves Dr. Harbaugh's < 
ory: 

*• The tract of Dr. Harbayij 
the church as a divine iastituti 
purposes of salvation — an ord 
ed by Jesus Christ, in the boi 
the healing of the nations ifi 
plished — an insiiiuiion havii 
j^orces to do all chat is propdl 
is the home of the Christiaiv* 
is born — :a her nurtured, ad| 
to be prepared, by her blcss^ 
heaven. Here is a door of enl 
Icring her are found means i\ 
w*ard the great work of prcpa 
in her the baptized soul realb 
only, * that in life and in dea 
and in body, I am not my 
belong unto my faithful Sav 
Christ/' It falls in with ll 
creeds — with the ancient faill 
cUsiam nulla sa/us.** (Afercersh 
p. 366,) 



i 



The plain logic of all 
the church as an organic 
sists always undivided in 
and integrity, and that all 
ganically divided from her 
ganically united with her 
from Christ, without anycj 
racter or Christian life, g 
with any one of them is 
wnth the Catholic Churcl 
which there is no salvat 
neither our Mercersburg fi 
our Ritualistic friends are 
admit this plain logical c 
and indeed cannot do it w 
churching the bodies of w 
are members, and conscqi 
without unchristianizing I 
and their associates. He 
stick. Unwilling to deny 
Christian life can be live* 
been lived in their rcspecti 
they try to find out some { 
which bodies which are uni 
church and to one another ! 
ble bond, and are even v 
united and separate orgg 



Union wiik the Church. 



may yet be vitally united to the one 
organic body, the One Holy Catholic 
Church, out of which German Re- 
formal, Episcopalian, Anglican, and 
Presbyterian alike admit there is no 
4alvTition. Unhappily for their wishes, 
no such ground can be discovered, 
for it would imj^ly a contradiction in 
terms ; and as no one of the Protestant 
sects does or dares assert itself alone 
IS the One Holy Catholic Church, 
md as no one of them is organically 
oflitcd with any body but itself, they 
forced to stand self-condemned, 
each to confess itself a body se- 
parated from Christ, and therefore 
without the means of salvation. M en 
Seldom fail to fall into self-contradic- 
tions and gross absurdities when they 
attempt to fnllow their ftelings or 
1 of the inexorable 
, ^ -s. Error is never 
sclkonsistent, 

Out Catholicizing Protestant friends, 
iJiit is, Protestants who profess to 
bid the Catholic doctrine of the 
church and yet fancy themselves or 
would hke to believe themselves safe 
while remaining in the communion 
o( their respective sects, have, after 
iill, little confidence in their theor)' of 
bfandi churches, and fall back for 
tafeiy on tlieir real or supposed bap- 
lisnj. Baptism, by whomsoever ad- 
niijistcreil, makes the baptized mem- 
birrs of Christ's body, and hence all 
baptized infants dying in infancy are 
avetl; yet it by no means follows 
that all who receive what puqiorts 
to 1 in among the sects are 

vad ,/ed. In fact, the Cat hq- 

& cicrgy place so little confidence in 
Ihft sectarian administration of bap- 
*am that converts to the church are 
almost always baptized conditionally. 
The^icrament is indeed efficacious 
t% hut only they who, 

u . jOse no obstacle to 

the inflowing grace arc actually re- 



generated. They who have not the 
proper disposition of mind and heart, 
who lack belief in Christ, or have a 
false beUef, do oppose such obstacles, 
and receive not the fruits ^i the sacra- 
ment till they repent of their sins, and 
come to believe the truth, and the 
truth as ilie church teaches it. Then, 
again, the habit of faith infused in 
baptism may be lost ; and the union 
with Christ is severed, if the infant on 
coming to years of discretion makes 
an act of infidelity, or, what is the 
same thing, refuses or omits to make 
an act of faith. Under some one or 
all of these heads a great portion of 
adult Protestants must be classed, 
and we see, therefore, no solid ground 
to hope for their salvation, unless 
before they die they are converted 
and gathered into the communion of 
the Holy Catholic Church. Theolo- 
gians, no doubt, distinguish between 
the soul of the church and the body 
of the church, but this does not help 
those who are aliens from the body 
of the church. Certainly no one who 
does not belong to the soul of the 
church is in the way of salvation, and 
all who do belong to the soul are in 
the way, and, if they persevere to 
the end, will certainly be saved ; but 
union with the body is the only means 
of union with the soul of the church, 
and hence out of the church as the 
body of Christ there is no salvation. 
There is no logical alternative be- 
tween this conclusion and the no- 
churchism of Mr. Israel Knight. 

Union with the church as the me- 
dium of union with Christ is no arbi- 
trary condition, any more than is the 
condition that to be a man one must 
be boni of the race of Adam. To 
be a Christian one must be born by 
the election of grace of Christ, as one 
to be a man must be born of Adam 
by natural generation; and for one 
not bom of Christ to complain that 



1 



10 



Union with the Church. 



he is not in the way of salvation is 
as unreasonable, as absurd, as for a 
horse to complain that he is not bom a 
man ; nay, even more so, for, if any 
man is not bom of Christ, and, there- 
fore, is excluded from the elect or re- 
generated race, it is his own fault. 
It was ordained before the founda- 
tion of the world, in the self-same 
decree by which the world was cre- 
ated, that man should be redeemed 
and saved, or enabled to attain the 
end of his existence, through the 
Incarnation of the Word, that is, 
through Christ, and through him 
alone. The church originates in 
the Incarnation, and is in the order 
of regeneration or grace, in relation 
to Christ, what the human race in 
the order of natural generation is to 
Adam ; and hence Christ is called in 
prophecy " the Father of the coming 
age," and by St. Paul, " the second 
Adam, the Lord from heaven." The 
church is elect or regenerated man- 
kind. Under another aspect, she not 
only includes all who are born of 
Christ as their progenitor in the 
order of grace, but is his bride, his 
spouse, through whom souls are be- 
gotten and bom of him ; and hence 
St. Cyprian says, "He cannot have 
God for his father who has not the 
church for his mother." 

It is not ours to say what God 
could or could not have done ; but 
we may and do say that the Christian 
order, or the church founded by the 
Incarnation, is the teleological law of 
the universe, without which it cannot 
be perfected, completed, or attain to 
its end or final cause, but would re- 
main for ever inchoate or initial, as 
has been frequently showTi in this 
magazine, especially in the article 
No. IX. on Catholicity and Bantheism. 
All things are created and ordered in 
reference to the glory of the Incar- 
nate Word, and it is only in the In- 



carnation, the Word made fle 
we have the key to the mea 
the universe and the signifies 
the facts or events of histor 
sacred and profane. Read 1 
fourteen verses of St. John's 
and, if you understand them, ; 
see that w^e only assert the 
truth, the informing principle, 
it has pleased God to reveal 
teleological law of his creation, 
is the Lamb slain from the fou 
or origin of the world ; he is 
surrection and the life, and 1 
could open the gates of heave 

Nothing is more unphilos 
as well as unchristian than 
upon the Incamation as an : 
or an anomaly in providence 
divine economy of creation, < 
afterthought in the mind of \k 
tor. It is the creative act its 
ed to its apex and completed, 
the profound sense of the woi 
summatus est which our I^o 
nounced on the cross. Chri 
the church, is only the evolut 
application to the regeneratio 
tification, and glorification ( 
of the Incarnation, is only Chi 
self in his mediatorial work f 
completing, perfecting the \> 
creation. It is easy, there 
understand the place and pui 
the Incamation, and also wli 
with the church as the mcc 
union with the Incamate Wc 
indispensable condition of sah 
of attaining to the beatitude f( 
we are created. It is easy 
see how little they comprel 
the profound philosophy of t 
pel who deny or attempt to 
away the Catholic dogma. 

It will not be difficult 
comprehend the real chara 
Protestantism, and to unc 
why it is and must be s< 
sive to the Christian soul. 



Union with the Church. 



If 



4 pro test against the whole teleo- 
iogical orxier of the universe. By 
ils co-church ism, it reduces Chris- 
tisnity to a naked abstraction, tliere- 
fctre to a nullity ; rejects Christ himself 
*sihc living Christ and perpetual Me- 
iimor of God and men; denies his 
ftftjent and continuous mediatorial 
r prives the soul of all the gra- 
ir ans and heljis without which 
II cannot live and perse^*ere in the 
Chmtian life; and it reverses the 
thole order of the divine econonjy 
i'ln and providence, as well as 
It is not simply a misap- 
iO, but a total rejection of the 
bristian order. It docs not 
y» indeed, reject Christ in 
lit it rejects all visible medium 
with him, and renders nuga- 
Incamation in the work of 
i and glorification. It rccog- 
' order of grace* It indeed 
J ijn i»s to come to Christ or 
m Kubmit to Christ, but it tells us 
not how we can come to him, what 
ii the way to him, what we must do 
in order to come to him, or to have 
biin come to us and abide with us. 
h says, Be Christians, and^ — you will 
U Christians; be ye filled, be ye warm- 
ed, and be ye clothed, and ye will be no 
longer hungry, cold, or naked — which 
b but bitter mockery. 

When one feels himself dead in tres- 
lasBCik and i;ins, and cries out from 
ihc tkpths of his agony, Wiat shall I 
^to be saved ? it is to insult his misery 
to tell him, Come to Christ, and you 
tl\^ ' !. You might as well tell 

It/n il, and you^ — will be sav- 

td, ii )ou bhow him not some visible 
tad [•ractirable way of coming to him, 
tnd being one with him, or if you 
faiy all visible medium of salvation. 
Chrwt as simply invisible or disembo- 
i spirit is practically no Christ at 
i and til ere is for the sinner no 
t of &iIvation, no means of be- 



atitude for the soul, any more than 
there would have been if the Word 
had not been ** made flesh, and dwelt 
among us." We are no better off than 
we should have been under the law of 
nature. Christianity would afford us 
no aid or help, and would leave us as 
naked, destitute, as helpless, as under 
paganism ; for jjraycr, the only means 
of communion with the invisible Pro- 
testantism recognizes, is as open to 
the pagan as to the Christian. 

We do not by this mean to deny 
the honesty and worth of large num* 
bers of those outside of the church* 
or in sectarian communities; yet we 
have seen no instance among them 
of a virtue surpassing the natural 
strength of a man who has simple hu- 
man talth in the great truths of the 
Gospel, and strives to practise the 
moral precepts of Christianity, or su* 
perior to many instances of exalted 
human virtue to be found among the 
Gentiles. We find among them men 
of rare intellectual powers and great 
natural virtues, but no greater among 
those counted church members than 
among those who arc connected as 
members with no church organization. 
There is much that is excellent in many 
of the Protestant Sisters of Mercy and 
Charity organized in imitation of Ca- 
tholic sisterhoods of the same name, 
and we readily acknowledge the worth 
of a Howard, a Florence Nightin- 
gale, a Caroline Fry, and other noble- 
minded men and women who have 
devoted themselves to the mitigation 
of human suffering, to the succor and 
the consolation of the sick and dying, 
or to the recovery of the fallen and 
the reformation of the erring. We 
also honor the liberal bequests and 
donations of wealthy Protestants to 
found or endow colleges, institutions 
of learning and science, hospitals, 
infirmaries, and institutions for the 
deaf and blind, the poor and desti- 



12 



Union with the Church . 



tute ; but we see nothing in any of 
thera that transcends the natural or- 
der, or that is not possible without 
regeneration. Men and women with 
the Christian ideal intellectually ap- 
prehended, even imperfectly, from 
readinsr the Scriptures, the example of 
the church always in the world, and 
reminiscences of the Catholic instruc- 
tion received by their ancestors, all 
traces of which have not yet been 
lost in the non-Catholic world, can, 
by the diligent exercise of their natu- 
ral powers, reach to the highest vir- 
tue of these Protestant saints, without 
that grace which elevates the Chris- 
tian above the order of nature, and 
translates him into the order of the 
regeneration, joins him to Christ as 
his head, and makes him an heir and 
joint-heir with him of the kingdom of 
God. Perhaps no class of Protes- 
tants have exhibited virtues superior 
to those exhibited by the Friends» or 
Quakers, and they are not Christians 
at all, for they are not baptised, 
and therefore not regenerated, or 
bom of Christ. Nature instructed 
by revelation, or even imperfect re- 
miniscences of revelation, may go 
very far. 

We find among the heathen and 
among Protestants rare human or 
natural virtues w^hich really ar€ vir- 
tues in their order, and to be approv- 
ed by all ; but we do not find among 
them the supernatural virtues or the 
heroic sanctity of the ChrisLian. We 
find philanthropy, benevolence, kind- 
ness of heart, sympathy with suffering, 
but we do not find charity \t\ the 
Christian sense ; we find belief in many 
of the princijiles and doctrines of 
Christianity, but not the theological 
virtue of faith, which excludes all 
doubt or uncertainty, and is, as St 
Paul says, sf^randamm stdstantia, 
argiimenftim no(i apparenftum, the sub- 
btance of things to be hoped for, and 



4 



the evidence of things not si 
find a Socrates, a Scipio, a 
an Oberlin, a Florence Nigl 
but we do not find a St Fi 
Assisium, a St John of God, 
cent de Paul, a St. Agnes, 
tharine, a St. Elizabeth of 
a St Jane Frances de Ch 
even a Fenelon or a Mot 
Protestant novelists, when lh< 
present a man or woman of 
roic virtue, are obliged to 
their imagination, or, like M 
er Stowc in UncU Totn^ td 
from the lives of Catholic sa^ 
in neither case do they coi 
the Catholic reality. 

We know that some clai 
test ants insist on the new bl 
generation, what they call a 
heart, and they have pro trad 
ings, prayer-meetings, inquil} 
ings, and niucli ingenious mi 
to efliect it ; but all the changd 
can easily be explained on natii 
ciples. without supposing thi 
natural operations of the Hoq 
It rarely jiroves to be a real 
of life beyond that of substi 
new vice tor an old one ; ai| 
is equally to the purpose, we | 
converts who are gathered i 
Protestant churches in seasofi 
vivals, and assumed to be i| 
often surpassed in virtue by th» 
have undergone no process ' 
testant conversion, and who 
to no church, but are, in the % 
the day» nothingarians. 'K 
people among Protestants ap( 
their church -members. AV^e fii 
from the statement in the Dost 
^r^afumalni and Rrcord^ ths 
about one-fourth of those Ml 
dergo the proces^s of con vera 
are received into the Congrej 
churches remain pious ant^ 
members ; and experience pro^ 
they who fall away become mi 



Unian with the Churcfu 



n 



grc€s worse than tliey were before be- 
ing convmed. 
J{ is not ours to judge, but we see 
long Protestants, any more than 
\\\% the heathen, no indication 
(ht they are supernatural ly joined to 
Chmt its iJie father and head of the 
dcct or regenerated humanity, and 
liiodbrc none that they inherit the 
pmtTitse of eternal life or the beatific 
r Gotl, the reward of the true 
; (Q Ufe. Ihey have their vir- 
uses, and no virtue ever iriisses its re- 
wani ; but their virtues being in the 
natural order are, Hke those of the 
old Romans of whom St. Augustine 
speaks, entitled only to temporal re- 
wards, or rewards in this life. One 
must be bom into the kingdom of 
Christ before one can live the life of 
Christ, or reign with him in glory. 

Wc can now see that the Mercers- 
l>urg school and the Ritualists, though 
apj>roachiiig ver>^ near in their church 
iloctrines to Catholicity, yet not be- 
ing joined to the body of Christ, and 
Adhering to bodies alien from the 
church, have- no better-grounded 
hopc^ of salvation or eternal life than 
any ocher class of Protestants, \Ve 
caa also understand the significance 
of the Evangelical Alliance, which was 
to have held a Grand Conference in • 
tills city last month, but was postpon- 
ed on account of the w^ar between 
France and Prussia, Protestants are 
«fcll aware of the disadvantages they 
iibar under in their war against the 
thurch by their division into a great va- 
net}' of jarring sects j and, despairing 
of unity, they seek to obviate the evil 
by forming themselves into a sort of 
confederation or an offensive and de- 
fem-ive alliance. Hence the Evangcl- 
Kal iVlliance, intended to embrace all 
EvingcHcal Protestant sects. The 
Tcry term alliance proves that they 
ins not one body or one church, but 
*^ ~ ' ' JL'S, These several mutu- 
*J'; ident bodies have effected 



or are trying to effect a imion for cer- 
tain purposes, or an agreement to act 
in concert against their common ene- 
my, the Catholic Church, Tliere be- 
ing no Christianity outside the One 
Catholic Church, which they evident- 
ly are not, since they are many, not 
one, the alliance is, of course, no 
Christian alliance, but really an alli- 
ance of bodies, falsely calling them* 
selves Christian, against the Christian 
church, against Christianity itself. 
The alliance is not a co-worker with 
Christ, but really with Satan against 
Christ in his church. Such is the 
meaning and such the position of the 
so-called Evangelical Alliance. 

No one who understands the Evan- 
gelical Alliance of this and other coun- 
tries, whatever protests it may issue 
against rationalism and infidelity, or 
pretensions to Christian faith it may 
put forth, can doubt that it is formed 
expressly against the Catholic Church, 
which it calls Babylon, and whose 
Supreme Pontiff it denounces as ** the 
man of sin." It is antipapal, anti- 
church, antichristian, in spirit Anti- 
christ, and marks that " falling away " 
of which St. Paul speaks. 

It is not easy to explain the hosti- 
lity of this Evangelical Alliance to the 
church, except on the same princi- 
ple that we explain that of the old- 
cam al Jews to our Lord himself, 
whom they crucified between two 
thieves. It cannot be concern for 
the souls of Catholics that moves it, 
for Protestants themselves do not pre- 
tend that the Christian life cannot be 
lived and salvation secured in the 
communion of the church. Their 
greatest champions do not attempt to 
prove that Catholicity is an unsafe 
way, but, like Chillingworth, limit 
themselves to the attemjit to prove 
that ** Protestantism is a safe way of 
salvation," ^\^Xi they being judges^ 
we are at least as safe and as sure of 
eternal life as they are. The alliance, 



\ 



then, has and can have no Christian 

motive for its hostility to the church, 
and therefore can have only a human 
or a Satanic motiv'e for seeking her 
destruction. Protestants say she is a 
corrupt, a superstitious church, and 
keeps her members in gross ignorance, 
and enslaved to a degrading despot- 
ism ; but they practically unsay this 
when they concede that snlvation is 
jiossible in her communion. They 
cannot seek to destroy the church, 
then, in the interest of the soul in the 
world to come. 

It can then be only in the interest 
of this world. But as the chief inte- 
rest, as it should be the chief business, 
of man in this world is to make sure 
of the world to come, it is hardly 
worth while to war against the church 
for the sake of this hfe only, especial- 
ly if there should be danger by living 
for the earthly life alone of losing 
eternal life. It would be decidedly a 
bad speculation, and altogether un- 
profitable, and more silly than the 
exchange of his golden armor by 
Glaucus for the brazen armor of Dio- 
med. As for society, it is very cer- 
tain » from experience, that the success 
of the alliance would prove Its ruin, 
as it has already well-ntgh done. 

All the temporal governments of • 
the world, withom a single exception, 
have withdrawn themselves from the 
authority of the cliurch in spirituals 
as well as in temporals, and the na- 
tions, both civilized and uncivilized, 
without exception, are now governed 
by Protestants, Jews, infidels, schis- 
matics, or such lukewarm and worldly- 
minded Catholics as place the interests 
of lime above those of eternity ; yet at 
no epoch since the downfall of heathen 
Rome has society been less secure, 
or its very existence in greater dan- 
ger; never have wars on the most 
gigantic scale been so frequent, so 
expensive, or so destructive to human 
life, as in the last century and tlie pre- 



sent. We are still startled at the ter- 

rible wars that grew out of the F 
Revoludon of 1789, not yet i 
we have hardly begun to recover 
from our own fearful civil war, iti 
which citizen was armed against citi- 
zen, neighbor against neighbor, and 
brother against brother, to the loss 
of half a million of lives, and at the 
cost of ten thousand millions of 
dollars to the country, counting 
both North and South, before we 
are called upon to witness the open- 
ing of a w^ar between France and 
Prussia, not unlikely in its progress 
to envelop all Europe in flames, and 
the end or result of which no man 
call now foresee. The great mass 
of the people have for nearly a cen- 
tury been living for this world alone, 
and are to-day tn a fair way 10 lose 
it as well as the world to come. Ma- 
terial wealth, perhaps, has bcei aug- 
mented by modern inventions, but 
in a less ratio than men's wants have 
been developed, and both worldly 
happiness and the means of secur- 
ing it have diminished. Vice and 
crime were never more rampant, and 
are increasing in Great Britain and 
our own count r\' at a fearful rate, while 
the public conscience loses daily more 
and more of its sensitiveness. 

Nothing is more evident to the ob* 
sender than that tn losing the ma^- 
ierium of the church society has lost 
its balance-wheel, rejected the very 
law of its moral existence and nor- 
mal development. Society must rest 
on a moral basis, and be under a 
moral law and a spiritual government, 
as well as a civil government, or it 
tends inevitably to dissolution. Since 
their emancipation from the church, 
the nations have been under no spi- 
ritual government ; they have recog- 
nized no power competent to declare 
tlie moral law of their existence and 
growth, much less to enforce it by 
spiritual pains and penalties. They 



Union with the Church. 



»S 



bve in consequence lost all reve* 
foicc for authority in the civil order, 
iswdi as in the spiritual order, and 
»(i under pretence of establishing 
pular liberty, to no-govcmmcntism, 
fo downright anarchy. In our coun- 
trj't ihc most advanced of all in the 
direction the age is tending, we 
tat hardly any government at all, 
fflthe proper sense of the word ; we 
bvc only national vind State agen- 
cies far taxing the people to advance 
the pnvate interests of business men 
V of huge buiiiness coqjorations, 
fc have tampered with the judiciary 
ill we have well-nigh destroyed it, 
Jfld the maintenance of justice be- 
tween man and man is left pretty 
much to chance. Fraud, peculation, 
Ibcft, robber)', murder, stalk abroad 
ai noonday, and go in a great mea- 
sure unwhipt of justice. The Eng- 
iL-m has ripened with us and 
•rth its legitimate fruits. In 
«*djTiag against the church, and seek- 
ing lu destroy her power and infiu- 
eocc over society, the alliance is war- 
ling against the true interests of this 
world as well as of the next. The 
iccts^ the creatures of 0[>inion, and 
titbout any support in Ood, are too 
iftfak, however commendable their 
intentions, to withstand popular opin- 
ioa, popular errors, popular passions, 
ur popular tendencies, and must al- 
tays go on with the world, or it will 
go on \%nrhout thera» 

A slight experience of the sects 
oiuicd in the alliance, and a slight 
iijii^ s of their principles and ten- 
are fiuflicient to convince any 
■ !L utt judicially blinded that ihcy 
ut prompted in their war against 
ihe church only by those three old 
enemies of our Lord, the world, the 
8wh, and l\\c devil — enemies which 
ihe churizh must always and every- 
where in this world combat with all 
her Mjpematural powers. These sects 
& not l>dicvc it, and many in them, 



no doubt, believe that they are doing 
battle on the side of God and his 
Christ. But this is because ihey 
know not what they do, and are la- 
boring under the strong delusions of 
which St. Paul speaks to the I'hcssa- 
lonians. But this does not excuse 
them, The Jews who crucified our 
Lord knew not what tlicy did, yet 
were they not free from guilt, for 
they might and should have known. 
No man labors under a strong de- 
lusion against what is good and true 
but through his own fault, and no 
man is carried away by satanic delu- 
sions, unless already a captive to Sa- 
tan, unless he already hates the truth 
and has pleasure in iniquity. The 
ignorance and delusions of the alli- 
ance in the present case are only an 
aggravation of its guilt, for the claims 
of the church are as evident as the 
light, and can no more be hidden 
than a city set on a hill, or tlic sun 
in the heavens. The church has in 
the sects, or their representatives in 
the Evangelical Alliance, only her old 
enemies, more powerful just now than 
at some former periods ; but he whose 
spouse she is, is mightier thai\ they, 
and never mightier than when men 
fancy he is vanquished, and the only 
thing for us to grieve over is that 
they are causing so many precious 
souls for whom Christ has died to 
perish. 

For ourselves, we are not, like Is- 
rael Knight, obliged to inquire, Where 
is the city, or the church ? to discuss 
the question, whether it is necessary 
to join the church or not; nor are 
we called upon, like our Mercersburg 
friends, to consider whether we are 
vitally joined to the church, and 
through her to Christ, while we re- 
main members of a Protestant sect. 
We Catholics know which and where 
is the church, and we know that we 
are members of the body of Christ. 
We have for ourselves no questions 



i6 



Not all a Dream, 



of this sort to ask or to answer. All 
Catholics are members of the one 
Church of Christ. We know the 
truth, we have all the means and 
helps we need to live the life of 
Christ, and to reign with him in glory. 
The only question for us to ask is, 
Are we of the church as well as in 
the church ? It will in the last day 
avail us nothing to have been in if 
not of the church. The mere union 
with the external body of the church 
will avail us nothing, if we have not 
made it the medium of union with 
the internal, with Christ himself. 
It would, perhaps, be well for all 



Catholics to consider theii 
bilities to those who are w 
whose salvation we are 
charity to labor. One of th 
obstacles to the conversioi 
without is the misconduct 
ness, and indifference of 
If all Catholics lived as g 
tical Catholics, the cor 
against the church mighi 
formed, but they would be 
much of their power, and c< 
would be facilitated. Yet 
not forget that it is the 
sanctity of the church tha 
greatest offence. 



NOT ALL A DREAM. 



On the shore I fell asleep. 
And I dreamed an angel came 

Walking on the liquid deep 

With his glorious limbs on flame ; 

All diaphanous and bright 

As a topaz in the light. 

Something to the sea he said ; 

What it was I could not hear ; 
And 1 saw a living head 

Straightway on each wave appear. 
And like Aphrodite grow 
Into beauty's perfect glow. 

Then from lip to lip there passed 
Some sweet watchword so intense 

In its import, that at last 
In that risen phalanx dense 

All the beings bright and strong 

Burst into a sea of song. 

Ne'er did such a summer sea, 
Vast, melodious, and low, 

Of unearthly minstrelsy 
Moderate its ebb and flow, 



Not all a Dream. 17 

Ne'er on mortal listener beat 
With a paean half so sweet. 

Breathing thus their psalms, the blest 

Gazed entranced upon the skies, 
Turning from the darkling West 

Toward an Orient paradise : 
And they seemed to see afar 
Some stupendous morning star. 

Soon the star became a sun ; 

And within its disk of gold 
Stood th' emblazoned form of One 

Whom the heavens cannot hold, 
One in whom all glories shine, 
Whether human or divine. 

" Hope of Ages," cried the sea, 

" Welcome to thy bought domain ! 
Take us where thou wilt with thee. 

Or among us here remain ! 
Like to us is that or this, 
For thy presence is our bliss." 

Echoes from adjacent lands, 

Echoes from remotest sky. 
From the dead who burst their bands 

Or descended from on high. 
Answered to the choral host 
Triumphing from coast to coast. 

Then in haloes round their king 

All these holy sons of light. 
Ranged in ring succeeding ring, 

Moved in self-sustaining flight, 
Bent th' adoring knee in air. 
Interchanging praise with prayer. 

All the firmament was full 

Of enormous rainbows rife 
With those beings beautiful 

Risen to ethereal life ; 
And th* expanding pageant seemed 
Nigh to touch me while I dreamed. 

" O my dream !" I dreaming said, 

" For a dream thou surely art, 
In the galleries of my head, 

In the caverns of my heart 

VOL. XII. — 2 



IS 



Mary^ Queen of England. 

Linger through the charmed nighty 
Linger till the morning light ! " 

Wert thou but a dream, O dream I 
Or a prophecy of things 

Which in after time shall beam 
On the gaze of him who sings — 

An assuring far-shot ray 

Of the already dawning day ? 



MARY, QUEEN OF ENGLAND. 



BY THE, LATE REV. J. W. CUMMINGS, D.D. 



The history of England during the 
sixteenth century has been so closely 
studied in modern times that men 
have generally come to form and 
hold settled convictions upon the 
merits of the personages who chiefly 
figure in its pages. In the court of 
public opmion decisive evidence has 
been given, and admitted, in the case 
of " bluff King Hal " and of " good 
Queen Bess ;" and the beautiful Queen 
of Scots ceases to be exaggerated 
into a fiend or an angel, and stands 
before us a gifted and much-injured 
woman. The name of Mary of Eng- 
land would seem to be an exception 
to this rule. We are left to glean an 
account of her earlier life as best we 
may from the incidental mention of 
her name in the history of Henry, Ed- 
ward, and Elizabeth, while the odious 
epithet of "bloody," applied to her as 
queen, seems to encircle her reign 
with a mysterious obscurity that Pro- 
testant and Catholic alike are only 
too happy to leave unexplored. Her 
character in books of instruction for 
the young and in popular literature 
is summed up in the language of 
Burnet, Hume, and Foxe, the three 
bitterest enemies of her memor)', so 



that where an authority is give: 
one of these three, or some 
who avowedly copies their ^ 
The necessities of history, as w 
dem men expect it to be writtei 
the fairness of the art of crit 
every day improving among \ 
and readers of every nation an 
gion, cannot allow us to leave 
dark a character of such impo: 
as Mary, the daughter of King 
ry VIII., sister of Elizabeth an 
ward VI., first queen regnant ol 
land and Ireland, last legitimate 
of the House of Tudor, and th 
Catholic who died in possessi 
the throne of Great Britain, 
reign covers a period of vast i 
tance in the history of the laws 
merce, institutions, national j 
and foreign relations of Englanc 
if personal attractions are neec 
gain attention to her claims, \ 
supported by the unanimous te 
ny of historians in saying thj 
was superior in strength and d 
of character and in mental a 
plishments to both her stately 
Elizabeth and her lovely cousir 
ry of Scotland. 

Miss Agnes Strickland, that 



Mary, Queen of England. 



19 



iady writers, has collected 
proof to show that Mary 
^ admirable for gentleness 
ness of manner, and for 

Pictiy of form — that she 
tiic poets and courted 
ices of Europe on account 
^lar wit and beauty. The 

eyes of her Spanish rao- 
e told, gave a serious grace 
r spotless English counte- 
;t neglect and sorrow and 
I soon increased the se- 
ind dimmctl the giriish 
he lovely princess. If an 
circumstance is required to 
cnay mention that all grant 
re been from her earliest 
princess of irreproachable 
and never to her latest 

she swerve from sincere 
t> the faith of the Holy 
'hurch. 

uences which surrounded 
Dod were not such as to 
her a cruel or revengeful 

fcr birth in 1516 until her 
Bar, she was carefully and 
iiructed by her pious mo- 
srine of Arragon . N ex t to 
\ her most intimate friend 
runtess of Salisbur\% whom, 
gaid for the royal blood 
in her veins, Henr^^ V'lll. 
e scaffold for the double 
eing the mother of Cardi- 
nd a firm confessor of the 
her fathers. 

\y Mary was ilistingtiiished 
|r age on account of her 
isic, and the skill and pro- 
Ih which she played on 
fiJments in use at the time, 
nslructed in science and 
ftftcr a nile hid down for 
H^y the celebrated Spa- 
I^J^udovicus Vives, who 
IQuecn Kaiherine to give 
od virtuous education 



like that of the daughters of Sir Tho- 
mas More, to keep out of her hands 
the idle romances of chivalr}% which 
he styles " pestiferous books/' to teach 
her to despise cards, dice, and splen- 
did dress, to make her love the study 
of the Scriptures and the classic 
writers of Greece and Rome. Her 
life of seclusion gave her ample time 
for long and patient study, which was 
crowned withj;omplete success. She 
excelled in music, she understood Ita- 
lian, she spoke fluently the French 
and Spanish languages, and the ac- 
curacy with which she spoke and 
wrote Latin was the admiration of all 
Europe. 

Her speeches in public and from 
the throne were delivered with grace 
and ease, and among other produc- 
tions of her pen there is a translation 
of the Latin Paraphrase of St, John 
by Erasmus, which places her among 
the ablest English writers of her lime. 
The despatches of the French am- 
bassador, Marquis de Noailles, relat- 
ing his conferences with her when 
queen, prove the acuteness and vigor 
of her mind, and show her to have 
been a match for that crafty and 
unscrupulous diplomatist. She was 
betrothed at an early age to the Em- 
peror Charles V., and although the 
contract was afterward dissolved, 
Charles proved a constant friend and 
prudent adviser to the princess. Ma- 
ny other matches were taken into 
consideration by Henry for his ac- 
com|>lishcd and virtuous daughter, 
but without coming to any definite ar- 
rangement. At one time, her kinsman 
Reginald Pole, confessedly among the 
most comely, gifted, and high-minded 
of English youths, was spoken of as 
most likely to obtain the hand of the 
princess. The queen and herself 
would have been favoral>le to such 
an alliance, which would have been 
highly acceptable to the nation from 
his being great-nephew of Edward 



20 



Mary, Queen of Efigland. 



1 v., and the last scion of the popu- 
lar royal line of the Plantagenets. 
Reginald used no anxious efforts to 
improve such flattering opportunities. 
When the young princess was in her 
sixteenth year hfc retired from Eng- 
land, finding that his conscience could 
not accord with the measures of the 
wilful king. 

He who turns over the pages of 
the Fyivy Purse Expenses of Queen 
Mary, edited from half-burnt rolls of 
original paper by Sir Frederick Mad- 
den, is surprised at the proofs of con- 
stant kindness and generosity which 
tliis private record affords. From 
the maids of honor who waited on 
lier royal person to the humblest 
cottager in her neighborhood, Mary, 
whether as princess or queen, freely 
distributed her bounty ; consoling the 
recipients of it with kind visits, sweet 
smiles, and gentle words. She gave 
large donations to poor prisoners in 
various parts of London. She was 
in the habit of learning the circum- 
stances of poor families, even when 
queen, by going in a simple dress 
vath her ladies to visit them, and 
when she found that they were nu- 
merous and poor, she apprenticed 
tlie more promising among the chil- 
dren at her own expense. She had 
a singular fondness for standing god- 
raother to children. Begiiming with 
her brother Edward in the palace 
even to the children of poor game- 
keepers and husbandmen, we fmd a 
long list of objects of her charity who 
were her god-children. 

During the year 1537, she was 
sponsor to fifteen children. These 
numerous spiritual children were often 
brought to pay their respects to their 
godmother, and she made them pre- 
sents of money and clothing. In 
her private journal we constantly find 
such items as these : 

**To the woman who kccpcth Mary 
Price, my Lady Mary's god-daughter, i/. 



3J. 5r/." " To a poor woman of 
living at Hatfield, 3/. 9^." " Give 
Potticary at the christening of 
my lady's grace being godmothei 
" Item : Given at the christening 
tor Michael's child, my lady's gr: 
godmother to the same, 2/. ds. & 

Thus we find charges for 
servants, among whom are m« 
" Bess Cressy, Randal Dod, a 
the Fool." On her recov^ 
must have been seized with j 
ordinary fit of industry, for w 
the accounts of the princess 
first and last time the followi 
" \d, expended for needles 
the Fole." 

There are further proofs o: 
mild and gentle disposition, 
which her biographers have i 
her singular fondness for p 
for flowers. Her tendemesj 
her little sister Elizabeth 
especial mention, the more s 
kindness was in later yean 
gratefully repaid. We hav 
evidence to prove that she w 
ly beloved by all her househ 
that she was popular with tl: 
at large. John Roy, a Pi 
speaks of her quite enthusiast 
some lines which have been 
ed. While expressing his ac 
for Mary, he deals very ui 
niously with Cardinal Wols€ 
bishop of York, who, he says 
the king's desire to obtain c 
from Katherine of Arrago 
poet pays as little respec 
eminence as he does to the 
rhyme : 

" Yea, a princess whom to descri 
It were hard for an orator. 
She is but a child in a^c. 
And yet she is both wise and Si 
And beautiful in favor. 
Perfectly doth she represent 
The singular graces excellent 
lk)th of her father and mother. 
Ilnwbeit this disregarding 
The emrter of York is mcddlinj 
For to dbrorce them asunder." 

In the year 1531, the prir 
with the first great sorrow o 



and ihc chief caus€ of many miseries 
tbt overshadowed her later years 
with a cloud of melancholy. She 
lis parted from her loving ai^l vir- 
tuous mother. This was done by 
tmlcT of the king, who, after many 
Ihtitlcss efforts to obtain a divorce 
imin Rome, had fijially made up his 
1 espouse Anne Boleyn in 
L of all laws to the contrary. 
A letter from Queen Katherine, vTit- 
icii ihortly after to Mar>% encourages 
ftcr to keep her mind ever pure and 
1(1 to cultivate assiduously 
les to which she had been 

iiimtii from her earliest years i 

• 

' r God/' says the queen, *Mhat 
1 daughter, oflTer yourself to him» 
» J!i. ftjn^ come over you, shrive your- 
'^If. first mnkc )^ou clean, lake heed of 
His commandments, and keep them »s 
«tru »s be will ^ive you grace to do, for 
ihtrc arc you sure amicd," 

It is dii^Bcult to read w^ithout tears 
her impassioned appeals to the king 
for jjcrmission to hasten to the bed- 
'Qiie of her dying mother — a peniiis- 
^on which it did not suit his plans 
jnd tho^e of his new adviser, Anne 
IjoIc)ti, to grant. Mary was not ab 
Wed to sec her mother even when 
Catherine, worn out by neglect and 
iH-uage, found peace and repose at 
list— that peace and repose which 
iiraits the afflicted in the cold em- 
bnce of die lomlh 

And now. torn fnom the home of 
ker childhood, with all its endearing 
«aie8 and tender recollectitms, she 
ns jjurrounded in her new abode by 
tmcongcaial attendants in ihe pay of 
tier : tortured with constant 

♦PI to sign papers which 

IjTafi i . , r noble mother with shame 
ui'l -r,i ttion, she suffered the ad- 
*li'' ,] li ; cry of being entirely in 
the puwcT of Anne Boleyn, her mo- 
tto's successful rival in the affections 
<i 1 She was bitterly perse- 

cut.- , lady. We do not know 



precisely what were the insults she 
heaped upon the unfortunate young 
princess, but they must have been 
terrible to bear, from the fact that 
when Anne Boleyn was making up 
her accounts for eternity, these very 
insults were among the misdeech; 
which, according to her own open 
statement, weighed heavily on her 
soul. 

Both before and after the death of 
Anne Boleyn, Mary*s attachment to 
the king her father was remarkable, 
and remained firm and unshaken. 
Indeed, after the death of Queen 
Katherine she seems to have trans- 
ferred all her affection to lier erring 
father She complained of no hard- 
ship so much as the restraint which 
kept her away year after year from 
the smile and the embrace of her fa- 
ther. She craved to be admitted t> 
his presence in the most tearful and 
endearing expressions. In one of 
her letters she states that she would 
rather be a domestic servant near her 
father during his life, than heiress t«> 
his realm after his death : 

" 1 inosi Imnibly beseech your hlghnc^* 
lo think that I would a thousandfold, more 
gladly be tUeie in the room of a. poor 
chambcrcr to have the fruition of your prc^ 
scnce, than in the course of nature phint- 
ed in this your most noble realm." 

The bluff king had treated the 
princess in her early days wlUi great 
affection, often appearing with her in 
public, even tenderly caressing her, 
and sharing her childish pasdmes; 
and he never at any time personally 
addressed her a harsh word. It is 
pleasing to have this trait to reconl 
to the credit of the wicked and fiery 
old tyrant, and it was but natural that 
Mary should attribute her sufferings, 
not to his want of feeling, but to the 
influence of Anne Boleyn and other 
evil advisers. Be that as it may, poor 
Mary was probably in the end tlie 
only being in the worid that really 



22 



Maryy Queen of England. 



loved Henry VIII. And thus we 
ever find that when a man has acquir- 
ed for himself by his crimes the scorn 
and hatred of the whole human race, 
there is a mysterious law of providence 
which will not allow him to be utter- 
ly abandoned, but which places near 
him some faithful woman who che- 
rishes him in her heart, and in spite 
of all the world beside has faith in 
him to the last. 

The events which followed from 
the death of King Henry VIII. until 
the accession of Mary to power, co- 
ver the period during which her bro- 
ther Edward VI. was on the throne. 
Her life was similar to that which she 
had led during the latter years of her 
father*s reign. She was annoyed and 
insulted on account of her religion ; 
but she did not meddle with state af- 
fairs, nor had she on other subjects 
any difference with the king. Ed- 
ward's private journal records a con- 
versation which passed between him- 
self and Mary, from which we very 
distinctly learn her principles, and 
the rule she had adopted to guide 
her conduct. 

" The Lady Mary my sister," writes 
Edward, "came to me at Westminster, 
where, after salutations, she was called 
with my council into a chamber, where 
was declared how long I had suffered her 
to have Mass said, in the hope of her re- 
conciliation, and how (now being no hope, 
which I perceived by her letters), except 
I saw some short amendment, I could not 
bear it." 

He added that she was to " obey as 
a subject, not rule as a sovereign." 
She answered that "her soul was 
God's, and her faith she would not 
change, nor dissemble her opinion 
with contrary words." 

Before his death, Edward VI. had 
become a mere puppet in the hands 
of the crafty and ambitious John Dud- 
ley, Duke of Northumberland. That 
nobleman contrived and set on foot 



the conspiracy which endec 
coronation of Lady Jane Gi 
had been married to his nephc 
ford Dudley. Either by craf 
lence he had obtained the s 
of the imbecile king to an ilk 
which disinherited not only 
tholic Princess Mary but j 
Protestant Elizabeth, and no 
the unfortunate Jane to the 
In spite of the wariness of the 
rators, Mary was proclaimed 
and was soon at the gates of 
with a powerful army, and tl 
wishes of all England enliste* 
cause. The Duke of Nort! 
land was among the earliest t 
don the queen improvised by 
bition. He personally pre 
Mary queen in Cambridge 
and tossed up his cap, while t 
down his cheeks. Dr. Sand 
chancellor of the University < 
bridge, who stood by, was d 
with such servility, and did i 
tate to give expression to 1 
tempt. The duke made the r 
ble answer, " that Queen Mai 
merciful woman, and that d 
all would receive a general \ 
The Duke of North umberla 
Duke of Suffolk, father of La- 
and that hapless lady herse 
soon afterward lodged in the 
of London. 

Mary made a triumphal er 
London, accompanied by h( 
Elizabeth. 

One of the first petitions p 
to the queen was by Lady ] 
mother of the Lady Jane, in 
the wrong-headed duke, her t 
She represented, with tears, 
was old and infirm, and that 1 
not bear the rigors of impris 
Mary at once granted his lil 
and made Lady Frances a lad 
household. One of her ne 
was to give a full pardon to t 
liam Cecil, Ix)rd Burleigh, wh» 



Mary^ Queen of England, 



23 



wr under Edward and a hypocrite 
Mar}', became prime minister 
;>eth and the bitterest enemy 
ul the religion which» by the dictates 
of her charity, had saved !iis guiky 
head fifom the block, Suffolk's par- 
don is recorded by the Protectant 
Bishop Godwin, who honestly calls 
V'^ wonderful instance of mercy," 
Ccars from some curious papers edit- 
ed by Mr* Tytler. The rebellion was 
brly quelled by the middle of J uly, 
1553, and the leaders secured by the 
Ead of ArundeL ** 1 1 required," says 
Stowe, " a strong guard to protect the 
> from the vengeance of the 
:./• The number of prisoners 
jmsaitcd for trial for high treason 
ns twenty* seven. When the list was 
pitsented 10 the queen, she struck out 
naoft than half the names, and reduc- 
ed the numl>er to eleven. Toward 
lies who had sought her crown 
in the hour when the raising 
"i tier finger would have reduced them 
aH to ashes, such was the conduct of 
X queen whom historians have loved 
to all the bloody Mary, 

Passing on through the acclama- 
tioiis of the pcdfjJe, Mary entered the 
Tower, where a touching sight pre- 
ficnicd itself to her and Uie brilliant 
procession which accompanied her. 
KDcdrng on the green before St Fe- 
t&^s church were the prisoners, male 
«ui female. Catholic and Protestant, 
tho had been detained in that for- 
&€&% under the reigns of Henry VII L 
ind Edward VI, There knelt Ed^ 
tarj Courtenay, the heir of the Earl 
of De\'onshire, now in the pride of 
mar' ' :y^ who had grown up 
fro sv ithou} education ; there 

»i^ V friend of Mary's, the 

»rti 1 ij chess of Somerset; there 

was the aged Duke of Norfolk, still 
mdcr sentence of death ; there were 
tiic mild Cuthbert Tunstall, Bishop 
[ the learned Stephen 
of Winchester, suf- 



ferers for the ancient faith. Bishop 
Gardiner pronounced a short address 
to the queen in the name of all 
Mary burst into tears as she recog- 
nized them, and extending her hands 
to them she exclaimed, " Ye are my 
prisoners." She raised them one by 
one, kissed them, and gave them all 
their liberty. 

Somerset the Protector, as we men- 
tioned, had persecuted Mary on ac- 
count of her religion. She now re- 
venged herself by taking the duchess 
his widow from the Tower, and mak- 
ing her a lady of the bedchamber, 
and her daughters maids of honor 
near her person. The heir of the 
Protector, an infant minor, was restor- 
ed to his rights, and the heirs of the 
three unfortunate gentlemen who now 
suffered with the Protector were rein- 
stated in their property. It should 
be mentioned here that the queen 
acted in this matter of her own free 
will, and that the followers of Somer 
set were zealous Protestants, 

The trial of Northumberland and 
his accomplices, of whom we have 
seen that eleven remained under in* 
die tment, took place in the beginning 
of August. Of tlie eleven, Northum- 
berland, Gates, and Palmer were exe- 
cuted; and they were the only tliree 
thus punished on account of the re- 
bellion which had for its object to 
give the throne to Lady Jane Grey. 
The Protestant Holinshcd affirms 
that Mary desired to spare the guil- 
ty and hypocritical Northumberland 
^' because of their former friendly in- 
tercourse." Her firm attachment to 
her friends was one of the good traits 
that distinguished the queen. He 
died, however, on the scaffold, public- 
ly protesting that he execrated the 
Reformed reh'gion, that he died a 
firm Roman Catholic, and that no- 
thing but ambition had ever led him 
to appear anything else. 

I'his is a convenient place to form a 



24 



fetry^ Quern of England 



dispassionate judgment on tlie history 
of the Lady Jane Grey, whose death 
has contributed to render Mary un- 
popular as much perhaps as any other 
event of her reign. Let us, however, 
turn from the pages of partisan chain- 
' pions, and glean the details of her 
melancholy story from documents of 
the period, brought to light chiefly 
by anti-Catholic editors. 

Lady Jane Grey*s reign was called 
the nine days' wonder^ for it lasted 
diat length of time. At the end she 
resigned, and was confined to the 
I'ower. The ambassadors of <^'harle$ 
V, urged the queen to bring her to 
trial, with her father-in-law Northum- 
bcrland, for *Mvhile that lady lived 
she could never reign in security, as 
the rival faction would seize the first 
opportunity to set up her claims 
again/' I copy her answer from the 
official dispatches of Renard, the 
French ambassador, as I find it trans- 
lated by several Protestant histori- 
ans. The queen replied " that she 
could not find it in her heart or con- 
Ncience to put her unfortunate kins- 
woman to death, who had not been 
an accompUcc of Norlhumbertand, 
but an unresisting instrument in his 
hands. As for ihc danger existing 
from her pretensions, it was but ima- 
ginar>% and every requisite precau- 
tion should be taken before she was 
set at liberty/' When the first parlia* 
ment met, a bill of attainder was 
passed on Lady Jane and Guilford 
f)udley, her husband. Lady Jane 
was brought to trial before tlie lord- 
chief justice at Guildhall, and receiv- 
ed sentence of death, in accordance 
with the ancient laws of England 
against treason, »*to be bunit on 
Tower liiU, or beheaded, at the 
(jueen's pleasure." The lYotestant 
(.^oilier says ♦' the queen seemed dis- 
posed to deal gently with this lady«^' 
and he mentions tliat she was allow- 
cd the liberty of parade in the Tower 



and of walking in the que 
den." It is stated in additiod 
was even permitted to wall 
on Tower Hill, The trut| 
the queen meant to liberate j 
get her, when it could be safe) 

Early in November, 1553^ 
attainted by parliament, Th^ 
of the rebellion were execH 
the whole matter allowed i 
and be forgotten, without anj 
mention o^ Lady Jane, until I 
8, 1554. It wa3 understoof 
that Lady Jane was to be p^ 

What, then, was the cauai 
fresli misfortunes ? Why, t]{ 
ferent rebellions against th4 
and life of the queen raged ( 
England- Taking for thei» 
the proposed marriage of M| 
Philip IL of Spain, and uq 
the elements of discord in t| 
doni, they pushed on the tidi 
war to the gates of London, j 
the eariiest of the instigaj 
this rebellion was the Duko 
folk, the father of Jane, and 
cles John and Thomas Greyi< 
men of their estates in Warwi 
ihey proclaimed the Lady Jai( 
again. Without their suppf 
those of their religious pj 
Wyat, the leader of another i 
tion in a different quarter of tht 
would never have been able I 
the palace of St. James at m 
The quecn*s bedchamber w| 
with armed men, her womea 
their hands and screamed arom 
mistress, many of her guards 
their horses* heads and fled to 
hall, darkness and heavy rain, 
ed the scene still more disma 
the cliargc of soldiery and X\\t 
ing of cannon increased the 
of til at terrible night. Amid 
roar and havoc of that suddc 
sioo, it is true that Mary j 
that she possessed the lion b 
her race, although she was foi 



Mary, Queen of England, 



n'thin reach of the arquebuses of 
ihe rtbds ; and to her heroic spirit 
*« Giving in great measure the suc- 
cess of her brave defenders. 

But Mary was a delicate woman. 
The reaction of the morrow found 
^er worn out and exhausted. On 
that morning, while she stood at Tem- 
pie Bar. upon the very ground satu- 
ratciJ with the blood of her subjects, 
her councillors rallied around hen 
They represented the hapless Jane 
IS the cause of the dreadful ordeal 
through which she had passed ; they 
pleaded that such scenes ** would be 
fitquent while she suffered the com- 
petitor for her throne to exist ;" they 
Jiraigned severely her policy, which, 
they argued, had encouraged the fac- 
tions to brave again the authority of 
ign; and while her mind 
Led by the danger through 
^\^j: ]u\d passed, she condemn- 
^lenard writes, her former leni- 
ty ai the cause of the insurrection, 
wd was induced to sign a warrant 
fctf the execution of »' Guilford I>ud- 
' his wife.*^ The queen gave 
hat the hapless pair should 
ued 10 see each other, and 
ery attention and kindness 
«u>wn them that their doom would 
JdmJt ; and tlie Lady Jane died pro- 
long that she was innocent of de- 
uping treason against the queen, 
iUcI that her guilt consisted in. not 
fwaitng the persuasions, the threats, 
the violence of the pretended friends 
tho had made her their victim. I 
kive given you an authentic state- 
3Scnc of an act of extreme justice, 
•likli we ^^-ould all wish to have 
«t!i iffnpeTned with mercy. It is fre- 
^ti' iced as a sufficient rea- 

»rj . .- title of a heartless ty- 
ant shoulii be applied lo Queen Ma- 
fy by those who bestow the titles of 
p>od, noble, and saint upon Henry 
•Dd Eli ^.o, to use the words 

rf* I. . historian, '* shed a 



pint of English blood for every droii 
that was shed under Mary," 

The three rebellions of which I 
have spoken were followed by the 
execution of sixty persons through- 
out the realm, including the Duke of 
Sussex, Thomas Wyat, and Lord Tho- 
mas Cirey, Of these fifty were sol- 
diers who were sent out under Cap- 
tain Bret against ^V'yat*s men, bin 
had deserted at the critical moment, 
and passed over to the ranks of the 
enemy, thus catising the loss of the 
queen's artillery and almost fatally 
increasing the defection against her. 

The balanfce of the insurgents wcne j 
disposed of as follows : Courtenay 1 
was pardoned and liberated ; Lord 
George Grey Avas condemned, but par- 
doned and discharged by the queen ; 
Sir Nicholas llirockmorton discharg- 
ed after a year's imprisonment; ancM 
the remainder, amounting to fourhun- 1 
dred of their followers, were led to 
the palace^ ^vith halters round their 
necks. Mary appeared on a balco- 
ny, pronounced their pardon, and 
bade them return in peace to their 
homes. Among those deeply impli- 
cated in this insurrection, and gene-i 
rousiy pardoned by the queen— alas ! 
that I should have to say it^ — we pos- 
sess only tou certain proof that we 
must number her sister Elizabeth. 

It is not easy to follow the order 
of time in dwelling upon the his- 
tory of the queen. I wish space 
would allow us to dwell upon her 
numerous acts of kindness and gene- 
rosity toward well-known Protes- 
tants, including the eccentric Ed-" 
ward Huntington, called othcrwis 
the Hot Gospeller; her prudence! 
and devotion to religion ; the brillianclj 
reception of the Pope's legate, Car- 
dinal Reginald Pole; the generosity 
of the queen, the Pope, and the priest- 
hood to the Protestants who held 
abbey lands and church revenues : 
the noble disinterestedness of Mary 



•'^A*rH 



^ 



in depriving herself of every jot and 
tittle of property appropriated by Hen- 
ry and Edward to the crown, and 
by her given back to the church ; her 
enlightened and maternal pohcy in 
doing aw^y with all taxes throughout 
the kingdom ; her brave Enghsh spi- 
rit in resisting French encroachments ; 
her protection of literature and the 
arts ; her numerous good qualities and 
royal traits of character. All this we 
must pass over, with the hope that 
there may one day arise some histo- 
rian who will have patience to study 
the truth of her history and the re- 
quisite courage to tell it forth to the 
world. 

There is an anecdote which de- 
serves to be mentioned in reference to 
the charge of despotisnij especially as 
the authenticity of it is admitted by 
her bitter enemy, Bishop Burnet. An 
ambassador of the emperor's brought 
to the queen a treatise composed after 
tlie fashion of Macchiavelli. the object 
of which was to teach her how to en- 
slave the parliament as King Henry 
had done» and make legal by the sim- 
ple exertion of her owti will the pun- 
ishment of her enemies, and even the 
re-establish m en t of papal supremacy 
and the restoration of the monasteries 
throughout all England, As the 
queen read this treatise she disliked 
it, judging it to be contrarj^ to her 
coronation oath. She sent for her 
prime minister, Bishop Gardiner, and 
charged him as he would answer at 
the day of general doom to read the 
book carefully, and give her his opin- 
ion. The day after happened to be 
Holy Thursday, and the queen, after 
washing the feet of twelve of her poor 
people, according to the old Catholic 
custom, received die bishop to hear 
his opinion of the MS., which he gave 
in the following words : •* My good 
and gracious lady, 1 intend not to 
ask you to name the devisors of this 
new-invented //i/j^/'w / but this I will 



say, that it is pity so noble and vir- 
tuous a queen should be endangered 
with the snares of such ignoble sycx>- 
phants; for the book is naught, and 
most horribly to be thought on/' 
Mary thanked the bishops and threw 
the book in the fire* Moreover, she 
exhorted the ambassador " that nei- 
ther he nor any of his rerinue should 
encourage her people in such pro- 
jects." 

In discussing the causes which have 
rendered the memory of Queen M 
so unpopular, we must not fail to mi 
tion her marriage with Philip, crown- 
prince of Spain, The national jeal- 
ousy and aversion to foreigners broke 
out in loud complaints, and finally in 
open rebellion, on account of this iU- 
starred and impolitic union. The 
liberty and independence of the coun- 
try, it was averred, were in danger, 
and the fact that the bridegroom was 
a Roman Catholic exasperated all the 
lovers of novelty and change, ^\'hen 
the Spaniard placed his foot on Brit- 
ish soil in the midst of a drizzling 
rain, and the English people gazed 
upon his cane-colored complexion, 
his head shaped like an egg^ his un- 
pleasant-looking sandy hair, and his 
gloomy expression of countenance, 
their aversion to him grew stronger 
than ever. Don Philip told his at- 
tendants in the Latin language tliat he 
was going to live among them Uke an 
Englishman ; but he was obsen'ed to 
stare at the ladies in a bold and d©* 
cidedly foreign manner. He also 
the tirst lime in his life drank soi 
ale, which he gravely praised as 
" wine of the country.'* 1 am soi 
to have to add, on the authority of a 
fashionable courtier and historian of 
the tirpe, that this ** wine of the coun- 
tr)'," assisted by the clammy weather, 
disagreed with his royal highness, am 
proved to be unequivocally disco: 
ibrting to his inner man. 

On ascending the throne of En, 



av^ 
lei^^l 



d©* I 

i 




Mary^ Queen of England. 



27 



land, Maf>*, a devoted Roman Catho- 
!ic found herself by act of parliament 
and the decrees of her two predeces- 
sor head of the Church of England, 
and was exhorted to continue so. No 
ooe understood the ridiculous position 
which she occupied better than her- 
selt .ind although she seldom indvilg- 
cd in a joke, she is reported to have 
pfoposed this vvitt)' question to her 
councillors : ** Women," she said^ ** I 
bvc read in Scripture, are forbidden 
to speak in the church. Is it, then, 
fitting that your church should have 
idumbhead ?^' She managed through 
tEc legal action of parliament to get 
nd of the dumb headship as soon as 
poenble. In the beginning of her 
frign %he promised that no-one should 
be molested on account of religious 
convnctians, exhorted the people to 
peace, and forbade the use of the 
- epithets papist and heretic, 
lilts ensued everywhere; the 
_ ministers and even bishops 
,. ... .:d Lipenly against the religion 
lod the sovereignty of the queen, and 
the Catholic clergymen appointed to 
pleach were insulted and even driven 
&om the pulpit by the fanatics. A 
dagger was thrown at a priest in the 
palpit in one case, a priest was shot 
U ia another. The council, of course, 
nwt these outrages by restrictive niea- 
iiffGi^ and even by imprisonment. 

fa 1554, Cardinal Pole arrived in 
EfigtaiKi, and on the 50th November 
pmnotinccd in a full meeting of both 
lioiises of parliament an absolution of 
tbe kingdom from die excommunica- 
Eion for heresy and schism, and de- 
it reunited to the communion 
iC Holy Catholic Church. Thus 
d stood again in the position 
pied before Henry's marriage 
'with Anne Boleyn. 

In ihc following year, 1555, were 
profDiil gated the laws against heresy, 
and hard times began for the reform- 
The place ot execution was ge- 



nerally Smithfield, where those con- 
demned by the bishops' court, or sen- 
tenced by the lord chancellor, were 
burnt alive* 

Lingard, who is by no^ means a 
panegyrist of Queen Mary, makes 
the number of persons punished un- 
der her laws for religious opinions 
amount to almost two hundred. Some 
Protestant writers say that they 
amountedj in all parts of her kingdom, 
to two hundred and seventy-seven. 
This is the highest figure given by 
Dn Heylin, by Foxe, Hume, Cobbet, 
and other Protestant writers. It is 
said more particularly that there pe- 
rished in the flames five bishops, 
twenty-one divines, eight gentlemen, 
eighty-four artificers, one hundred 
husbandmen, servants, and laborers, 
twenty-six wives, twenty widows, nine 
virgins, two boys, and two infants. 
Let us examine this list with some 
care. The death of the two Infants, 
and the affecting martyrdom of their 
mothers and a third woman in Guern- 
sey, w^as asserted by Foxe, but imme- 
diately in his own day it was contra- 
dicted and disproved l>y Harding. 
Foxe replied ; and his reply was re- 
futed by the celebrated Father Par- 
sons. ^* I have had the patience," says 
Lingard, ** to compare both, and have 
no doubt that the three women were 
hanged as thieves.*' In addition to 
this, we know that the magistrates of 
Guernsey w^ho condemned and execut- 
ed these women were tried for having 
done so under Queen Elizabeth, and 
were discharged by sentence of court 
as ** not guilty." As to the boys, they 
formed part of a gang of forward 
urchins who made game in public of 
the queen and Philip, her consort. 

Noailles, the French ambassador, 
a detected conspirator against the 
queen who maligns her on every oc* 
casion, affirms '* that she wished the 
life of one at least to be sacrificed for 
the good of the public," and Mr. Tyt- 



^ 



28 



Mary, Queen of England. 



ler says : " The truth is, the queen re- 
quested that a few salutary whippings 
might be dispensed, and that the 
most pugtiacious of this band of in- 
fantry might be shut up for some 
days; and that was all the notice 
which she took of the matter." The 
five bishops were, Cranmer, Hooper, 
Ridley, Latimer, and Farrar, con- 
demned in addition to heresy as lead- 
ers of insurrectionists, and repeat- 
edly guilty of high treason. At the 
very time that Cranmer was sentenc- 
ed, a recantation of his former here- 
sies, written and signed by himself, 
placed him before the court and the 
sovereign whom he had sought to 
rob of her crown and her life, in the 
light of a sincere and fervent Roman 
Catholic. 

Of the Reformed clergy, we do not 
know that any suffered except those 
whose zeal excited them to brave the 
authority of the law, and to induce 
others to follow their example. Hun- 
dreds of the ministers sought an ear- 
ly asylum in foreign climes. Par- 
sons has shown that many of John 
Foxc*s pretended martyrs were men 
of wicked and scandalous lives, 
others insane enthusiasts. A Pro- 
testant bishop, Dr. Heylin, acknow- 
ledges that these pretended martyrs 
were laughed at in Germany, and 
represents the mild and amiable Pro- 
testant Melancthon t* vociferantem 
martyres Anglicos esse martyres dia- 
boli" — saying, that is, "that these 
Enghsh martyrs were certainly not 
martyrs of God, whoever else might 
claim them." As an instance of 
Foxe's disregard of truth, we are told 
by Anthony Wolfe, a Protestant, that 
in Elizabeth's time there was a par- 
son who in a sermon related, on the 
authority of Foxe, " that a Catholic 
of the name of Grimwood who had 
been a great enemy of the gospellers 
had been punished by a judgment of 
God, and that his bowels fell out of 



his body." Grimwood was nc 
alive at the time when the s 
was preached, and in the cnjc 
of perfect abdominal health, bi; 
pened to be present in the chi 
hear it, and sued the parson 1 
famation of character. 

It must be remembered that 
Mary did not originate the la 
the punishment of heretics. Tl 
tutes of her reign which allowe 
to be punished for the crime oi 
sy were a revival of those whic! 
passed against the Lollards, or 1 
ers of the religious and politic 
former John Wyckliffe, in the 
of Richard H. and Henry Y 
was admitted by all, in th 
teenth centmry, that punishmeni 
burning at the stake, for the pre: 
of heretical doctrines, was p 
just, and godly. " The princi; 
toleration," says Mr. Tytler, " w 
we look to Catholics or Prote 
was utterly unknown. In tl" 
spect, Gardiner and Knox, Po 
Calvin, Mary and Elizabeth, 
pretty much on the same g 
The Protestants of Queen Mary' 
found no fault with her for pur 
heretics ; what they complained < 
that the men of their party sho 
considered as such." King ] 
VIII., according to the Protest* 
thority of Holinshed, executed < 
gibbet during his reign seven! 
thousand English subjects, an 
creatures, Cranmer and Croi 
put to death alike Catholics an 
testants. Numerous victims pe 
under Edward VI. Many hui 
of unfortunate Englishmen were 
during the long reign of Eliz 
for upholding that religion whi< 
had sworn to defend on the ( 
her coronation, and many Cat 
also were put to death undc 
successor, James I. As a pre 
the cruelty with which even I 
tants were treated by a Prot 



» 



Afff^., J'A£ix rf £KgJMmd, 



ire i: i.x? u.T zppczr zrjc sht va? 
«:in!r iruch ':»-aer nr idii:± v.nmst 
thur tbt zpe ir viDzt stu in*?!., ^"t 
hSA't s?£r ihn iffie -v-ii? L r-IliJi, 

£Z)£ IT? hL-it sbrvr ths: jfis? lu^i.-^d 

Ger tbt rexi» nf be: uon-Cxrbruir 

dsroae. Wt hEi-^ dvst np.it ih? 

LaCT Jznc Grcr, vhad: vn? fnrc^i 

the «»rh.*i ccodra^n cc ib* r-iu-s. 
We hzxt ccQsiiere^f ibt Ti^sa:^:: L^i 

aiiC i:iric»v£.:5c»ii, so nfr iz :bt sirr^^nr: 
ct^tun*. tDd adrentsi ::• ibe :rr:r=:- 
lEg eSti'.-is :.'r>f u'-t^ rj*-:*:: :bt j-iir-lic 
uBLid of tht EiiffMbh nirioii t-j ib* 
mzirlz^t <A tbeir cuttm id Pnlip II. 
of S;/ain, These circumsuDcts ^o 
far e;^o'j;L'h to expkia why the niUDe 
<^/f SI an' bhould be so TapopulAr ia 
Prote^tarit histories of England wiih- 
VJt havi,^|? recourse to the iheon* 
U;iit !>:ie was a phenomenon of fe- 
mai*: '^ejyra%ity, or a monster who 
t/yyk '!«:lj;iht in shedding the blood 
<A her f':Jlow-/;reatures, Three hun- 
dred )*'MJ^ have j/avsed since the 
north y inin: when she sat on the 
throne, and the day has surely come 
wlien f/raibe and blame should l>e 
dc'jlt forth with severe impartiality 
by the writer'> of her history. The 
hisioriaii has l>een called a philoso- 
ph*'r who leai.hcs by examples. Whe- 
ih«-r l'ro!«slJifit or ( 'atholic, his philo- 
v/phy will prove to be of compara- 
i»v«'ly litdr value to his fellow-men 
if Im- j/oi-n on the priiK iple of prais- 
inj/ rvi'fyboily who belongs to his 
pjifiy or <r<«-d, and blaming every- 
body who happens to l>e in the ranks 
tii Ihf o|i|iO'alion. The public doru- 
nienlM, stale papers, and private let- 
ters n?( eiitly edited by the Knglish 
antiquuricHp Sir Trcdcrick Madden, 



Sr Bemr Effis. Mr. Tyti 
jrnryTfc, canxxadict the popu 
zt yLsrys rharacter, and ^c 
Tmle^ 2ZkC xnsnr geneioixs i 
nine inis in a queen who 
pnEsacf'd as irmaAable for 
bic diriL and sanny passion 
vnr±T of Tcmaik that the 
viuch soie adopted for hersel 
her LKicDe was ihc sajring, 
nn-eDs tnnh.^ These word 
prrribs-rir which has been ful 
bsr owz case. 

0^»?=i Man- died on the : 
of N cnrdx^er 4- 1 55S- After 
TTpce-Tjfi the saaament of 
izjvticic:, Mxss was cdebratec 
dssc:^ ia her chamber. At 
virioc of :be haly eocharist, 
ec ber ejnes to heaven, anc 
beT>ed)CDo= she bomed her h< 
er;-i:>?d. 

He mb^ ^^ts Westminstei 
is g-uiied aincMig other v< 
iacn>c*rlais to the chapel of 
VII. There he is shown the 
place of twa great momen, 
rej;»resenut:ve and champion 
Catholic panv. the other of 1 
testant part}- of her age. 
scrip^tion is in Latin, and th 
marble table: which bears 
placed there by James I., 
Mar>\ Queen of Scots. It i 
follows : 

'* Partners in a throne and in 
here rest in the hope of resurrci 
sisters Elizabeth and Man." 

We may learn a lesson fron 
lustrious dead who sleep bent 
monumental stone. Howevei 
our zeal for religion, however i 
convictions of right, let us n 
guilty of word or action tow 
neighbor that we may have 
to regret at the hour of death- 
remember that according to a 
mony, human and divine, " the 
of the law is charity." 



and the Siij^/s, 



31 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASS IC» CHRISTIAN NOVEL. 



BV MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF 
"HARDING T^E MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



PART THE THIRD, 
CHAPTER I. 

(fLXT rooming, before the gray of 

f dawn began to kindle into sunrise, 
^hultis had completed with swinging 

its the distance between Cnspus's 

I End the camp outside of Formiae, 
ajti he stood before the Prsetorium 
of German tens Caesar exactly as the 
commander-in-chief lifted its curtain 

ff» and stepped forth, 

•To come with us, or not?" asked 
fimnanicus, smiling. 

'*To go with you, general," answer- 
ed Paulus ; '* but my mother and sis- 
rcT grudge me this one day, and as 
Tibcfius Caesar has made me a i>re- 
^t of tlie horse which I broke the 
"thff evening, and as an army travels 
slowly than a well-mounted 
al, w*i)l you permit me to fol- 
tot you to-morrow ? Before your 
v«ngtiard reaches Faventia (Faenza 
nnw), nay, before you are out of La- 
bium, I hope to report myself.** 

German icus mused. 
** Nny," said he, after a moment or 
tT?0, *'wait you at that Hundredth 
Milestone Post-house till you receive 
fehcT orders* You shall have them 
ttistiighL" 

Tlic commander-in-chief then slight- 
ly raiseii hh right hand, over which 
^ 4 it, bowed low. 

« , . ing» in the bower of the 
veranda overlooking the garden of 
^^us's inn, our hero was seated, 
0<H smoking as so many generations 
of r, ' rroes have smoked, and 

501,, iiS American heroes when 



at leisure think it necessary to whittle, 
but sedate and at his ease, listening 
to the occasional wise and keen ob- 
servations of the Lady Aglais, and 
the less sparing conversation, the vo- 
latile empty prattle of his sister Aga- 
tha. While they were thus occupied, 
a well-known step came up the stair- 
case from the garden. 

" Dionysius !'* cried Paulus. 

The visitor brought them news for 
which they had not hoped. Augus- 
tus, who had first resolved not to lis- 
ten to the suit of Paulus, had sudden- 
ly appointed a day for its hearing; 
and, moreover, it was agreed, by a 
sort of comity and indulgence, that 
Dionysius, although not a Roman 
lawyer, should be allowed to plead 
the case of his friend. Finally, the 
emperor himself, w ho, since the death 
of Msecenas, many years before the 
dale of our tale, had desisted froxa 
this practice, was to preside in court 
for the day {to use modem parlance) 
as a judge in equity. 

The wanderers were exchanging 
remarks of congratulation upon these 
important and unexpected tidings, 
when Crispus himself ran up the stairs, 
holding out a large letter fastened 
with the usual silken tie, and address- 
ed to Paul us. The handwriting was 
very delicate, and yet a little careless 
and easy, the handwriting of a man 
who, while accustomed to write more 
than the Romans of high station (ex- 
cept, indeed, the professed men of 
letters) usually did, could unite the 
despatch of much business with a cer- 
tain fastidious neatness even in trifles, 

Paulus went to the dining-table. 



Dioti and tJu Sibyls, 



and opening the paper, out of which 
tumbled a gold ring, read as follows 
by the light of the scallop-shaped 
laxip at the top of the tapering pole 
which flanked one of the corners of 
the board : 

" Germanicus Cxsar to Paulus Le- 
pidus -c'Emilius, the centurion, greet- 
ing." 

" He makes me a centur'uvi aireaJw'* 
said Paulus. 

The letter continued : 
" Do not follow the army directly. 
Go to Rome. Seek the house of 
Eleazar the Hebrew, near the lower 
end of the Suburra. Show him the 
enclosed ring, which he well knows 
as my signet, and demand of him the 
already stipulated sum of twelve mil- 
lions oi sesUrtti (twelve thousand scs- 
tcnui), which is the pay of forty thou- 
sand of my common legionaries for 
one month. I mean to issue a fort- 
night's pay as a bounty, extending it 
to all (centurions and horse as well 
as legionaries). Post nummos virtus. 
It would be far more convenient if 
you could bring this money to me in 
bronze or copper coin, the as ; but 
this will be utterly impossible; you 
could not fmd horsc»s to carry the 
load, nor a sufficient guard to convoy 
it. You must therefore make Eleazar 
l)ay you as much as possible in gold : 
for instance, in the gold scrupulufn^ 
each coin equal to five silver denarii. 
After receiving and reckoning the 
treasure, give him a written voucher 
signed with your name, and sealed 
with my signet. Pack the gold in 
strong iron chests or boxes; collect 
as a guard all the men you can of the 
fourth centuria, to which you are ap- 
pointed, and hasten, night and day, 
to join me at Fonim AUictii (now 
Kerrara), im the Adriatic Sea. lare- 
weil." 

Paulus determined to start at day- 
break up(m this imi)ortant and confi- 
dential mission, and, in order not to 



multiply leave-takings, he said ad£< 
to his family and to Dionysius thij 

night. 

CHAPTER II. 

It was about sunset in Rome when 
four persons of splendid stature, a 
trained martial bearing, and eminent- 
ly gallant appearance, sauntered along 
one of the principal streets. They 
loitered here and there at a portico, 
or paused under a covered colonnade, 
to swell the momentary groups who 
were watching some Sardinian jester, 
or who listened wth wonder to a so- 
phist from the Greek islands as he 
declaimed. Two of these four men 
—for whom, as they strode along, the 
rabble made obsequious room — were 
still in the physical prime of life, and 
two in the flower of early youth. 
They were all plainly but neatly and 
carefully attired, not in the toga, but 
in the sa^^tm ; for there was war in 
Italy;* and the Germans, everybody 
knew, were even now to be expelled 
beyond the sacred frontiers, with car- 
nage, and shame, and a great over- 
throw. Another impressive lesson 
was to be taught to all barbarians. 
The four men who wore the sagum 
were also armed, and some who not- 
ed them wondered why such men 
were there, and not with Germanicus 
in Venetia. (News had been whis- 
pered, indeed, that the irruption had 
come much nearer than llljTicum, 
and that the barbarians, swanning 
round the top of the Adriatic, had de- 
feated and dispersed the stationaiy 
guards, and were well within Italy 
proper.) 

It soon grew dusk, and one of the 
four, who, although the youngest, 
seemed to exercise a species of autho- 
rity over the rest, said : 

** Now let us take a look at our 

• Whenpver there was war in Italy itself, the 
Romans donned the sn^um. 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



y^ 



hen at our men, after which 

went into an aUey, threaded 
way through a dense, motley, 
ag rn til U tilde of roystering idlers, 
ition of which had once fer- 
Jear into a Julius Caesar, and 
they passed under an arch- 
'0 a courtyard strewn with saw- 
where all was comparatively 
creek, so to say, running 
Bigh sea into sheltering clilTs 

hand. 

jBy peered under a low porch 
ble lighted by lanterns, our 
uaintanLe, Philip the freed- 
me out with a dust-covered 
I face, and saluted respectful- 
iimgest of the company. 
,vc fine, strong Tauric horses, 
>aulus/* he said, pointing to 
can, well-littered stalls, ** dt- 
S^Janus^'* added he, turning 
he stall immediately opposite 

; 

these all we can obtain ?" in- 

ulus. 

and lucicy too, master Paulus, 
these/* answered the freed- 
4hey wanted forty nummi 
Lpair, but I chaffered them 

bit. This Rome is a nasty 

can tell you, and, between 

\ a dangerous place too." 
" said Paulus, with a serious 
we cannot mount the sol- 
must travel at an infantry 
ic vehicles cannot leave the 

ihind. However, where are 

Phdip ?^^ 
d by, master. I will conduct 
kcir Uiermopolia " {wine-shap : 
uriously enough, meant boo le- 
st at loner's). 

hereupon lead the way, and 

followed till just within the 
|d of tlie Suburra ; pushmg 
curtain, he introduced them 
street into what appeared 

len of raging maniacs. 

VOL, XI 1, — 3 



Ten stalwart men> dressed and arm- 
ed as soldiers, were seated opposite 
to one another on benches at each 
side of a long table, five a side. 
Earthenware vessels, called atpiE^ full 
of common draught wine {vinum do- 
Hare), loaded the coarse pine table, 
and each pair of soldiers ai)pcared to 
be engaged in a deadly strife across 
die board. It was who should best 
*' micare dittos y' Qi ^* flash his fingers/' 
The mtxi were seriously gambling in 
that ancient traditionary way which 
still survives in Italy under the name 
of ** morriiy^ a wonderful instance of 
the tenacious capacity which popular 
customs possess to outlive political 
changes, the overthrows of d}iias- 
ties, the revolutions of states and con- 
stitutions. The men thus gambling 
in the reign of Augustus Csesar roar- 
ed, grimaced, and gesticulated, as 
they exhibited on the one side, and 
guessed on the other, the number of 
lingers closed or straightened in the 
hands which they darted alternately 
against each other's faces \ and near- 
ly two thousand years later men still 
roar, grimace, gesticulate, and rave 
after the same manner over the same 
curious game in Italy, from Rome to 
the Boot of Magna Gra?cia. The 
only principle of skill in the game is 
that which gives its interest to the 
•' Odd and Even " of our modem 
schoolboys. 

It seemed as if the soldiers were on 
the point of massacring each other. 
The sudden apparition of Paulus and 
his companions at the door of their 
bower produced an amusing change 
of scene. Every gambler was petri- 
fied and crystallized in his particular 
attitude and his own proper and pecu- 
liar grimace ; but the yelling at once 
gave place to dead silence, as if by en- 
chantment, and ten pair of eyes gazed 
askance with a troubled expression 
upon the unexpected intruders, A 
word explained all to the foreign- 



34 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



reared Roman. Not a man of the 
howling -company was in the slightest 
degree intoxicated. 

" All is well, my men," said Paulus, 
with a smile ; " be ready for orders, 
night or day." 

"Ay, ay! centurion," was the re- 
ply sung out in chorus; and as he 
left them the roaring recommenced 
—''Duo! Quinqtu! Tres P' 

" Now for our many* said Paulus ; 
and they ascended the famous, or 
rather infamous, Suburra about thirty 
yards. They stopped on the left side 
of the street, going upward, at a door 
which a man with a pinched, wither- 
ed, yellow face, a long hooked nose, 
thick lips, and thick overhanging red 
eyebrows, was in the act of closing. 
Paulus placed his hand against the 
door to keep it ajar, the man within 
set his shoulder against it, and shov- 
ed with all his might to close it 
home; the door quivered slightly, 
and remained as it was. 

" Why, Cassius Chaerias," observed 
Paulus, laughing, and turning to one 
of the two eldest of the not elderly 
group, "you could cut your way 
through this door, even if it were clos- 
ed, more easily than through eight 
thousand infuriated mutineers." 
' In a recent mutiny of the legions 
under Germanicus in Gaul, the future 
slayer of Caligula had actually per- 
formed this astounding exploit, as 
Tacitus particularly recounts. 

Cassius Chaerias blushed, and slight- 
ly bowing, replied with a smile : 

" Our friend Thellus, here, who has 
left his tragic and thankless, although 
valiant, calling of the Arena, to join 
us amly-folk, even in the low rank 
of a decurion, could, I think, do more 
than cut his way through it Give 
him a cestus for his right hand, and 
\*ith one blow he would shiver it 
from top to bottom." 

Thellus said, addressing the fright- 
ened face within, " Dear old man, 



open your door, our leader Y 
speak with you, and we i 
harm." 

" Go away, brawlers !" an 
quavering but vigorous voi- 
is no thermopoiiay nor anythi 
sort." 

" Look at this," rephed P: 

The person within held u 
tern, and examined the objec 
ed toward him. 

" Oh !" exclaimed he. utter 
Hebrew invocation, unintcll 
his visitors ; " the signet-ring 
sar! Enter, illustrious sirs." 

And he held the door wi( 
his visitors entered. 

Having had occasion m 
once already to describe min 
architecture, form, appearan 
ture, and all the arrangen 
peo le's houses in that age 
not now either weary the r 
delay the story by dwelling : 
upon antiquarian particula 
in the present instance t[ 
something unusual, which s 
however, lead us into des 
it must be left to display itse 
tale runs on. 

Paulus noticed with surp 
the species of hall in wh 
stood seemed to lead nowher 
zar, meantime, shut and be 
house-door, took up his lant 
the ground, pushed back 
panel in the right-hand side- 
then led his visitors in a 
parallel to the Suburra outsi 
an internal passage lighted 1 
tary sconce. At the end of 
sage was a staircase, and at 
of this a door, half oi)en 
passed through it ; and Elcc 
ed and locked the door. 
but shorter passage in the 
rection was terminated by 
staircase and similar door ; a 
ing which they found them 
the real vestibule of the hous 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



35 



handsome, weJMighted by a hanging 
lamp, paved with tessellated marble, 
aiid nsing overhead into a concentric 
vault. Evidently, at some fomier 
"mt^ the entrance of the house had 
bewi Mrafghl from the Subuira into 
ihis vestibule. While indeed they 
waited here for the Jew, who was 
fastening the last as he had fastened 
the first door, the>' could hear distinct- 
ly the roaring torrent of disorder and 
nery in the infamous street 

'A mriously constructed house, 
ar,"* remarked to Paulus the decurioh 
Longinus, with a bewildered look in 
hii hantlsomc face. The Jew, who 
bad come back as this was said, 
' " d and observed, as he again 

w a\' : 
"If you lived in the Suburra, you 
«f>«lri like to make your house difti- 
lah to enter." 

Presently ihey arrived in a fine 
sjarious apartment, and beheld in 
the middle o^ it a table, on which 
»*cfe lights arranged so as to ilhimine 
1 loog lambskin scroll in characters 
new and strange to them, and a ve- 
nenbk aged man seated at the table 
tejiding over the scroll, andr stand- 
ing ai his side a young girl, who held 
iij f ' k some kind of oriental 
Ch . an end of which trailed 

along a jiile of cushions from which 
s6c had apparently risen, leaving her 
•Hfk (or a moment in order to look 
Jl a passage in the book at the call 
of die a|»cd reader. The latter was 
so ' ' 1 in his occupation that 
he It fir^t aware of the pre- 

>cuce of strangers ; but the child, 
^ho stood on the side of the table 
opposite the door, looked up and 
ga^ed with surprise at the four mar- 
t&al4i>oking figures who strode be- 
• T leazAT into the room. What- 
. ,' RfH-^/rment, nevertheless, of 
lU' -n might have been, 

: 1 astounded still ; for, 



truth to say, he thought he could 
never have beheld anything beau- 
tiful until that moment. The new 
comers having nearly reached the 
table, had halted, Paulus and Elea- 
zar in front ; and yet, even now, the 
old man, reading the scroll with his 
back to them, wms unaware of their 
arrival, for pointing with his finger 
to the page, he exclaimed in a tone 
eloquent with emotion : 

" And this w\irrior, this patriot] 
this glorious hero» this matchless ser- 
vant of the Most High, and champion 
of the people of God, this very same 
Judas Maccabeus, my grandchild, was 
my ancestor and yours — he belongs 
to our own line ! " 

*' Your line ; your own line," said 
Eleazar, in a harsh voice, and sneer^ 
ing, *' is to mind your business, or 
rather my business ; it is for thai I 
give you your bread, and not for 
dreaming over the Scriptures. Who, 
think you, is going to pay the small- 
est consideration to you or yourj 
grandchild because you are descend^ 
ed collaterally from the Maccabees ?'* 
At this bitter speech, bitterly spo 
ken, the old man, who, on the first 
sound of the voice, had turned round 
and risen, bent his head meekly, but 
yet with a certain dignity, o^ re- 
plied ; 

** I had finished the accounts you 
gave me. My grandchild and 1 are 
not asking for any consideration from 
you beyond what I earn. You need 
not remind us that a noble old race 
has fallen into poverty, Come, Es- 
thers- 
Wit h this he was retiring, but the 
young girl bur»t into tears, and nm- 
ning to her grandfather, taking his 
hand with one of here, and brushing 
her tears away with the other, she 
looked at Eleazar, and made the fol- 
lowing speech \ 

** You rude, cruel man ! you arej 
always saying shamefiil cruel word 



3<5 



Di(?n and the Sibyls. 



to my grandfather, because he bears 
everything. But I will not allow 
you to speak so to my grandfather ; 

I will not bear it any more." 

Here she heaved a little sob, and 
added rather illogicaily : 

"You ask who will pay grandfa- 
ther any consideration because he is 
descended from a glorious warrior 
and a noble hero ? / will !" 

Paulus. deeply interested in the 
unexpected interior drama which had 
thus suddenly been presented and 
played out before him, glanced at 
his martial comrades, and then said 
in a serious and kindly tone : 

** Without intrusivcness be it spo- 
ken, / will too. To be descended 
from a glorious warrior and noble 
hero is no small title to respect." 

The Httle damsel's countenance 
cleared at once into sunHght. 

"Well, well," said Eleazar, "I 
meant you no offence, Josiah Macca- 
beus. But go now and see to half 
the treasure^' emphasizing the last 
words. 

With a look of astonishment, which 
was not lost upon the observant Pau- 
lus, Josiah Maccabeus left the room; 
whereupon the young girl resumed 
her embroidery and her former place 
on the pile of cushions, and said with 
a sly glance at Paulus : 

** You have come, sir, I suppose, 
for the treasure which our master 
here, the Rabbi Kleazar, has got rea- 
dy for the army, because the ^^rari- 

II m Sdficitim won't have enough mo- 
ney for some months ?" 

** C*hil(l, child I" exclaimed tlleazar, 
•* who said I had the treasure ready ?" 

** You did yesterday, Rabbi— don't 
you remember ? — when our country- 
man, Azareel, came." 

" You mistook, Esther. You can 
run now, my <lear, and see that some 
refreshments be prei)ared for these 
honored visitors." 

During this short dialogue Paulus 



and his companions had their is d^ ^ 
good view oif the person to whoi:^** 
they had brought Germanicus Ca^ " 
sar's signet- None of them liked h£ ^ 
looks. 

" SuAjly," said Paulus, "you hav^^ 
the money ready ?" 

"It is, and it is not, honored sir- 
The greater portion I must receive 
from various persons who will not^ 
part with it except on better term? 
than those which the Csesar offered 
to me. J/v share, however, I will 
cheert'ully advance, as agreed." 

"We n-ill," said Paulus firmly, 
" either take the treasure with us this 
night, or we \*t11 take jvjy, in order to 
prove to the commander-in-chief that 
we have executed his orders, so far 
as we are concerned." 

*• But you will leave me my pro- 
fits," answered the Jew, "and give 
me, all the same, a voucher in full ?" 

\>'e will spare the reader the sort 
of argument which ensued. It has, 
in cases analogous, been repeated 
millions of times, all over the woild, 
for thousands of years. 

When all was setUed, servants 
brought in wines and dainty refresh- 
ments, and little Esther, with« extra- 
ordinary gracefulness of mien and 
language, pressed the visitors to par- 
take of the various delicacies before 
them. Eleazar forthwith prepared 
to produce the treasure. Attended 
by Josiah Maccabeus (who had now 
returned) as his scrivener, and by 
many ser>*ants, he first directed a 
large and massive empty chest of 
wrought-iron to be brought into the 
room. The chest ran upon rollers, 
or litde wheels of hard wood, which 
were deeper than the thickness of a 
couple of stout poles, braced hori- 
zontally beneath the chest, and pro- 
jecting beyond it at each end. The 
poles were thus kept from touching 
the ground. These poles, like those 
of a litter or " palkee," could be lift- 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



37 



ed and borne upon the shoulders of 
four or of eight men. 

The next operation was to count 
the twelve thousand ststtrtii^ or twelve 
millions of sesterces (equal to about a 
hundred thousand pounds stcding). 
And here it will be worth while to 
note the il\ct that the money was 
fldivcred in such proportions respec- 
tively of gold and silver coin — the 
mrtus nummiis^ or gold denarius, 
ivortli, I believe, a guinea; the small 
gdd scruple^ less than the value of 
a dollar, perhaps three and eight- 
peace; and, finally, the silver de- 
narius, equal to about ninepence — 
that the whole treasure rose to a 
my considerable and unwieldy 
weight. 
The operation of counting and 
J the rouleaux in the chest oc- 
die party almost all the night, 
ijihough they employed great dili- 
gence and a proper division of labor. 
Long before the task was over, little 
Esther had said farewell to the com- 
pany; but ere doing this^ she stole 
toward Paulas, stood on tiptoe, and 
Jtaching her hand to bis shoulder, 
lignified that she wished to whisper 
iomething in his ear. With a kindly 
sraile, the t£iU youth stooped, and 
with an important and serious face 
the child whispered. Cha:rias was 
the only one present who observed 
this little operation; the two other 
comrades of Paulus were bending 
oifcr the chest and packing it ; the 
Jew Elcazar was handing the rou- 
leauJt to Longinus and Thellus; 
while Josiah Maccabeus, Esther's fa- 
ther, was busy with the stylus and a 
Ufge slated ike tablet. Chjcrias per- 
ceived, when the whisper was finish- 
ed, that Paulus looked for a moment 
ftiHy as grave as the young girl 
Paulus patted the girl's head, and 
thanked her, upon which she bound- 
ed awiiy to tJie door. Arrived there, 
ihc tumc<l round, and, still directing 



her conversation to Paulus, whose 
appearance and manners had evi- 
dently much interested her, said 
aloud : 

" Are you going to the war, sir ?'' 

*' Yes," said he. 

** I thought," pursued Esther, ** that 
you might have come back soon ;'* 
and she heaved a slight fluttering 
sigh. 

** You are very good, my little 
lady/' replied our youth : " but some- 
times people do return even from 
wars, do tliey not ?" 

'* Oh ! ye^; my own ancestors often 
did. But I thought you might re- 
turn sooner still ; because Rabbi Ele- 
azar said that the persons w'ho took 
the money from this house were not 
the persons who would take it home 
— that is, to where it was bound, 
and that is to the war. But it seems 
you are to take it all the way. My 
grandfLither does not know what I 
have just whispered you,'* added she, 
returning, and speaking in a lower 
voice; ''shall I tell him before all 
these persons ?" 

" On no acamnf'* answered Paulus, 
in a whisj>er ; *' it might lead to an 
immediate struggle. 1 have formed 
my owm plan. Fear nothing, my 
go6d antl kin<l little !ady ; I am safe, 
I believe, and I shall never forget 
yaur 

At this assurance, and the empha- 
sis with which it was spoken, a sort 
of crimson fell like a light over Es- 
ther's face; she stood musing for a 
moment, and said : 

""rhen 1 will wait up for grandfa- 
ther, whose room is next to mine, 
and tell him, as he passes, that I have 
mentioned the facts to you. Fare- 
well !" 

She now withdrew altogether, and 
Cassius Chasrias, who had, in spite 
of himself, overheard a part of the 
singular antl mysterious conference, 
gazed hard at Paulus. But the lat- 



38 



Dion and tJu Sibyls, 



ter stood, with his eyes bent abstract- 
edly on the floor, calm, impassive, and 
impenetrable. Chaerias could gather 
nothing to solve the enigma. 

By hard work the reckoning and 
the packing of the treasure were fin- 
ished considerably before daybreak; 
whereupon Paul us received the key 
of the chest, and gave in exchange 
to Eleazar a receipt in full, signed 
with his own name, witnessed by 
Thellus, Chaerias, and Longinus, and 
sealed with the signet of Germanicus 
Caesar. 

A sneering and malignant expres- 
sion in the Jew's face struck Paulus, 
and the Jew saw that he saw it. 

" You can't remove this now," 
said the Jew, composing his features 
with ner\'Ous rapidity. 

" No," said Paulus ; " and we 
have had fatigue enough for one 
night. There are couches and cush- 
ions in this room ; we must trouble 
you to tiu-n it into a sleeping apart- 
ment for the next four hours, and 
to leave us the key." 

In ten minutes the numerous at- 
tendants had made all the arrange- 
ments requisite for this purpose, and 
Eleazar, taking up a lamp to retire, 
said, in a tone of sentimentality, in- 
tended for sentiment : 

" 'J'his is a memorable chamber, ho- 
nored sirs. Here Julius Caesar, time 
and again, held wild orgies in his 
boyhood. Here Catiline and he, 
and a numerous convivial band, of 
whom Caesar was much the young- 
est, played many a strange prank." 

" What !" cried Paulus, in amaze- 
ment ; " Caesar frequent this quarter 
of Rome! Caisar live in the Su- 
burra !" 

" Certainly," quoth Thellus, yawn- 
ing. 

" When a boy, yes," observed 
Chaerias. 

" This was his very house in those 
days," pursued the Jew. " My fa- 



ther, who was one of the m; 
sands of my nation brought 
hostages from Jerusalem by 
the Great, often told me thr 
seen Julius Caesar more thai 
the room we are now stai 
Pompey, of course, had seh 
wealthiest families to carry a 
my father lent money over 
again to Julius Caesar." 

"Was your father," ask 
rias, with a sneer, " ever pai< 
he paid, I pray you, by th 
gus of that convivial crew ?' 

" Not till after the battle 
salia," answered Eleazar, " 
deed he had long ceased tc 
the money. It was, howe 
paid, vaHant sir, and the in 
it was paid also." 

" Ah !" returned Chaeri; 
hem of the garment was wi 
the gannent, I wager." 

The Jew here moved to 
door. 

** Before you go, good 
said Paulus, " give us anotl 
esting piece of informatior 
taking this treasure from yo 
am I not ?" 

" Yes, most honored sir ; 
ver)' like it." 

" Why did you say I shoi 
take it to its destination ?" 

" 1 say that ? Never !" 

" Your scrivener's grands 
told me that she heard you 
it was not those who took tl 
from here who would take 
destination." 

Eleazar's active mind was 
quick enough for this abru 
gency ; and he certainly lool 
than usually ugly before he 
But recovering himself, he s 

" My scrivener's little grar 
so bright that she catche 
lights upon the numberless 
a whimsical, myriad-faced, 
mond-like intelligence. Wb 



Dion and tlu Sibyls, 



39 



cd was, that those who took the mo- 
ney from this house would be only 
(he messengers of those who were to 
lake it to its destiniition," 

Aji<i u'ith this pretty bit of semi- 
oriental rhetoric, he bowed and left 
them, 
A ctirious quarter of an hour en- 
^ hen til e four emissaries found 
Jves at last alone* 
iaid Paulus, *♦ I want some sleep ; 
ici U5 lake our several couches, and 
pjtpare for to-morrow." 

*♦ This Jew has provided us,*' ob- 
served Chaerias, ** with really good 
wJTic; none of your vbuim doUare. 
Before we sleep, one cyathus round !" 
While Cassius Chairias poured out 
fnnr yiurtions of the wine, Paul us 
A his eyebrows, Thellus his 
vi'.p^uicrs, and Longinus the deturion 
looked upon the operation with an 
ve countenance. When they 
-h drimk their respective mea- 
wcs, Cas*iu5 Chaerias turned up his 
Siigiuai, and bared his right arm. 

**That is the ann," said he, " which, 
Ust year,* cleared a road for me, with 
the filiort Roman sword, through 
ii«1s of opposing mutineers. 
Longinus — try akms! !" 
he planted his elbow on the 
- - _nd seized in his right hand the 
readily -offered left hand of the decu- 
Scvcre was the struggle. The 
itra] vein in each man*s forehead 
Sme out into view ; their lips were 
compressed j tlieir feet were steadn^d 
»ngly upon the floor; their shoul- 
quivcred, and — after a doubtful 
period of nearly three minutes — down 
iriih a crash went the knuckles of 
Longintis upon the elm table. 

^ Now for the next," said Chaerias. 
" Do you mean to challenge me /" 
qooih Paulus. 

** Even so,'* said Chaerias, with an 
Amicable nnile. 

hm tluic4lt«»Dl<ni of tiro or ifiree ycftnt« with 
iJN IklaloTbii c&o reproach Uic novelist. 



The ensuing struggle was much 
morS severe than the last. Cassius 
Chaerias was considerably older than 
Paulus; but Paulus had been trained 
in the Athenian Rincraiia^ and it w as 
impossible for the energy and muscu- 
lar power of Chaerias to break down 
the scientific resistance of his youth- 
ful opponent, nor could Paulus pre- 
tend to bend back by main force the 
mighty arm of the famous centurion. 
Indeed, Paulus had, throughout, a 
downward but yet an unconquered 
arm. Again and again ChiCrias threw 
his whole vigor into the effort, pant- 
ing ajid gasping; and each time Pau- 
lus, who had never opened his lip^ 
during the struggle, smiled at the end 
of iL 

" You cannot do it, can you, Chas- 
rias ?** cried Thellus, who also was 
smiling. 

"Well, scarcely/' said Cha^rias; 
** in fact, I cannot. But you would 
be just as powerless.*' 

A laugh met this, that was not un- 
like the laugh witli which Paulus, a 
few days before, had greeted Clau- 
dius's jianic-stricken deprecation of 
being selected to break the Sejan 
horse. 

** As powerless !" cried the ex-gla- 
diator ; *' why, you have had the bist 
of it against our chick here; who, 
when he comes to his plenary powers, 
will have the best of it against us all 
But you are speaking now to Thellus 
— 1 may have gone into a wrong call- 
ing, or, \{ it be allowable, 1 may yet 
have rashly chosen it ; but, once upon 
the sands, I have walked them a 
king — give us your hand, and hold it 
up if you can." 

Cassius Ch»'erias — brave, handsome, 
youthful, and vigorous — seized the 
mighty hand proffered to him, and 
found his own arm instantly bent 
powerless back upon the table. 

" I would not do that;' said Thel- 
lus, " to young master Paulus, our 



A 



40 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



present leader, for a hundred thou- 
sand sesterces. He must meet — he 
has to meet, alas ! the mortifications 
of life ; but I do not want to be, in 
his case, the early vehicle even of the 
least of them." 

Paulus bowed to Thellus, and said, 
smiling : " I have known a few al- 
ready ; ' and it would be no shame to 
be beaten by you in vigor, valor, or 
skill." 

Chaerias rose, stared, frowned, and 
laughed. He marched up and down 
the room once or twice, and then ex- 
claimed : 

"Why, Thellus, what an infernal 
establishment the arena must be! 
Such men as you ought not to be 
sucked into that kind of vortex." 

Thellus, though smiling, heaved a 
sigh. " Come, friends," cried Paulus, 
moving to the centre of the large 
chamber, " enough of pastime. We 
have work to do. Sit round me here, 
in the middle of this room, while I 
tell you something. Walls, you know, 
have ears." 

Forthwith his three companions 
brought cushions, and placed them 
near the settle which he had set down 
in the middle of the apartment, and, 
sitting before him, waited for his com- 
munication. 

"Yonder beautiful grandchild of 
the uncanny-looking Jew's poor clerk 
or scrivener," said Paulus in a low 
tone, almost a whisper, after a mo- 
ment or two of reflection, " not only 
made one or two singular disclosures 
in the remarks you all heard, but 
whispered to me a very serious fact." 

Here Cassius Chnerias, whose curi- 
osity had been already much spurred, 
appeared the very embodiment of 
attention. But all were keenly at- 
tentive. Paulus pursued : 

" Learn, then, that in this queerly 
built or queerly arranged house, there 
is, at this moment, a crowd of men 
of dangerous and debauched appear- 



ance, and doubtless of de 
disposition; some of them, 
Thellus, men who have been 
arena. Nor is this all. The 
conu-ades outside, watching < 
soldiers." 

Longinus uttered that low-w 
ed whistle by which some xt 
press the cool appreciation of 
den calamity. 

" Twelve millions of sesterc 
friends," continued Paulus, " 
many men hereabouts an obj 
great interest. I am certain t 
are to be attacked on the ro£ 
yonder chest is to be taken fr( 
While here, or in Rome, fii 
Jew's own safety is our hosta| 
next, Lucius Piso's governmen 
city will be our safety. Bu 
we are on the road, the Jew 
lates on a part of the booty a 
ward for betraying us, to be { 
of the robbers themselves — wl 
looks to recover the whole 
and interest for it all the sam 
the yErarium Sanctum, in the 

" We have twelve good h 
said Longinus, " and might c 
the villains." 

" So will they have horses," a 
ed Paulus, "and no iron c\ 
wagon to clog their pace ; the 
of a column is the speed of its i 
part; and then what can fc 
men do against seventy ? Y 
aware that the army, except s 
ary Praetorians and an Urban 
of which Lucius Piso would m 
us a man beyond the walls, ha 
north ; and there is not anotl 
dier to be found at our disposa 
Rome. What advice do you 

The conjuncture was obvioi 
rious. They had ^^ tried anh 
play ; they were now to try ^ 
earnest. 

Paulus's counsellors advise 
course and another, i. To u 
but the diflliculty would wai 



Dwn and the Sibyls, 



\ 2. Ta send to Ger$nanuu$ for a iarg- 

\ er €tiOfi : — ^but time pressed, and the 

treasure was wanted by Germanicus 

at once, 3, T& anrwunce that thry 

LflMcnf /^ be mrt, twenty miles from Rome^ 

Wk^m&re siyldiers — or, thai they would 

start the day after the next at dawn^ 

7vhrreas they should start early the 

nigkt t>efare ; neither of these plans 

^ouid avail, for they would be too 

closely watched. 

These were the devices of ready and 
wdl-cxercised, but ordinary soldiers, 
Paulus shook his head smiling, and 
then gave his orders, whit h his com- 
n*les soon felt were fraught punico 

** After an hour or two of sleep," 
said he. ** wc will roll and carry tins 
^heel-chest straight down to our sta- 
Mes. 'ITiere we must lock ourselves 
ui with old Philip. We will then 
aB<t there unpack and empty the 
'test : the gold we must next repack, 
ttb«t we can, in some corn-bags, to 
' rjj under several of the many 
and trusses of hay which we 
tUiJit carr\' for tlie use of our horses 
fothc road, cording the bags rough- 
tjTi but strongly and securely. We 
iKittX, when this is done, unpave a 
ftflian ef the stable^ and mixing the 
stones with rubl)ish to prevent them 
faro rarthng when shaken, we must 
ttfpack the chest with that sort of 
GFtasure. To get stones from any- 



where else outside the stable, and 
convey them thither, would excite 
first attention, then curiosity, and 
fmally a suspicion, if not a sure in- 
ference, of our whole design. After 
these measures we will set out, leav- 
ing Philip to keep possession of the 
stable, and to prevent any person 
whatever (who might notice the dis- 
placement of the paving-stones) from 
entering it for a couple of days; 
which time past, he can follow us. 
'l*he chest is one, you perceive, which, 
without the key, would take iron 
crowbars many hours to break open, 
and steel saws as many to bite through 
— the lock being both cunning as a 
lock and the strongest part of the 
whole fabric. Our pursuers will not 
think of crowbars or of steel saws ; 
and the key J will fling into the first 
water or wood we meet after start- 
ing. When we are overtaken — or if 
we be^ — ^you must at first make a 
show of fighting, and leave the rest 
to me." 

His three companions highly ap- 
]>lauded this plan, and they and heJ 
lay down on cushions round the* 
chest, one on each of its four sides, 
to take a short and very necessary 
slumber. They soon awoke, and be- 
gan to execute, point by point, the 
scheme of yuung Paulus Lepidus 
jCmilius, 



TO BE CONTINUE-D, 




Tlie Charities of Paris. 



THE CHARITIES OF PARIS. 



It has often been said that New 
York is the Paris of America; nor 
are there points of resemblance want- 
ing to warrant such a statement. 
Her merchants are cosmopolitan in 
trade and in nationality; her Cen- 
tral Park is deserving of mention 
beside the Bois de Boulogne; and 
her public buildings, churches, edu- 
cational establishments, and private 
residences are all gradually becom- 
ing assimilated in architecture and 
decoration to those of the French 
capital. 

Her social life also partakes of the 
characteristics of Paris more than any 
other city in America. And, finally, 
the charitable institutions, legal and 
otherwise, which are so rapidly in- 
creasing in our midst, give us reason 
to hope that in the process of time 
the Annual Report of our Commis- 
sioners of Charity will find a worthy 
place by the side of that of the " As- 
sistance Publique." 

The facts in the report for last year 
are certainly encouraging. Twelve 
hospitals, furnishing beds for 4,076 
persons, and subsisting at different 
periods of the twelve months 21,558 
persons, besides 3,600 more at the 
nurseries; over 17,000 out-door sick 
relieved at the " office " by the physi- 
cians, and 708 others at their homes; 
51,320 persons relieved in money, 
fuel, and other necessaries, to the 
amount of 11156,810.07. To which 
must be added the Free Labor 
Bureau, which, in the first seven 
months of its organization, has pro- 
cured employment for 11,013 females 
and 3,965 males — neariy 75 per cent, 
of the applicants ; also the Nautical 
School, which instructs in all the mys- 
teries of navigation over 200 of our 
New York boys, who would, other- 



wise, join the non-producing, 
bond class of the population. 

If a comparison with the 
charities of Paris, of which an 
lent synopsis is given in the 
des Deux Mondes^ the facti 
figures of which we intend fire 
use in the following pages, sh 
large balance against us, it ou 
serve only as a greater inceni 
our citizens and legislators. 1 
vision of the city into eleven it 
districts, to each of which a 
cian has been appointed, n 
time lead to the establishment 
sociate houses of relief for th 
which the Commissioners a 
hint at as necessary, and whicl 
proved of such immense uti 
the French capital. 

In our number for February, 
an exhaustive article appeared 
ceming the charities of Paris 
mediate relation with the Cj 
Church and sustained by her f 
children; such as the work < 
prisons, the faubourgs and th 
diers, the Sisters of Charity (ni 
ing ten thousand), the Society 
Vincent of Paul, that of St. I 
Regis, and the Little Sisters - 
Poor, the Friends of Childhoo' 
prentices' Patronage, and the ] 
nal Associations. Aside from 
" there remain.s, even in impioi 
worldly Paris, an effect produc 
the Catholic religion in former 
and sustained even now by a 
supply of force from the same 
which places it in a much nearei 
imity to genuine Christianity th; 
other great city in the world." 
above quotation is intended to 
the charities which we j^ropose t( 
out, as is evident when we rec. 
sentiments of religion which im 



The Charities of Paris. 



43 



sonmiy of the 8,287 benefactors who, 
since tijc days of Philip Augustus, 
arcinscnbetl on the books of the hos- 
pitals. 

IL Du Camp tells us there are two 
caujics which chiefly concur to bring 
about llie great amourjt of indi- 
gcna* absorbing die vast cli^rities of 
Paris. The one, geographical and 
Miiiucet! by the climate. Material 
life is more expensive, and conse- 
quently harder, than in the milder 
wuth of France, w^here hunger, if 
aot appeased, is at least lessened 
bnhc high temperature, where more 
flrunk than wine, and where 
less danger to health from 

- in the open air. The otlier, 
iioral, and springing from the 

I'ient nature of the Parisian, 
«iiu t'xj often hves thoughdess of 
twmorrovv, wasting in one night the 

- of a week, and making no 
ij either for a growing family, 

i/rthc idle days when work will have 
ctasedt or for the always serious 
dttnands of iUness. 

The 'direction of such chanties as 

tcfc considered an element of public 

iccurity, and which were to be dis- 

pcTacd nglit and left, without regard 

(0 cillier political or religious creed, 

ira* primitit'cly vested in the Hotel 

Dieti, governed by the chapter of 

Xoutr Dame; but by a decree of 

>Uy J, 1505, parliament transferred 

ill ' \ rights to a lay-commis- 

Jbc^ sed of eight notables 

lod magistrates, and which, some 

Jftan later (1544), became known as 

tfce •* poor-commission." The mem- 

watched o%er not only the hos- 

b and supplied the wants of the 

L^ general poor also, for 

it ihey were authorized 

t&ntisc tajccs. So stringent was this 

ur tliat any citizen who sought to 

orade it was fined four times the 

amaimt rei^uircd (decree of January 

l'5» *S7<)' Confiscation of tempo- 



ral possessions w^as the penalty of 
non-compliance, even for religious 
communities, as we see by the 
laws of 1596 and 1602, when ex- 
acting fullilment of a poor-law 
(15S6) by which all were required, 
each day at noon, to deposit the re- 
mains of their soup and meat in one 
of the twenty-seven large poor-pots 
placed in the principal streets. 

In 1650, the Archbishop of Paris 
w^as added to this poor-commission, 
then composed of the president and 
councillors of parliament and the cour 
iksattii'S ; nor was the routine of otiice 
or labor changed for a century. In 
1791, amid the storm and outbreak 
of the lirst French revolution, Mou- 
linet, Dumesnil, Cabinis, and the 
other individuals appointed to ad- 
minister the wreck of public charity, 
although men of science and of a 
certain capacity, were une«iual to the 
arduous task. Successive famines, 
scarcity of money, the almost abso- 
lute ruin of so many wealthy families 
and institutions from which abundant 
alms, food, and shelter had been thus 
far dispensed with commensurate 
liberality, and the general chaos pe- 
culiar to that extraordinary epoch, 
all rendered it impossible to foUow 
any determined plan. Men and 
measures changed day by day : the 
administrator of to-day was the a|>- 
plicant of to-morrow ; the funds hith- 
erto considered sacred to their object 
were lessened by repeated plunder- 
ings ; and the patrimony of the poor 
diminished rapidly under the pre- 
tence of** liberty, equality, fraternity," 
Revenues were obliged to be sacri- 
ficed in order to meet urgent de- 
mands, real estate almost given away 
to f>rovide food and sustenance, the 
hospital t)uildings necessarily neglect- 
ed, and the general administration, 
to say the least, extremely inopera- 
tive. I'hat the entire hospital system 
did not succumb was almost a mi-. 



The Charities of Paris. 



P 



racle, and its condition was pitia- 
ble enough when M. Frochot, Pre- 
fect of the Seine, , gathered up the 
dispersed and compromised elements;, 
which he succeeded in moulding to- 
gether into a new organization. 

Upon the remarkable report which 
he made to the consuls, a decree 
was issued the 17th January, 1801 
(27 Nivose, An IX.), creating a gene- 
ral council and an administrative 
commission for the hospitals, to which 
was subseqnendy (19th April, same 
year) added the administration of 
liome charities. And this system 
was in \ngor until the entire reor- 
ganization under the present title of 
** Assistance Publique," after the re- 
volution of 1848. The constitution 
adopted at this latter epoch, wishing 
to avoid recognizing a ilaim to work, 
did not hesitate to make assistance 
Mi^aimy, " Society furnishes assist- 
ance to abandoned children, to the 
infirm, and to old persons without 
resources, whom their tamilies tan- 
not support." In the presence of 
this formal declaration, the consular 
organization became insufhcient, and 
the whole institution was remodelled 
by the law of the 10th of January, 
1849. The general council of ad- 
ministration was superseded by a 
council of surveillance, and the exe- 
cutive commission by a responsible 
director-general. 

It must be acknowledged that the 
centralization of all hospital power 
in one hand has been most excellent 
in its results. By assuring unity of 
action to a multitude of services, it 
permits their concurrence toward a 
single purpose, to vivify benevolence, 
and to regulate it, so to speak ; distri- 
buting no assistance without prior 
knowledge of circumstances, and in 
a measure proportioned to the re- 
sources at hand and the various 
wants to be relieved. The head- 
quarters of the *' Assistance *' are^ 



since 1867, in a large bull 
ing a triple front on the Avej 
toria, the Quai le Pelletier,i 
Place of the Hotel de Ville. 
forms a most active ministry^ 
neither applications nor occt 
must be manifest to all wi 
that it %runs" (to use an ea 
Americanism) eight genera 
tals, seven special hospitals : 
three for the treatment of sc 
children in the country^ {at 
sur-mer, Forges, and La Kd 
yon), ten asylums, thrc« hou- 
treat, twenty bureaus of ch, 
fifty-seven houses of relief, 
thfe, it presides over all 
rendered at homes, is gu, 
lost or helpless children, and 
a corps of 6,338 agents, t| 
whom belong to the medii 
All come to it wlio, in the g| 
of Paris, are hungry and i 
or who in any wise find a a 
in compassing the necessitia 
beset them. It is an ubiquito^ 
of Charity, healing wounds 4 
via ting miseries, according | 
measure of its forces* I 

And these forces, w^hat ai 
Whence the revenues, the ^ 
purse, which fur so many d 
has required public laws for] 
pensation } Slowly and g| 
has been accumulated the I 
which to-day represents the! 
of Louis VI 1. (whose bequei 
ministers) as truly as that of | 
man who remembered it in I 
of yesterday. Some of the J 
are whimsical enough. Thi 
non of Noyon, in 1199, \ 
houses, the income of whichl 
be used, on the anntversarf 
death, in furnishing whatevi 
the sick might desire. Philip 
tus gave all the straw supplie* 
palace for litters* Besides { 
money, effects, and legacies, 
kings granted privileges whiC 



The Charities of Paris, 



45 



in their time, of no small benefit. 
Bus, Philip IV. (130S) granted, and 
John II. (1352) confirmed, the right 
10 a basket of fish and other provi- 
sions from the vehicles at the Halles. 
Philip VI. (1344) allowed the ga- 
thering of fagots in the royal for- 
ests, antl also exempted from the 
t of entry-dues, from lodging 
, and from chancery dues, 
to hnc, from a multitude of conces- 
sions, some of which sound queer 
enough to modem ears, we note that 
ijf Charles IX. (2gth January, 1574), 
^tijmitting the Hotel Dieu to invest 
thousand livres at the usurious 
) of twelve i>er cent. 
Donations were encouraged by all 
possible means, and even indulgen- 
(ts wepe grajUed by the popes to en- 
the charitable work. Seve- 
rs of this nature are extant, 
tiie veracity of which cannot be call- 
ed in question, as they bear the great 
lal of the Hotel Dieu, namely, the 
i;tK>d shepherd carrying the lost 
«h*ep; two stars shine above his 
head; while an oak dropping acorns 
tt the image of fecundity. Above 
liic figure are the fleur-de-lis and 
tisc mscnptioo, Sigillmn imiuignttia- 
mm thm^ts Dei Iltnsitttsis. 

TI1C bed of the Bishop of Paris, or 
of 1 <^non of the cathedral, belong- 
ed to the H6tel Dieu ; and, as luxury 
gradually introduced rich and sump- 
U10U8 furniture, the law was on several 
oc3casions invoked to decide between 
the legal heirs and the hospital as to 
what and how many mattresses, cover- 
bds, hangings, etc., should or should 
not be included in the customary 
bequest. Parhament in the case 
oC Fran<;ois de Gondy, Archbishop 
(i584), decided that all the accom- 
(iinyings must go with the bed to 
Ihc I Intel Dieu. 
At the period of the Revolution, 
egate revenue of all the 
bUshments of benevolence 



amounted to 8,087,980 livres, into 
which, however, we must not forget 
how many official hands were dip- 
ped between 1788 and 1801. Not- 
withstandmg the many legacies of 
the past fifty years, the sum is much 
smaller to-day. By the most recent 
official documents, it appears that 
the " Assistance Publique " represents 
an income of 3,247,600 francs; in 
addition to which are 673,258 francs 
attached to special foundations, mak- 
ing the total amount 3,920,858 francs. 
Of this amount, 1,686,340 francs are 
fixed revenues, 458,832 the result 
of investments, ancl 1,102,428 come 
from state funds. There remain the 
special foundations of which we must 
take notice^ because of the respect 
ahvays due to those who both pity 
and alleviate suflering, Montyon, 
whose name is sure to appear when 
there is question of beneficence, be- 
queathed the annual sum of 281,630 
francs for the relief of convalescents 
after their discharge from the hospi- 
tal. Erezin, an old workman, who 
made his fortune as a metal-found- 
er, was desirous that those who con- 
tributed toward his abundance should 
share in its fruit, and therefore donat- 
ed the annual sum of 190,233 francs 
to an asylum for invalid founders. 
Lambrechts, a senator, left an asy- 
lum at Courbevoie, and an income 
of 48,093 francs, for the assistance 
of Protestants, Pourlard, an uphol- 
sterer, dev^oted 20,804 francs a year 
for a retreat for a dozen old and in- 
firm unfortunates of his trade. De- 
villas, a rich merchant, exacted that 
the 31,000 francs yielded annually by 
his bequest should provide 35 sep- 
tuagenarians with a home at Issy. 

Such legacies as the above are not 
held, but rather administered, by the 
** Assistance." 

Besides the above amounts, we 
must further speak of 6,366,87 2 francs, 
of which 940,000 are received in 



4<5 



The Charities of Paris. 



payments at the asylums or hospi- 
tals; 3,808,388 from sales made at 
the general establishment, to be sub- 
sequently noticed; 1,184,434 paid 
by the department of the Seine to- 
ward the care and treatment of stran- 
gers; besides 442,050 from the same 
for the support and clothing of chil- 
dren. All this, however, forms no 
actual income, as it is but a series of 
actual reimbursements. There are, 
however, serious amounts received: 
from pay patients at certain hospitals, 
the sum of 238,550 francs; from the 
grant of a portion of the public bu- 
rial tax, 203,000 francs; from the tax 
on the monts-de-pidt^, 750,000 francs; 
and, finally, 1,750,000 francs, coming 
from the poor-tax at theatres, con- 
certs, and balls. 

This latter tax, now disputed be- 
fore the courts, found its origin in a 
decree of Louis XIV. (January 25, 
1699) declaring that a sixth part* 
" over and above what is and what 
shall be charged " shall be given to 
the general hospital.* A subsequent 
decree of the 4th of March, 17 19, 
more fully explained that the tax was 
to be an addition to the ticket price, 
and to come, therefore, from the spec- 
tator's pocket and not the manager's. 
Swept away in the deluge of 1789-90, 
a law of the 7th Frimaire, An V. 
provides " that there shall be collect- 
ed one d^cime per franc over and 
above the price of all tickets during 
six months." This was annually re- 
newed until 1809, when it was inde- 
finitely renewed. It was again con- 
firmed in 1864, where article 2d of the 
decree of January the 6th says, " The 
impost in favor of the poor continues 
in force." It is not so long since the 
posters of the Comedie Fran^aise 
announced : " Boxes, six francs, sixty 
centimes ; Parquet, two francs, twenty 

♦ The frenerml hospital, at this period, compris- 
ed *' I-a Pitirf, Bicfitrc, La Salpctrierc, Les EoUas 
Trouvfe, and the Scipio House." 



centimes. The smaller sums 
poor." The tax used former 
paid at a separate window, 
facilitate ingress the manage 
directed to collect the whole 
count for the tax themselves 
session once obtained, howev 
decline to refund, and, protest 
the tax is unjust, they seek re 
law! 

The total receipts, then, of tl 
sistance Publique " amount 
considerable sum of i3,204,28( 
and yet fall far short of the \ 
quisite for this immense avo 
fact, the ordinary expenses, f 
and calculated from the exp 
of centuries, foot up 23,. 
francs, leaving, between inco 
expense, the terrible gap of i o," 
francs, which therefore becor 
share to be furnished by the 
Paris " officially," in carrying 
high and important mission.* 

In addition to the above, < 
the ministerial bureaus has 
provided fund for distributic 
an average of 70,000 petition* 
lief (most of which are favon 
ceived) is annually made to 
ministration of the imperial 
We must indeed conclude th; 
than 40,000,000 francs are ; 
ly absorbed in the alleviation < 
sian poverty.t 

And yet, if Chamfort were 2 
day, he could write as truly ai 
own times : " Society is comp< 
only two classes : those wh 
more dinner than appetite, an 
who have more appetite than c 

♦ In an article on the church in Fr 
Paris, in The Catholic World for 
1869, the amount dispersed by the a 
of Paris in charities in 1866 is given at 
lions, and a disparaging remark is ma 
inadequate relief thus afforded. The fa 
above, showing io,6ot ,747 francs as the of 
of 1869, prove cither that the previous • 
was erroneous, or that the municipalit 
been unwilling to increase its efforts in 
ble a direction. 

t One banker alone is in the habit of 
ally buying and giving away 30^00 brca 



Thi Charitits of Paris. 



And the conclusion of the ** Assis- 
tance Publique " would remain : 
" Wkitcver may be done, the dinners 
will never equal the appetites, which 
art too often insatiable/' 

The "Assistance Publique" has 

establishments of its own, whence it 

ftmviiies all that is required for its 

innumerable wants. These 

■1 a wine-cellar, an abattoir at 

, 3 pharmacy, a general mer- 

c depot, and a bakery. 

The bakery is near the Rue du 
Fer-i-Moulin, in a house built by 
Sci|no Sardini, an Italian trader of 
the mgn of Henry III, As early 
UA 1612, this large building was used 
a^a depot for the poor; in 1622, we 
6nd if an asylum for old men; in 
1636, the plague-stricken sought and 
^i»d refuge within its walls. In 
1656, 1,ouis XI v. appointed it as the 
le bakery, although space 
o have been reserved within 
its Trails for indigent women and un- 
fflairicd mothers as late as 1663. In 
1^75, tl was restored to its primitive 
lac, Hfilh the addition of an abattoir 
md a CHflndle factory. At the begin- 
Dmg hf this century, it was again un- 
tfef the hospital administration, and 
in 1S49 a steam bakery* was erected. 
A ninety *five horse- power engine sup- 
|)K» Ihe w*orking force to a fine ftve- 
r \ '.h mill. Up to 1856 the 
I- chased outside, but now, 

cments being completed, 
J ' J rchased, and stored in the 
nsi and well- ventilated granaries un- 
til it is required to be ground. On 
rbc lower floor is the bakery proper, 
a sixteen horse-power engine 
f^»?ht and day to operate the ten 
Ilea ding- troughs, and the 
i workmen have to ma- 
thor long- handled shovels with 
\y and perseverance in order 
•o (bed the ten large ovens, whence 
tPcniy or twenty-five thousand kilo- 
tu)c& of good bread are daily 



drawn. This is delivered, gratuitous- 
ly of course, to the various hospitals 
and asylums, etc., and for pay to nu- 
merous other public institutions and 
colleges, besides the halls and markets 
of the city. 

Well-fotinded objection is made by 
visitors to the excessively disagree- 
able odor arising, as inspection prov- 
ed, from an innumerable army of 
roaches, which issue from the walls 
and crevices of the building and 
swarm about like a veritable plague. 

The central pharmacy, formerly 
connected with the Hospital for Lost 
Children, has been since 1813 in the 
ancient Hotel de Nesmond, on the 
Quai de la Tournelle. The entrance 
is ordinary, and the building, although 
extensive, offers nothing worthy of 
peculiar remark. Here are stored the 
vast supply of medicaments required 
in the many institutions of the " As- 
sistance," The appearance is there* 
fore that of an immense drug-store \ 
the predominant odor, that of ether. 
Enormous jars, filled with liquids 
of all colors and every conceiva- 
ble flavor, carefully stopped, are 
methotlically arranged on shelves 
which extend quite around the vast 
hall ; baskets standing ready for de- 
livery exhibit enormous rolls of plas- 
ter of various sorts, and little pots 
of various shapes carefully done up. 
There are sticks of Calabrian licor- 
ice and bundles of the root ; tempt- 
ing and offensive looking unguents; 
phials with crystals of ioduret of po- 
tassium, looking like crushed or cut 
sugar; bottles of the oil of sweet 
almonds, resembling liquid gold; can- 
tharidcs, pomades, etc., etc. In a 
reserve cabinet, under lock and key, 
and in charge of the steward, or 
** econome," are the more dangerous 
medicines, forming an extensive dia* 
Ijolical armory; among them are ar- 
senic, cyanuret, opium, strychnine, 
morphine, digitaline, curare, and nux 



48 



The Charities of Paris. 



vomica, in their various glass prisons^ 
and along with them we find the 
odoriferous musk, which is frequently 
kept among poisons^ and is not un- 
usually given in certain forms of ner- 
vous complaints. 

Elsewhere the display is more in- 
viting, as large open-mouthed sacks 
exhibit an abundant stock of herbs ; 
the dull-red corn-poppy, transparent 
^lichen, camomile, wormwood, sage, 
[lint, rosemar}-, and all the precious 
and powerful families of the mint 
tribe; hellebore and daturas, cassia, 
bitter coloquinth, saffron, and vale- 
rian : one would say, all the simples 
of nature collected here* On the 
tirst story is a room where careful 
analysis and scientific experiments 
precede the acceptance of any medi- 
cinal agent whatsoever. Here arc 
also drawers from floor to ceiling, 
canjfully labelled with the name of the 
contents, mostly drugs but seldom 
used, or whiijh reiiuire to be kept from 
light and air ; the names of ergot, 
henbane, and flower of wild genet 
tatch the eye in passing. Although 
remodelled as late as i8i2,itis a most 
curious study to run over some of the 
ci^balistic names which graced the 
medical practice of our ancestors. 
Sang de bouquin, crabs' eyes, harts- 
horn shavings (replaced by phosphate 
of lime), red coral, vipers' poudre, and 
even wood-lice. This last pretended 
tliurctic is at last spared to man, and 
given only to horses; so progress 
most desirable has certainly been 
made. 

The laboratory is in constant activity. 
SarsapariJla, antiscorbutic, gum, and 
other syrups are in constant process 
of manufacture. Steam-driven appa- 
ratus cuts licorice, crushes almonds, 
and extracts oils. The busiest me- 
chanism, perhaps, is that which labors 
night and day to reduce to mea! the 
immense quantity of linseed required 
for cataplasms* In the court-yard 



stand, like wine*barrels, larg 
vesseb filled with flowern 
water. j 

Before the immense dis'ij 
difticult not to experience \ 
of respect for the city of Paril 
like a good mother, thus cari 
sick children, I 

The central store, or gencl 
chandise depot, is in a new] 
near the Salpetriere, on the B| 
de I'Hospice. It has taken i 
of one which had been dej 
1793 to spinning flax ani 
Employment was thus giveai 
six hundred poor women, } 
little result, however; for 
material was brought from i 
vinces to be spun, carried baf 
to be woven, and then reirai) 
to be sold. The expense ^ 
and the profit naught, while! 
rity was susceptible of \m\^ 
every way, Certain portio^ 
building (otherwise famous o^ 
cient dwelling of the Sisters 1 
rity of Notre Dame, where } 
Scarron sought retirement | 
to becoming anonymous (3 
France) were used as a dcpol 
ding and other stores. The 
edifice contains all that was \ 
and wanting in the old one* 
priate rooms are devoted to I 
age of whatever is or may be | 
thus we find a large collei 
oils, dried vegetables, etc. ] 
brooms, dusters, shovels, and| 
helps to neatness have thej 
while beds, commodes, m| 
tables, chairs, furniture for (| 
make a prominent display* < 
utensils and table-ware, som^ 
for ordinary use, otliers nicer, 
ing porcelains and cut-glass, 
ing patients, present an uj 
front on one side, while an i 
stack of crutches and oihcr % 
for physical infirmitit^s oppf 
further progress on the oth^l 

1 



The Charities of Paris, 



49 



gallery IS devoted to blankets, cotton 
iftd woollen coverlids, sheets, night* 
(inesses, and caps, reserves of old 
linen to be made into lint, material 
hi shrouds, etc* An opposite one 
exhibits clothes for men and women, 
single articles, or complete outfits from 
tap to shoes; even little wardrobes 
for the newly bom, which so often 
finds itself ushered into tlie great i)0- 
verty-sirickcn world of Paris without 
ntjy pro\4sion in its behalf, save what 
IS 10 be found at diis generous step- 
mother's store-house, These litde 
wanlrobes consist invariably of 

;?:;^J Bands. |^g,7}shcc.s. 

13 Muslin caps. 
3 CoUon wai:»(s. 
4 Culico wrnps. 

Thtre are also workshops where 
great numbers of girls cut, sew, and 
tnm witli ceaseless energy the mate- 
nil supplied by die watchful super- 
intendents. The hair, which is to 
lonn mattresses and pillows for all 
thehouses of the " Assistance,*' is both 
IJided and made up on the premises, 
thus giving much practical charity to 
Iboee whose needle brings them sus- 
teOAOce. Aged and infirm dwellers 
at the Salpctriere, whose fingers do 
iwt yet refuse to work, give their help 
towird preparing lint, which consumes 
not only all the old linen supplied 
fawn the numerous institutions, but 
ilso an extra supply usually bought 
U the military and *other depots. 
There are about 144,000 metres 
(156,000 yards) of bands and com- 
pcisses ann\ially made and carefully 
Tolled here, showing tlie activity of 
the establishment* One small hall is 
fievoted wholly to the exhibition of 
iples or models of each and all the 
cts and articles supplied 
ic multiple wards of die 
jce Publique," 
Indigent populadon of Paris is 
vciy numerous, but it is only since 

VOL. Xll, — 4. 




1829 that any positive, or rather sci- 
entific, c*stimates have been had as to 
its extent. At that time it amounted 
to 62,705 out of a population of 
816,486, showing the large propor- 
tion of I to 13. The prosperity of 
the first years of the reign of Louis 
Philippe reduced it in 183S to i in 
15. Famine, however, and insuffi- 
cient measures for its relief, raised it 
again in 1847 to 1 in 14 (13-99), there 
being 73,90 1 paupcrsout of 1,034,196 
inhabitants. In 1S61, we find the num- 
ber apparently larger, being 90,287 ; 
but diis was not actually so, as the 
annexation of suburbs had raised the 
population to 1,667,841. The real 
proportion was less, dierefore, being 
1 in 18 ; and the same was the case 
in 1866, being about i in 17* The 
records of 1869 show assistance given 
to 129,991 poor! 

That the wants of such a vast num- 
ber might be systematically provided 
for, a thorough organization was of 
course necessary. The one actually 
in use dates from the first Revolution, 
when a special commission, appoint- 
ed by law, organized " bureaus of 
charities " for the various quarters of 
the city (then fort)^-eight in nuraber)A 
each actijig in its own limits, under 
the direction of the general .adminis- 
tration. In 1 81 6, these were super- 
seded by twelve, one for each arr<?n- 
iiissement ; later increased to twenty, 
one being annexed to each mayoralty 
of the capital The members are the 
mayor, ex officw^ and his adjunct, 
tw^clvc administrators, a number of 
commissioners and ladies of charity, 
proportioned to the poor of the sec- 
tion, and a secretary- treasurer, who 
acts as responsible agent for the cen- 
tral administration. Each arrondisse- 
nient is divided into twelve zones, one 
for each administrator, on whom it 
rests to decide what and how great 
shall be the assistance in each case. 
The prefect of the Seine appoints the 



TIi€ Charities of Paris, 



doctors and midwives attached to 
each bureau. None have a right to 
assistance save those whose names 
appear in the official registry or ♦* con- 
trol" When an appeal is made, the 
ailministrator has to visit the appli* 
canty also a commissar}'' and a doctor, 
and a report is then made to the 
council, which meets every fortnight. 
If rt is favorable, the name is written 
upon a yellow or a green card, as the 
assistance granted is temporary ox per- 
mantnt. 

Temporary assistance is ordinarily 
given to the wounded, the sick, cases 
of childbirth, nursing mothers if des- 
titute, abandoned children, orphans 
under sixteen, heads of families hav- 
ing three children under fourteen, 
widowers or widows having two young 
children ; but charity often steps over 
these limits, noting, however, that the 
assistance always ceases ivith the mo- 
tive which induced it. Permanent or 
periodic assistance is different, as it is 
reserved to cases where infirmity or 
age absolutely precludes labor. From 
the age of 70 to 79 years the old re- 
ceive 5 francs a month j increased 
then to 8 francs, it becomes 10 at 82 ; 
and at 84 years 12 francs until death. 
The blind, paralytics, epileptics, and 
those suffering from cancerous com- 
plaints are also recipients of from 5 
to 10 francs a month, which modest 
sura does not exclude from receiving 
tickets for bread, meat, or clothing 
also* The number permanently as- 
sisted in 1869 was 6,982, of whom 
there were 455 paralytics, 917 bltnd, 
1,345 octogenarians, and 4,265 sep- 
tuagenarians. Another class likewise 
permanently cared for are the unfortu* 
natso who» having all the sad require- 
ments for admission to the hospital, are 
yet rejected for want of room. 1 o such 
em annual pension, knowTi as the '* hos- 
pital assistance," is given, of 195 francs 
per annum for women, and 253 francs 
for men. The year 1869 shows 710 



women and 427 men, or 1,135 
to have been recipients of thf 
worthy charity. 

As the resources of these 1 
of charity depend on individua 
they are more or less variable 
the result of a few legacies, bu 
especially of the quests made 
commissioners and danus de 
at the official request of the 
The sum total of 1869 thus ol 
was 906,926 francs, 94 cent,, ] 
whole city, the richer quarters 
of course, much more abuti 
than the less favored districts, 
the * Quartier de I'Opera ' ga^ 
288 francs, while Vaugirar< 
scraped together 13,889 francs* 
aggregate would, of course, be 
inadequate to the work, were 
for the general administration 
" Assistance Publique,'* which ( 
the work 500^000 francs in mofl 
684,123 francs, 60 per cent., ia 
A reserve of 450,000 francs is all 
as an extraordinar>^ fund frora 
to equalize as far as may be rul 
ry the resources of the differe 
reaus. Each year an average j 
for each indigent family to be 1 
isestimated: in 1869, itw^as 50 
50 centimes ; and each bureai 
receives a supplementary sum t< 
a determined minimum. Las 
345,301 franca were required 
reserve fund for this purposCg 
of which went to about ten 
poorest arrondissements. The 
amount distributed in money 
fects was 2,436,351 francs, 5^ 
times ; and yet. while the poore 
ter could with the general assi 
only attain the average (50 frai 
centimes) with great dif^icultyj 
of the richer districts went as h 
1 15, I iS, and even 127 francs H 
poor family. 

Even this latter sum, it will 
jected, is but a paltry amoimt 
year, and cannot keep a 



The Charities of Paris, 



51 



the luost abject misery : this is nn- 
(iouLletily true, yet it is not intended 
bvthe '* Assistance Publique *' to sui)- 
\\^ itrnmei to all who ask it. The 
object to be attajned is, fortunately, 
much more simple and less difhcult, 
ihit is, to aisist individuals momen- 
tarily embarrassed, to help laborers 
over those occasional intervals when 
work fails, and other similar cases. 

A dose study of the special popu- 
lation which recurs n^ore or less re- 
gwlariy to public and private charities 
lilt convince almost any one that it 
rt/nr/f rather than/?rA' its wants; and 
the experience of all administrators 
w, that extreme circumspection will 
nul always prevent this sacred trust 
from being deceived and robbed. 
How many times are not bread-tick- 
ets fold and the proceeds spent in 
dhnk! How often are nieat-tickets 
^orth from i franc to 50 cen- 
.L*pt until several will cover the 
apenseof a fine beefsteak anci a bot- 
tle of wmc \ Such cases are of almost 
daily occurrence, yet they are not not- 
cdi as it is far better to be deceived a 
humired times in matters of charity 
than to mistake once. 

Each of the twenty bureaus has 
umier its immediate direction one or 
wmA houses of assistance; the 
nmiiber in all being 57, and the lo- 
eidan being dependent on an intelU- 
gctvt estimate of the extent and the 
poverty of each quarter, as well as its 
ptsculiar wants. The Thirteenth Ar- 
rcmdis£senient finds need fur four of 
tJicsc houses, while the Ninth (that of 
tiic Opera) calls for but one, because 
ili riches more than neutralize its po- 
Ttny. I'hese houses are marked by 
ifi«g arid an inscription, and a visit 
to OJic will do for all, although the 
pkns are not wholly identical. They 
are in charge of those admirable wo- 
nicn^ always to be found at the bed- 
fc-ft ' ick and by the craille of 
ihi ued: their delicate hands 



soothe every wound, and their very 
presence seems an antidote for every 
ilh Long known and loved by the 
people, who call them *' the little sis- 
ters of the poor," and the " gray sis- 
ters," they belong to the congregation 
of Lazarists, so well known to travel- 
lers, founded by St. Vincent of Paul, 
and their legitimate name is Daugh- 
ters of Charity. They are here in a 
position, created, as it were, for them, 
near the sick, who always claim them, 
and in proximity to the rich whose 
almoners they are. 
^ The house is marvellously neat, foi 
the only vanity of the good sisters is 
to have utensils bright, and floors 
almost dangerous from scrubl>i ng 
and polishing. The linen -room, 
w^hich would make our most careful 
and thrifty housewives jealous, be- 
trays but slightly the sm(*li of the lye, 
always corrected by orris-root or 
some other aromatic concealed behind 
the shelves. The stock has to be 
extensive, as they loan bed-linen, 
towels, even chemises, to such as are 
in need, and they are numerous 
enough. Sheets are changed once 
a month, and chemises once a week, 
if they are produced, but it is not vin- 
frequently necessary to seek thcni 
even at the pawn-sh()p. There is a 
good supply always on hand of warm 
clothing, flannel shirts and skirts, 
w^oollen stockings, drawers, etc. In 
one house I saw an imposing array 
of men*s and women's boots, shoes, 
and gaiters, second-hand, which one 
of the sisters had made in order to 
be able the better to provide for her 
proteges. 

There is at the entrance a large 
hall, filled with benches, while a sui- 
table fender prevents children from 
burning their clothing against the 
comfortable stove. Here the sick 
gather two or three times a week to 
consult the doctor, whose punctuality 
is prompted by the fact that many 



I 



The Charities of Parts 



of his patients have to leave their 
work to seek his advice. Each one, 
i\% he enters, exhibits his poor-card, 
which gives a right to gratuitous me- 
<!icine, or» if their names are not on 
the book of control, to consultation 
only; yet but little attention is paid 
10 this rather arbitrary regulation. 
The prescriptions given by the doctor 
lire of three different colors: ivhiteiox 
those visited at hoaie,_>r/.l>ay for those 
Vf'hose names are inscribed, ^x%(\fink 
for those not on the books. In this 
latter case» a letter from the secretary 
requisite to obtain the medicine pre- 
scribed is never refused. 

Curious pathological cases arc very 
rare; rheumatism, anaemia, accidental 
wounds, etc, are more ordinary. A 
frecjuent description of illness on the 
fun of ignorant applicants, who can- 
not distinguish chest from stomach 
or lieart from lungs, is that they arc 
*^sick all over.*' To many baths are 
ordered, taken usually in the neigh- 
boring establishments, whose pro- 
prietors are reimbursed at the bu- 
reau ; more frequently some simple 
treatment is given^ easy to follow 
and not less salutary than more com- 
|*licated potions. There are often to 
l>e seen here old " rounders,*' who 
know all the ordinary prescriptions 
liy routine; they usually complain 
of general debility, difficulty of diges- 
tion, and assert most humbly that 
they have no more strength than a 
chicken! If the doctor, who knows 
his customers well and is up to all 
flicir tricks, turns a deaf ear, they 
generally add in a most convincing 
lone that they think a good dose of 
" wine of quinine " w^ould do them 
g(X»d. In ninety -five out of one 
liundred cases, it Ls some drunkard 
who has no longer wherewith to buy 
his glass. The bitter drug, harsh to 
the lips, rough to the palate, yet 
serves them as an illusion : execrable 
to othen-, to them it is better than 



water. ^Fhat made in the Pal 
ral pharmacy is prepared 
coarse wine of the south of 
which gives it a higher flavor, \ 
than that of Scguin prepar 
Madeira, or that of Bugcai 
Malaga. So extensive is its t 
35,221 litres -were given out 
houses of assistance alone lai 
Next to this in demand is c: 
rated alcohol, or spirits of ci 
Almost as burning and as s 
vitriol, this liquor, so sickenirl 
odor, is eagerly sought for, r 
the expense of self-inflicted 
and ideal pains in the limt 
when the small phial is obts 
is mixed with sweetened wa!: 
drunk like brandy. One ll 
nine hundred and six litres 
were delivered, not one-qua 
which, certainly, served for ' 
nal application." 

Women outnumber the i 
consultation, many of then 
ing little ones marked widi tfi 
fula, or with even worse re 
paternal debauchery. One 
but pity those little faces, 
jjerhaijs with sutTering, yet 
apparently to drag out a 
existence^ perhaps impotent, ( 
miserable. ** Fancy a moth| 
young, light hair and mild bli 
yet with discolored lips and a 
ciated face, written all over vv) 
fering and privation ; in shd 
of those figures we see sculpl 
our cathedrals of the twelfth e 
when every one seems to hal) 
lean. While showing her titi 
w^ho seems scarcely able to I 
,so weak is it, she replies to n^ 
tions : * How old are you ?* * 
four years.* * Have you otht 
dren ?* * Sir, 1 have ten/ * (J 
votre mari?' With indistindl 
and eyes suffused with tears, i 
swcr came, * Des cnfans/ Tfc 
ical reply in its very naive bt 



d 



The Charities of Parts, 



expressed m much misery and sacri' 
Ucc, such hopes deceived and such 
intense despair, that the doctor in 
itiendance," sjys M. IJu Camp, who 
uJls the case, ** and I, looked at each 
otliLT as if we heard the revelation 
of a dreadful crime. As she rose to 
depart, a glance showed that a new 
brother was soon to join the elder 

From the experience of these in- 
fitituuonsj the ungallant deduction is 
made that so long as woman is not 
absolutely checkmated and overcome 
Ly age, she remains a coquette! 
The doctors assert that, food or no 
Ibodi they roust have their chignon ! 
Many whose medicine obtained at 
the Ijouse of assistance is apparently 
i matter not of relief, but of very 
mtenancc, yet find means to procure 
tlkcir box of pomade and a pamiier. 
llicir drmands are insatiable: ihey 
mast have tillcul to make them sleep, 
ujTJoraile for their poor stomach, 
wine of quinine to support them, and 
lynip of gum for their thirst. The 
boldest, indeed, hint that tiiey want 
-tu^ for their morning cup of coffee ; 
but they plead in vain. Sugar ! why, 
\»erc it not absolutely refused, the 
call for this article alone would ex- 
hauit the ** Assistance Publique *' in 
Irsg than two years. 

Hie poor-sick are generously treat- 
ed. Not only are mcdiitncs given, 
but also, when needed, crutches, 
spectacles* knee protectors, elastic 
stockings, ajid many orthopedic ap- 
pliances, so often indispensable to 
poor as well as to rich sufferers, are 
freely provided. Lucky if they are 
not loo often disposed of to buy 
diiaJki 

Tlie pncscriptions are divided into 
tiro classes ; those containing any of 
tlic thirty *seven substances considered 
is dangerous, or which offer any seri- 
ous difficulties in compounding, are 
Hb&^ed to be taken to the city phar- 



macy ; all others may be made up in 
the little pharmacy of the house, where 
experience has taught the good sisters 
to read the prescription, measure the 
dose, mix the drugs, or roll the pills 
with a most charming dexterity. 
When they pass it, carefully envelop- 
ed, through the little window, their 
only thanks from the attending pa- 
tient is, frequently enough, a grumble 
that '' it is too small.'* 

Many a collector or amateur of 
potteries would envy the exquisite 
specimens of Delft, Rouen, and other 
old wares which in quaint ariH curi- 
ously de viced shaj^es and patterns 
serve now as the only embellishment 
of the good sisters' apartments, stand- 
ing on the oaken cases and topping 
the well-hlled wardrobes. These are 
part of the inheritance whicli they 
acquired at the distribution of the 
drugs, etc., from suppressed convenlt? 
at the close of the last century. 

The ♦' coming and going " in these 
houses is incessant, as they are the 
centre of information whenever an 
accident happens or a misfortune of 
any sort is threatened ; and all, 
without exception, go to them in 
perfect confidence, knowing that for- 
malities are ignored whenever a need 
is urgent, and that one is sure to be 
kindly received by women to whom 
charity is the first duty and the most 
imperious want. 

During the year 1S69, the * Assist- 
ance Publique'^ received Gi.oSo ap- 
peals for extraordinary assistance, 
each of which became the occasion 
of an examination and visit; 17,855 
of these were rejected, as being made 
by persons of dishonest or immoral 
life, or who had been recently assist- 
ed; 43,225 others participated in the 
distribution of charities. We may 
perhaps find a lesson in the absence 
of red-tape which is quite aj>parent 
in this management: thus, an appli- 
cant on Monday has the visit from a 



54 



An Uncle from America. 



doctor and commissary on Tuesday, 
and, finally, a notification to appear 
Wednesday for whatever relief has 
been decided upon. The manner of 
the applicant upon receiving his as- 
sistance is matter for curious study. 
The recipient of money rarely or 
never fails to smile, while those who 
receive a bundle of mfant or other 
clothing, a ticket for food, bedding, 
or perhaps hospital assistance, too 
often grumble, audibly even. They 
would not object, like Scarron, to 
draw a regular pension of 1,500 
francs, with the title of " sick to the 
queen by the grace of God." 

Although the law of the twenty- 
fourth Vendemiaire, TAn XL, requires 
a certain residence before assistance 
can be given, in order to prevent the 
poor and the sick of all France from 
rushing to Paris, yet no well-authen- 
ticated case of suffering is ever refus- 
ed, and cases are cited in which per- 
sons not six weeks in Paris have 
asked and obtained relief. Strangers 
in distress are frequently relieved or 
provided with tickets and food at 
their homes. 

To show the immense result which 



has followed the home \asitj 
poor-sick in Paris, we find re 
in 1869, 72,706 visits, 11,671 < 
were for cases of "accouch 
and 61,035 ^"^r other sicknes 
number of days' sickness in 
gregate was 842,907, an j 
therefore, of a fortnight to e 
tient. Such a service as this i 
an outlay for doctors and m 
of 818,897 francs. 

Despite the vast difference 1 
these sums and those presei 
our own city officials, there i; 
casion for any feeling of sh 
our part. We see that much 
is dispensed in Paris comes fi 
bequests or from certain col 
and quests which from long 
have become a second natur 
ed into the Parisian heart, 
nearly all our charities are 
own creation, of our own gen 
and due wholly to the gooc 
of our generous fellow-citizens 
with its precious experience, 
by the hand of Providence j 
tained by the charitable, will < 
perfect the work so well com 
and 90 ably carried out. 



TKANSLATBO PXOM THB PRENCH. 



AN UNCLE FROM AMERICA. 



Although at the beginning of this 
century Dieppe had, as a city, lost 
much of its importance, its maritime 
expeditions were on a grander scale 
than its limited commerce to-day 
would lead us to suppose. The era 
of fabulous fortunes had not so long 
passed by but that occasionally there 
came from distant lands some of those 



unexpected millionaires wh 
theatres have so much abu: 
that, without being at all 
minded, one might then ea 
lieve in " uncles from Americ 
truth, many a merchant at 
whose vessels crowded the p 
perhaps, departed thence, 
years previous, a sailor in hii 



An Uncle from Amtrka. 



jacket Such examples encouraged 
the strong aiid aiTorded eternal hope 
10 ilie penniless, who were always on 
the Jook-out for a miracle of fortune 
in their favor. 

Such a miracle was apparently 
ibout to be performed for a poor 
family, of tlie small village of Omon- 
ville, some four leagues from Dieppe. 
The widow Mauraire had experi- 
enced sad afflictions. Her eldest son, 
and the only support of the family* 
had been shipwrecked, leaving his 
four children to her care. 11iis mis- 
fortune had likewise interfered with 
—perhaps rendered impossible^ — the 
maiiiage of her daughter Clemence, 
At tlic same time, it had entirely de- 
ranged the projects of her son Mar* 
tifi, who had been obliged to relin- 
quish his studies, and reassume his 
part tn the work of the form. 

But, in ilie midst of the uneasiness 
and dejection of the poor family, a 
laf of hope seemed to dawn for them. 
A letter from Dieppe announced the 
nrtum of the brother- in-law of the 
widow, who had left there twenty 
ftais before, with, according to his 
own account, "some curiosities from 
tbc New World," and with the in- 
tcntioQ of establishing himself at 
Dieppe. 
Tins letter, received the day before, 
completely occupied them, and, 
igh it contained nothing precise, 
the son Martin, who had some little 
Icawiing, declared he recognized in it 
the style of a man so good-natured 
IZhJ liberal that he could not fail to 
hive enriched himself. The sailor 
:ntly was returning with some 
of crowns, and his relations 
would, of course, not be neglected. 

Oqoc started, imagination travels 
iasL Each one added his supposi- 
tioato that of Martin ; even Julienne 
Itoselft a god^daughter who had not 
forgotten by the widow, and 
lived at the farm less as a ser- 



vant than as an adopted relative, 
wondered what the uncle from Ame- 
rica would bring her. 

" I shall ask li^n for a cloth mantle 
and a gold cross," said she, after a 
new reading of the letter aloud by 
Martin. 

** Ah !" said the widow, sighing, "if 
my poor son Didier had only lived 
till now. Who knows what his uncle 
would do for him I" 

*' But there are his children, god- 
mother, and Miss Clemence, who 
will not refuse a legacy," said the 
young girl. 

" What use have I for it ?" said 
Clemence, hanging her head sadly. 

"What use?*' replied Julienne; 
"why, then the parents of M, Marc 
would have nothing to say. They 
would not have sent away their son 
to hinder the marriage if Uncle Bruno 
had then been here ; or, at least, he 
would soon have come back again." 

"Better consider first whether he 
would want to return," replied the 
young girl in a sad voice. 

** W'eil, if he did not come, you 
could easily find another," said Mar- 
tin, who thought only of the marnage 
of his sister, while she thought of the 
htidhind. " W^ith an uncle from Ame- 
rica, any one can make a good match. 
Who knows if he may not have with 
him some young millionaire he would 
like to make his nephew-in-law!" 

"Oh! I hope not, indeed," cried 
Clemence, frightened. " I'here is no 
hurry about my marriage." 

" What there is hurry about is a 
place for your brother Martin," said 
the widow, in a sad tone. 

" Well, the Count gives me some 
hope," replied Martin, 

" But he never decides," said the 
mother; "and, meanwhile, time passes 
and the com is eaten. Great lords 
never think of that; their time is 
given to pleasure, and when they 
remember the morsel of bread they 



An Unde from America. 



have promised, one is almost dead 
with hunger.'* 

** Never mind; with Uncle Bruno's 
friendship we shall have no more to 
fear,** said Martin. " He is not going 
to forget us. His letter says, * I will 
arrive at Omonville to-morrow, with 
all that I possess.* " 

** fie should be on his way now," 
interrupted the widow j "he may ar- 
rive at any moment. Is everything 
made ready lor him^ Cli^mence ?" 

The young girl rose up and showed 
her mother the sideboard, loaded 
with unusual abundance. Near a 
leg of mutton, just taken from the 
oven, was an enormous quarter of 
smoked bacon ^ flanked by two plates 
of wheaten buns, and a porringer of 
sweet cream. Several jars of sw*eet 
cider completed the bill of fare. The 
children looked on with cries of co- 
velousness and admiration. Julienne 
spoke, besides, of some apple-sauce 
and short-cake, which were before the 
(ire. 

From her linen closet the widow 
hiid chosen a table cloth and nap- 
kins, which want of use had turned 
yellow. The young servant had 
placed on the waiter the plates that 
were the least notched, and had begun 
lo set the table — the only silver spoon 
which the family possessed conspicu- 
ously exhibited at the end — ^when one 
of the children, keeping watch outside, 
rushed into the house, crying — 

" Here he is! here he is!" 

** Who is it ?" cncd they all in one 
voice. 

" Why, it*s Uncle Bruno,*' replied a 
strong and jovial voice. 

I'he entire family approached the 
door. A sailor rested on the door- 
step, and looked up at them. On his 
right hand he held a green parrot, on 
his left a little monkey. 

The children, frightened at his ap- 

irance, took refuge at their grand- 
Dother's side, while she herself w^as 



unable to restrain a cry. 
Cl^mence, and the servant loc 
as if stupefied, 

"Why, what's the matter 
you afraid of my menagerie 
Bruno, laughing, "Take c 
my hearties, and let us embrrw 
other. I have come three tl 
miles to see you." 

Martin took courage first 
C16mcnce, the w idow, and tl 
est of the grandchildren, but 1 
could induce the little girl i 
youngest one to approach. 

Bruno made amends by 
Julienne. 

" Upon my word ! I the 
never would get here," said 
is a good long cruise from Di 
this infernal place.'* 

Martin noticed for the fii 
that the shoes of the sailor w 
ered with mud. 

** Did you come on fooi 
Bruno ? " aske<l he, with an 
tonishment. 

*' Why, man, did you ex 
to come over your corn-fiel( 
canoe?" replied the sailor, ga; 

Martin turned to the door. 

" But your baggage — " he 
ed. 

** My baggage! it's on my\ 
said Bruno. **A sailor, my b 
no need of ether wardrobe t 
pipe and a nightcap." 

The widow and children lo| 
him. / <| 

*' I beg your pardon," saif 
young man ; " but, after readi 
cle's letter, I had supposed — '^ 

"Well, what? You tho^ 
would arrive with a three-^ 
did you?" ■' 

" No," replied Martin, Ir^ 
laugh agreeably ; " but witS 
trunks — to stay some rimej ^ 
gave us to understand you \ 
remain with us.*' 

" Did I ?" 



Art Uncle from America, 



"Yes! for you said you would 
come 'with all you possessed/*' 

"Well! here is all I possess!" said 
Bruno; **iny monkey and my par-' 
rot" 

•^Whal! is that all?" cried the 
'iinily simultaneously. 

" With my sailor's trunk, where you 
flrill find stockings without feet, and 
shirts without sleeves. But, my hear- 
tiasuch things need not make you sad. 
If your conscience and stomach are 
m good order, the rest is all a farce. 
Excuse mc, sister-in-law; but I see 
here some cider, and the dozen miles 
1 have walked have made my throat 
mhcT dry. HaUo, Rochambeau! 
alttte roy relations/' 

The monkey made three little 
juinp?, then sat down before them, 
a:^ 1 his nose. 

r, in the meantime, had 
hdjie*! himself to something to drink. 
The (amiiy looked on in consterna- 
tion. As soon as the table was set, 
Bruno sat down without ceremony, 
dedaring that he was almost dead 
whh hunger. Whether they liked it 
Of not, they had to serve the apple- 
iauce and the smoked bacon, because 
they had been seen ; but the widow 
Maurdtre contrived to shut up the 

in the sideboard. 
^The sailor, during dinner, being 
<Jtic5tioned by Martin^ related liow 
ibr twenty years he had sailed the 
Indurn seas in different ships, receiv- 
ing nothing but his scanty pay, which 
•IS *q>cnt as soon as earned ; and so, 
II the end of all hour, it appeared 
chAt Uncle Bruno's only fortune was 
food humor and an excellent appe- 

The cltsappoinlment was general, 
displayed itself differently accord- 
10 the ch..i racier of each one. 
in Clcmenre it only awakened 
Isc mingled with sadness, Mar- 
tm seemed spiteful and humbled, and 
the %ii*ij\A' angry and mortified. So 



% 



changed a state of feeling soon mani- 
fested itself. The monkey having 
frightened the little girl by chasing 
her, her grandmother demanded its 
consignment to an old stable, and 
Martin declared he could not bear to 
see the parrot eat off the sailor's plate. 
Clt^mence said nothing, but left with 
Juliemie to attend to household af- 
fairs, while the widow resumed her 
wheel outside the door. 

Left alone with his nephew, Uncle 
Bruno quiedy set down Ins glass, 
which he had emptied little by little; 
gave a .sort of low, short whistle; and 
then, placing both elbows on the 
table, looked Martin steadily in the 
face. 

" Do you know% my boy," said h« 
quietly^ **that the wind in this house 
appears to come from the north-east? 
Your looks are enough to freeze one, 
and as yet nobody in the house has 
spoken to me a single frientlly w^ord. 
This is not the way to receive a rela- 
tive whom you have not seen for 
twenty years ?" 

Martin re[»Hed brusquely that his 
reception had been as good as it 
could be, and that it did not depend 
upon them to offer him better cheer. 

" But it depends upon you to offer 
me pleasanter faces," replied Bruno ; 
"and Til be hanged if you have not 
received me as you would a white 
squall. But we have said enough on 
the subject, my boy, and I don't like 
family quarrels. Only remember, 
some day you may be sorry for such 
behavior; that's all I have to say." 

Then the sailor cut himself another 
slice of bacon, and commenced to cat 
again. 

Martin, struck by his words, began 
to suspect that Uncle Bruno would 
not have spoken in this way if he 
possessed only a monkey and a par- 
rot 1 We have been duped, thought 
he. He wanted to prove us, but the 
menace he has just made has betray- 



58 



An Uncle from America^ 



ed him. Quick, let me repair our 

stupidity, and win him back again. 

He ran to his mother and sister to 
make known his discover>\ Both 
hastened to enter^ and their faces, 
hitherto so frowning and dissatisfied, 
were now radiant with smiles. The 
widow excused herself by saying that 
the necessities of housekeeping had 
taken her away from her dear brotlier- 
in-law, and seemed astonished at the 
empty appearance of the table. 

"Why! where is the short-cake?'* 
said she ; ** where are the buns and the 
cream I put away for Bruno? Juli- 
enne, what are you thinking of, my 
dear? And you, Clemence, see if 
there are not some nuts in the side* 
board — they shar])en the teeth, and 
help one to drink an extra glass.'* 

Clemence obeyed, and when all 
was on the table, sat down smiling 
near the sailor. The latter regarded 
her with kind complacency. 

•* I am glad to see you," he 
said; **you are something like a re- 
lative — like the daughter of my poor 
George.*' 

And then passing his hand under 
her chin — " I'his is not the first day I 
have known you, my Uttle one/* add* 
ed he ; " some one spoke to me long 
ago of you." 

** Who was it?'* said the young girl, 
astonished. 

Before the sailor had time to reply, 
a sharp, quick voice called loudly, 
*' Clemence !" The latter, surprised, 
turned, but saw no one. 

" Ah ! you can't tell who calls you !" 
said the sailor laughing. 

** Clemence ! Clemence !'* repeated 
the voice. 

•* It's the parrot," said Martin. 

** The parrot !" exclaimed the young 
girl; "why, who taught him my 
name ?" 

** One who has not forgotten it," 
said Bruno, twinkling his eye. 

" Was it you, uncle ?" 



" No, child ; but a yotii^ 

from Omonville." 
•^Marc!" 
** I believe that was his nai 
" Have you seen him ihen,^ 
** Occasionally, as I retujj 
the same vessel with liim." 
** Has he returned ?" 
" With sufficient after his 
to enable him to marry, v* ith< 
WQ^d of his parents giving 
house-warming." 

•* And he has spoken to ya<| 
" Of you," said the sailor, 
often that Jake has learned thi 
as you see." 

Clemence blushed deeply, 
widow could not restrain a 
of satisfaction. The projecio 
riage between Marc ami her 
ter had greatly gratified her, I 
had been sadly disapf»ointed 
obstacles his parents had inti 
to their union, Bruno infora 
that Marc had only been dct^ 
Dieppe by the formalities na 
for his landing, and that pcrh 
would arrive the next day — u 
love than ever. 

Every one rejoiced at this ij 
but Clemence especially, whoi 
her uncle in a transport of grd 
*' Weil, now you and I arc d 
of friends," said he, laughing; 
for fear you grow tired wait! 
the sailor, I will give you the^ 
It will talk of him to you/* 

Again Clemence kissed heri 
thanking him a thousand timi 
held out her hands fo the parr* 
perched on her arm, caUin, 
** Goorl-moming, Clemence I" 

They all burst out laughini 
the delighted young girl earned 
kissing it as she went. 

** You have made one happj 

ther Bruno," said the widow, j 

ing Clemence with her eyes. \ 

" I hope she will not be tht 

one," said tlie sailor, looking 



I 



An Uncle from America, 



59 



as he spoke, ** To you also, sister, I 
would like to offer something ; but I 
fear to awaken many sad remciii' 
brances." 

'^ Vou would speak of my son Di- 
(licr." replied the old woman, witli 
ihc natural promptness of a mother. 
* Vcs, precisely," said Bruno. ** We 
not together, unfortunately, 
he was shipwrecked. If we 
r had been, who knows ? I swim 
^a porpoise, and perhaps I might 
have rescued him, as in tliat affair at 
"" ' ^r;* 

! I remember you once saved 
^is hlc," replied the widow, suddenly 
recallmg this distant meraor)'. '* I 
ought never to have forgotten it, bro- 
ther.' 

She had given her hand to the sail- 
or. He pressed it in both of his. 

" Oh ! that's nothing," said he with 
wnpliciiy ; ** only a neighborly turn. 
HTjcn our ship arrived in India, his 
bd been there two weeks. All I 
o&uld do was to find out where he 
ws buriedy and put over his grave a 
aaijJe cross of bamboo." 

"And you did that for him ?" cried 
the lAidow, bathed in tears. " Oh ! a 
ihmisand thanks. Bruno ! a thousand 
thinks.*' 

•• 1 have not told you all," continu- 
ed Bruno, who was affected in spite 
of himself, ♦* Those beggarly Lascars 
itole everything belonging to him ; 
hut I managed to find his watch, 
thidi I have brought back to you, 
%i«rr. Here ii is.*' 

Virile speaking, he showed her a 
lege silver watch, suspended by a 
wrd made of yam. The widow seiz- 
ed ii and kUsed it over and over 
ifiia. SX\ the women wept, and 
CTcsi Martin seemed moved; Bruno 
cBQgbed, and tried to drink to smo- 
tlier his emotion. 

When the widow found words again, 
ifce to her heart the worthy 

liianked him again and 



again. All her bad humor had dis- 
appeared, and the ideas which till 
then had occupied her mind vanished 
entirely. The precious gift which 
recalled a son, so cruelly snatched 
from her, had awakened all her grati- 
tude. The conversation with Bruno 
became more firee and friendly. They 
were soon undeceived as to his being 
wealthy. The ** Uncle from Ameri- 
ca*' had come back as poor as he 
went away. In telling his nephew 
that he and his might, some day, re- 
pent their unkindncss, he had only 
had in mind the regret they wouhl 
sooner or later experience for having 
misunderstood a good relative. The 
rest was Martin's own inference. 

Although this discovery gave a 
final blow to the hopes of both 
mother and daughter, it changed in 
nothing their conduct toward Uncle 
Bruno. 1 heir hearts warmed toward 
him, and the good-will which interest 
at first had prompted them to testify, 
they now accorded him from choice, 
and were ready to load him with af- 
fection and kindness. 

The sailor, for whom they had ex- 
hausted the resources of their humble 
housekeeping, now rose from the table 
just as Martin, who had gone out but 
a moment before, suddenly returned 
to ask Bruno if he would be willing 
to sell his monkey* 

"Kochambeau? Jove! I would 
not," said he. **I raised him, and 
he obeys me; he is my companion 
and servant. I would not take ten 
times his value for him. But who 
wants to liuy him ?" 

"The Count," replied the young 
man. " He just passed by, saw the 
monkey, and was so taken with it 
that he asked me to sell it to him at 
my own price," 

" Well 1 you may answer that we 
prefer keeping him," said Bruno^ 
puffing away at his pipe. 

Martin looked woful. 



\ 



6o 



Mr. Frondes History of England. 



.^. 



" This is an unlucky day/* said he ; 
" the Count told me he recollected his 
promise; and that if I would bring 
him the monkey he would see if he 
could let me have the appointment 
of receiver of rents." 

" Alas ! your fortune will never be 
any better," cried the widow in a dis- 
tressed tone. 

Bruno made him explain the whole 
affair. 

"Then," said he, after a moment 
of reflection, " you hope, if the Count 
gets Rochambeau, to obtain the 
place you desire ?" 

'* I am sure I shall get it," replied 
Martin. 

"Well, then!" said the sailor, 
brusquely, "I won't sell the mon- 
key, but I will give it to him. You 
will make him a present of it, and 
then he will be obliged to recognize 
your politeness." 

A general concert of thanks arose 
around Bruno, which he could cut 



short only by despatching his nephe 
to the castle with Rochambeau. Mar-— 
tin was received most graciously b^- 
the Count, who talked with him sl 
long time, assured him he could well 
fill the oflice which he had askecl, 
and which he granted him. 

The joy of the family may be im- 
agined when he returned with this 
news. The widow, wishing to repair 
the wrong she had done, confessed to 
the sailor the interested hopes which 
his reappearance among them had 
excited. Bruno burst out laugh* 
ing. 

" By Neptune!" cried he, « I have 
played you a good trick. You hoped 
for millions, and I have only brought 
you two good-for-nothing animals." 

" Oh ! no, uncle," said Clemence 
gently; "you have brought us three 
priceless treasures. Thanks to you, 
my mother has now a souvenir, my 
brother employment, and I — I have 
hope !" 



MR. FROUDE'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.* 

THIRD ARTICLE.f 
" What a wonderful history it is!"— Mrs. Mlloch Craik. 



Under a thin veil of sentimental 
tinsel fringed with rhetorical shreds 
about " pleasant mountain breezes " 
and "blue skies smiling cheerily," 
Mr. Froude, as obser\'cd in our first 
article, always has his own little de- 
vice ; and, by innuendo and by every 
artifice of rhetorical exaggeration, 

• History 0/ F.ni^land /rem the Fall 0/ W'oUty 
to the Ptiiih of ElizAbetk. Hy James Anthony 
Froude, late Fellow of Exeter Collepe. Oxford. 
I a vols. Nc\vV«'rk: Charles Scribner & Co. 

t For first and socond articles, see Tmk C'atiio- 
uc WoKLD for June and August, 1870. 



never loses the opportunity of a dead- 
ly thrust at those he dislikes. It is 
unfortunate for any claim that might 
be made in favor of his impartiality 
that to be a Catholic is to insure 
his enmity. With more or less vehe- 
mence of language, in stronger or 
milder tone of condemnation, this is 
the one thing that surely brings out 
this writer's best efforts in detraction, 
from muttered insinuation to the 
joyous exuberance of a jubilant mea- 
sure in which, occasionally forgetting 



Mr. Froud€*s History of England, 



hiWlf. he» like Hugh in Bamah 
inds his auditory with an 
lOus No- Poper)^ dance. 
Ihc insidious suggestion is found in 
^uch cases as those of Sir Thomas More 
:rtd Katlierine of Arragon. For Re- 
ginald Pole, he has a labored effort 
\i invidious depreciation ; for Black 
.iml Cardinal Beaton, the reassertion 
i*f exploded calumnies to palUate 
ihcir assassination : and for Mary Stu- 
m, a scream of hatred with which 
(jc accompanies her from her mothcr*s 
mirstng arms to the scaffold of Fo- 
ihcringay^ where, grinning with cxul- 
Unt delight at the scars of disease 
wid the contortions of death, the 
«Tcam deepens into a savage scalp- 
howl worthy of a Comanche on his 
Woodiest war-path. 

Sir Thomas More. 

An early occasion is seized (vol. i. 

- M damn with faint praise the 
character of his age, by clas- 
Allying Sir Thomas More with men 
not worthy to mend the great Chan- 
t'cnor'spens; and with quite an air 
of im[>artiality, Mr. Froude talks of 
**the high accomplishments of More 
«d Sir T. Elliott, of Wyatt and 
tiorawell." 

But we are soon told of the fana- 
tKism of tJie man ** whose life was 
d blameless purity '' (vol. ii, p. 79), 
'y follows a justification 
, idicial murders of More 
-iid 1 iaher, for the crime of holding 
the rcry iloctrine which Henr^- him- 
leJli in his work against Luther, had 
Imt lately asserted. A pretence is 
nude to give an account of More's 
nialj but its great feature, which was 
ilofc's crushing defence, is totally 
waitted. Characteristic of the new 
lijrtorical scjiool is Mr. Froude*s rea- 
1*0 why More and Fisher,^ inno* 

• Tlw Uttvr. at Mr Frnutle hiforra* »«i, '*sink- 
Im Iflio *hf (Tare with *ffe and sVckiie» " (%'oJ. 



cent of all crime, were righteously 
sent to the scaffold. It was, you see, 
most un transcendental reader, be- 
cause ** the voices crying underneath 
the altar had been heard upon the 
throne of the Most High, and woe to 
the generation of which the dark ac- 
count had been demanded*' (vol. ii. 
P- 377)- 

Henrv the Eighth. 

And if ahy one is so unreasonable 
as to inquire into tlie nature of the 
connection in this unpleasant busi- 
ness between ^' the Most High *' and 
Henry VI 11. — two princes of very 
nearly equal merit in Mr. Froude's 
estimation — he w ill find himself sum- 
marily warned oflf the premises by 
the historian, thus: ** History wnll 
rather dwell upon the incidents of 
the execution, than attempt a sen- 
tence upon those who willed it should 
be so* It was at once most piteous 
and most inevitable'* (vol. ii. p. 376). 

And so, inquisitive reader, enjoy 
as well as you may the chopping off 
of heads, but do not ask impertinent 
questions as to ** those who willed it 
should be so.*' Indeed, such inquiry 
would seem to be useless, for, as we 
read further, we ascertain that nobody 
in particular is to blame. It can- 
not be discovered from Mr, Froude's 
pages who, during the reign of that 
admirable prince, " chosen by Provi- 
dence to conduct the Reformation/* 
was the author of all its bloody acts 
of persecution and attainder, of its 
merciless cruelty, of its petitions to a 
beloved sovereign to take unto him- 
self a new wife the day after cutting 
off her predecessor's head, of its le- 
galized assassination of men for their 
religious opinions; or whose voice it 
is constantly clamoring for somebo- 
dy's money^ or somcbody^s land, or 
somebody's head. The voice of Hen- 
ry VIII. it surely could not be, be- 



\ 



Mr, Fronde's History of England, 



cause Mr. Froude assures us (val iv. 
p. 489) that '* perhaps of all living 
KngUshmcii who shared Henry's 
faith (?), there was not one so little 
desirous in himself of enforcing it by 
violence.'* ** Desirous in hiinseir" is 
one of those delicate touches which 
exemplifies Mr, Fronde's command 
of ambiguous language, for he goes 
on to say : " His personal exertions 
were ever to mitigate the action of 
die law while its letter was sustain- 
ed." That is to say, Henry made 
the bloody statute and remorselessly 
carried it out,* bill in himself was 
not desirous of enforcing it. No! 
the voice of a gentleman adorned 
with so many domestic and theologi* 
cal virtues it could not have been, 
although, as Mr. Froude with engag- 
ing candor admits, *' it is natural that 
the Romanists should have regarded 
him as a tjTant " (vol. iv. p. 490}. 
Uut on the part of these " Romanists" 
this is surely mere ignorant prejudice, 
inasmuch as these things ** were in- 
evitable," and More and Fisher were 
beheaded because, as has been alrea- 
dy explained, ** voices were heard 
cr>*ing underneath the altar/' WTiat 
more obvious than that men holding 
a religious belief unpalatable to an 
admirable prince must» sooner or 
later, come to grtef? Mr. Froude 
explains diat they were *'hke giddy 
moths flitting round the fire which 
would soon devour them" (vol, iii. 
p. 450). Can anything be clearer? 
NotJiing of which we have any know- 
ledge, uniess perhaps it be the rea- 
son why Thomas Cromwell's head 
was taken off by Henry. 

Tnily a capital reason : because 
**the law in a free country cannot 
keep pace with genius " {vol. iii. p. 
455). And although Cromwell t was 

• DuHnif the entire rei^fi of Henry VHT . *n 
CnjrHsh judge and jury never once «a|uitted the 
vlctitn of tt crown prosecution, 

t We li*ve contnttUlclory «ecount3 of the ftrl- 
glb of EpiscopftliAaiun. Mr. FrouJc clears them 



murdered without even pret^ 
trial (even Mr* Froude adn:ii 
fairness Cromwell should hav] 
tried'*') by a tender-hearted ; 
ous monarch, whose ** only ai 
was to govern his subjects 
rule of divine law and the 
love, to the salvation of the! 
and bodies" (vol. iii. p, 474), 
all ** inevitable." ** InevitabU 
was the foul murder of Carding 
ton by Scotch assassins • in i 
pay, because "his [Henry *sj p 
obliged him to look at facts 
were rather than through con ve 
forms" {vol. iv, p. 296). "Inevi 
too, the fate of the amnestied 
of the North, because there w 
resource but to dismiss them 
a world in which they have lo 
way, and will not, or cannot, ! 
themselves" (vol. iii. p. 175). 

Reasons for anything he de 
excuse are, in Mr. Froude*s pi 
plenty as blackberries. Hen 
additional one for Henry *s wh 
murders, A very pretty reasc 
too, and prettily expressed, 
a nation is in the throes of revd 
wild spirits are abroad on the i 
(vob ii, p. 367). 

Truly, with " spirits abr* 
the storm," the discarding of 
ventlunal forms," and *' the inev 
serious historical thtticulties i 
surmounted and the most ii! 



up. The so-cttUed Church of Engljii 
seema, li clever invetilian of Tharujis Q 
Atihou^^U vve had always supposed it^ 
VIII, had It Imhd m it. In bi« cuto{^v 
well, our hjstfirUn inforius us (\'iiL iU, 
*" Wnvc lifter ware has rolled over I 
Romanism fJoxscd bwclc over it under Ml 
ritanism, under anntlicT evcii 
overwhelmed tt. Unt Rotn- 
and PuHliiniiim is dead,^ aii<: 
Church of Etigtaud remains a&^ it w^h 
creator." 

• On the authority of John Knox. VLft 
de!»(rribes the principal a&saSKin as ** it in 
tiire most frentle and modest *' (vol. \\ 
Mow consoUni; to the murdered cmrdit 
dylojr agunv that, " in disrefrard of con^ 
forma," a man of such lovely char«ctl 
have been hired to cut hb thro»t witb ^ 
beration. ^" 



'\ 



Frauds s History of England, 



moraJ problems soFved. Thus, the 

"^^"f facts tliat the " prince chosen 

byJProvklence" had six wives and kept 
at least two distresses (not intlud- 
iiig the mother of his illegitimate son, 
"the young Marcellus'* of whom our 
Iiisronan is legitimately proud), are 
dearly accounted for by ihe ** inevita- 
bk," although Mr, Froude gives spe- 
dal reasons for the king's erratic vir- 
tue, which, it appears, w^as the re- 
sult of a " self-denying submission to 
the dictates of public duty/* 

But of all Mr. Froude's ingenious ex- 
planations we find none so entertain- 
ing as that assigned for the dreadful 
mortal ity a r n o n g H enry 's w i ves . * * 1 1 
would have been well for Henry 
Vlll. if he had lived in a world in 
which woman could have been dis- 
podsed with, so ill in all his relations 
with them he succeeded. With men 
he could speak the right word, he 
could do the right thing; with wo- 
iBcn he seemed to be under a fatal 
tJece^ily of mistake" (vol. i. p. 430).* 

Thiv is so true that even to this very 
day similar difficuUies appear to beset 
i^yal gentlemen of irregular temper. 
There i-\ for instance, the case of Prince 
Kerre Bonaparte. It would have 
been well for hira if he could have 
Bred in a world in which Monsieur 
Noif had been dispensed with, so ill 
ia /■ ' if lions with that young re- 
pu! ' the prince succeed. 

Oti the '* fatal necessity of mis- 
Ukc,** then, and on the inevitable, we 
tjkc our stand ; for, as an acute critic 
bs remarked, " we may set all cross- 
<|tKiiioning at defiance so long as 
we hnld the spigot of destiny and 
on turn upon the importunate querist 
the overwhelming tide of fate." 

*rhc noble Katherine of Arragon 



*Wo kn&w of iMit nnc passage ia all our Ulc- 
*ll^Brc tJiaf at ^V thii In ma&sive lun. 

^ *• Arteeins W . i conctrning; one Jef- 

kt*"-'''* ' ,L, ;^vsA.W.—*- it would 

^' I LCD UolUni in his tJ. D/s] 

>=*• ; CCA bora." 



receives at Mr. Froude*s hands the 
same unfair treatment given Sir Tho- 
mas More, and Henry's outrages 
were, it appears, caused by herself.* 

Mary Stuart. 

But Mr. Froude's views of the phi- 
losophy of history, of the agency of 
fate, and of the subordination of mo- 
rality to the *^ inevitable,*' all undergo 
a radical change after leaving Henry 
Vni. His partisanship culminates on 
reaching Mary Stuart, when it comes 
out with more elaborate murhinery of 
innuendo, more careful finish of inven- 
tion, unscrupulous assertion, wealth 
of invective, and relentless hatred. 
Events cease to be inevitable. The 
historian's generous supply of pallia- 
tion and justification (usually **by 
faith alone") has all l)een lavished on 
Henry or reserved for Murray, 

In no one instance is there ** fatal 
necessity of mistake" for Mary; and 
her sorrows, her misfortunes, her in- 
voluntary errors, and the infamous 
outrages inflicted upon her by others, 
are, according to Mr. Froude^ all 
crimes of her own invention and per- 
petration. 

Simply as a question of space, we 
renounced at the outset the idea of 
following Mr. Froufle through all his 
tortuous ways, and only undertook 
to point out some of his grossest er- 
rors. Proper historic treatment in 
the case is difficult — not to say impos- 
sible, for the reason that, instead of 
writing the histor>' of Mary Stuart, 
Mr. Froude has drawn up against her 
an indictment in terms of abuse which 
few prosecuting attorneys would dare 
present in a criminal court, and show- 
ers upon the Queen of Scots such 
epithets as ** murderess," " ferocious 
animal," ** panther," " wild-cat," and 
" brute." 

* " Her injuries. Inevitable as tbcy were tiMl 
forred upon her ia great measure by her own 
wjlfulncaa" (vol. U p. \^^, 



i 



Tr. Frat4(ie's History 



tngiam 



Jedburgh. 

As long as Buchanan was believed, 
Mar)''s ride from Jedburgh was the 
.strong point reUed on to show her 
guilty complicity with Bothwell dur- 
ing Damley*s life* Refemng to the 
fact that Botlnvell was lying wound- 
ed at the Hermitage, the accusation 
ran thus in Buchanan's Z?t-/<ri:/«w, and 
in the Book of Articles preferred by 
Murray against his sister : 

" When news hereof was brought to 
Bortliwick lo the queen, she tlingetU 
away in haste like a mad woman, by 
great journeys in post, in ihe sharp ttnie 
of winter, first lo Mcirose and then to 
Jedburgh. There, though she heard sure 
news of hid Hie, yet her affection, impa- 
tient of delay, could not temper itself, 
but needs she must bewray her outrageous 
lust; and in an mcon\xnicni time of the 
ycur, despising^ all discommodities of the 
way and weather, and all dangers of 
thieves, she betook herself headlong to 
lier journey, with such a company as no 
nian of any honest degree would have 
adventured his life and liis goods among 
them/* 

This makes a ride of sixty miJes. 
Robertson repeats the story, remark- 
ing that *' she flew thither with an 
impatience which marks the anxiety 
of a lover." Although this absurd 
fable, so far as it reflects on the queen, 
i& long since explodetl, and nothing 
of it is left but a short journey for a 
praiseworthy motive, Mr. Froude yet 
tnanages to give a version of it which^ 
if less gross in terms than tliat of Bu- 
chanan, is to the full as malicious in 
si>irit. Mr. Froude states (vol. viii. 
p, 549) that the Queen of Scots in 
September 

" proposed to go in person io Jedburgh, 
and hear the cc^nplaints of Elizabeth's 
wardens. The Uarl of Bt»thwcli had tak- 
en command of the North Marches ; he 
had gone down to prepare the way for the 
queen's appearance, and oh hfratvitnii skt 
ij^t grtfi4ii^fi\\\\ the news that he had been 
fjiol thtoiigb the thigh in a scuffle, and 
WAS lying wounded in Hermitage Cas< 



tie. The cart had been her cofupa 
throughout the summer ; hci rda 
with him at this time — whether inn< 
or not — were of the closcM intimacy 
she had taken into her household;^ 
tain Lady Rcrcs, who had once 1 
mistress, 

'* She heard of his wound with 1 
alarmed anxiety: on every grouiii 
could ill afford to lose him ; and cai 
at all limes of bodily faiiguc or da 
she rode on ihe isth of October iw 
five miles over the moors to see 
The earl's state proved to be more 
ful ihan dangerous, and after rema 
two hours at his bedside, she returnt 
same day to Jedburgh/' 

This is one of the best 
of Mr. Froude^s skill in the hi 
joining and veneering art, Wl 
pose to dissect it, that our readers 
see his process and with what 1 
ner of materials he constructs I 
ry. One such dissection must |i 
Space fails for more. 3 

It is not true that in Septei 
Mary proposed as here sta 
Her journey to Jedburgh for the 
pose of holding an assize was rcs< 
upon by the advice of her min 
at Alloa, as far back as the iBf 
July, as shown by the record o 
Privy Council Not true that 1 
well *' had gone down to prepM 
way/* etc. Not true that hdl 
taken command," etc. Bothwei 
for many years been warden o 
Marches, having been appointe 
Mary's mother, and ** had gone dc 
— ^not to Jedburgh, but into Li< 
dale — to arrest certain daring 

• " After the stnnjfe dpprnrnnre ^if Dan 
September at the Counctt < 
Froude has it A charactr; 
fttrnkcof his toconncrt ihcv 
tion for Darntey with the til 
^' it h Both well. Herea^aiii,. 
is In open hostihty wtih a n ' Ai 

mony. Wc have Bed ford S il 

tMkck as August 3, antioiini I ^ , icei 

Uce '' to keep a justice-courl at Jeuworl 
queen^M proclammtioa from her lyinyt-ln chi 
ordering an avuze at Jedburgh for Aog 
and the fact that owing^ to rcprr^ntatioi 
the asslf r would interfere with the harrest, 
po«tponed, and proclatnation iuoerl, S«p4 
84, for holding it cm the ath of Octdobec** 




Mr. Fronde's History of England, 



bootcrs. Not true, finally, that** on her 
arrival she was greeted,*' etc. Mary 
wtivefl at Jedburgh October 7, and 
rtl oa the day following of 
lis being wounded. Mr. 
fioude carefully gives no date here» 
neither stating when Both we 11 was 
mounded nor when the queen arriv- 
ed; but tells us that ifu heaai <y{ his 
wound, and rode on the 15th October 
to wx him. This leaves the inference 
that 4/jf<v« ai she fieardoj BothwcWs 
%mnd the started. The facts are, tliat 
aldiough the queen knew of the 
wouDdtng on the Sth, she remained 
IX T ■ "1 with her councii, preside 
in: ndifig to the business of 

the as>i£c untd it adjourned on the 
i$th uf October, and even then did 
QOt leave Jedburgh until the follow- 
iog day. 

From >fr. Froude's account, she 
H' ir to have taken the ride 

ur escort. But the admi- 

oble Buchanan, whose work, Mr. 
Froudc informs us/* is without a seri- 
ous error," states that she weitt " with 
ioch a company as no man of any 
lioaest degree would have ventured 
ind his goods among them f 
■r worrls, tliat she went escort- 
licves and murderers. Now, 
• Ir-cribiog Mary's escort, does 
1 tell the truth, or does he 
lit-** 
A vrtoM^ dilemma for Mr. Froude* 
IS safety in " sinking *' the 
1 consisted of the queen's 
[he '* stainless'* Murray, Leth- 
and several members of her 
Were these persons the 
rs and accomplices of such a 
as Mr Froude would have 
lers believe in ? In their pre- 
-. the queen thanked Both well 
fcr his good service, and expressed 
ffinpiithy for his dangerous condition. 
Tta d>e qucm ilid not remain that 
mglil at the (arsenal of Lid- 

tedale, ofv, : rmitage is a cor- 

VOL. XIL — 5 



ruption) is a source of positive unhap- 
piness to Messrs. Froude, Buchanan, 
and Mignet, The first consoles him- 
self in all his succeeding statements. 
Buchanan finds satisfaction in saying 
that she hurried back in order to 
make preparations for Bothwell's re- 
moval there, and Mignet (the French 
Froude) tells us it was in order to get 
back in time to write a long letter to 
Both well the same night! Just here 
let us reheve the tedium of our dry 
work by a pleasant story w^hich exem- 
plifies how^ some histories are written. 
On the day following Mary's return 
to Jedburgh, a quantity of writs, sum- 
mons, and other documents were dis- 
patched to Both well in his othcia* 
capacity as lieutenant of the Marches, 
and the treasurers accounts of the 
day certify the payment of six shillings 
for sending '' one boy " passing from 
Jedburgh, October 17, with ''afie mass 
of tvn tings of our sovereign to the 
Earl of BothwelL" Chahners in re- 
cording this adds ironically, 'Move- 
letters, of course.** Whereupon M. 
Mignet, unfamiliar with "sarcastical" 
English, takes it for a serious state- 
ment, and tells his readers that Mary 
hurried back to Jedburgh in order that 
she might write a long letter that 
night ! 

Mr. Froude says Both well was 
wounded in a scuffle, A scuffle may 
be a drunken brawl. But Bothwell's 
"scufHe" was this. He was seeking 
officially • to arrest John Elliott of 
Park, a desperate outlaw and the 
leader of a formidable band of insur- 
gents. Coming up widi him on the 
7th October, Elliott fled, and Both- 

• *'To compc! certen uiibrydUt insolent tbevis 
to shjiw their obcdicnre to bir; b«t they ilc- 
cordinp to iheir unrcwiic cu«(tumc dbpysit; him 
and his coTTiTnissioun. In *itk sort ns they inratlit 
fcim fcarccHe and hurt him in dy verse pa^rlies of 
his bodSe and htid, Ihtl hartllic he escapit wiUi 
fiaiftie of his lyfe, and this act was douc be the 
handis of Johne EHol of the Park, wbomc tHe 
said Erlo slew ftt the conflict.'*— Contemporary 
Ms,^ publifihed by the Bannalyne Clubt EdtO' 
burgli. tB3S* 



Mr. Frond/ s History of England. 



well, without counting the risk or 
waiting for his escort^ pursued him 
alone. Overtaking him, a desperate 
hand-to-hand fight ensued,* in which 
Bothwcll killed Elliott, but was him- 
self covered with wounds and left for 
dead upon tJie moor. His attend- 
ants coming up took him to the Ar- 
senal. 

This fierce death-struggle is Mr. 
Froude's " scuffle." t 

**The earl had been her compan- 
ion throughout the summer." How, 
when, and where, Mr. Froude has 
forgotten to tell us, for Both well's 
name does not once appear in this 
history from page 272, vol. viii., where 
he rallies to the queen's standard 
with hundreds of the Scottish nobility; 
to page 303, where we have no facts, 
but insinuating suggestion and evil 
supposition. 

We now propose to follow separate- 
ly the queen and Both well ** through- 
out tlic summer," and show how Mr. 
Froude writes history. 

The queen was within three months 
of her confinement when Riccio was 
murdered in her presence (March 9). 
After her escape from the mur- 
derers, she returned to Edinburgh, 
and, entering her sick room in the 
castle, she never left it until the fol- 
lowing July. Her child was bom 
on the 19th June, But it is abso- 
lutely necessary for the success of 
Mr. Froude's theor)- that guilty love 
should exist between her and Both- 
well previous to the incidents of Jed- 
burgh and Craigmillar, which, other- 
wise, would not be available for de- 
sired manipulation, and therefore, 

• Sir WttJicr Scott'* udmlr^iblc picturt of the 
dentlistPD^g)'* between Koilcric-k Bhu and Yitt 
James i« m Scotland generally understood to 
have brtrti Uken Trom ii description of thin fifrht. 

t In ft document put forth by Henry V^lll. to 
pftUiittetHe robbcn' nnd dei^ecmtioii of tbc shrine 
of r.nnterhury, itic horrible and gha»tly murder 
of tlie venerable Thomas & Hecket by a hand 
of maited assa»ltis Is de^ctibed as *'a scuflle.** 
-^Ptoudei vol. Ill p. 37s. 



setting at defiance psiycholog 
siology, decency, and the 
record, he selects this period, 
well^ it must be borne in miq 
with the entire approbation 
queen, married to Lady Jam 
don, a sister of the Earl of 1 
on the previous i6th Februaj 
there is no evidence that Maj 
saw him from the day she re 
to Edinburgh in March to the 
interview between him and ] 
in her presence in August, 
true that at page 302, voK vi 
Froude very cunningly seeks 1 
ate the impression that Bothw 
at the castle with the queen < 
24th of June, by a garbled € 
from a letter of Killigrew to' 
" BothwelTs credit with the 
was more than all the rest tog 
We use the term *' garbled " 
ediy, and to spare ourselves th 
ble of repeating it, we stat€ 
once for all, that in matters c^ 
ing Mar>' Stuart there arc vi 
of Mr, Froude*s citations whi 
not garbled. Here is what Ki 
wrote to Cecil : 

" The Earls of Ar]g)'lh Moray, 'A 
Crawford preifntly in court be noM^ 
together; and Hiintly and Bothw< 
their friends on the olher side. 7] 
pf Both we a and Mr. MuauyI/ he H 
the hmitts of Scotland ; hut the tl 
the Earl of Bothwcll would nol gti 
in danger of (he four abuvc namc4| 
all lie in ihc casile ; and it ij thit$\ 
saiii that Both well's credit with th« 
is more ih:in all the rest together," 

From this it would a^ipeai 
Argyll, Murray, Mar, and Cra 
rather than Both well, were theq 
companions, for they ** did lie 
castle/' while Bothwell was " I 
borders,'* and that Bothwell's 
dit with the queen '' was ratha 
tical than personal, and after 
mere on dit — people '' though 
said/' And why did people so 



Mr\ Prottiics Hisfary of llfigland. 



<57 



ind sajr ? We answer in the admira- 
Wc words of a liviug Scotch author :* 

"BothwcH was the only one of ihe 
fftal nohks of Scotland who, from first 
!oti5t, had remained faithful both to her 
mother and herself, . . , and what- 
crer tna^' have been his follies or his 
crimes, no man could say that Jam*?s 
Hepburn was ciilicr a hypocrite or a Uai- 
lor. Though staunch to the religion 
(Protesunti which he professed, he never 
nude it a cloak for his ;imbition ; though 
dr)ftn into exile and reduced to extreme 
poverty t>y the malice of his enemies, he 
ncvett so lar as we know, accepted of a 
Imei^ bribe. In an age when poHttcal 
fcildity was (he rarest of virtues, we need 
not be surpris^ed that his sovcicign at 
this tiine ttusted and rewarded him/' 

For Both well read Murray in this 
pa\5ige> and we have a piece of the 
bitterest and most merited sarcasm. 
Mr, Froude labors hard to transfer 
the origin of the enmity of Murray 
< friends to Both well to a much 
' riod and to far different caus- 
es. But their ill-will to him was that 
of taitors to a faithful subject Al- 
though pctfectly at home in the 
"Rolls House," and thoroughly fa- 
miliar with the diplomatic correspon- 
^f Uie period, Mr. Froude does 
car to have seen the letter of 
\ to Cecil, written as far back 
- ..„^usi 2 : "I have heard that 
tbtit is a device working for the 
Eld of Bothwcll, the particulars 
«ici«of I might have heard, but be- 
aosc such dealings like me not, I 
fane to hear no further thereof. 
Btikwdl has f^ntrwn of fate so haied^ 
(^ ke canntf/ Awj;^ cmtmueP ** Of 
fate " takes us back weeks and months, 
' ' I.' •* anil " such dealings " 
.a assassination or mur- 
4r. 

Mr. Froudc's Castle of Alloa sto- 
ryi at page 304, vol viii», forms part 
^ the foundation for his assertion of 

• J* 4^. Qufrm tf Sc9tt^ mntthrr A cfuieri. By 



companionship throughout the sum- 
mer. This Alloa story is a wretch- 
ed fable of Buchanans invention. 
The historian Burton, to whom Mr, 
Froude must always bow, passes it 
over in contemptuous silence, and, 
in his history. Bishop Keith, the Pri- 
mate of the Scottish Episcopal Church, 
says that ** the malignancy of the 
narrative is obvious," and that *^ the 
reader need hardly be reminded that* 
all this is gratuitous fiction, having 
no foundation in fact." Neverthe- 
less, for Mr. Froude this rubbish is 
good historic material. A part of 
the Alloa story was that Mary was 
** inexorable '' to her husband, and 
Mr. Froude, ingeniously representing 
Damley's conduct as arising from his 
fear of Mary, so mangles Bed ford *s 
despatches to Cecil (vol, viii. p, 304) 
as to leave the reader to suppose 
that Bothwcll was the cause of the 
angry scenes between Mary and Dam- 
ley, when it was in fact the dispute 
concerning Lethington's (Maitland) 
pardon for the Riccio murder, soli- 
cited by Murray and At hoi, and so 
fiercely remonstrated against by Dam- 
ley. All Damley's vacillation, trepi- 
dation, and strange Leha\ior arose 
from his fear of the revenge that 
would be visited upon him by the 
leading Riccio assassins whom he 
had betrayed to the queen. 

He was the cause of Morton's ex- 
ile, for, as Mr, Froude says, " his 
complicity was unsuspected until re- 
vealed by Damley," and he full well 
knew what might be expected from 
the resentment of such men, even if 
Ruthven had not threatened htm wilh 
it on the night of tlie murder. Even 
Mr. Froude cannot help seeing and 
admitting that **in the restoration 
to favor of the nobles whom he had 
invited to revenge /tis imm imuj^nfd 
u*rm^^ and had thus deserted and 
betrayed, the miserable king read his 
own doom.** Most true; and the 
doom overtook him at Kirk-a-Field. 



k 



Mr. Fronde^ s History of England, 



Here, in a moment of forge tfuln ess, 
Mr. Froude tells the truth as to 
Damley*s " wrongs/" w hich were *^ im- 
agined,'* thus contradicting his pru- 
rient insolence in saying, "whether 
she had lost in Kiccio a favored lover 
or whether," etc*, which he again 
contradicts by another calumny, " The 
iiffection of the Queen of Scots for 
Both well is the best evidence of her in- 
nocence with Ritzio" (vol viii. p. 304). 

And so passes away our summer of 
J 566, and no Both well appears- He 
was not at Alloa at alt, and in Edin- 
burgh but a day, to protest in audience 
against the return to Lethington of 
his forfeited lands, Murray, all-pow- 
erful, menaced Bothwell in the queen's 
presence in language insulting to her, 
and Bodiw ell, who, as Ki Hi grew wrote 
IQ Cecil, " would not gladly be in 
danger of Murray and his frtends," 
perfectly understanding that his life 
was not safe there, immediately left 
the court. 

The Lady Rcres*s slorj- \s^ hkc that 
of Alloa, *' pure Buchanan." From 
Mr Froude's statement one might 
suppose that no one but Lady Reres 
accompanied Mary to Jedburgh, The 
i)robability is that Lady Reres was 
not there at all, The certainty is 
that Mary was accompanied by a 
large retinue of ladies, among whom 
was Murray's wife ; and Burton says 
that according to Lord Scrope, who 
sent die news to Cecil, **she had 
with her, as official documents show, 
Murray, Huntley, Athol, Rothes, and 
Caithness, with tliree bishops and the 
judges and officers of the court/' 

Now if, as Mr. Froude represents, 
Mary Stuart '* spent her days upon the 
sea or at Alloa with her cavalier,'' if 
Bothwell had been her companion 
during the summer, if she rode twen- 
ty-five miles over the moor as soon 
as she heard of Bothwell's wound, 
such conduct w^ouUl have inevitably 
shocked and scandalized all about 



her, and the result must hai^ 
the utter destruction of resp 
her person and her authority 
fortunately for Mr. Froude, hi 
tions concerning Mary Stuart' 
time fall within that very larg 
gory of his facts which the his 
^ of that period have totally foil 
to chronicle. Nay, still more 
tunately for him, it so happens < 
precise condition of public sc| 
at this time concerning Mary 
has been recorded by an au 
not to be gainsaid by our ] 
historian. At page 350, v6 
Mr. Froude gives a false tran 
and a malicious signification 
honest rel^lection of the French { 
sador* that Both well's death 
have been no small loss to the 
but fails to see in the very saj 
spatch this passage; ^* Inet'crM 
majesty sa much l^elcvtd^ esteenti^ 
honored y nor so great a ha 
amongst all her subjects, as \ 
present is by her wise conduct,^ 

Think you the perform anc 
scribed l)y Mr. Froude woulc 
been held to be wise conduct 
lookers at whose head was the ' 
less " Murray ? 

In cheerful tones, Mr, FrouC 
a few characteristic words as f 
r)*s deadly illness at Jedburginj 
passage is a fit forerunner of tu 
taUty of his subsetjuent picture 
execution. But, bad as it is, 1 
yet congratulate him on his fai 
follow Buchanan to the end, 
does not appear to have sunk 1 
as to dare mention what Buc 
says as to the cause of the q 
illness. We have no coranw 
make on the intimation that th< 
ing of NLiry Stuart on what sl| 
all around her supposed to I 
dying bed was *' theatrical,'* I 
the vulgar fling at her piety. 

* MoiUand^s stfttement Is on Uie su 
quite &» roughly handled. 



Frouiivs History of England. 



Mr. Froude says concerning 



The Secret League 

M Lne uprooting of the Reformed 
&hh (viii, 241), that ** Randulph had 
mfcrtimud that Mary had signed it,'* 
Randolph did not say he had ascer- 
UJncd it. He speaks of it only by 
hearsay, Tlie historical fact is, she 
did not sign it. We have not room 
to discuss the point. It is thorough- 
ly treated by Mr. Hosack (pp. 125- 
isj), dosing with this remark : 

*"Bi- rt?fusing to join the Catholic 
Ira^ue, she mainiamcd her solemn pro- 
m^£e$ to her ProlcstanI subjects — the 
cbid of whuin, i*c shall find h<;reafier, re- 
naincd her staiincUcst friends in ihc days 
ofhrrinisfortunc^ — she avcned the demon 
of rtligious discord from her dominions* 
and posterity will a p pi stud the wisdom 
««fll as the m.ignitude of the sacrifice 
wM'-h she made at this momcnlous cri- 



V\e now come to the great scene at 

Craigmillar, 

lAich is thus related in Fronde at 
page 354, vol. viii. One morning M ar- 
ray and Maitland (let the reader here 
folbw M array *s movements) come 
to Afg)'ll ♦* still in bed/' 1 hey want 
(0 counsel as to the means of obtaining 
Morton's panlon for the Riccio mur- 
kier. Maitland suggests that the 
b<3l way IS 10 promise the queen to 
fed means to divorce her from 
t>aniley> Argyll does not see how 
» ctfi he done. Mailland says, ^^ we 
fMl find the means." These three 
ttil ^e Huntly and Bothwell» who 
^ in ; and all five go to the queen, 
•ta» >Ir. Froude — with that never- 
Ming knowledge of all that passes 
W licr mind — says, ** was craving for 
Itlcr^e.*' 'I*hus far, our historian ad- 
kmswith, for him, wonderful fidelity 



to the only authority ♦ we have for 
an account of this interview, but, as 
usual, the moment Mary Stuart ap- 
pears, Mr. Froude and his authorities 
are arra} ed in open hostility. Mait- 
land suggested to the queen thati/j//^ 
wouhi coHseni to pardon Morion aud 
his iompanions in c.xiit, means might 
be found to obtain a divorce between 
her and Darnley, Humly and Ar- 
gyll represent Mary as saying "that 
if a lawful cUvorce might be obtained 
without prejudice to her son» she 
might be induced to consent to it." 
Of this Mr, Froude makes the very 
^Tti: translation, '* She said generally 
she would do what they recjuired,'* 
Then came the question where the 
king should reside, which is met 
by the queen's suggestion tliat instead 
of seeking a divorce, she herself 
shuukl retire a while to France (she 
had entertained the same project 
ui)on the 1 >irlh of her child) ; but it 
was warmly opposed by Mailland in 
these very significant words: ** Do 
not imagine, madamc, that we, the 
jirincipal nobility of the realm . shall 
not find the means of ridding your 
majesty of him without prejudice to 
yourson,'* etc. — therest^ substantiidly, 
as in Froude as to Murray's " looking 
through his fingers and saying no- 
thing.'* Tliis is at page 356,«ind the 
average reader Is already supplied at 
P*^*!'^ 349 ^vilh the theory Mr. Froude 
desires to apply to the Jedburgh and 
Craigmillar incidents in a strain of 
touching reflections (it is well to be 
observant when our historian talks 
sentiment or piety, for it is then that 
he most certainly means mischief), 
which might properly be headed, 
'' Mary Stuart makes her preparations 
to kill IJarnlcy." The historian is li- 
beral, and supplies not only the facts 

• Sec Protcstatiofi of Huntly an<1 Arevll in 
KcHh. vol. iij. p. »Qo. The Eailaof lltmlly and 
Argyll were both PratesUmt lords, the lnUcr the 
brother-in-law of Murray 



70 



Mr. Froudes History of England. 



■ 



for his hypothesis, but an exhortation 
calculated to put the reader in the 
frame of mind best adapted for their 
reception, "But Mary herself," dra- 
matically exclaims Mr. Froude, "' how 
did she receive the dark suggestion"? 

**This part of the story rests on 
the evidence of her own friends'* — 
imbecile reader being supposed by 
Mr. Froude to be ignorant of the 
fact that n^ery fHirt of the story rests 
on the same piece of testimony,^ that 
of M untly and Argyll. She said, con- 
tinues Mr. Froude, and we ask espe- 
cial attention to this, — she said she 
** would do nothing to touch her 
honor and conscience;" "they had 
better leave it alone ;" " meaning to 
do her good, it itiight turn to her 
hurt and displeasure." 

This is an ingenious piece of work, 
Mr, Froude so marshals these broken 
sentences as to present to the reader 
the picture of a guilty person who re- 
ceives a criminal suggestion and re- 
plies somewhat incoherently but so as 
to convey this idea: "There, there, we 
understand each other perfecdy; go 
and do the deed," Such is the im- 
pression inevitably conveyed, and in- 
tended by Mr. Froude to be con- 
veyed. 

This is but one of the many instan- 
ces in which Mr. Froude totally dis- 
regards the universally received sig- 
nification of quotation marks, and 
coolly inserts his own language in lieu 
of the words of the text. 

The Sxttirtfay Rciiew states his of- 
fence with mild sarcasm by saying that 
" Mr. Froude docs not seem to have 
fully grasped the nature of inverted 
commas." Of course Mar>' Stuart 
never spoke the words Mr. Froude 



• Ttli> lite« hktorkn of Scotland. Mf. Hutton, 
Whrt. thhuugli an enemy of Mary Stuart, &hnw»tn 
ciUliun fouie rc^tprtl for the intcj^rity of hl*to- 
rioi! ciiK tjmrnts, wys, " There i» re^^uu to bcHeve 
thai itiis convcriwtioo \% pretty accuixtely reiJoit- 
ed" i^vol. iv. p. 3J4>. 



puts in her mouth. Here " accordin^:1 

to Argyll and H untly" is her reply it^- 
Mailland— a rep>y in perfect harmony^ 
with her habitual elevation of senti- 
ment and dignity of bearing : " I will 
that you do nothing through which. 
any spot may be bid on my honon 
or conscience ; and, therefore, I pray 
you rather let the matter be in the 
slate that it is, abiding till God of his 
goodness put remedy thereto." 

Judge ye! 

Mr. Froude then follows up his 
remarkable citation with a pregnant 
" may be/' two " perhaps," both pro- 
lific, and a line or two of poetry, all 
of which are supposed to convict 
Mary Stuart of asking the gentlemen 
in her presence to oblige her by mur- 
dering Damley. To confirm his ac- 
cusation, Mn Froude says, "The sc* 
cret was ill kept, and reached the 
ears of the Spanish ambassador," 
and cites a passage from Dc Silvsi*s 
letter, which he prudently abstains * 
from translating. We tind thai Mr. 
Froude's citation, so far from con- 
firming, flatly contradicts his state- 
ment. We translate it : • ** I have 
heard that some persons, seeing the 
antipathy between the king and queen, 
had offered to the queen to do some- 
thing against her husband, and that 
she had not consented to it. Al- 
though 1 had this information from 
a good source, it seemed lo me to 
be a matter which was not credible 
that any such overture should be 
made to the queen." As usual, De 
Silva's information was eorrect. It 
came from one of the party present. 
The queen would not consent* But 
here is something better. Mr Froude 
exposes Mary Stuart's crime of en- 
tertaining a "dark suggestion" to 
murder Darnley. Very good. We 
like to see criminak exposed. But 

♦ Origin at Spanish in Froude, voL vUi., note «1 




Frondes Histary of England. 



whitever ^ dark suggestion *' there 
ras \Xi tile i:ase came from Murray^ 
and was made to Mary Stuart in his 
flame — Maitlandsijeaking for him * — 
and in his presence^the presence of 
Murray ** the stainless," " a noble ^^\i- 
deman of stainless honor** (viii. 216), 
who " bad a free and generous na- 
ture" (^ii. 267), and of whose "su- 
pieroeand commanding integrity**(ix. 
557) Mr. Froude so often boasts. Must 
wc believe that this saintly man listen - 
ctl approvingly, and silently acquies- 
ced in the horrible plot ? ^Ir. Froude 
15 beriiiusly embarrassed here, but re- 
lying, as usual, on the imbecihty of 
his reader, explains Murray's inno- 
ccocc by saying (it is almost incre- 
dible, but he has written it down, and 
it may be read on liis page 355, vol. 
viji.): **The words were scarcely am- 
biguous, yet Murray said nothing. 
Such subjects are not usually discuss- 
ed m too loud a tone, and he may 

KOTHAVE HEARD THEM DISllNX'TLY." 

The rooms at Craigmillar were small, 
and Mr. Froude, in his last volume, 
dtncribes Mar}' Stuart's voice on the 
scii!bld of Fotheringay, after twenty- 
one years of suffering and sickness, 
aa one of "powerful, dcep-chestcd 
tones.*' AntJ yet iMurray did not 
hear her ! Maiiland's answer to the 
queen \% omitted by Mr. Froude. It 
wig, ^ Madame, let us guide the busi- 
ness among us, and your grace shall 
sec nothing but ^md^ and apfnwed by 
farUamfntJ* They certainly did not 
aped murder tu be approved by 
piriiament, Mr. Froude does not 
tell his readers of this, because it is 
fijul to his " ill* kept '* secret and his 
**iUfk suggestion." What was real- 
ly meant w\xs impeachment, to w hich 
Dimlcy was liable for dismissing, by 



It. 



Th«t my ljQti\ of Mtifray here 

\t:-t v r i»i.ti{,-iiis fur ft l*rotestAiit 

I imi assureil ho 

to, uml will bo- 

^'^^>.f^ ii* ihc same." 



usurped authorit}% the three Estates of 
Scotland in parliament. The schemes 
attributed to Mary by her traducers 
for the destruction of Damley are 
not half so remarkable for their wick* 
edness as for their clumsiness and 
stupidity. If Mary Stuart desired at 
this or at any time to be rid of Uarn- 
ley, he could have been legally con- 
victed and sent to the scaftbld on 
half-a-dozen charges, not to mention 
the crime of heading the consjnracy 
to murder Riccio in the queen's pre- 
sence. A word or a nod from her 
would have been sufficient; but she 
clung to him with all the strength of 
her much abused love, and a late 
discovery ^ has brought to light a 
touching proof of her attachment to 
him during this ver)^ summer of 1 566, 
the period of those asserted peculiar 
"relations" with Bothwell. .\Ithough 
made in 1854, this discovery appears 
not yet to have been heard of by Mr. 
Froude. It was the proposed im- 
peachment which De Silva refers to 
in his letter, and he speaks still more 
plainly in another despatch not cited 
by T^Ir. Froude : " Many had sought 
to engage her in a conspiracy against 
her husband, but she gave a negative 
to every point." And yet our histo- 
rian has the hardihood to represent 
as an entire success this utter failure 
of Murray and his colleagues to draw 
the queen into a plot against Darn- 
ley. If a success, why was not Mor- 
ton immediately pardoned, for that 
was the point the nobles were to gain 



• Mr Hosnck gives ihc fac-similc of a page of 
Miiry*s will ms«de just before the birth oi her 
child in June, 1566, It was discovered in the Re- 
pister riouw, Edinburji^h. She bequeath«t to 
Djirnley her choicest jewetsr— i»ir more of thciin 
than to any one el"**. There arc as many a* 
lwcnly-*ix valuable bcquei^ls to her hu«^band of 
lAittLhes, diafnontls, rubies, pearl's turquoiwa, a 
**Sl. Michael " contnining fourteen diamonds, a 
chain of roM of two hundred links with two dla 
moncts to each li«k, and, lastly* a diamond ring 
euamelk-d m red, as to wiji(.h the qx»ecn write*: 
*' It was with this 1 was married; 1 leave it to the 
king who gave it to me." 



Mr. Fronde s History of England, 



from the queen ? Failing with her, 
the conspirators resolved on the mur- 
der of Darnle)% and a bond was 
drawn up to get rid of the ** young 
fool and proud tyrant/' It was pre- 
pared by Sir James Balfour, an able 
lawyer and thorough-paced villain, 
Murray, 

*' The head of mflny a felon plotj 
Uul never once the »rm!"* 

declares he did not sign it Possibly 
he did not, his colleagues being satis- 
fied w ith his promise tliat he " w ould 
look through his fingers and say no* 
thing/* 

We have thus dissected Mr. Froude*s 
singular presentation of the facts 
connected with Mary*s presence at 
Alloa, Jedburgh, and Craigmillar, 
partly to expose his system of writ- 
ing histor)% and partly to draw atten- 
tion to llie dilemma in which he 
finds himself Were Mr. Froude real- 
ly a historian, he would recount the 
facts attending Mary Stuart*s career, 
and leave the reader to draw his con- 
clusions. And indeed, as a general 
proposition, he appears to have some 
dim perception that such a course 
would be the true one. At page 485, 
vol. iv., he says : ** To draw conclu* 
sions is the business of the reader, it 
has been mine to search for the facts/' 
Again, at page 92, vol. i. : *' It is not 
for the historian to balance advanta- 
ges. His duty is with the facts/* 

But he starts out with the assump- 
tion of Mary Stuart's guilt, and has- 
tens to announce it while describing 
her as an infant in her cradle,! en- 
tirely forgetting his vcr)^ sensible re- 
flection at page 451^ vol. ii.» "We 
cannot say what is probable or what 
is improbable, except that the guilt 
of every person is improbable ante- 
cedent to evidence^" making of her 

• Ayfoun, 

t Sec Cathoug World, June numberf 1870, 




a fiend incarnate, in the %'erj 
of his own declared belief (v 
172) that *'some natural expla 
can usually be given of the 
of human beings in this worl 
out supposing them to hav< 
possessed by extraordinary \ 
ness/' setting at defiance his 
pie that a given historical subj( 
one on whicU rhetoric and ru 
alike unprofitable " (vol. ii, p 
elaborating such a monstrous 
tiu-e of the Queen of Scots as 
"credible" (we borrow Mr. Fi 
words) ** only to those who 
opinions by their wills, and be! 
disbelieve as they choose." 

A reader of good memoit 
has just completed the perusal 
Froude's account of Mary 
must involuntarily recall his p 
tic words in his fourth volumi 
496 : ** We all know how si 
brics are built together, comi 
by levity or malice, carried 
peated, magnified, till calumj 
made a cloud appear like a 
tair^/' 

Here is Mr, Froude*s di! 
He assumes Mary Stuart's gui 
her guilt cannot be proven un 
accept the forged casketdetl 
genuine. If they are admitt^ 
have no choice but to look up 
Queen of Scots as a most wick 
depraved w^oman. Now , as 
show in the proper place, oiti 
rian not only utterly breaks dif 
attempting to establish the 
letters, but makes a deplorab 
ble failure in meeting the ques 
all. Hence, for hi in, the m 
of proof aliunde. But we ha* 
of w^hat this proof is mad< 
Froude's great effort is to le 
tive the reader's judgment, ^ 
Ijress him with the belief of 
guilt before the casket-letl( 
reached. If he can but obta 
a hesitating faith in them, he 




Fr<?iidi'*s History af England, 



ir fame of ihis woman is 
ind people may, if their 
t way incline, do as Mr, 
oes, and in joyous phrase 
her memory and call her 

luld not, though, have our 
oppose Mr. Froude incapa- 
^* hy no means. He re- 
Anne Bokyn was justly 
ly convicted of fornication, 
and incest, and exclaims: 
feel our very utmost com- 
\ for tliis unhappy woman ; 
guilty, it is the more rea- 
iKre should pity her" {vol 
Amen I say we, with all 
;. And to this 2^ en we 
H Mr. Froude^s pages the 
Yes, pity for her — for any 
Mary Stuart. Hence, we 
BTorts, by means and appli- 
:ctofore unknown to serious 
I history, to show Mary Stu- 
as manifested in her deter- 
to be divorced from Dam- 
breat to take his life, and in 
lo murder him. We have 
It the threat to take Darn- 
is simply an invention of 
tie,* that the determined di- 
also an invention, and that 
was — so far as Mary is 
1 — what we have just ex- 
are whole pages of Mr 
history in %vhich blunder 
ition strive for the mastery, 
nately obtain it in every 
, J Thus : " The poor boy 
re yet been saved, etc. He 

IToitLD, June number, 1870, p. 

Would, Jane number, iB;©, p. 

venly-one lines beginning 
ih<r counril m**t/' p. J07, 
-licteii.st 
^^,t^\ as 
H-th* 
W49* ii'Jl in M.L1 St>>i1ftt)(I m 
PruteiKtant. A I il»c l.«j>- 
r, M.- refused tu be jtrcscnl at 
I rcTtmony.** Mr. Froude wy*^ p. 



muttered only some feeble apology, 
however, and fled from the court 
* very grieved,* He could not bear, 
some one wrote, * that the queen 
should use famiHanty with man or 
woman, especially the lords of Argyll 
and Murray, which kept most com- 
pany with hen' " 

** Some one wrote ** — it matters not 
who, "some one's** text being here 
no more respected than any one's 
text. What '* some one " really wrote 
was, " The king departed s^t\ grieved." 
For ** departed" Mr. Froude substi- 
tutes " fled from.*' The eftVct is more 
picturesque. The word ** ladies *' is 
by Mr, Froude ^//^r<f^/ to **Aw^,'* one 
of the ladies of the original ♦ being 
dropped by him in the process* 
These ladies were the ladies of Ar- 
gyll, Murray, and Mar» respectively 
the sister, the wife, and the aunt of 
Murray ! It does not suit Mr, 
Froudc's purpose that the reader 
should see that these ladies, and not 
Lady Reres, were the ** constant com- 
panions" of the queen during the 
summer, and that the Murray — not 
the Both well — interest was in the 
ascendant at court. Thereftjre, the 
slight liberty of the alteration of ** la- 
dies" to ** lords." Mr. Froude is cu- 
riously felicitous in translations from 
the French and Spanish, He quotes 
Du Croc, "In a sort of desperation," 
and **he [Darnley] had nu hope in 
Scotland, and he feared for his life " 
(vol. viii. p. 307). Ihere is not a .^'A 
lahle of this in Du Croc, and properly 
to <|ualify this performance of our 



35B. vol. Trill.. " three of the Scottish nc^blemen 
were present at ike ceremorr, Thf r^*t ^tocnl 
outside tlic door." RcatI' i 

**thc rest" to siROifv ii 

rest" were llotKweJU ' '1 

wlirt, &s llie Scotch PuriUm Pwmrmti 0/ thittr^ 
rmU records, **caine not within the *alil chapel, 
because tl was done against the points of their 
rcllpior/' 

• Which reads, "He raunot bcurt Ihul ihd 
qvicctic should use fAmtliaritle cither w lilt men or 
women, and espednlty the lai!ics ot Arguillo. 
Moray, mod Marre, who kcpc mosl ttinipaiiy with 
her/' 



Mr. Fraudrs Hhiary of England* 



historian there is but one English 
word to use. It is an ugly one, and 
we abstain from tittering it. Du Croc 
wrote, *' ye ru vois que deiix chases 
qui k i/esesJferenV* These two things 
he goes oa to explain, are ; J*irs/^ The 
reconciliation between the lords and 
the queen rendering him jealous of 

-tlicir influence with her Secorui, 

'That Elizabeth's minister, coming to 
the baptism of the young prince, was 
instructed not to recognize Darnley 
as king. ^^ Jl prtnd une peur de re- 
(eivir une hontep adds Du Croc. That 
is to say, he feared this public slight, 
and therefore was not present at the 
baptism. And of this ^^r. Eroude 
makes not only the abuse of the 
false translation, ^* He feared for his 
life^'^ but conceals the true cause of 
Darnley's absence from the baptismal 
ceremonies, and tells his too confid- 
ing readers, ** It boded ill for the sup- 
|josed reconciliation that the prince's 
father, though in the casde at the 
time, remained in his owTi room, 
either still brooding over his wrongs 
and afraid that some insylt should be 
passed upon him, or else forbidden 
by the queen to appear" (vol. x\\\. 
P- 35^)* ** Either " — '* or else "^Mr. 
Froude does not pretend to say 
which. Reader may take his choice. 

'-Meantime, historian, aware of the 
true cause, knows positively it 
was neither. Admire, as you 
pass, ** his wrangs,** Damley's 
wrongs! 

Lennox "neglected'* is excellent 
and mirth-compelling. If Mary^ had 
been KH/abeth, this miserable old sin- 
ner Lennox would long before have 
been sent to the block for his re- 
peated treasons. He was an irre- 

^daimable traitor, and his son's mad 
nd perverse conduct was mainly 
due to his evil counsel. I'he only 
punishment inflicted uj^on him was 
banishment from Mary's preseuce. 
Thus was he neghxted. Decidedly 



Mary was wrong. He she 
been attended to. Chah 
correctly described Mary*s \ 
reign oi piois an(} pardofis, 
it was. The timely choppi 
a few traitors* heads wot 
saved to her her crown and 
Darnley is now the **poor I 
Mr. Froude's pages, every ' 
Murray down to **blasphen 
four," is good, virtuous, or | 
in [proportion as they are 
him against Mary Stuart; A 
ley begins from this mom^ 
more and more interesting, 
scene where Mn Froude p 
♦' lying dead in the garden i 
stars/' if the odor of sanctity 
words of the Fifty-fifth Psa 
iiig on his lips. 

Darnley was despisetl by 
for his treatment of his w 
the disloyal had his foul tre 
avenge. Here is the estim; 
standing and character at 
made by two Scotch Prote: 
torians, Burton and Tytler 
ley was a fool, and a vie 
presumptuous fool. There i 
to be found in his charactci 
tige of a good quahty.'* " ¥ 
ed in every vicious appetite- 
tent of his physical capacity- 
himself and drank hard. H 
were notorious and disgu 
broke the seventh command 
the most dissolute and dcgi 
cause they w^ere on that aci 
most accessible of their sex 
ton, vol. tv, p. 296.) 

It \ull be remembered t! 
Mar)^ was disposed to pa 
principal conspirators in tl 
murder, Darnley opposed ii 



* »* To the philosophic*! sttirteot ^ 
not a plcttjuni^ mattrr for reflection 
Ihc uncxuiipled forbearance ahU fa 
hibiti^U toward her rrbclHou^^ subjci 
only encoumged them to Iresh mtUc 
nuthotiu% the ruthless poUcv oi her 
proved eventually tuocessfuL" 



Mr. Fronde s History of England, 



75 



ncuoced same who until ihen had 
been unknown. They retaliated by 
accusing him of having instigated 
ihe plotj afld laid the Ixindti lor the 
murder before the queen, who then, 
for the fxRt lime, saw through his du- 
plicity. He was thus, in the expres- 
avc words of Mr, Tytler, the ♦' i}rni- 
ciiial conspirator against her, the de- 
famerof her honor, the plotter against 
her liberty and her crown, the almost 
ffioifdcrer of herself and her unborn 
ImbeJ* He w*as '* convicted as a traitor 
and a liar, false to his own honor, 
falie to her, ialse to his associates in 
chrac/' ^ 

Mdvil, Du Croc, and other eye- 
witnesses have given us vivid pic- 
tores of the keen suffering and poig- 
Milt grief caused Mary by her dis- 
appointment in the handsome youth 
on whom she had lavished her affec- 
tions — grief a hundred-fold increas- 
c*i by the silence which love for 
Danilcy aiid respect for herself im- 
[KtecU upon her.t If Mary Stuart 
lud been the woman portrayed by 
'ude, she would have made 
1 ring with her complaints 
[als of Damley's misconduct. 
...... of these, we see suppressed 

pidi sighs, melancholy, dark brood- 
ing sj^rrow. and illness that brought 
brr to death's door. 

It is almost incredible that even 
Mr. Froude should have the weak- 
Otts to adopt Buchanan's silly story 
of ^c poisoning of Damley.J Never- 

is not far wronj^ when he 

38^1 Domlcy n*^ "Irll to 

lie country as if Ihc curie 

I .him." 

" \vnt«« Du Croc in No- 

• - prinripal part of her 

I iel and iijrruw ; ntir 

K* same ; ajt^in and 

H I " were dead." 

1 Tiaee wilt not permit 

■^J . I uelsanan's /V/fr//<n». 

' 't his rorthmt of proving 

^ When h* (D«rnley) wms 

' '^bc caused pol* 

. : nv whom? 

' ; .Lson? Where 



thelcss he dues so i^ith the solemn 
face of the teller of a ghost stor)' 
who believes his fable. 'I'he abun- 
dant testimony as to the true nature 
of Damley's illness should have warn- 
ed Mr. Froude against his miserable 
blunder. Always inspired by Bucha- 
nan, but careful never to cite him, 
Mr. Froude substantially coiiies the 
charge that Darn ley was poisoned, 
laid sick at Gla*»gow% **and yit all 
tliis quhyle the queue wuld not suffer 
sa raekle as ane Phisitioun anis to 
cum at him/' Mr. Froude sinks the 
*' i'hisitioun *' passage, because he 
well knows that Mary quickly sent 
her own skilful French physician, 
who rescued the patient from the 
hands of a Dr. Abemethy of the 
Lennox household, who was really 
poisoning him with antidotes. With 
dreadful sarcasm Mr. Froude tells us 
of " a disease which the court and 
the friends of the court were pleased 
to call sraall-pox/' It is handly ne- 
cessary to state that the Earl of Bed- 
ford, Flizabeth's minister, wrote to 
Cecil, January 9, 1566-7: ^* The 
king is now at Glasgow with his fa- 
ther, and there lycdi full of the small- 
pockers, to whom the queen hath scut 
her phisician.'* Drury, the English 
agent on the border, sends a despatch 
of the same nature, ami there is abun- 
dant other contemporary evidence to 
the same effect. 

liad she it? Ask you theS'C questions? as though 
wicked princes ever wanted miniiilem of their 
wicked ireaclierics, But still you prc?i?t mc, per- 
haps, anti litdl you ask me, Who be these mints- 
rersf If this causc wtre to be pleaded btrforc 
jTrtive Cato the ceiisor, all ihis wtfc easy tor us 
to prove before him that was persuaded Ihiit 
there is no aduUress but the ^ame \% also a poi- 
soner. Need we seek for a more «ub5lAntJal wtt' 
ncss than Cato, every one of whufie sentences 
aiiticijuity esteeme*! as so manv oracles? Shall 
we not in u mnnilest thing believe him whose 
tfctlit hath \n itnnps iloubirul «.o oft prevailed ? 
I-o, here e man *»f «ing^ular uprijfhtness, and of 
tnosl notable faithfulitcss and credit bcwrvlb wit- 
ness against a Wfjman burning in hatred of her 
husband, ctd-i" and ro on for quantity. Wc inke 
the liberty of suf^f^esting that in his nclti etlition, 
Mr, Krou^lc quote *' Cftto the censor " for the poi- 
sonings story. 



76 



Mr, Frondes History of England. 



Almost annising is Mr. Froude*s 
haste to reach the point where he 
may avail himself of the forged cas- 
ket-letters and the Paris confession. 
He clutches at them as a drowning 
man would at a plank, and hastens 
to weave their contents into his narra- 
tive, with skilful admixture of warj) 
of JJuchanan, woof of "casket," and 
color and embroidery wholly his own. 
He ihus introduces them in a note 
at paj;e 362, vol. viii. : " The authen- 
ticity of these letters will be discuss- 
ed in a future volume in connection 
with their discovery, and with the ex- 
amination of them which then took 
place." 

Of course this promise is not kept. 
Mr. Kroude cannot keep it. His 
pledge is utterly ilelusive. The jmt- 
ting otV of the evil day diK*s not avail. 
His Mif N:\tii qtuwt d'fuHire must be 
endured, and» when we reach the i>e- 
riod K-A promised redemption, we find 
it, substantially* a Repetition of what 
he Relies on at the outset. ** The en- 
quiry at the time appears to me 
to Mipersv^lc authoritatively all later 
i\MmMUR*s.** If siv;ue |>emiitted, 
wo c\niKl easily show what this *'en- 
quirv at the lime " amounieii to, 
as aKo the nature* and substance of 
ihi'^o conivvturv^s. Small wonder is 
\X ihai Mr, Fivudo is j>crtVvily con- 
lent with the **empur\' at the time." 
and ^*CNii\^ to Iv '* let alone/* 

.\t }\i^*:v ^;0K voK \iii.. we arx* fa- 
\xxrv\l with sv>mo philo^^^hical rvdcv^- 
tiouvon the \hllK uh;o " the histv^nan " 
has tv^ ctuvur.tor, an\l Mr. Kro\:v:e 
Ss,>v w .;h >o;r.v' truth* '* The >v^ v\;"v\; 
^vr,.:::"'.;:x> oj' h;>tor\ arv ^ni: prvvv.- 

w "ix * 10 Vv>; 



:s^ ^ax. 
\m ot 






^, -txW 



xXx^,\ j\i4;v ;> 



forcing the reader's hand — so to 
— by coupling Mary's name wit 
of Bothwell as " her lover." " S 
out for Glasgow attended b 
lover." This is put by Mr. F 
on the 23d of January. But Mu 
journal makes Bothwell start foi 
desdale, a different '.hrection, 01 
very day. We do know that sh 
accompanied by her lord-ch; 
lor, the Earl of Huntly, and '< 
nue. " They spent the night a 
lander together." Reader to 
pose some " hostelry." Mary J 
spent the night with her friends 
and Lady Livingston, who 
among the most faithful of her P 
tant nobility, and for whose infa 
had stood godmother a few m 
before. It suits Mr. Froude's 
pose to conceal the high sta 
and respectability of Mar)''s 
"Mary Stuart pursued her jo 
attended by BothwelFs Frencl 
vant, Paris " (vol. viiL p. 362). 
x\ Stuart pursued her journe 
tended by her ladies, the Ea 
Huntly, Lord Livingston, the \ 
iltons and their followers, and n 
ous gentlemen, so that befor 
reacheil Glasgow her train amo 
to nearly five hundred hers 
'• The news that she was on he 
to lilasgow anticipated her aj 
ance there." Really this xl 
ver\- suq^rising when we knov 
the i^ueen had sent repeated 
s,\4;es ar.d leitere that she was 
ir.^. Ar.d r.ow comes a blunc 
Mr. Krv^ude almost incredible 
s:up:v:::\ : " DarrJey mas still coi 
:.> h.s TvX^n: ; b;:r, hearing of h 
vrvv.oh. he sea: a gentleman wfc 
:r. ,'.::v::.:anvx* on him, named < 
:or.:. ,1 r,.-' '.e. !c:irless kind of p 
:.^ .■'\- ■.::./.- 'Jo ;rj',V.>/rX.»JWY 

I i; > :s .\:v,".::r.4:. A man dowi 
•/"c > ' ,-;; yo\ ,:yo^."p«s for nol 

.^j^ . ..: r^c :v.f.?s oa horseba 
a Svv;.h \-.r,u::n : TTut Mr. ' 



made the mistake of taking Crawford, 
who was a rcuiner of Lennox (Dam- 
kfs father), for a retainer of Dam- 
Icy, is no excuse for Mn Froude* It 
was the otlicial duty of the Earl of 
Leofiox to have met and escorted 
the queen into Glasgow^ and he sent 
Crawford to present his humble com- 
memlations to her majesty, " with his 
excuses for not coming to meet her 
in person, praying her grace not to 
ihink it was either from pride or 
ignorance of his duty^ but because 
he was indisposed at the time/' etc., 
etc Mr, Froude has before him 
Murray's diarj* — which should be to 
hini authority but little short of Holy 
\Vfit — with the entry: "January 2 jd. 
The qucne came to Glasgow, and on 
the rode met her Thos, Crawford 
from ibc Earl of Lennox," etc. He 
his before him the minutes of the 
English Commissioners, who describe 
Crawford as *' a gentleman of the 
Earl of Lennox." He has before 
him the Scotch abstracts describing 
tKis passage as " Nuncius I\itns in 
iiiwr*' — *'The Message of the Fa- 
Aer m the Gait,** but cannot consent 
"lis tableau. He has another 
Murray's diary and date 
janoary 23d plays havoc with Mr. 
Fronde s chronology and that of the 
oskct'lclters. And yet another, 
»hjch is, that Crawford, according 
*o hh own account, was a mischief- 
nd a spy, sent by Lennox to 
'p and report what he might 
«:c and hear in Glasgow castle. Be- 
i-ig enlisted against Mary Stuart, 
Crawford i/so fado becomes for Mr. 
FfDude •* a noble, fearless kind of per- 
voil" \Vlicn not employed in weav* 
nds for Murray, Mr. Froude 
\ his spare time throughout 
these volumes in delivering certiti- 
cites of excdlence, rewards of merit, 
25d Jinxes of virtue to all and sun- 
4y who may appear in opposition 
to M*iry Stuart, 



With his usual intrepidity, Mr. 
Froude goes on with his fantastic 
sketch, assuring us that Darnley's 
** heart half-sank within him when he 
was told that she was coming," and as- 
cribing to the son the " fear " of the fa- 
ther. Then follow four pages in which 
Mary's inmost thoughts and llie most 
secret workings of her wicked designs 
are laid bare to the reader. He even 
sees the " odd ghtter of her eyes.** 
Mr, Froude assures us that "Mary 
Stuart was an admirable actress j rare- 
ly, perhapSy on the w*orld's stage has 
there been a more skilful player." 
and Mr, Froude adds, ** She had 
still some natural compunction.'* The 
" perhaps" is really superfluous. It is, 
too, very handsome in our author 
to credit Mary Stuart with **some 
natural compunction;" and as a friend 
of Mary Stuart's memory, we are 
moved to make some complimentary 
return by saying of him that rare- 
ly (without any perhaps) on the 
world^s stage has there been a more 
skilful playwright. 

One of Mr, Froude's most elabo- 
rately finished and sensational pic- 
tures is the scene, vol ix, pp. 42-44, 
where he describes Both well's depar- 
ture from Holyrood to stand his trial 
for the murder of Darnley, 

As the authority for this recital, 
we are referred to the report made 
by a messenger charged with the de- 
livery of a missive from Queen Eliza- 
beth to Queen Mary, and we are as- 
sured by Mr. Froude that " ////> offt* 
ctr has preserved^ as in a photography 
the singular scen^ of which lu was a 
witness^ Unfortunately, Mr. Froude 
has chosen to substitute a sketch of 
his own for the ofticer^s photograph. 
Passing over some minor misstate- 
ments, we come to "presently the 
earl [Bothwell] appeared, walking 
with Maitland/' The beggarly Scots 
*^fell back as Bothwell ajiproached, 
and he [the oflicer, Provost-Marshal 



of Berwick] presented his letter/' And 
now Mn Froude gives us a specimen 
of the psychological treatment by 
looking into Both well's heart and in- 
forming the reader wliat were his feel- 
ings:" "The ead perhaps feit that 
too absolute a defiance might be un- 
wise* He took it [notice, Bothwell 
took it] and went back into the pal- 
ace, but presently returned, and said 
[Bothwell said] that the <jueen was 
still slec(»ing ; it would be given to her 
when the work of the morning was 
over.*' I'his narrative forces upon 
the reader the inference that Both- 
well has at once exclusive charge of 
the tpieen's affairs and the entree to 
her sleeping apartments. 

We have long ceased to be aston- 
ished at any historical outrage from 
the pen of our author. As there is 
no ignorance too gross* no superfi* 
dality too shallow, for the w riter who 
could perpetrate the peine forte et 
dure blunder,* so there is no perver- 
sion too shocking, no misrepresenta- 
tion too bold, for one who could ma- 
nipulate, as does MrFroude, the pas- 
sage under consideration. 

'I'he Marshal, in his oftlcial report, 
made through Drury, stales distinctly 
that Maitland (not Bothwell) demand- 
ed the letter, Maitland (not Bothwell) 
took the letter, Maitland(not Bothwell) 
returned, and Maitland (not Bothwell) 
gave him the answer he reports, but 
which, of course, is not the answer 
stated by Mr, Fruude, who has **not 
yet succeeded in grasping the na- 
ture of inverted commas." 

Of the groom, the horse, the queen 
at the open window, the farew^ell 
nod to Bothwell, there is not a syl- 
lable in the Afarslutrs statement. 

Here is the text of the official re- 
port, beginning at the point where 
Maitland and Bothwell made tiieir 
a|>pcarance : 

* See Attguit (t^To) nuai t>er, Catmolic Woiius, 
p. S7B. 




Mr, Frondes History of England. 



'* Ai the which, all the lords and _ 
demen piounicd on horseback, WW thai 
Lcihington (M;:it1and) came to him dc- 
m.indcd him the letter, which he deliver- 
ed. The Earl of Hoihwell and he reium- 
ed to the queen, and srnyed there irithin 
half an hour, the whole troop of lords and 
gfjutlemcn. siill on horscbuck attending 
for his coming. Lcthington seemed will- 
ing to have passed by ihc provost wflli- 
out any speech, but he pressed toward 
him. and asked him if ihc ciucefi's majes- 
ty had perused the letter, and what ser- 
vice it would please her majcsiy lo com- 
mand him back again. He ansvrercd 
that as yet the queen was sleeping, and 
therefore had not deliYered the letter, and 
that ihere would not be any meet lime 
tor it lilt aficr the assize, wherefore be 
willed him (o attend. So. giving place la 
the throng of people that passed, which 
was great, and. by the esiimatioti of men 
of good judgment, al*i*7*e pur tlttmsamt 
gmtUnun besides others, the Earl lloth- 
well passed with a merry and lusty cheer, 
attended on with all the soldiers, being 
two hundred, all harkebusicis, to ihe 
To I booth," 

Mn Fronde changes the Marshal's 
*'four thousand gentlemen*' into 
•' four thousand ruffians/' in order to 
conceal the fact that at this time 
Bodiweirs cause was the cause of 
Murray, Maitland^ and of tlie great 
body of the nobility — his confede- 
rates in the 1 )arnley murder, and who 
formed the court and jury about to 
try hitn for the crime of which he 
and they were equally guilty » It is 
almost certain that the queen never 
received the missive from Eli/abclh, 
and did not at the time, if ever, know 
of the arrival of the messenger who 
brought It. She never would, even 
as a matter of policy, have counte- 
nanced the incivility and outrage to 
which the Marshal was subjected 
In our first article, we stated as among 
Mn Fraude's objectionable manljjula- 
tions ** the joining together of two 
distinct passages of a document, thus 
entirely changing their original sense \ 
the connection of two phrases from 
two different authorities, and present- 




The Bells of Abingdon, 



ingthemas one; and the lacking of ir- 
rtipORilble or anonymous authorities 
to one that is responsiLlf, concealing 
the first and avowing the last/' Al- 
though Mr. Froude ha5 a loop-hole of 
escape in adding to his reference note, 
^Drury to Cecil, April ^'' the words, 
^ Bimkr \i%s, printed in the appendix 
(a the ninth volume of Mr, lyt/er* s Hist. 
ttfS'otlijntf,'' he has nevertheless, in his 
text, fully impressed the reader with 
the belief that he is perusing the re- 
cital of Elizabeth^s messenger. The 
hoRC, the queen at the window, the 
friendly nod, etc, are found in a frag- 
Djent without date and of anonymous 
authorship, forwarded by Drury, whose 
business it was to gather and send to 
Cecil every nimor, report, and scandal 
concerning llie Scottish court Tytler 
gi^'es it in an appendix as of no his- 
lotical value whatever. Here it is : 

*^Thc qoe^n sent a token and message 
\» Bodwoll, being at assize. 



*' Bodwdl rode upon the courser that 
was the king's, when he rode to the as- 
sysc. . . . 

*■ Ledfnijton and others told the under- 
m;iish.i! that the queen was asleep, when 
he himself saw her looking out of a win- 
d<*w, showed him hy one ti/L*j Crok^s scf- 
venfs, and Ledington's wife with her ; and 
Bud well after hew.is on horseback look* 
ed up, and she gave him a friendly nod 
for a farewell." 

If any such incidents had occurred* 
we would have heard of them from 
numerous sources. They were too 
remarkable to have been overlooked. 
Even Buchanan has no knowledge 
of them; and, if they were true, the 
Marshal would have added to his re- 
port after the words, " He answered 
that as yet the queen was sleeping," 
this statement — ^Avhich was not true — 
for I myself saw her looking out at 
a window, eta The story of the 
" courser that was the king's '* resem- 
bles Buchanan^s stuff as to giving 
Daniley*s old clothes to Bothwell. 



THE BELLS OF ABINGDON. 

Ting — ting — yet never a tinkle ; 

Ring — ring — yet never a sound 
Stii^ the beds of periwinkle, 

Stirs the ivy climbing round 
The belfry-tower of well-hewn stone, 
Where, ages ago, at Abingdon, 
Saint Dunstan's bells, with Saint Ethelwold's, hung; 
Hung and swung; 
Swung and rung ; 
Rung, 
Each with its marvellous choral tongue, 
Matins and Lauds, and the hour of Prime, 



I 



iSo The Bells of Abingdon, 

Terce, Sext, and None, till the Vesper hymn 
Was heard from the monks in their stalls so dim ; 

Then lent their chime 
To the solemn chorus of Compline time. 
And blessed was he, or yeoman or lord. 
Who, with stout bow armed or with goodly sword, 

Heard, at the hour. 
Those wonderful bells of sweetness and power ; 
And, crossing himself with the sign of peace, 
Had his Pater and Ave said at their cease. 

Ting — ting — yet never a tmkle ; 

Ring — ring — yet never a sound 
Stirs the beds of periwinkle, 

Stirs the ivy creeping round, 
Creeping, creeping, over the ground. 

As if to hide 
From the eye of man his own rapine and pride. 
Matins and Lauds, and the hour of Prime, 
Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline time. 
Unrung, 
Unsung : 
The bells and the friars 
Alike in their graves ; and the tangled briers 
Bud in May, blush with blossoms in June, 
Where the bells, that once were all in tune, 
Moulder beneath the ivy vines ; 
Only, as summer day declines. 
The peasants hear. 
With pious fear, 
Ting — ting — ^)*et never a tinkle. 

Ring — ring — yet never a sound, 
Where, in their beds of periwinkle^ 

And ivy close to the ground, 
Saint Dunstan*s bells, with Saint Ethelwold's, keep 
A silent tongue while the good monks sleep. 



The Passion Play. 



Si 



THE PASSION FLAY. 



TKAKSI^TED r»OM THE GERMAN. 



SfC the past summer, the cele- 
Idrama of the rassion of our 
Ras been represented at short 
als in the village of Oberam- 
u, in Bavana. 
origin, according to the com- 

eceived account^ dates from 
ing out of the plague, dur- 

redish war of 1 633. The epi- 

[)read through the villages of 
mmergau, Es<:henlohe, Parten- 
» and Kahlgrub, the mortality 
remarkably great, not withstand - 
? high situation of the villages, 
inmergau was separated from 
Ijacent \illages by mountains, 
espite of the greatest precau- 
the disease was carried by a 
borer from Eschenlohe, who 
*d to join his family and assist 
har\'est festival. On the se- 
^y after his return he died, 
pbrt time eighty-seven of the 
Snts fell \ictims ; the remain* 
es then made a solemn vow, in 
:o stay the pestilence, to repre- 
very ten years, the Passion of 
V Their trust in God was re- 
ft for the plague immediately 
I In the next year, 1634, the 
■tation took place for the first 
pjntil 1677, ten years elapsed 
^ each representation, when 
T look place in 1680. From 
nc the round number ten years 

f observed, 
giving respectful credence to 
port of the origin of the play, 
loot suppress the opinion that 
Ha of the Passion in Oberam- 
as old as the practice of 
ving in that part of the 
that both date from the 
¥ou xii: — 6 



earliest conventual times, and were 
introduced by the monks. The so- 
lemn vow of which mention is made 
referred in all probability to a well- 
known fact ; tlie only new feature be* 
ing the time that was fixed for the 
regular representation of ihc play. 

At intcr\ als the text underwent va- 
rioui; changes, until, in iSii, Dr. Ott- 
mar Wei.s remodelled the whole, omit- 
ting much that was either objectiona- 
ble or in bad taste. In 1S15, Kachus 
Dedler, of Oberammergau, a highly 
esteemed teacher and apt composer, 
wrote various songs and choruses, 
which are still in use, and which 
give in their quiet intensity of feeling 
special interest to the drama. 

Up to 1820, the representations 
were not crowded ; the village itself 
had to contribute mainly to the ex- 
pense of the entertainment, and the 
leading actor was fortunate if he ob- 
tained five florins for a half-year's 
services. But in 1S40 a sudden 
change took place : the matter had 
been brought before the public no- 
tice through the report of Dr, Lud- 
wig Steub, and still more by the eu- 
logies of Guido Gocrres. Foreign- 
ers now poured in, especially in 1850, 
to witness these representations, and 
among others Eduard Devrient, the 
well-known actor and dramatist, who 
published a series of illustrated let- 
ters on the play. 

The proceeds are now devoted to 
liquidating the debts of the parish 
for the support of their drawing and 
moulding schools. But thert: are 
heavy expenses attending these re- 
presentations. In i860, they amount- 
ed to over twenty thousand florins : 



B2 



The Passion Play. 



seven thousand were expended in 
wood for the erection of the stage; 
the rest was required for costumes 
and mechanical arrangements. 

The place of representation is a 
large Jilatforni* erected in die open 
air and supported by heavy beams, 
and covered with heavy plank Moors. 
The spectators, for the most part, are 
seated in the open air. 

The play occupies from eight a.m. 
to five P.M., and widi only one hour's 
intermission at noon. Even this pause 
is omitted if there is an appearance 
of rain. Even if rain, however, should 
pour down, it does not disturb the 
attention of the actors, who then make 
use of cotton umbrellas. 

The stage, before which a smalj 
orchestra is placed, disdnctly shows 
the ancient (ierman theatre. The 
three stories used in the Middle Ages 
are replaced by an amphitheatre. 
Before us, w*e see an open, elevated 
space, about eighty feet long and 
from sixteen to twenty feet deep. 
This ordinarily is occupied by die 
chorus. On the same level is the 
real stage, of which the centre, called 
the middle stage, is shut out from view, 
may be, by a falling curtain. On its 
right and left, narrow houses with bal- 
conies are seen : the one is the house 
of Pilate; the other, of the high-priest 
Annas, Beyond are arched gates, 
which, upon opening, disclose a sight 
of the streets of Jerusalem. The 
houses are painted in brilliant colors. 
The gable of the pointed roof of the 
middle stage shows an allegorical 
picture, llie whole has a very ori- 
ginal appearance, and the beholder 
experiences a feeling of siiqjrise as 
he turns from these sights, and gazes 
beyond the stage into the grandeurs 
of the Alpine world. The bells of 
herds of cattle and the song of birds 
fill the ears, and the fresh morning 
air affects one agreeably. The dis- 
charge of cannon warns the assembly 



of si^ thousand spectators tl 

representation is about to begi 
It opens with a soft» soleinij 
of music composed by Dedler. 
chorus enters «rom both side 
consists of men, women, and 
They are all dressed in white 
and stockings, but their mantll 
dies, and sandals are colored 
eidier side, eighty singers are sti 
on the level stage in pyramidiq 
dation. Their hands are coverq 
white cotton gloves. They cro^ 
over their breasts when they 
ing to bov\r, and begin with so] 
voices the song which prep; 
spectators for the dramatic n 
of the great sacrifice of ex] 
At its conclusion, the chorus 
step back, the curtain rolls 
w*e see in tableau the expulsi 
our first parents from Paradi; 
the sacrifice of Isaac. A few 
of descriiJtion are given. Sooi 
is shown the adorable cross, th 
of the redemption. All kneel 
it with great veneration, whil 
children sing a touching song, 
tableau lasts generally ten ml 
or just long enough to produd 
desired effect ; but much longta 
the most experienced manager o 
a royal theatre would accomplia 
the most perfect actors. The c 
fidls w ithout noise, and die ci 
singers retire in two separate di vi 
after having exhorted the spe< 
to follow the Redeemer on bis t 
path, llie effect is exceedingly \ 
We listen eagerly for the sli 
sound, but are not prepared fi 
following surprising scene. , 
Loud hosannas are heard la 
the stage, and the rising curtai 
closes a view of Jerusalem an 
Jews in festival attire. The ch 
come first, strewing palms and 
ing ; then men, women, and cl^ 
follow, looking behind them 
spreading the road with garmei 



The Passion Play. 



order lliat honor may be shown to 
the Lord as he enters the city. Sur- 
rounded by the youngest children, the 
Si viour appears, seated side wise upon 
the back of an ass* In the midst of 
Joud cheers, he alone seems thought* 
Ailaftd aUnost mournful; but his coun- 
tenance beams with clemency and 
lmmilit>\ The profile of the long, 
pale face is before us, with the nar- 
row, straight nose, the noble forehead, 
aad tlie parted, flowing hair and long 
ticard. All is here as it has become 
t)-pical in the school of design. Thus 
Dcvrient paints this scene with mas* 
ter-words; 

**Thc trapression made upon me the 
first lime I saw it was so powerful ihai I 
fciied I wouM not be able to endure it to 
the cad, in c.isc scene by scene should 
tncrease in ihc same intensity. The cur- 
ti in mis as soon as the Saviour has arriv- 
ed %i the middle of the back stage ; mean- 
frhile a crowd of priests and doctors of 
ihfhvf pour in from ihe opposite streets ; 
and now th*?- Saviour cniers upon the front 
^' * the g*itc into the bright sun- 

:'. ts off the animal, which dis* 

*^i»:ari, (jnn hardly knows ho^v. It makes 
a most wonderful impression to sec the 
Sitfour, who is so familiar a subject of 
9ur childisit imag^inatlons, and who has 
btCTi represented in so many pictures* 
"■liking alive before us; to hear him 
*pwking and instructing the people, and 
♦o hear ihe praises and blessings of the 
crowd, and how he answers the questions 
«lthedociois. The acting is so excellent 
ibt wi» are completely carried away by 
\\cA illusion. No( only his ap- 
r, but his t\'cry movement grows 
*m nl the picture. The management of 
V .^f(n» and hands, the light yet firm 
i< in die most correct historical 
fid withal so complete, natural, 
^^ uustudicd." 

Mi*hile the Redeemer steps forward, 
il»f rising curtain shows us the Jew- 
ttii merchants and the money-chang- 
«s, whom iJic Lord drives forth vtith 
^ words, ** My house is a house of 
payer; but ye have made it a deo 
of fticves." *^rhe scene is well repre- 



sented by the actors; the stilly quiet 
dignity of Christ is perfectly portray- 
ed. In the tumult occasioned by the 
dispersed populace, a basket is over- 
turned containing a number of pig- 
eons, which escape and fly wildly ovci 
the heads of the spectators* The 
whole picture, and particularly the 
mean, mercenar}^ i>ortion of the popu- 
lace pausing to threaten vengeance, 
is in the highest degree admirably 
sustained. We were somewhat dis- 
satisfied with the costumes of the dif- 
ferent actors, although they were in 
accordance wilh the scenery, of the 
stage ; still they might have been a 
little more perfect. The people of 
Jerusalem, the merchants, and the 
priests are represented in the sl)'Ie 
which pervades the works of the sce- 
nic painters of the last century, as a 
reminiscence of Rembrandt. The 
Jews wear red, yellow^ and green 
colored boots, great flowering ru- 
quelaures, Turkish turbans with high 
points, and other unhistorical flppen- 
dagcis. This is the only weak point, 
however, and we did not greatly de- 
mur, as most of the spectators have 
not yet had their eyes opened to the 
scientific details of our modem thea- 
trcs. 

The curtain falls ; the chorus-sing- 
ers narrate in varied songs of a dra- 
matic character how the sons of Ja- 
cob put away their brother Joseph ; 
and then in a more stirring manner 
describe the scene where the Scribes 
and Pharisees consult together how 
they may entrap Jesus and kill him. 
It is a complete parliamentary session 
or synedrium,* under the presidency 
of Annas and Caiphas. It grows in 
intensity, particularly through the 
complaints of the leading merchants 
and money-changers, until it reaches 
a point of violent excitement, and 

♦Svncdrium is a half-dcrical aud half-dril 
council deciding upon eccle«iia£lical, civile «i»tl 
politit;id tiffairii. 



Tlie Passion Play. 



concludes^ after exhaustive speeches, 
in threats and bitter denunciations 
against Christ. Meanwhile, the nia- 
sic of the dramatic controversy is 
played in a quick and lively measure. 
Afterward the chorus sings a song 
of thanksgiving in honor of the vol- 
untar)-^ sacrifice of Christ. It pictures 
the sorrows of the mother's heart in 
parting with her Son, by exhibiting as 
an allegory the picture of the parting 
of young Tobias from his father and 
mother, A second tableau, entirely 
separate and original, represents the 
farewell of the Redeemer to his mo- 
ther — the loving brideof the Canticles 
complaining of the absence of her 
beloved. The background discloses 
an open arbor in a Ho wer- garden, 
wherein stands the richly -adorned 
bride, covered with a flowing veil. 
On either side of her stand eight 
daughters of Jerusalem, in white and 
blue, In sad notes of complaint the 
bride sings thus : 

** Mv eyes look cvcrywhcno 
I* or tiice—in all slircctltm*; 
And wttti the Unit hcam of the sun 
My Kcmrt scclcH tu i»cet thcc/' 

To which the ^ eeping maidens reply : 

'♦ C.«*ii*, dc»r fricntl \ tic will conu soon, 
AnJ« sbnidirijj by thy Aide, 
No cloudt will dajrken roore 
The ]oy of thy reualofl/" 

After this tableau, we have the last 
visit of our Saviour to his friends in 
Belhania, The apostles, in garments 
of the traditional colors, with their 
pilgrim-statTs, walk in his train. This 
scene recalls to one's mind the lovely 
picture of Steinles. As he ascends 
the broad steps to Simon's house, 
Mar>- Magdalen comes forth from the 
crowd and pours ointment on his 
feet; whereupon the jaundiced, envi- 
ous, anil mercenary Judas becomes 
angry He is the insignificant penny- 
shaver and miser, who thinks it culpa* 
ble in his Lord and Master to permit 
such wastefulness, and to take no 
greater heed to the devoted twelve. 



At the farewell of the Redeemer, his 
mother Mary appears for the first 
time. 

After the curtain falls, the Lord as 
seen making an invocation to Jerusa- 
lem. In the background picture a|>- 
pears the rejection of the haughty 
Vashti, and sinners are exhorted 10 
repent. After the exit of the chorus, 
the Lord appears with the apostles, 
on the road to Jerusalem. He then 
bemoans the city where it has been 
prophesied " that not one stone shall 
rest upon another." Peter and John 
are sent forward to prepare the Pas- 
chal lamb. The calculating Judas 
meets some of the expelled mer- 
chants, and falls through his greedi* 
ness into the finely woven net of 
seduction. The last voice of con- 
science speaks to him in vain ; he 
satisfies himself with the sophistical 
explanation that his Lord and Mas- 
ter as God can help himself. This 
scene is not exactly perfect, and it is 
represented in large fresco style with 
a heart-touching truthfulness. As \y^* 
vrient poi ntedly remarks, "This drama 
has for the people a familiar plain- 
ness j for Judas appears to knock at 
the hearts of six thousand spectators, 
and ask, * Art thou not as I am ? 
Wilt thou not to-day or to-morrow^ 
for thy security or thy temporal gain, 
or to serve a superior, deny the eter- 
nal truth?'*' Judas could not have 
been more expressively represented. 

The further development of the 
drama is preceded by other tableaux, 
representing, for instance, the finding 
of manna in the ^nlderness by the 
people, and the latter bringing grapes 
firom the promised land, as well as 
bread and wine, which the chorus 
announces as a figure of the new 
mystery which will immediately fol- 
low in the Lord*s Supjier. This most 
affecting scene is not arranged ac- 
cording to Leonardo da Vinci, but 
more after Overbeck's conception. 



The apostles receive communion 
after their feet have been washed; 
Judas leaves the table, and Peter 
ht?ars the prediction of his denial 
The scene, which at first appears ex- 
ceedingly ditlicult, is so arranged that 
^ trace of irreverence appears, nor 
18oes any fear of profanation suggest 
Itself. Whoever hesitates on that 
icore to approve of a Passion dr:ima 
has ncv cr seen one. After witnessing 
this scene, every earnest soul present 
becomes repentant and converted; 
yet still this is not by any means the 
xJiinajt of the drama of Oberammer- 

Now the chorus explains the ta- 
bleau in the foreground, how Joseph 
was sold by his brethren ; after which 
the high council of the Jews appears 
in active session, Judas having sold 
to them his Master for thirty pieces 
of silver. Nicodemus and Joseph of 
Arimathea loudly declare against it. 
ITicy are condemned by the enraged 
Caiphas as unworthy for the future 
to hold a place or vote in the syne- 
drium. Judas promises, after hastily 
patting ihe money in his pocket, that 
he frill that day deliver the Lord into 
their hands. The death of the Lamb is 
tlarced. By an artistic arrangement 
of the whu!e, a running connection is 
ictaincd with the hist'>ry of the old 
covenant by means of tableaux, in 
ife first of which Adam is represent- 
«! as earning his bread by the sweat 
of his brow, a figure of the sweat of 
blood in the Garden of Gethsemnni. 
Tlie second tableavt represents loab, 
*ho, while professing to give Amasa 
^t kiss of peace, buries a sword in 
bislxjdy. (2 Kings xx, 9, 10.) 

Next comes the affecting scene in 
ti of Olives; the capture; 

t" y of Judas; and the tu- 

Wtiituous procession of the Lamb to 
Ihc sacrifice* This outrage upon the 
Holy of Hoh'es, now deserted by all, 
ifccti the hearts of the spectators, 



who are spelLbound, The indescri- 
bable effect occasioned by the denial 
even of his beloved Peter, DevTient 
gives in the following words: "This 
sublime, lonely greatness filled my 
soul for the first time with the com- 
plete power of the dramatic art^ al- 
though inspired only by village per- 
formance." The curtain now flills : 
the action so far has taken the 
whole inside and outside of the stage. 
The chorus appears, and announces 
that this painful scene is only the be- 
ginning of the sufferings of our Lord, 
causing each one to mentally exclaim, 
" Is it possible that all the terrors that 
have just been witnessed can be sur- 
passed ?" 

The next tableau represents the pro- 
phet Michcas, who, for speaking the 
truth to King Achab^ receives a blow 
on the cheek. Then Christ is brought 
before Annas, and struck on the face, 
The scene is represented partly on 
the balcony of the house, and partly 
on the middle of the stage; by which 
arrangement the tumult and rioting 
of the people have room to move in 
fi"ont. During the ravings and fury of 
the crowd, the imperturbable sweet- 
ness of the Redeemer is shown with 
indescribable \ >o wcr. 

After this scene, the close atten- 
tion and emotion of four consecutive 
hours have necessitated a relaxation 
of nerves for both actors and spec- 
tators. 

The intermission over, the dis* 
charge of the cannon announces the 
continuation of the drama. Moving 
and stationary tableaux are shown ; 
and the choir relates in musical ca* 
dence how the innocent Naboth was 
condemned to death by false wit- 
nesses (3 Kings xxi.), and how the 
afflicted Job was tormented by his 
wife and friends. These scenes seem 
to foreshadow the bringing of our 
Saviour to Caiphas to be judged by 
him on the accusations of f:ilse wit- 



nesses, and declared guilty of death, 
and afterward maltreated by his 
keei^ers. Nobler than ever, purer, 
and grander does die Lord a[)pear 
in the midst of the brutal soldiers 
^Mth their tormenting malice. Never 
was a tragedy put upon the st.ige 
which so plainly showed the worid 
its falsities, cruelties, and deceptions. 
This scene takes possession of the 
mind, and calls forth a feeling of lov- 
ing admiration which grows upon 
the spectator at each succeeding re- 
presentation. The sun is sinking in 
its burning light, but the drama ab- 
sorbs every thought; while the si- 
lence is broken only by a sob or a 
cry of sympathy. 

The representation of Cain*s flight 
comes next. In former times^ the 
suicide of the perjurer Achitophel 
was rendered instead. Judas now 
returns to the high council, tormented 
with remorse, and throws down the 
treason-money. The scene of his 
suicide has been transferred to the for* 
est, where hurriedly he draws down the 
boughs of a tree and slings his girdle 
around the main branch. The fatal 
moment is concealed with great tact 
by the falling of the cunain. This 
scene is managed with so much fine 
taiste and classical skill that it com- 
mantls our greatest admiration. 

A stationar}" tableau represents 
the denouncing of Daniel to King 
Darius, and the Babylonians urging 
that he be cast into the Hons' den. 
Next follows the seeond hearing of 
Christ liefore the high council, when 
Caiphas, declaring tliat Christ has 
blasphemed, rends his gamnents. 
Christ is then led away to Pilate, w^ho 
appears on the balcony of the opposite 
house. The procession conducting 
him to the house of Pilate is arranged 
in the most artistical manner. 

Two more tableaux follow. The 
brothers of Joseph show the blood- 
stained coat to the weeping father. 



On the left-hand side, Isaac ig 
ing before the altar, Abrahany 
at its side, holding the ram 
destined for the sacrifice ins« 
Isaac, The typical meaning 
picture is given by a subdue< 
rus. Then the noisy process) 
fore Pilate reappears, and the < 
against Christ are renewed 
high -priests and people. They 
Barabbas in preference to 
who is condemned to be scour] 

The scourging is supposed 
place behind the scenes; the 
singers prepare us for it. i 
their last words, you hear tl 
ing blows. A\Tien the curtai 
again, the last motion of the 
of the scourgers is seen, and a 
Saviour tied to the bloody 
He falls, covered with blood 
he is raised from the grouni 
clothed in a puq>le garment; 
is placed in his hand for i 
sceptre, and they seat htm on 
for a throne. The rabble kno4 
down ; the manacled Savioii 
motionless to the ground, E^ 
this moment the actor of thi 
cult part shows dignity and gra 
They rudely lift him, and p 
crown of thorns upon the ban 
head of the silent sutlerer, whilJ 
drops of blood are trickling tj 
This fearful sight would be in 
ble, were it not that the dcvo< 
the heart raises it above all coi 
ness of the man, making the 
appear a glorification of endurl 

As a contrast to this m< 
coronation is shown in tableg; 
of Joseph in Kgypt. It is a | 
ficent festival pageant, consisi 
a brilliant crowd, in the m« 
which the youth invested with 
honors is riding in a chariot 
by white horses. 

The soldiers then appear 
lots for Christ's raiment, but th 
interrupted by the clamor th 



The Passion Play. 



•V 



Jnajids the liberation of Barabbas. 
Here is seen a completely organized 
-street tumult befure the palace of 
Pikte^ who at length makes the sac- 
niice to public opinion* Those who 
know* how ditficiilt the representation 
Of such scenes is» even in first-class 
tkAtres, and how many rehearsals 
are rcrjuired to f>eriect them, will 
accord the uamiest praise to the 
devoted people of Qbcranimergau if 
ooly for their admirable acting, 

'Oiree tableaux introduce the next 
scene. Is^ac, preparing for sacrifit:e, 
b seen mounting the hill, laden with 
wootl ; Moses is erecting the l^razen 
serpent, by virtue of whidi the Israel- 
ite* will lie cured of the deadly bites ; 
then fellows the procession to the 
scourging-pillar, and the carrying of 
ihf cross. All this is so artistically 
managed that you cnn easily imag- 
inc you see the picture of some celc- 
bnteii painter alive before you, and 
ft)lild liitc to call it a Raphael. 

From afar you already hear the 
npfiraaching procession, which is now 
ol»Bcr\'ed coming slowly down the 
sir^ect, headed by the Roman captain, 
*illi the Saviour carrying his cross. 
Snnon of Cyrene is seen enter- 
ing the middle stage from a gar- 
to. He carries a basket^ and turns 
liis eyes, ears, and footsteps from the 
tttoeastng noise. He stands asitle 
to let the procession pass, in the 
Wxt street, the holy women appear 
tejiiy agitated and weeping. The 
Rpinan captain bears a kind of stan- 
di and behind him the Saviour 
ttiggcrs under the burden of his 
oofis, surrounded by a band of sol- 
tfictx The two thieves come after, 
otiy^iijg their crosses, and follow- 
^ bjr soldiers, priests, and fieople. 
Heir ilic magnificent arrangement 
•f the stage appears again. We get 
1 glimpse uf several parts of the city 
and iw specialties; Imt our gaze is 
fivek'd to the appearance of the Sa- 



viour sinking under his heavy burden. 
He drags himself slowly, and the 
sight is exceedingly pitiful. Heavy 
is the pressure of the cross on the 
wounded, bleeding, and beautiful 
shoulders. The bodily pain, height- 
ened by the mahreatment of his exe- 
cutioners, is only a part of the suffer- 
ings which precede tlu; crucifixion 
of the Ciod-man, The threats and 
roughness of the soldiers, the mock- 
ing imprecations of the people, press 
like a burden upon the soul of the 
Word made tlesh. 

(.'hrist at length sinks under his 
sufferings, The executioners seize the 
bewildered Simon, drag him along, 
and command him to help carry the 
cross. The j^rocession moves for- 
ward, and enters through the middle 
stage. Meanwhile Christ addresses 
the wee[»ing women of Jerusalem, , 
who bear their children in their arms. 
Through another street the mother 
of Christ is seen coming, supported 
by St, John and the three Marys. 
These sad mourners advance to the 
front of the stage, and then the Holy 
Virgin bewails her sufferings in a 
touching plaint, which has been re- 
peated from the earliest ages of the 
church in her sorrowful mysteries. 
The dreadful procession continues, 
followed from afar by these grief- 
stricken souls. 

llie chorus-singers now reappear, 
but in mouniing garments. This 
time the leader of the chorus begins 
with a recitative which ends in sing- 
ing, during whicli blows of a hammer 
are heard buhind the curtain driving 
the cruel nails into the Saviour's hands 
and feet. The singers leave when 
the curtain rises. Already the two 
thieves are nailed to their" crosses. 
The sacred wood with the cnicified 
Saviour upon it is slowly erected and 
]>laced finnly in the ground. This is 
an incomparable scene. No other 
work of art could ever produce such 



The Passion Play. 



a painful and startling effect* Here 
we behold the God- man and the Sa- 
viour of the world elevated between 
heaven and earth, and, in a faltering 
voice, praying for forgiveness and 
grace on the crazy and mocking 
crowd below. His last words to his 
mother and St, John are heard. He 
dies. ^ 

Pale, frightened, and breathless, a 
servant rushes in, and announces that 
the veil of the temple is rent. Surely 
no one among the spectators, irre- 
spective of their religious creed, but 
is touched to their inmost heart. Eve- 
ry one feels that the greatest tragedy 
in sacred art has just been reproduced. 

The crowning point, however, of 
the whole, is the descent from the 
cross. It is rendered with such qui- 
etness and sacred piety^ and so sor- 
rowfully true, that you think you see 
the celebrated picture of Rubens en- 
dowed with Hie. The stage becomes 
almost deserted ; only a very few have 
remained. The descent is managed 
thus : A ladder is placed against the 
back of the cross. Nicodemos as- 
cends with a roll of linen, which he 
unfolds. He winds the linen around 
the breast of the coq>se, ami lets the 
ends fall over the cross-arms so that 
they reach to the ground. Each of 
them is caught and held by one of 
the disciples below, while another 
places a ladder in front of the cross, 
which Joseph of Arimathea ascends. 
He draws out the nails with a ham- 
mer, and they fall down noisily. One 
of the holy crowd lifts them with 
great reverence, and places them at 
the side of the Holy Virgin, who, 
overcome with sorrow, has fainted. 
Now the arms, liberated from the 
cross-beam, are thrown over the shoul- 
ders of Joseph of Anmathea, He 
sustains the body of the sacred coqise 
with superhuman strength, but still 
without showing how great is tlie ef- 
fort. After the nails have been taken 



from the feet, he descends from the 
cross to the ground. The strictest 
silence is obscned during the con- 
tinuance of this action. You cannot 
but see from the expression on the 
faces of these devoted disciples that 
they arc entrusted with the perfor- 
mance of a sacred and solemn duly. 
They communicate by signs instead 
of words. The whole scene is one 
of touching beauty. We join in spi- 
rit with true friends who are showing 
the last honors to the remains of the 
Saviour. He whose sympathies are 
not touched here must be devoid of 
every noble sentiment. We are still 
more deeply aftcctetl when we notice 
the careful tenderness with which they 
touch the sacred body after so many 
indignities have been heaped upon it. 

The body is now laid upon a white 
cloth spread upon the ground, so 
that its head, relieved of its ignomi- 
nious crown, rests upon the lap of 
the beloved mother ; then the corpse 
is prepared for burial by rolling it in 
fine linen. When this is finished, the 
disciples and friends convey it to a 
sepulchre cut in a rock. A heavy 
stone is placed before it, and the 
guards appear and take their places. 
The curtain here falls slowly to give 
us as long a view of the holy sepul- 
chre as possible. 

Agitated with high^ holy, and deep 
emotions, the spectator welcomes the 
next tableau with pleasure. The 
singers appear in a variety of cos* 
turaes, explaining their meaning, and 
describing how Jonas was cast upon 
the shore after three days' burial in 
the whale's belly. Another tableau 
represents the Israelites passing 
through the Red Sea, and the de- 
struction of Pharaoh, his wagons, 
riders, and cavalry* in the lloating tide. 

When the curtain of the middle 
stage rises again, you see the holy 
sepulchre, with the guards who have 
fallen asleep. Then follows the earth* 



The Poetry of Wiiliam Morris, 



89 



quake, represented by a discharge of 
cannon. The Saviour rises from tlie 
tomb, holding the ensign of \ictory. 
The amaied and territied guards Uirn 
and flee. The holy women draw 
near, to whom an angel announces 
the resurrection, which the synedri- 
uia refuses to believe. Hie orches- 
tra io joyous strains proclaims the 
Uiuinph of the church and the de- 
siruction of the synagogue. 

This scene closes the drama, and 
vas represented in an Easter play, 



six hundred years ago, by monks of 
the Pienedictine Order. The effect of 
the whole play upon the people and 
the spectators is that of a mission. 
Not only through the ears, but like- 
wise through the eyes, does it reach 
and affect the souL Every spec- 
tator takes to his heart and home an 
ajjplication greatly exceeding an his- 
torical or artistical interest, and for 
his whole life carries with him an 
agreeable souvenir of £he lonely val- 
ley of Oberammergau, 



T 



THE POETRY OF WILLIAM^^liff^!^k.-' 



Mjt. Morris's poems, having pass- 
ed through several editions, and hav- 
ing been hailed with marked appro- 
Uiion by many of the best critics, 
Ihey claim to be brought under the 
'rvspertion, so that the causes 
success may be ascertained, 
^ tiietr merit, if real, more fully re- 
c*jgoized. Our age has been so sur- 
iaietl with odious pretensions to the 
'^ "* ficulty, with affectation and 
ty in verse only equalled by 
and the Euphuists, siniplici- 
learness have been so ruth- 
rificed, and the impossibility 
. understood has, in so many 
, been made a claim to pub- 
JULntion, that lovers of true poe- 
tn% weary and disgusted with the 
s of Robert Brown- 
s of Tennyson, turn 
*itfl delight to song which, at least, 
15 not as difficult as Euclid or alge- 
lira, and which promises by its sweet- 
*^css and perspicuity to fulfil the of- 
fire nf pr>f.tn% and give to the jaded 
hmcnt and repose. This 
\ all events, appears on 



the surface of Mr. Morris's pages — 
that they are easy to be understood ; 
that language with him is not invent- 
ed for the concealment of ideas; that 
the channels between thought and 
expression in him arc not choked up, 
but that, on the contrary, his poctka 
mdia are distilled most sweetly and 
transparendy; that the hnes follow 
each other softly and evenly as snow- 
flakes, like the sentences that fell 
from the lips of Ulysses: 

Satisfied therefore, at first sight, 
of the fluency and simplicity of the 
poet, the reader is disposed to accept 
a draught of Hip|*ocrene at his hands, 
and to say of it, like Menalcas in 
Virgil's BticoIiiS^ '* Thy song, divine 
poet, is like sleep to the weary on 
the grass— hke quenching one's thirst 
from a bubbling spring of fresh water 
in summer-tide." t 

There are many great poets, easy 
to enumerate, who atlect us powerful- 

• Iliad, b. ill aaa. 

t Buc^lksy Bcloguc V, 4S-47* 



90 



The Poetry of William Morris, 



\y at tiroes by passages of overwhelm- 
king tenderness, such as Milton, when 
he sings of his blin(hicss ; Byron, when 
the prisoner of Chillon sees his young- 
est brother die ; Dante, wlien Fran- 
cesca di Rimini tells the poet the 
talc of her unhap[)y love; but Mr. 
Morris ditTers from otlier poets in 
ilhis, that his sweetness Is invariable; 
that he jjossesses ** the most sustain- 
ed tenderness of soul that ever ca- 
ressed the chords of the lyre;"* that, 
describe what he will, reflect as he 
may, it is in a pensive tone, with a 
joyful sorrow and a sorrowful joy» 
Hence, as is generally the case with 
dispositions the reverse of cheery, he 
lives in the past. His muse is emi- 
nently retrospective. He may be dis- 
appointed with the present, or dis- 
gusted, liut he does not say so. He 
may be desponding about the future^ 
or careless, but this also he does not 
say* He makes no eftbrt to set 
the crooked diings straight* He takes 
l^tcfugc in the past. He embowers 
tlimscif in the groves and gardens of 
Mher lands, and of summers that 
bloomed when the world was young. 
He courts the yttvaitus Aftntdi, not 
with a pitiable affectation of Helle- 
nisms, Archaisms, and Medievalisms, 
but by instinct, which in him, no doubt, 
is n.iiural, he applies himself to che- 
rish remembrance at the expense of 
hope ; to obser\'e, learn, and imitate, 
rather than teach» argue, and Invent. 
He thinks, though it is perhaps only 
in his character as a poet that he 
says it, that, 

^*\n that lontt ijii4»t btlf- forgotten time, 
Wliilc yet ihc world w«5 young, «Qd Uie fweet 

clime, 
Golden *nd mild* no Wllcr storm cloud* bf€<l, 
fjfht itry the yfitrt u^n tht untr^ubUd htaH^ 
And loojfer men tlvcd then bv »i*ny % yc»r 
Than la th«e days, when every wcirk U clc«r/* 

Without any forced and artificial 
calm, therefore, Mr. Morris is placid 

• T*m^it Smr^ August, 1869, 



and pathetic; and of all 
poets we have read or heard 
the best fitted to take his i 
the hand, and, while he sin 
wrinkles of care on his b| 
him away from present asi 
and cheat him into hours o^ 
enjoyment in regions of pit 
He has no higher aim than 
this he attains. The intf 
lines to **The Earthly Para 
forth his views in language i 
sitely simple and poetic \ 
may well be quotetl as a sp^ 
his powers and an expressil 
purpose. It may, indecdi t 
ed that he ought to have hi 
aims, and m this opinion 1 
heartily concur; but, on \ 
hand, we are bound to admi 
human mind needs relaxat 
that poetry which pleases w| 
tiating,even though it fiiils t^ 
and edify, may, hke 
useful end. 

'* Of heaven or hell I have no powc? 
I cftnnot ease the burden of your 19 
Of incike <|inck<omin^ death a UtL| 
Or hnnjz ajjuiu the plcM^nrc cil p>ts^ 
Nor for my words shall ye forget f 
Or hope af^uin for aught that I ctml 
The idle siuger uf an empty cUy, ' 

*' Hut rather, when, aweary of ynuf t 
Prom full hearLHKiill unsatisfied yd 
And, feelinp: kindly unto all the Pft| 
(trudge every minutf as It pa.^s^es b 
Made the more mindful lliat the 
die— I 

Remember me a little, then, I prajE 
The idle singer of an empty d«y.^ 

*' The heavy trouble, the bcwll<|eriilf 
That vseighft tis down ivho live ftnj! 
bread. I 

Theiic idle verse* hi vc no power to 
So let me ?*ittR (»f iiame^ reinrmti«fi 
Hecause thev, living n'»U can nc^cfj 
Or long liaic luke thdr racmttr}''jii 
From us poor singers of ftii cropty^ 

*' DreflEi ' ■ r 1 

Whv 

Let W ! 

Beats. %v<i,U Uk^^I wui;; ;i^auibl ih^ iv 
Telllnc a tale not too importunate 
To thoHc who ill the sleepy reglun t 
Lulled by the idtigcr of an empty 4 

** Ftjlk %MXy a ^vUard to a northern kl 

At Chnslma»-tidc inch vroadrotis' 

ahow, 1 



T^ UkroQilh oae fvijidnw mea behelJ tiie 

mother saw ihc fummcr glove, 
^ third the tniited Tini:$ u-row, 
iiVl.ile>iiJ| unheord, but tn il* wonted svay, 
VipfSlht (Jfcar wind of that December Uuy. 

!! mc 

- - , , hicof bliss 

4 01 The steely sea, 
; .dl hearts of men must be ; 
listen* ml^bly men shall 

1 of an empty d»y," 

Certainly nothing can exceed the 

grace and modesty ^vith which Mr, 

Morris invites his readers to follow 

HJm through untrodden ways. We 

ho[>c that he is as humble at heart as 

he is unpretending in his professions. 

li ■ ' lesty of j>oets is general- 

I) _, for applause. He might, 

tithiiut presumption, have taken a 

wort confident tone; for the scenes 

liuDugh which he can lead us, with 

aH the power of Orpheus, are beauti- 

fcl beyond measure, and varied with- 

ifnber. He wanders at will 

I sea*pons of Norway and 

of Lybia ; through Arcadian 

and yEgean islands; through 

Cyprus groves in the era of the gods 

ami minster aisles in the ages of 

feilh: through Roman columns and 

lum feasts; through Lydian 

when Crcesus reigned, and 

simplicity when Ogier was 

o -Ogicr, 

" . * . To whom rU strife 
^« but •• wine to stir awhile ihc bloody 
l»*i*iiofii atl life, however ItHrd, wi* good/' 

^•You may obtain/' says Ruskin* 

**« more truthful idea of the nature 

rf Greek religion and legend from 

*^ - ms of Keats, and llic nearly 

ififuJ andt in general grasp of 

, far more powerful recent 

tf Morris, than from frigid 

hip, however extensive. N ot 

poet's impresvsions or ren- 

'>( things are wholly true, but 

♦ r I: ;!i is vital, not fonnal." 

• j_-:.v :. ,j' tkt Air, p, ao. 



Other English poets have devoted 

their powers to classical subjects, but 
only with partial success. They 
have cither been mere translators, 
hke Pope^ Dryden, and Cowper, or 
they have, Hke SheDey and Swin- 
burne, only enveloped their own 
modem thoughts and feelings in a 
Greek mantle — making the exjjluded 
mythology of Hellas serve a purpose 
for which it never was inter.ded and 
for which it is unfit. Thus, Prome- 
tlutis Unbottmi is brimful Ky{ those pe- 
culiar speculations — social, moral, 
poll tic ah and religious — which, to his 
great misfortune, engross Shjlley's 
thoughts. Mr, Swinburne, again* 
se^ms to throw himself into Attica 
and Argos in order to find a more 
convenient region for the indulgence 
of his erotic proclivities. In the 
Witch of Atlas, it is true, Slieb 
ley was more strictly Grecian ; and 
Keats, in liis Endym'wn and Lamia, 
successfully infused into Hellenic 
fable the ideas and sentiments of a 
tender nineteenth-century soul ena- 
mored of the beautiful. To these 
precedents it may be diat we are in- 
debted for Morrises Taks of Grecian 
Life^ in days when gods and goddesses 
took part in the affairs of men, and 
history was inseparably blended with 
legend. Mr. Morris, however, has 
in this field far sur|>asscd his prede- 
cessors. He has contrived to divest 
himself of modern associations in a 
greater degree than those who went 
before him, and to write as if for 
him the wheels of time had rolled 
backward, and he were left, during 
the voyage of Ulysses (whenever 
that may have been), on the dreamy 
shores of the Lotophagi,* to forget 
his own people and his father*s house, 
and remember only the "images of 
gold " and 

** Gods of the t^ntions who dwell nncictilly 
About the borders of the Grecian sea/* 

♦ Oiiyuey, book \%, 84-104, 



* 



The story of the Earthfy I\iradise 
is simply this: Some gentlemen antl 
seamen oi Nonvay, having heard of a 
land very distant, beautiful and hap- 
py, an earthly paradise, exemj^t from 
toif, disease, and death, set sail to 
find it After many mishaps and 
the loss of many years, they came at 
last to a country in the far west, in- 
habited by the descendants of some 
colonists from Ionia in ancient days. 
They were kindly received by these 
peojjle, and two solemn feasts a 
month were instituted, in which some 
one of the elders or their guests should 
relate a story for the amusement of 
the festive assembly* There will 
thus be four-and-twenty tales to com- 
plete the poem ; half of them — those 
from March to August — were com- 
prised in the \ohime first published. 
Of these twelve, the majority refer to 
Greece in the ages before Christ, 
whiie some have their scene laid in 
the Middle Ages. With the subject 
tlie first, "AtalaiUa's Race/' every 

hool'boy is acquainted ; but the 
manner of treating it )sso new, harmo- 
nious, and delicate, that it would be 
difficult to find anything to surpass 
it in the whole range of narrative 
poetr)\ The sources, indeed, from 
vvhitih the writer piay be supposed to 
have drawn many of his materials are 
numerous. Yet he cannot be proved 
to have appropriated unfairly what 
was not his own. The voyages and 
travels of remote ages are, no doubt, 
fresh in liis memory; but, whether 
they be in prose or verse, whether 
fabulous or true, they seem to mingle 
in his mind without disturbance or 
confusion, producing only a general 
and pleasing effect. He is, doubt- 
less» familiar with the accounts of for- 
eign countries given by such travel- 
lers as John Mandeville, Sebastian 
Cabot, Ludovico di \'arthema, Hak- 
luyt, and Captain Cook ; and his 
" Life and Death of Jason " show s 



how fondly he has dwelt on Pindax*s 
brilliant description of the vo\age of 
the Argonauts in quest of the Golden 
Fleece* • 

The Odyssey^ with all its wander- 
ings of Ulysses, must have been his 
manual and text-book, to say noth- 
ing of the .'Efitki and him whom 
Dante took as his master and guide. 
The Pi/grima^ to Canterbury^ with 
its lively tales by Chaucer, has been 
to him a rich mine of thought and 
incident; and he has evidently fol- 
lowed with delight the exploits and 
discoveries of Vasco de Gama as 
narrated in the Lttsiad oi Camoens. 
Nor is he imbued less deeply with 
the poetry of more recent wander* 
ers, with the Excunion of Words- 
worth ; the Shipwreck of Falconer, 
which Byron so admired; with the 
wild Arabian romance of Tltaiaha ; 
with the thoughtful roaming of Childi 
Harold ; with the Voyage of Chris- 
tian and his Comrades^ the AktS' 
tor of Shelley, and the " fairy jour- 
ney" of Keats*s Endymion, He 
does not encumber his pages with 
notes, or give any clue himself to tlie 
sources from which he has quaBed 
his inspirations. It is from internal 
evidence alone that we infer that the 
poems here mentioned have been 
film ilia r to him as household words, 
and that they form a vast f»iciurc- 
gallery through which he has loved 
to wander even from a boy. lliese 
are the voices which speak to him by 
day and by night ; and these he often 
unconsciously echoes when 

" . . , GoDC far astray 
Into the labyrinibi of sweet utterance.'* 

** Atalanta's Race " is foUowxd by 
a charming tale, the scene of which 
is laid in a country- over which the 
Catholic Church reigned in the Mid- 
dle Ages. The story is simple, being 
that of a great king, to whom it was 

• QJtf, ryth, Caim. i?. 



Tlu Poetry of William Morris. 



93 



foretold that lie who should reign 
a/ter him was to be poor and Ioav- 
born \ which thing comes to pass in 
sfJiteof all the king can do to prevent 
\L The tale contains several Catho- 
lic touches, which either indicate that 
the writer has Catholic sympathies, 
CTT ihit he can discourse of matters 
_ to our religion with dramatic 
, ,..-iy. This is becoming daily 
fnore apparent in every branch of 
literature; and we have the satisfac- 
tion of perceiving that, even where 
rDur !ve doctrines are not ac* 

ce] . are»at Ica^st, much better 

understood. The vulgar notion of 
our committing idolatry in w^orship- 
p«ig the Host is now exploded, and 
' . no favor from any educated 
Whether people believe in the 
1 Presence, or believe not^ they re- 
[\i«c that belief in us, and admit 
Ibt wc are intending to adore Christ, 
imi not to honor any created thing, 
Mr. Morris gives great prominence 
altered view of our eucharistic 
He makes the sub-prior 
*ij, in the " Proud King:'* 

*^ I \mAL tvetween mine hands the Lord^ 
And Ixule the bay bcftt forth the belU^* 

And again : 

** nkkHne- him note Whom lii mine handt 
1 heldL the Kaosoiu of ail Laoda." 

It was while the plague was raging : 

•Tike hearV toUmff of the raliiitcr-bell,, 
$^* ct A tinkling lound did tell 

*r ihe sltccls they bore our Saviour 



Bf iiyms tips ^ ftngtibh to be ktss'd/' 

When the poet glances at Catholic 
ntual* his language is no less exact ; 
as wh«i he says : 

•* , . , The singinp folk 
Into most iieftTenly carol broke. 
And roioc soiUy up the h^lL, 
llov« bore doft the vergrcfi tdl 
H^fciy^ Ihe bishop's goldHilad heftd/* 

^Bnt in llse •' Story of the Proud King" 

I — one of the most beautiful in the 

poem — we have Catholic doctrines 

«im1 |)«M:ticcs wrought into the text- 



ure of the tale with exqm*site art, 
There is a certain king, blinded by 
pride, who thought that he was some- 
thing more than man, if not equal to 
God, A strange judgment fell on 
him, so that none knew him to be 
king. Another successfully usurped 
his place, while he was treated as a 
madman, with ignominy and con- 
tempt. He suftered many things, till, 
in the end, he humbled himself, con- 
fessed his sins to a hermit, regained 
his kingdom and his honors^ and 
found that the supposed usurper, 
whom he had taken for his foe, was, 
in fact, his best friend, and his guar- 
dian angel in disguise. Thus the 
outline of the poem is strictly Ca- 
tholic, and the filling up of the de- 
tails is no less so. Thus, in the stan- 
zas following, there is a religious pa- 
thos which cannot fail to beat plea- 
santly on a Catholic ear : 

*" ' Nay, thou art mad to teil me sttch a talc,' 
The hcrrait sutd ; * if thou acek'st soul's hea.Ith 

here, , 

Right 11 1 lie will such words as this avail ; 
It were *i i>ftUr thing to sArivf thre char 
A Hd taA'i thfi piirvhn Chrut htu tough t sa Jtnr, 
Thmi to an aricieni man such mocks to say 
That would be litter Ibr a Christmas play/ ■ ' 

So in the king*5 reply to the hermit, 
we read : 

*♦ * Now, since thou know'st mc» surely God is 

Aod will not slay me ; and gved kept I hav* 
O/hfifi/rtJin Him thtt ditd tt/^n the rood^ 
A ad IS a mighty Lord to slay and save." *' 

We should rejoice if such passages 
and such lines of thought were more 
numerous in Mr, Morrises poems; but, 
intluenced either by the fear of being 
trite, or by a secret preference of hea- 
then to Christian imagery, his tales 
turn chiefly on matters such as those 
which occupied the minds of Sopho- 
cles and Bion. Yet, closely as he 
imitates the ancients, there is in his 
narratives a depth of religious feeling 
we cannot find in theirs. Under a 
veil of idolatry, he often represents 
the fer\'or of a regenerate soul ; and 



94 



The Poetry of William Morris* 



some of the most beautiful and touch- 
ing lines he has written are prayers 
addressed from full hearts, with weep- 
ing eyes and implicit trust, to deities 
which, though false, were the only 
deities that the imagined worshippers 
knew\ In this way, he becomes an 
exponent not only of the material, 
but of the mental, part of the Greek 
religion, taking us into the inner life 
of pagan devotees, if, indeed, their 
dim and distorted s]>tntuality deserves 
to be called by such a name. 

Nor is he less faithful in his exhi- 
bition of the poetic and romantic 
phases of Grecian life. He is not as 
homely as Aristophanes, for comedy 
and low life are not his aim ; but, in 
so far as he is domestic, he paints 
truthfully and with an artist's hand. 
To one who is familiar with the Oths- 
sey\ the lines which follow will ap- 
pear to be a translation » so exactly do 
they echo the language and the r///^ 
of Horaer*s most charming though 
not most powerful epic : 

'* Then « damsel sUm 
Led liim Inside, riAuj^ht toth to j^o with hirn ; 
And when the cloud of stcuin bjnd curled to 

meet 
Within Ihe brass KU wcjiricd, d\k%iY feet. 
She froiB % enrvcd press brouji^Ht him linen fkir^ 
And a new-wo^en co&ta kinf^ mif^ht wc«t ; 
And so being^ ckd he came unto the feasL" * 

And again : 

** Admetus shook the j^oldrn-ilttddcd reias *' 

is a truly Homeric line ; and the ac- 
count of Perseus going across the 
desert may be compared with any- 
thing of the kind in Lucan*s Pharsalia 
or the Tltihaid of Statius : 

» Vet, gl«d «t heart, be lifted iip Mt feet 
From the parched earth, and soon the air did 

he-tt, 
Grn ' ^ - f-,rth all the day, 

A r- , I WA1* on the way ; 

Att' 1 1 he; pass o'er. 

And uiutiy a \.Uy^ uiui^h-Lroitden rlvcr-sborc* 
Where tlikk the thirsty beasts stood la the 

nljfht. 
The stc4lihy leopard ww him with «frri(rlrt 
As, whimng, from the thicket it crept out ; 
The bun dtcw back at his sudden sJiuut 

• »» The Lave of Al«ettift." 



From of! the carcass of somt &Imi 
And the thin jackals waking; for 
Stinted their hungry howls «» h 
And black men, slcefung, as he 
DreaniM ugly dreams, and react 

to seize 
The tiieiir or sword that U) 

knees," ♦ 

There is another parti cul 
t)ie Earth iy Hiradhr res 
Homeric poems. They \ 
action. The wTitcr seldi 
to make reflectit^ns; hii 
and feelings are sugges 
than expressed by the pla 
touching manner in whic 
his tale* It is but rarcl 
breaks off altogether and 
as in these lines: 

** Love while ye may ; if twain |fr< 
Tw for a little while ; tV * 
No hatred 'twixl the i-. 
No troubles braak itici 

yet- 
How could it be ? we strore not 
Rather in rain to that old time w 
lis bo[ie« and wivUes rouad o 

bung. 
We ptfty'd old partf, we use 

vttiut 
We gn our ways, and t^Niim #! 

iwaim,** 

The love of nature, wi 
observance of her ways, is 
guishing a characteristic 
poet that no science or rea( 
atone for its absence or 
place; and Mr. Ntorris, 1 
we believe, this habit of m 
developed, surpasses in U 
many of the ancients, in 
was very often wanting, 
of natural scenery and of i 
jects appears to be, in sor 
a growth of advanced c 
and to belong to higher s« 
lainments, deeper moral 
and more quiet conscience: 
poets of Greece and of Roi 
eral possessed. Morcov< 
been taught us in the pn 
tury by mighty masters a 
ers of new schools in po 
the head of these undoubte 



' The Doom of Kloft 



i 



The Poetry of William Morris, 



^^'©ftJi^'Orth* and perhaps we may 
pl^t'e next to him the meditative and 
eminently ideal Keats. It needs 
Hut here to qK*ak of the art and pre- 
cision with which Tennyson has ex- 
ircs&ed his ponderings on the loveli- 
ci<^s& of natural objects; and one or 
two extracts from tJie Barihly Rira- 
diM€ Will show that Mr. Morris is no 
kas genuine a ]ovcr and observ^er of 
nature tJian he. In the *^ Story of 
Cupiil and Psyche" we read : 

** No«r. mjtlst ftcr vrandcrlnirs on a hot noontWe, 
i*iyclle f«JM»'tl (towu a to«d, where du eojch 

tide 
Tie rellow corn-fields lay, although as yet 
Vfilo Itie stalks no sickle h«d been set ; 
TUc liark sung over thein* tUc butterfly 

K&tkrre^f from, etr t'-i ear dktr,irteu?v, 
THekc*! cfd 

FnNu Oil iir'd^ 

Akwc tliL ... ^ . . . hcd 

0i IW l^wnit grwia liieii cruQipled Ica^res and 
fe«i." 

Mr. Morris might without presiimp- 
tfon taJtc up the language of Sir Phi- 
K|> Sydney, and say : 

** Aa4 lht» I swear Uy hbckest brook of hetU 
1 la o(» fiirk purse of axiother*s wiU" 

He H»5 certainly taken no one poet 
\ but has gone forth into 
;id valleys to learn of na- 
if how to sing, and how to 
her wondrous ways. The 
^ lines occur in the conclu- 
Dl the *' Son of Crcesus ;*' 

'-Ji when the lun was fairly goin^ dotvn 
^IkaX \tfi the house, and^ fpltowing tip the 



•I leal out 

Fi ^ doubt 

Sita dt;w.a, it.i\i!k 11^ Lu &CC \\\\^\. men were 

t&ere : 
"^Wir .!iu- **.* I"' .fri.^v *-ii?*«ic hiph up In air 
T' ted dusky pool 

^ Ay\ the Tipple coot* 

' ; jnie (l)^tant Weir 

prcucd the listening ear, 



••'H it is not only in heathen my* 

1 die boundless field of 

Mr. Morris has collect- 

rials of his striking and 

- ( -..ms; he is known to be 

^icvotcd student of art, and to give 



a large portion of his time and lal 
to artistic pursuits, Many traces 
this peculiarity appear in his iJagJ 
and a few examples only will illul 
trate our remark. In the *• Duoil 
of King Acrisius," he speaks of 

" LTnequaird marvels of the loom. 

Fine Mcbs like woven mist, wrougtjt in the 1 

dawn. 
Long ere ibc dew hftd leR the sunniest tmvn, 
Gold clolVi so wrought that niiught of guld 

scein'd there, 
Rut rather sunlight ovi;r blossoms Cuir." 

In the '* Proud King/* again, wc find: 

^* Fair was the ranger's house and iiew and 

while. 
And by the king built scarce a year s^one. 
And carved about for this same lurd's delight 
With woodland stories delUy wrought in 

«one-** 

'• A new coin stamped for people of the land. 
Thereon with sceptre, crown, ond royal robe 
The imafre of & king (binisclt) wm» wfought, 
H IS jewelled feet upon a quartered globe, , *** 

The Proud King's guardian angel is 
described in equally artistic terms : 

** For he was clad in robe of shining white 
Inwrought with flowers of unnamed colon 

bright. 
Girt with a marvellous g)rtlle, and whose hem 
Fell to his naked feel uml shone in them. 
And from his shouldets>did two winjts arise 
That with the swaying of his boily pUy'd 
This way and that ; of strange and lovely dj'CS 
Their feathers were, and wonderfully made/' 

** Cupid and Psyche," too, lias many 
bits which show the acutcncss of an 
artist's eye and ' the fineness of an 
artist's touch ; as when we hear of — 

*" Huge elephants^ snow-white 
With gilded tusks ; or dusky gray with bright 
And shining chains about their wrUikled necks,** 

On again: 

**. . . Goodly gifts of price; 
A silken veil, wrought with a pamdi^ 
Three goUlen tfnwU set rotmd wUh many a gem, 
Three iiJvcT 1 ' ' '" ii every hem, 

Antl n fair i ' 'd 

That undcrl- jjt irod." 

Mr, Morris has a strange habit of 
ending each paragraph with a single 
line instead of a couplet, so that the 
ear is balked for want of a rhyme. The 
paragraph following supplies the want- 
ing rhyme, but grudginglvt because it 



I 



96 



The Poetry of William Marris. 



has need of one itself. This makes tlie 
beginning and ending of his poetic pas- 
sages less musical and less effective ; 
and no reason for this strange ar- 
rangement can be imagined, except 
that it is unusual and sanctioned by 
Keats, We may also mention as a 
blot \ipon his shining shield that he 
repeats too often the expression ** this 
and that/' and the epithet ** brown," 
which he applies to men, women, 
birds, furrows, sands, caverns, bears, 
bees, Indians, and nightingales. It 
is a more serious lilot in the Earth- 
ly I\}ra(iise that two poems, ** Ata* 
lanta*s Race *' and ** Pygmalion and 
the Statue," turn on prayer to Venus ; 
and that the " Doom of King Acri- 
sius*' is too like that of ** The Man 
born to be a King.'* It follows it im- 
mediately, and, like it, turns on-a pro- 
phecy that a certain child shall ac- 
complish great things. In the one 
case, the child, though poor, succeeds 
the king, and in the other he^ though 
his grandson, slays him. Similarity 
of plot in distinct poems forming a 
series is always a sign, more or less, 
of poverty of invention, 

Itiiiust be admittcil also that** Ogier 
the Dane," with which the first half 
of the Earthly Ibratlistf ends, is 
an idle tale, and that the beauty of 
the poetr)' does not compensate for 
the absurdity of the story. Nor, 
again, is there any moral in it suffi- 
ciently obvious to atone for the flim- 
sy and impossible sequence of events 
on which tt turns. Six fairies come 
to O^jier's cradle — that Ogier who 
was one of Charlemagne's paladins, 
and who, in France, gives his name 
to the Knave of Spades — and gave 
hijn many gifts. The sixth fairy 
granted him that he should he her 
love for ever, though she allowed 
him once to return to earth after he 
had been dead a century* Another 
— but we will not try the reader's pa- 
tience by following the elfin history 



step by step ; suffice it to say 
this tale, and in several olhi 
second volume of the Earthly 
ilise^ a web is woven of ti 
length, and the incidents arc 
sufficient importance to warn 
vast amount of description bei 
upon them. The rhymes, too^i 
ten very slovenly ; and it is e%idfl 
William Morris has not leajs 
art of writing litde enoughs 
warmest admirers complain of 
ing prolix in some of the storiefl 
he has recently published, F 
ets have known how to rein ia 
sus. Any measure of praise 
them prolific, and they soon sj 
quality to quantity. When \ 
heroic verse, Mr Morris's cd 
like those of Marlowe and F| 
follow the laws of blank-vi 
add rhyme, that is to say, th< 
are determined by the senscJ 
may be more natural, but it is 
musical than the old time- 
practice of Pope and Co 
whose verses the pauses are fc 
most part determined by the fb 
But Morris is a disciple noti 
old school, but of the new — ^11 
the classical English poets, b 
the romantic. He seems to c 
mi\i Ban*}^ Cornwall in thinki; 
" Keats was by nature the mo! 
tially a poet in the nineteeni 
tury," and that " there is little! 
Wordsw orth has left his impn 
broadly and more perraaneni 
any other of our later writei 
the literature of England," He' 
in their steps, and he owes muc 
to Tennyson and the two Brow 
husband and wife. Like the 
laureate, he affects the use 
English words of Saxon on 
for this he is to be commend 
one respect, he has never i 
Robert Browning, and tliat is 1 
scurity. He has no ambition 
what no one can understand 



The Paetry 0/ William Morris, 



acqtifrc n reputation for depth of ver- 
5)' homable nonsense. He 

Cij . to be simple and clear, 

as \i he recognized the great truth 
that a literary tna^'s first duty is to 
have distinct conceptions, and to ex- 
press them precisely and plainly. He 
can cherish, therefore, a certain rays- 
lidsin of thought common to all the 
pcets of the romantic school, without 
felling into the prevailing error of 
abscure language. The more mystic 
be the writer, the clearer should be 
his utterance; that the perspicuity 
of his style may make amends for 
ihe strangeness and subtlety of his 
ideas. 

It >%'ould be well if Mr, Morris 
(9uld impress these obvious truths on 
minds of several of his compeer?. 
He is unfortunately mixed up with a 
cligue; and the fine gold of his poetic 
Iter is dimmed by too near an 
cianon with poetasters unworthy 
of his support and praise. A certain 
and spasmodic reputation has 
acquired by some of his friends 
!i they have no right, and 
ley cannot long retain. Al- 
Iwnon Charles Swinburne, no doubt, 
*» gifted by nature witli some of the 
^tuMcattons of a poet^ but there are 
otficys in which he is signally want- 
He mimics the obscurity of 
g, \**ithout sharing his philo- 
depth. He loses himself in 
without producing any grand 
gcixeral efifect He is the apos- 
of melancholy and despair, for- 
fSctting the dictum of a seer in song: 

*A ckeerfxi! life \% what the roases lore ; 
A Mvrtog fpihl isUittr prime deU;;ht/' 

«ct his spirit cleaves to the dust, 
^, what is worse, to the flesh. He is 
^W most sensual of English bards. 
5och IS Swinburne's ignoble pre-emi- 
^**cc. His sensualism would have 
the Greeks ; Moore and By- 
bwould have rejected it with loath- 
VOL. XII. — 7 



ing. It is tolerated only because it 
is veiled, and so veiled as to be often 
undetected. He is on one side of 
the Adantic the rival of Walt Whit- 
man on the other. He would throw 
the charm of poetry over vices which 
should not be so much as named 
among us. And for this his friends 
find excuses, nay, praises. Nor is 
this all. He is the avowed enemy 
not only of every* code of morals, 
but of every system of belief. We 
judge him not as a man, but as a 
\^Tiier. Wc draw our inferences di- 
rectly from his works, and from Mr. 
William Michael Rossetti's elaborate 
defence of them. We find him in 
Ataiania in Caiydan^ and elsewhere, 
the open enemy of the gods, and 
through them of the God of gods, 
the creator and ruler of mankind. 
He inveighs against them and him 
as partial, unjust, persecuting; the 
implacable foes of human happiness 
and weal He maligns them so that 
men may infer that they do not and 
cannot exist. He assails Christianity 
through paganism, and designs for 
Calvary the arrows which he aims at 
Olympus. For him, Jesus, and Mary, 
and Joseph, and the saints, are idols, 
and matter only deserves to be wor- 
shipped. He believes in what he 
sees, and his primary doctrine is, 
**Let us eat and drink, for to-mor- 
row we die.** Away with Paul and 
Aquinas: Anacrcon, Epicurus, Hafiz, 
these are the true friends of man \ 
To enforce this principle, he wTites 
page after page of senseless melody, 
as it poetry were addressed to the 
car only and not to the mind. He 
recurs incessantly to the same ima- 
ges, blood, fire, wine, and wine-press- 
es, presenting these favorite objects 
in every conceivable form and com- 
bination. But even Swinburne's ec- 
centricities are slight, and his viola* 
tions of good tast<> are pardonable, 
compared with those of another as- 



4 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



pirant to poetic fame whom Mr. 
Morris has, in mistaken generosity, 
taken under his critic- wing. l*his is 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, an artist, a 
translator of early Italian poets, and 
author of various sonnets and other 
poems of a most vicious style, ob- 
scure, inharmonious, affected, and pre- 
tentious in the highest degree, which 
have been largely extolled for the 
merits they do not possess, and pro- 
nounced clear of those blemishes of 
which they arc full. Their author, 
however, has the good fortune to be- 
long to a mutual admiration society^ 
the members of which^ as in duty 
bound, jjraisc in unmeasured terms 
the productions of each other It 
was, doubtless, to these effusions of 
Mr. Rossetti, and to such as diese, 
that Disraeli alluded in ZjHhmr when 
he spoke of ** immortal poems which 
no human being could either scan or 
construe, but which the initiated de- 
light in as * subde ' and full of secret 
melody." 

But although Mr, Morris has da- 
maged his reputation as a critic by 
applauding too highly works which 
deserved little commendation and 
much blame, we are happy to ac- 



knowledge his superiority t| 
among whom he has incautid 
lowed himself to be classed^i 
undoubtedly possessed of *' thi 
fire," and, though it bums in 1| 
an unsteady brightness, it coi 
respect by its general fervor! 
casional splendor. If his genii 
times flags, it is never inj 
never pompously impotent <^ 
gling in vain to produce gii 
suits. Though he calls himsi 
idle singer of an empty day,**, 
not disposed to concur in this 
sentence on himself. He sj 
too well, too sweetly, too ingji 
and delicately, to have sung i 
some of his writings may scer^ 
a pagan tendency, and otht 
lead us to fear that the wrii 
his heart a disciple of Comtc 1 
positive philosophy — the phi 
which would eliminate theoloj 
gether as a branch of scicni 
there are some of his poems 
the most orthodox poet migl 
been proud, and which cam 
foster in the breast of 
olic readers tastes and feelin 
fectly congenial to their 
religion. 



TKiU'SLATtD FIOM TitS fmsNCB. 



OUR LADY OF LOURDES, 



BY HENRI LASSERRE. 



PART n. 



On her return to Lourdcs, Bema- 
dctte spoke to her parents of the pro- 
mise she had made the " Lady " to visit 
the grotto daily for a fortnight 



Antoinette and Mme. Mill 
rated what had taken place i 
presence, the mar\'cllous traij 
tion of the child during the i 
the words of the apparition, i 
invitation to return during tl 
two weeks. The rumor of thd 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



99 



dciful things was bruited in every 
direction, and created quite an excite- 
ment in that part of the country. 

Thursday, February iS, i858» was 
the market-day at Lourdes> As 
might be expected, the news of the 
visions had spread through the raoun- 
uins and valleys, to Bagn^res, to 
Tarbes, to Cauterets, to Saint-P6, to 
Nay, to all the districts of the depart- 
ment, and to the nearest villages of 
Bdani. On the following day, a 
hundred persons were already at the 
grotto when Bemadette arrived. The 
day ifter saw four or five hundred, 
and by Sunday morning they amount- 
ed to several thousands. 

What did they see ? What did 
they hear ? Nothing, absolutely no- 
tiiing ; cxce|»t a httle child praying, 
who said that she saw and heard 
wiBcUiing- A ver}' insignificant cause, 
and, humanly speaking, a very inex- 
pikahle etfect. Either those who be- 
lieved her must have been pretend- 
bgt or a reflection from on high was 
fciilv vLsible on the face of this child, 
•he Spirit of Gud, which moves 
rts of men, had passed over 
liie multitude. Spiritus ubi vuli spi- 
1^—" The Spirit breathcth where he 

An electric current, an irresistible 
power seemed to have suddenly arous- 
ed Hie people at the word of an igno- 
rant shepherdess. In the wood-yards, 
a the workshops, in domestic circles, 
to Bodal reunions, among the laity 
*fld clergy, among rich and poor, in 
^t cafes, at the club, on the squares 
M streets, morning and evening, in 
P^vate and in public, they spoke of 
^Hliin^ but her. Some were dispos- 
wnpathy, others were hostile, 
- :. licutral and merely curious to 
^^out the real truth ; but none entire- 
^ticified the excitement which was 
^'^ttcd by tliese singular occurrences. 

The popular mind only waited for 
^"spparition to tdl its name to give 



it recognition. ** It must be the Bless- 
ed Virgin,'* ihey said on every side. 

Before the slight authority of a Utile 
girl of thirteen or fourteen years, pro- 
fessing to have seen and heard what 
nobody else around her could see or 
hear, the philosophers of the land, 
strengthened by the vigorous prose 
of the daily papers, had a clear field 
against ** superstition." 

The child was not old enough to 
take an oath; they would hardly 
give heed to her testimony in court 
even on a trifling fact ; and yet, for- 
sootli, they were expected to believe 
her when it was a question of an ut- 
terly impossible event— an apparition. 
Was it not plainly a^ trick, got up for 
the benefit of the family or by the 
priest ? It only required two clear- 
sighted eyes to see through the mis- 
erable fraud. 

Some of those who spoke in this 
manner were desirous of seeing Ber- 
nadette, of questioning her and i\it- 
nessing her ecstasies. The child*s 
answers were simple, natural, free 
Irum contradiction, and made with 
the unmistakable accent of truth, wliich 
carried to the most | prejudiced mind 
conviction of the sincerity of her who 
uttered them. As to the ecstasies, 
those who had seen at Paris the great- 
est actresses of the day declared that 
art could not possibly be carried so 
far. The theor}' of a comedy could 
not stand twenty-four hours before 
the evidence in the case. 

The sava/i/s, to whom the philo- 
sophers now left the solution of the 
puzzle, took a high position at once : 
** We understand perfecdy the state 
of things. Nothing more simple. 
This little girl is evidently in the best 
of good faith; but she is laboring 
under a hallucination. She thinks 
that she really has seen something 
and heard something, but she has not 
seen or heard anything. As to these 
ecstasies of hers, equally sincere so 



t6b 



Our Lady of Lourdes* 




far as she is concerned, they are by 
no means a studied piece of imposi- 
tion, for it is plain that art could never 
produce such effects; they merely 
show great need of a physician. The 
litde girl is afflicted with a disease— 
catalepsy, A derangement of the 
brain and the muscular and nervous 
systems, such is the explanation of 
this wonderful story. Nothing more 
simple.'* 

The little local newspaper, called 
the Lavedan^ a weekly advocate of 
"advanced" principles, which, how- 

er, habitually appeared somewhat 
'''behind time, kept back its next issue 
for several days in order to speak of 
this event ; and, in an article as hos- 
tile as the limited ability of the editor 
could make it, presented its readers 
with a rhumi of the high-sounding 
philosophical and scientific explana- 
tions of the phenomena which had 
been given by the wise men of the 
place. From that moment, that is 
to say, from Friday evening or Satur- 
day, the comedy theory was aban- 
doned on all sides as untenable, and 
the friends of ** enlightenment '* and 
** free- thought " have never taken it up 
again, as may be seen by examining 
the files of the newspapers of the day. 

According to the approved rules of 
infidel criticism, the good editor of 
the lMt?edan began by calumniating 
Bernadette, and. insinuating that she 
and her companions were swindlers : 

*• Three little children went to 
gather boughs of trees, the remains 
of a wood-cutting at the gates of the 
town . Th ese girls, Jimiing tkemsfhrs 
surprised by the propriet&r^ fled in all 
haste to one of the grottoes which lie 
close to the road through tlie forest 
of Lourdes."* 



« The LmvfJam of Feb. t8, 1858. In spite of Its 
date» this number did not appear unUl ihe ctci>* 
ing of the i9lh or joth, as is proved in the Uxt 
by dels lliemi&elvcs^ and among the tioticet by 
•a extract from a legal deelsioo given »fker tike 
date of the paper. 



Thus it is that '<free-thoul 
w^ays writes history. 

After this honest statement 
so clearly showed his good-^ 
sense of justice, the editor of | 
ZYdiJt proceeded to give a 
exact account of the facts i 
transpired beneath die clifis i 
sabielle. They were too welll 
they had too many witncssej| 
publicly denied. 

** We will not detail tlie t] 
versions of this story/* he say! 
will merely state that the lii| 
goes every morning, at dayb^ 
pray before the entrance of the 
accompanied by more than ftl 
dred persons. There she is ( 
pass from a calm recollecticj 
sweet smile, and finally to falll 
ecstatic condition of the mosti 
takable character. Tears escal 
her motionless eyes, which renflj 
ed on that portion of the grottd 
she thinks that she sees the j 
Virgin. We will keep our ) 
posted on this singular adairj 
daily Eucls new dupes.*' 

Not a word about comedy i 
glery. Such an explanation, 
have been demolished by oi) 
versation with Bernadette ( 
glance at her ecstasy, Thd 
hearted editor, in order to givt 
weight to what we may be pej 
to call the " cataleptic thcoij 
fected sorrow for the little gi| 
lady. He spoke of her with 
compassion as " the poor lit 
sionary.** " Everything/' h^ 
** goes to prove that the young 
afflicted with catalepsy." 

" Hallucination — catalepsy,! 
now the two grand w^ords of i 
vartts of Lourdes. " Bear in | 
they often repeated, *^ that there 
single supernatural fact which I 
has not fully accounted for I 
explains all : science alone is f 
The supernatural was all veiji 



Ottr Lady /fJF J^mrdcs, 



lor 



in the ages of ignorance, when the 
world was buried in superstition, 
when nobody knew how to observe 
bm carefully ; but now> let it but 
show its face, and we straightway 
con&ont it. See the stupidity of this 
nbWe. Because a little child is ill, 
because she is in a fever and has fits, 
all these fools believe there is a mi- 
rade. Human credulit}' must sur- 
pass all bounds, to see an apparition 
which nobody can see, and to hear a 
\t)icc which nobody can hear. Let 
ibe pretended apparition stop the 
fan, as Josuc did; let it strike the 
^nck, as Moses did, and bring forth 
ifauns of water ; let it heal incura- 
ble diseases, and, in short, command 
nature, then we will believe in it. 
Bat docs not everybody know that 
these things never do happen and 
never have happened ?" 

Such were the lofty words which, 
bm morning till nighty proceeded 
from the wise representatives of phi- 
losophy and medicine at Lourdes. 

The greater portion of these men 
bd seen enough of Bemadette to be 
certain that she was not acting a 
|«it This was sufficient for them, 
Fiom the fact that she was clearly 
m good faith^ they at once concluded 
that she must be either mad or af- 
flicted with catalepsy » The possibi- 
lity of any other explanation was not 
even admitted by their scientific 
mmds. When it was proposed to 
them to study the case, to visit the 
diild or tlie grotto, to follow up the 
<ietails of these surprising pheno- 
^oa, they shrugged their shoulders, 
hughed philosophically, and said, 
*Wc know it all by heart. These 
^^iscs are perfectly understootl In 
*■"' t' in a month, the child will be 
I t'jly mad, and probably para- 

Some of ihem, however, reasoned 
*^tt»: "Such phenomena are very 
^^ said one of the most distin- 



guisKeil" physicians of the town, Doc- 
tor Do7^uSj.**-and I, for my part, will 
not fail OIL i^js occasion to examine 
them carefullyV ' -T |je partisans of the 
supernatural are- too fond of casting 
them in the face of medic^ science, to 
allow me to let pass drt*'c»ijpQrtiinity 
of personally studying thls't^tti) rated 
question/* *-•!**' • 

M. Dufo, an attorney, and sevet%l*j» 
members of the bar, M, Pougat, pre- f-' 
sident of the court of justice, and' 
quite a number of others, resolved to 
devote themselves during the fort- 
night announced in advance to most 
scrupulous observation, and to be 
present, as far as possible, at all the 
extraordinary occurrences. In pro- 
portion as the matter increased in 
intert^st, so also did the number of 
observers. 

Some physicians, some rural Aris- 
totles, local philosophers who called 
themselves Voltairians, as if they had 
read Voltaire, controlled their curf- 
osity, and held themselves bound in 
honor not to appear in the stupid but 
daily increasing multitude. As is 
usually the case, these fanatics of ** free 
inquiry " started with the determina- 
tion not to make any ittquiry at all 
For them, no fact was worthy of at- 
tention which might upset ihc^ inflexi- 
ble dogma of the creed which they 
had learned from the daily papers. 
Supreme in their infallible wisdom, at 
the doors of their counting-houses^ 
before 'the cafe^ and from the win- 
dows of the club, these superior spi- 
rits stood gazing with ineffable disdain 
on the countless human waves which 
some sort of madness seemed to drive 
toward the grotto. 



The clergy were naturally very 
much interested in all these occur- 
rences; but» with much tact and 
good sense, they assumed from the 



first a very resented and pjguUSH alti- 
tude. .-* •% • 

Like everybody .<ls^_^they were 
surprised at the •aattttordi nary facts 
which had forccU .Hhemselvcs sud- 
denly upoo tR« public attention^ and 
deeply ih^fi;sv^d in finding out their 
true tfalLtW* 
tWJiite^the enlightened philosophy 

/5{\6cal Voltairianism could see only 
(Jrfe possible solution, the clergy per- 

'ceived several. 'J'he facts might be 
natural ones, and^ in that case, pro- 
duced by perfect acting or by dis- 
ease; but then they might be super- 
natural, and| in tliat case, it would 
be necessary to decide whether they 
were diabolical or divine. God has 
his miracles, but the devil also works 
signs and wonders. The clergy knew 
all this, and resolved to study with 
great care every circumstance con- 
nected with the events which were 
daiJy occurring. 

They had always received with 
suspicion the current rumors. Still , it 
might be that the work was from God, 
and it would not be right to decide 
rashly. The child, whose name had 
become famous in the place, was en- 
tirely unknown to the priests. Dur- 
ing the fifteen days that she had been 
w ith her parents, she had gone regu- 
larly to the catechism; but the eccle- 
siastic entrusted with the instruction 
of the children, the Abb6 Poniian, 
had not specially noticed her. It is 
true he had questioned her once or 
twice, but without knowing her name 
or paying particular attention to her 
appearance. When great numbers 
of people began to go to the grotto, 
about the third or fourth day of the 
fortnight appointed by the mysterious 
apparition, M. TAbb^ Pomian, anxi- 
ous to know this extraordinary^ child, 
the subject of universal conversation, 
called out her name at die catechism, 
as he was accustomed to do when he 
wished to ask questions about the 



IttJ 



lesson. At the name, B< 
Soubirous, a litde girl, deli* 
poorly clad, arose timidly^ 
ecclesiastic remarked nothinj 
her, save her simplicity and 
ignorance with regard to I 
matters. 

The parish then had at its 
priest whose acquaintance it i 
sary for us to make. 

The Abbe Peyraniale was 
or near his fiftieth year, and hi 
for two years parish -priest am 
of the town and canton of 
He was a man whom nai 
made brusque^ even violent^ 
in his love of good, and whoi 
had softened, although, at tio^ 
could see the rugged trunk ot 
the hand of tiod had ingraf 
Christian and the priest. His 
impetuosity, entirely subdue^ 
respect to all that concerned 
had become ptire zeal for th* 
of God. 

In the pulpit, his language^ 
apostolic, was sometimes most 
He gave no reM to wrong-doil 
no abuse,- no moral disorder, 
tered not from what quarter h 
ever found him indifferent or 
Often the society of the place, 
ed for some of its vices or inn 
ties by the burning words of 
tor, cried out against him; 
never gave up the struggle, 
almost every instance, with 
sistance of God, succeeded ij 
ing the reform he desired. 

These men of duty are gc 
troublesome, and their indepe 
and sincerity are rarely ft 
Nevertheless, both were pj 
in the Abbe Peyramale; foi^ 
the people saw him walking 
the town with his pieced and 
bare cassock, his large shoe 
mended, and his old three-c< 
hat, sadly the worse for weai 
knew that the money which 



have supplied his wardrobe was used 
I succor the poor. This priest, so 
Blerc in his manner, so severe in his 
doctriijtfs, had an unspeakably tender 
heart, and had spent all his inheri- 
ance in secretly doing good. But 
his humility could not conceal, as 
completely as it would, the devoted- 
ncss of his life, llie kind greetings 
of the poor had betrayed it; besides, 
in small places the real character of 
each individual is soon known. So 
the pastor had become an object of 
general veneration. Nothing could 
equal the respect with which his 
paiishioners always took off their 
hais to him, or the tone of familiar 
action with which the poor people 
saluted him from dieir door-ways 
with, ^^Bonjour^ Monsitur k Curit* 
It showed that the sacred tie of good, 
modesdy done, bound together pas- 
tor and flock. The freethinkers said 
of him; ** He is not always very plea- 
aut, but he is charitable, and does 
not keep any money. He is a good 
nan, in spite of his cassock," 

Full of good nature and kindness 
b private life, never suspecting evil^ 
md often allowing himself to be de- 
eeivcd by people who imposed on his 
cfeirity, he was, as a priest, prudent 
wen loiuistnist in all that concerned 
hk ministry and the eternal interests 
ofrehgion. 

This priest possessed with the soul 
of an aposilc a sound practical judg- 
naent and a rare firmness of charac- 
ter which nothing could cause to 
wene when the interests of truth 
»eit at Slake. Future events were 
to bring to light these qualities. In 
pJicjng him at Lourdes, at this time, 
Ptovi<lince had special designs.* 



Restraining in this matter his rath- 
er impetuous disposition, M. Peyra- 
male, before allowing his clergy to 
take a single step, before permitting 
them to visit the grotto or doing so 
himselt', resolved to wait until events 
should take some definite character; 
until some sort of proofs should be 
produced, and the ecclesiastical au- 
thorities pronounce upon them. 

He directed certain intelligent and 
trustworthy laymen to go to the 
cliffs of Massabielle whenever Ber- 
nadette and the crowd went thither, 
and to keep themselves informed 
daily and hourly of all that might 
take place. But, while he thus took 
measures to learn all the facts in the 
case, he was careful not to compro- 
mise the clergy in an affair the exact 
nature of which was still doubtful 

*• Let us wait," said he to those 
who were impatient, ** If we are, on 
the one hand, rigorously obliged to 
examine with care these occurrences, 
on the other, the most common pru- 
dence dictates that we should not 
mingle with the crowd which goes 
singing to the grotto. Lt-t us keep 
away, and not expose ourselves to the 
danger of countenancing an impos- 
ture or an illusion, or, on the other 
hand, of opposing by a hasty decision 
or hostile attitude a work which per- 
haps is from God. 

" As to going there as mere spec- 
tators, that is not possible, in the 
dress we wear. The people, seeing 
a priest in their midst, will gather 
around him, ami insist on his walking 
at their head and leading the prayers. 
If in such a case he should yield to 
public pressure or to blind enthusiasm, 
and afterward it should turn out that 



•Fr«ra mv hcAri I b€g pardon of the Abb^ 

ftpvrr,..i„ < ., .1 ,,od 1 am Idling aboui him; 

" uow^cauM: him cruel RulTer' 

'hu5 plven to his humility 
*" cfcJy in the iniere'it* 

<*';.' J use 1 am obli^'cd, In 

»T«f^fi 111' t 1 w-xxe. all, ia order that 



I ma 7 show the secret ways of God and the 
manifest work of his hand. 

As aa historian, I write without hatred and 
without persoiml friendship. I consider it a duty 
and I make it an absolute rule to state the exact 
truth, at the risk ot wounding Uic humility of the 
gocid and the pride of the wicked. 



104 



Our Lady of Lounhs. 



• 



the apparitions are false, who does 
not see how rehgion and the clergy 
would be compromised ? If, on the 
contrar\', he should resist, and the 
hand of God should afterward be* 
come clearly manifest, would not 
grave consequences result from thts 
resistance ? 

** Let lis, then, keep away, since we 
would only compromise God, either 
in the works which he intends to 
accomplish or in the holy ministry 
which he has committed to our 
hands." 

Some in the ardor of their zeal still 
insisted. ** No !" he answered with 
firmness; ** we will have nothing to 
do with this affair, unless some evi- 
dent heresy, superstition, or disorder 
should grow out of it. Our duty will 
then be perfectly plain. By the bad 
fruits we shall recognize a bad tree, 
and, on the first symptom of evil, 
hasten to the rescue of our flocks, 

"But, hitherto, nothing of this kind 
has appeared; on the contrary, the 
crowd has confined itself to praying 
with great recollection to the Blessed 
Virgin, and the piety of the faithful 
seems to increase. 

" We should, however, wait until 
the wisdom of the bishop shall have 
pronounced a supreme decision on 
these facts. 

** If they are from God, there \\ill 
be no need of us, and the Almighty 
will know how to overcome all ditii- 
culties without our assistance, and to 
direct all things to the accomphsh- 
menl of his plans, 

**If, on the contrary, this work is 
not of God, it will itself show when 
it is time for us to interfere in his 
name. In a word, let us leave the 
whole matter to divine Providence," 

Such were the excellent reasons 
which determined the Abbe Peyra- 
malc to formally prohibit all priests 
under his jurisdiction firom appearing 



at the grotto of Massabielle, and 
to abstain from going there himself 

Monseigneur Laurence, Bishop of 
Tarbes, approved this prudent re- 
serve, and extended the prohibition to 
all the ecclesiastics of the diocese. 
^\'hen consulted in the sacred tribunal 
elsewhere with regard to the pilgrim- 
age to the grotto, the answer was to 
be : ** We do not go there ourselves, 
and^ hence, we are unable to pro- 
nounce on facts which we do not 
sufficiently know. But it is ^jlainly 
lawful for all the faithful to visit the 
place and to examine the facts, in de- 
fault of any ecclesiastical decision on 
the subject. Go, or stay away, just 
as you please ; we shall neither couo- 
scl nor forbid, neither authorize nor 
prohibit/* 

Such a position of strict neutrality 
was, it must be confessed, very diffi- 
cult to maintain ; for every priest 
had to struggle not only against pub* 
lie pressure, but against his own de- 
sire^ surely a legitimate one, to take 
J) art personally in the extraordinary 
events that were, perhaps, about to 
be accomplished. 

This line of conduct was, never- 
theless, faithfully observed. In the 
midst of a population roused like the 
ocean by an ui^koown breath and 
impelled towards\he mysterious rock, 
where a supernatural apparition con- 
versed with a child, the clergy, with* 
out a single exception, abstained 
from taking any part whatsoever. 
God, who invisibly directs all things, 
endowed his priests with strength not 
to yield to this mighty current, and 
to remain immovable in the midst of 
a great movement. But this all goes 
to show that the hand ant I action of 
man counts for nothing in the ex- 
planation of these events, and tliat 
their true cause must be sought at 
a different, or rather at a higher, 
source* 



Onr Lady of Lourdes, 



105 



III. 

This, however, was not a sufficient 
\)Tmi Trutli must not only be le/t 
wirhout human support* but she must 
civmome the human forces that op- 
|>a5e her. She must have persecutors, 
bitter enemies, and adversaries, who 
lit skrewd and able to lay snares. 
While truth is passing this ordeal, the 
weak of heart tremble lest God's 
fork be destroyed. Why do ye fear, 
ye of little faitli ? These men, by 
seeking to undermine the truth, only 
lave to place it on an immovable 
" k They are wnmesses to the fu- 
that the belief in question did 
t grow up in secret, but in the face 
^ enemies who endeavored to crush 
It. They prove that its foundations 
ImI, since their efforts against 
1 exulted only in making strong 
what was apparently feebleness itself. 
Ilicy prove that its origin was pure, 
SDce after a careful examination, con- 
docted with all the bitterness of infi- 
del hate, they were unable to discov- 
(tQ it a single spot or stain. Enc- 
• are wi messes whose words can- 
not be called into question when 
they unwillingly testify in favor of 
tliose whom they have striven to op- 
pose or destroy. Hence, if the ap- 
paritions were tlie beginning of a 
" r woik^ there should be not only 
ility on the part of the clergy, 
bmt likewise opposition from the pow- 
erfiii ones of the world. 

God had provided that it should 
be so. 

White the ecclesiastical authority 
nfcd by the clergy maintained 
jdent reser\'e recommended 
by die Cure of Lourdes, the city au- 
thority became deeply interested in 
the extraordinary movement which 
was taking place in the town and its 
environs, and spreading daily through 
the deparunent, and which had al- 
leadf €:ras2>ed the limits of Beam. 



Although no disorder had yet oc- 
curred, these pilgrimages, these quiet 
assemblies, and this ecstatic child 
aroused the suspicions of the official 
world. 

In the sacred name of liberty of 
conscience, is there no way of hin- 
dering these people from praying, and, 
above all, of praying when and where 
it seems good to them ? Such was 
the problem which now occupied the 
mind of oflicial liberalism. 

In different degrees, M. Dutour, 
procureur imperial ; M. Duprat, justice 
of the peace ; the mayor, the substi- 
tute the commissary of police, and a 
number of others, became all more or 
less alarmed. 

What! a miracle in the full sight 
of the nineteenth century, and with- 
out any permission or license whatso- 
ever from the government ! Truly, 
this was an insufferable outrage on 
civilization, and a manifest attempt 
against the sovereignty of the state. 
The honor of this glorious and en- 
lightened age demanded that the mat* 
ter should be seen to. The majority 
of these gentlemen, of course, did 
not believe in the possibility of super* 
natural manifestations ; consequently 
they were unable to look upon the 
affair in any other light than as an 
imposture or a malady. In any case, 
many of diem were instinctively hos- 
tile to any occurrence which might 
advance the interests of religion, 
against which they entertained either 
secret prejudices or open hatred. 

Without reverting to thoughts which 
we have before expressed, it is truly 
worthy of remark that the superna- 
tural, wherever and whenever mani- 
fested, meets always, though under 
different names and aspects, the same 
opposition, the same indifference, and 
the same devoted belief Herod, 
Caiphas, Pilate, Joseph of Arima- 
thea, Thomas, the Holy Women; 
bold enemies, lax, feeble, devout be- 



lievers ; the sceptical, the timid, and 
the brave — all these are characters 
belongiiig to every age. The super- 
natural, likewise, never escapes the 
hostility of a party more or less pow- 
erful in the official world ; only the 
opposition comes sometimes from the 
master and sometimes from his lackeys. 
The most intelligent in the little 
regiment of functionaries %vho flour- 
ished at this time in Lourdcs was by 
all odds AL Jacomct; although, in 
the order of rank, the said M. Jacomet 
was the very last of all, as he held only 
the very humble position of commis- 
sary of police. He was young, very 
shrewd under certain circumstances, 
and gifted with a flow of words rather 
rare in men of his station. His keen- 
ness of perception was extraordinary. 
Nobody couid put his finger on a 
scoundrel as quickly as M. Jacomet. 
He was marvellously cunning in un- 
ravelling villanies; and stories are 
told in proof of this which are very 
wonderful. He didji't, however, un- 
derstand honest folk quite so well. 
Completely at his ease before scamps, 
this man found himself at fault in the 
presence of simple innocence. Truth 
disconcerted him, and appeared to him 
suspicious; disinterestedness excited 
his mistrust ; candor put his xt^ry soul 
on the rack, because he was so eager 
to discover duplicity and fraud. On 
account of this monomania with which 
he was afflicted, sanctity always ap- 
peared to him a monstrous deception, 
and he was implacable in persecut- 
ing it. Such phases of character 
are not rare among those whose very 
profession causes them to be always 
on the lookout for crime and wicked- 

Coess, Theirs is a restless and suspi- 
leious disposition, which makes them 
appear like men of genius when deal- 
ing with villains, but very fools when 
treating with honest men. Though 
still young, M, Jacomet had already 
contracted this old malady of veteran 



detectives. He resembled the hoises 
of the Pyrenees, sure-footed on steep 
and rugged ways, but always stum- 
bling on the level roads; or the night- 
bird, which flies securely through the 
darkness, but dashes itself against 
walls and trees in broad daylight. 

Well satisfied with himself, he was 
very dissatisfied with his position* to 
which his intelligence rendered hira 
superior. Hence a certain loftiness 
of manner and a burning desire to 
distinguish himself. He had more 
than influence with his superiors in 
office: he possessed an absolute 
ascendency over them. He always 
affected an air of equality with the 
procurtur impirial^ as well as with all 
the other functionaries. He had his 
hand in ever)^thing; he lorded it 
over all who would submit ; and, as 
far as he could, managed the busi- 
ness of the town. In all thai con- 
cerned the canton of Lourdes, the pre- 
feet of the department, M. le Baron 
Massy, saw only with the eyes of M. 
Jacomet. 

Such was the commissary of po- 
lice, the important man of the town 
of Lourdes, when the apparitions 
took place at the grotto of Massa- 
biclle. 

IV. 

It was the third day of the fort- 
nigh t» the twenty-first of February , 
the first Sunday in Lent. 

Before sunrise, an immense cit>wd 
of several thousand persons had al- 
ready collected before and around 
the grotto, on the banks of the Gave, 
and in the meadows of the Chalet, 
It was the hour at which Bemadette 
usually came. She arrived enveloped 
in her white capukt^ followed by one 
of her family, either her mother or 
her sister. Her parents, who on one 
of the two preceding days had been 
present at her ecstasies, had seen 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



her transfigured, and now believed. 
The child advanced modestly, with- 
out boldness, yet without timidity, 
liirougb the crowd, which respectfully 
made way for her ; dien, as ifuncon- 
scious of the fact that she was the 
obf(!ct of universal attention, she 
belt down with simplicity' to pray 
before the niche wreatked with eg- 
lantine. 

Presently her brow became radiant. 
TT>c blood did not rush to her coun- 
tenance ; on the contrar)\ she grew 
slightly pale, as if nature were giving 
w^iy in presence of the apparition. 
All her features ejcj^anded, and en- 
lered, as it were^ a higher sphere, a 
region of glory, reflecting feelings 
and tilings which are not here below. 
Her [>arted lips were full of wonder- 
'. , and seemed to breathe the 
eaven. Her fixed and happy 
tntemplated a beauty which 
MT glance perceived, but which 
all present recognized by the reflec- 
tion on the child*s countenance* This 
|HX)r litde peasant-girl, of so mean 
ajodition, seemed to be no longer a 
iabitant of earth, 
It was the angel of innocence, leav- 
ihc wurld for a moment, and falling 
m adoration where, through the eter- 
nal gatcs» she caught a glimpse of 
Fandisc. 

All who saw Bcmadette in ecstasy 
speak of the sight as something which 
has DO analogy on earth. Their im- 
firession after ten years is as vivid as 
oo the first day. 

Strange to say, although her atten- 
tion was entirely absorbed in contem- 
ptatmg the Blessed Virgin, she had a 
I*artial consciousness of what was go- 
iDg on about her. 

At one time her taper went out : 
iihe rcAclietl out her hand to the near- 
est person in order to have it lighted. 
Some one touched the eglantine 
wilh a stick: she quickly beckoned 
hkm to desist, and her face expressed 



% 



great fear. *' I was afraid," she af- 
terward naively remarked, ** that he 
would strike the Lady, and hurt 
her.'* 

One of the observers, whose name 
we have pre\iously mentioned, Dr. 
Dozous, was at her side. 

"This/' he thought, " is neither ca- 
talepsy with its stiffness^ nor the un- 
conscious ecstasy of hallucination : it 
is an extraordinary fact, of an order 
entirely unknown to medicine.'* 

He took the arm of the child, and 
felt her pulse. She did not seem to 
notice him. The pulse was quiet 
and perfectly regular, as in an ordi- 
nary state, 

'* There is no unhealthy excitement 
here,*' said the doctor, more and more 
confounded. 

At this moment, the girl advanced 
several paces into the grotto on her 
knees. I'he apparition had left its 
former place, and Bemadette now 
saw it through the interior opening. 

The glance of the Blessed Virgin 
appeared for a moment to survey the 
whole earth ; then she turned sadly 
toward Bemadette» who knelt before 
her. 

** What do you wish me to do ?*' 
murmured the child. 

** Pray for sinners," replied the 
Mother of mankind. 

When she saw this cloud of sor- 
row veil, as it were, the eternal sere- 
nity of that virginal face, the heart 
of the little shepherdess was filled 
with grief. An unspeakable sadness 
fell upon her countenance. P>om 
her fixed and open eyes two tears 
rolled softly down and remained upon 
her checks. 

\\ last, a gleam of joy again lit up 
her face; for the Blessed Virgin had 
undoubtedly turned her own glance 
toward the heart of the cteinal Fa- 
ther, where she contem])lated the 
source of that infinite mercy which 
descends upon the earth, in the 



I 



name of Jesus Chnst, and by the 
hands of his church. 

At this instant the apparition va- 
nished. The queen of heaven re- 
turned to her kingdom. 

The halo of light, as usual, shone 
for a few seconds, and slowly melted 
away, as a luminous mist gently dis- 
solving in air. 

The features of Bemadette gra- 
dually resumed their ordinary state. 
She seemed to pass from sunlight to 
shade, and the commonplace look of 
earth replaced the transfigured glow of 
ecstasy. She was again the humble 
shepherdess, the litde peasant, with 
nothing to distinguish her from ordi- 
nary children. 

The breathless crowd pressed 
around her, anxious, agitated, and 
filled with devotion* 

We shall have occasion further on 
to show its feeUngs toward her. 



During tlie whole morning, after 
Mass and up to the hour of Vespers, 
these strange events were the com- 
mon topic of conversation among 
the inhabitants of Lourdes, who na- 
turally gave various explanations. 
Those who had seen Bernadette in 
ecstasy represented the mere appear- 
ance of the child as »in irresistible 
proof of the truth of all that she said. 
Some of them expressed their thoughts 
by very happy comparisons : "In 
our valleys, the sun rises very late, 
since the east is hidden by the Peak 
and the Mountain of Ger. But long 
l»efore we see it we notice in the west 
the reflection of his rays on the moun- 
tain-sides of Bastsurgueres, which 
are brightly lit up while we are still 
in the shade, and then, although we 
cannot directly see the sun, but only 
its reflection on the heights, wc know 
that it has risen behind the enormous 



masses of Ger. ' Bastsurgu^es sees 
the sun/ we say. • We should see it, 
too, were we on the top of Bastsur- 
guercs/ So it is when we look upon 
the face of Bemadette, illumined by 
the invisible apparition. In both, 
cases, the evidence is similar ; in both 
the certainty is complete. The (ace 
of Bernadette appears so bright, so 
transfigured, so dazzling, so splendid 
with heavenly rays, that the wonder- 
ful reflection which we perceive gives 
us complete assurance of the existence 
of a glorious source of all this light. 
And if it were not concealed from 
us by a mountain of sins and faults 
and worldly cares and carnal blind- 
ness ; if we, too, were at the height 
of this child-innocence — of this eter- 
nal snow which no human foot has 
pressed, w^e, too, should behold no 
longer by reflection, but immediate- 
ly, that which illumines the face of 
Bematlette." 

Such reasons, however conclusive 
to those who had been eye-witnesses 
of the ecstasy, could not siiflficc for 
those w^ho had not been thus favored. 
Supposing this to be the work of God, 
it would seem as if he ought to give, 
if not stronger proofs (for no one 
could resist who had experienced 
those already given), at least more 
continuous, more material and pal}ia* 
ble signs. Perhaps it was the design 
of Providence to withhold these until 
he had assembled a multitude of in- 
contestable witnesses. 

After Vespers, Bernadette came out 
of the church. She w*as, as may 
easily be imagined, the object of 
general attention. They surrounded 
her and questioned her on all sides. 
The poor child, embarrassed by the 
crowd, answered modestly, and tried 
to make her way through. 

At this moment, a man in the uni- 
form of the police, a strgent de vilU^ 
approached, and touched her on the 
shoulder. 



Our Lady of Laurdes, 



too 



1 the name of tlie law," said he* 
iihat do you want of me ?" asked 

[have orders to arrest you and 
; vou with me." 

i the commissary of police, Fol* 



atening murmur ran through 
^rowd. Many of them had in 
fte rooming seen the poor child trans- 
SgUfed in heavenly ecstasy. To them 
tie fevorite of God was sonie- 
:ry sacred; and when they saw 
nisicr of the law place his hand 
her, they were filled with indig- 
fi, and HTshed to interfere. But 
ipncst, who came out of the church 
It this moment, motioned to them to 
ic cilm, and said ; " Make no rcsist- 
Oteto lawful authority." 
By a strange coincidence, such as 
I often met with in the history of 
ral events, when one takes 
le or, rather, the pleasure 
F looking for them, the universal 
■ndi had sung, on this day, the 
^Bunday in Lent, those words 
^Hl with life-giving power to con- 
|Bt)d comfort the innocent and 
SWe in the presence of persecution : 
Uod hath given his angels charge 
icr thcc* to keep tliee in all thy 

Rln their hands shall they 
Bic€ up, lest thou dash thy 
gainst a stone. Hope in him; 
, wU l protect thee beneath the sha- 
^^i* his wings. His truth shall 
PHnd thee as a shield. Thou 
01 walk upon the asp and the 
iUisk ; tliou shalt trample the lion 
d the dragon beneath ihee. Be- 
' he hath hoped in me, 1 will 
him, I will protect him, for 
Ih confessed my name. He 
all upon me, and I will hear 



him. / am m(k him in his afflic- 
tions:' • 

The Gospel of the day had told 
how the Saviour of mankind, the eter- 
nal type of tlie just upon earth, had 
begun the exercise of his divine mis- 
sion by submitting to temptation. It 
had given the details of that strug- 
gle against and victory over the evil 
spirit in the lonely wilrJemess. ** Je- 
sus was led by the spirit into the 
desert, that he might be tempted by the 
devU:' 

Such were the texts which the 
Church had repeated to strengthen 
and console innocent and persecuted 
weakness. Such were the sacred 
memories which she had recalled 
on tins day, when, in an obscure 
village, the representative of law 
came to seize, in its name, the per- 
son of an ignorant httlc girl, to con- 
duct her before the shrewdest and 
most subtle of those who exercised 
its authority. 

The indignant and excited muld- 
tude followed Bemadette as she was 
led away by the officer. The ofhce 
of the commissary of police was not 
far from the spot. The sergeant en- 
tered with the child, and, allowing 
her alone to come into the entr>^*way, 
turned around, and made fast the 
door viith lock and bolt. A mo- 
ment afterwards, and Bernadette 
found herself in the presence of M* 
Jacomet. 

An immense crowd gathered out- 
side the door. 



VII 

The sharp-witted man, who was 
about to interrogate Bernadette, felt 
confident of an easy victory, and 
boasted of it in advance* 

• From the Mi&sal. S«e Firsi Sunday in Lent, 

Introlt, Gradual, and Tract of the Miss^ See 

also, in the Breviary, the Vespers for the same 
day. 




He was one of those who obsti- 
nately rejected the explanations of 
the scientific gentlemen. He did 
not believe either in catalepsy or 
hallucination, or in the various kinds 
of morbid illusion that were proposed 
in explanation of the matter. The 
precise recital which, it was said, the 
child had always given, the facts 
noticed by Dr. Dozous and by 
other witnesses of the scenes at the 
grotto, all appeared to him irrecon- 
cilable with any such theory. As ta 
the fact of the apparition, he did not 
believe in the possibility of visions 
from the other world; or, perhaps, 
as it was said, the genius of a police- 
officer^ though keen enough on the 
scent of rascals, is not quite equal to 
detecting the sypernatural operations 
of God. Thoroughly convinced that 
there could only be false apparitions 
in any case, he resolved to find out, 
by force or stratagem, the point of 
the error ^ and to render a signal ser* 
vice to *^ frce-thoughi '* by catching a 
supernatural manifestation, a ** popu- 
lar superstition," in flagrante deUcio, 
He had a fine chance to strike a blow 
at all the pretended visions of the 
past, especially if he could find out 
and prove that the clergy, who ab- 
stained so carefully from public sym- 
pathy in this affair, were really at the 
bottom of it. 

Supposing that God had nothing 
to do with the matter^ and that man 
was everything in the accomplish* 
ment of it, the reasoning of M. Jaco- 
met was excellent. But supposing, 
on the other hand, that man counted 
for nothing, and that God was every- 
thing, the unlucky commissary had 
entered upon a way very rugged and 
calamitous. 

In this state of mind^ M. Jacomet 
had set a careful watch over all the 
movements of Bemad ette, to dis- 
cover, if he could, some mysterious 
communication between her and 



some member of the clergy 
of Lourdes or the environi 
official zeal even prompted * 
place one of his creatures 
church to keep an eye on t 
fessional. But the children 
catechism -class went to the 
fessions in a certain order ev< 
night or every month, and 
dette's turn had not come 
any of these days. All li 
scientious efforts had not lei 
discovery of any complicity 
plot which he attributed to 
dettc. He concluded, therefd 
she acted independendy, thd 
still retained his suspicions;^ 
true pohce-agcnt always si 
even without proof. This 
arity constitutes his specifiq 
ence from the rest of mankini 

When Bemadette entcredg 
fall upon her his keen and a 
glance, which be in an insH 
the art to fill with good-nattB 
jollity. He, who was in the 1 
talking big words with great 
suddenly showed himself ma 
polite towards the little dang 
the i)oor miller; he became 
insinuating. He caused hd 
down, and assumed in quel 
her the air of a true friend.* 

** It seems that you are in 
bit of seeing a beautiful la 
good little girl, at the grotto | 
sabielle ? Tell nie all about 

Just as he said these words, 
was softly opened and some 
tered. It was M. Kstrade, 
of indirect taxes, one of th 
ing and most inteUigent cittj 



♦ Evidently, mftcr the lapse of ten 
auioot wiiTftnl the exact mtmory of tl 
cs with regard to the precise tertits c 
lojpic, uid also of waic ethers which ii 
Vfith hereafter. We prlve the sense a» 
enJ form, *nd endeavor, with the 
numerous printed or im 
which we have at hand, ar 
time, officiai and private coi '0( 

re* onstruct, «9 far as po<utiUc, the oci 
and life of what we record. 



EH 

3 



LoanJes. This pubb'c officer occu- 
pied part of AL Jacomet's house^ and 
having been notified, by the noise of 
the crowd, of the arrival of Benia- 
(Jctte, he was curious to assist at the 
examination. He shared the ideas 
of M. Jacomel with regard to appari- 
rions, and believed the whole thing a 
dicai on the part of the little girl. 
He shrugged his shoulders when any 
other explanation was offered. He 
coimidered the whole affair so absurd 
that he did not even condescend to 
nsjt the grotto to see what was go- 
ing on. This philosopher seated 
himself sontiewhat apart, after sign- 
ing to M, Jaconict to keep on, AH 
this transpired widiout Bernadette 
ippearing to take n^uch notice of it. 
The scene and the subsequent dia- 
logue had, therefore, a witness.* 

I 1 witness, whom wc ourselves 

4 ate ftt Bordtatux, vtry wiiltngly 

Icct memornQdA &ad notes taiken 

Llt^ lime of the events, ajid to furahh 

ic mejLOi of compk-ting tlie recital of 

JU lo the report of the cominitsary of police 
ffeipcietifig thJf c"nvrrsation, we have vainly 
•Atd for umeit at Ihe /r^/rc- 

olth' It has been iropos- 

. y of it. The /rf/rc 
i liie door against impor- 
uc |i«rce1 of i^Ajiers relating 
a^> .i^ii*.! sia»i 1M >*{>[) eared, perhaps by a si in- 
ter or accUient. perhaps by being: made 
■wiJh by hand* interested in its ttcsttuction. 
Icmandctl from the Imperial 
i the report which M. Du- 
->- imperial at Lourdcs^ ad- 
r ^Hreur-g^nkrai oxk this subject 
. • -^Mtfris/has refused to penult us 
' ■- : papers, alleging that our re- 
> an inflexible rule. Before 
iwcver, with perfect cour- 
i*e ^l-l'l Mlvsity^ supposed that the archives 
■othiag more than a depository for such 
4BCiiiiieiiL\. uriJ tliat thetr guardian was nut at 
te^ to permit tiiem to be seen when 

t^ in the name of hiiiory. 

Ib^ .ni:ii.it.r uf Public Worship, to whom wc 
kart Bade reiterated and useless appeals, has fol- 
li*Lid Ifcc tame n on committal policy. What ia 
ttt ener iiictive terror which makea 

tine \»^ vainly endeavor lo keep 

lltrclare, \i tn speaking of the acts of the goy- 
MBCflt same error slip^ into nur history, the 
iMtol mm\A must take to Itself the blame, 
^MBKlt luia \&A or refused to Icl us see the varl- 
i*4occirmT- fr^rTunatrly, however, the n«m- 
•nsi fr>' ■'■: have picked up in 

VQloui \ i personal researches 

•• fcarc . til supply almost co* 



tfAef:. 






At the question of M. Jacomet» 
the child had raised her beautiful 
and innocent eyes, and had begun to 
relate in her language^ the patois of 
the country, and with a timid mo- 
desty which added very much to her 
truthful manner, the extraordinary 
events of the past few days. 

M. Jacomet listened with marked 
attention, still maintaining his affected 
kindness and good nature* From 
time to time he matle a few notes 
on the paper l>cfore him. The child 
noticed it, but did not pay very much 
attention to what he was doing. 
When she had finished her story, the 
commissar)^, more sweetly tlian ever, 
asked all sorts of questions, as if his 
enthusiastic piety were interested be- 
yond all measure in such heavenly 
marvels. He piled his questions one 
upon another, without any order, in 
short and pithy phrases, so as not to 
allow the child a moment for reflec- 
tion. 

To all his interrogations, Berna- 
dette replied without any trouble, 
without a sign of hesitation, and 
with the tranquil assurance of one 
who is looking upon a landscape or 
a picture, and answering another who 
asks questions about it. At times, in 
order to explain her meaning, she 
made some imitative gesture to sup- 
ply her scanty speech, 'i'he rapid 
pen of M* Jacomet, nevertheless, not- 
ed all her answers. 

After this attempt to fatigue and 
entangle the mind of the child among 
numerous details, the terrible com- 
missary of police assumed a threaten- 
ing and angry expression, and sud- 
denly changed his tone : " You lie !" 
he exclaimed violently, as if seized 



lirely the missing papers. We have been put 
to a little more ironble, that's all. 

If, in spile of our efforts, our recital presents 
some inexact slatcmeots, wc shall be happy lo 
rctiify them on the production of the ulhcial docu- 
ments, W*e very much doubt if they will bo 
produced. 



with sudden wrath ; '* you are tiying 
to cheat everybody; and if you do 
not confess, this very minute, the 
whole truth, I will have you taken off 
by the gendarmes/' 

Poor Beraadette was thunder- 
struck by this sudden and frightful 
metamorphosis, as one who, thinking 
to pick up a harmless bough, sudden- 
ly finds himself grasping the slimy and 
writhing coils of a venomous serpent. 
She was stupefied with fright, but, 
contrary to the shrewd calculations of 
M» Jacomet, she w^as not disconcert- 
ed. She remained tranquil, as if an 
invisible hand was sustaining her soul 
beneath this unexpected shock. 

The commissar)' had risen and 
was looking toward the door, as if 
about to call the gendarmes to con- 
duct her to the prison. 

"Sir," said Bernadette, with sweet 
and peaceful firmness, which, in this 
feeble litde peasant, appeared incom- 
parably grand — ** sir, you can send me 
witli the gendarmes, but you can- 
not make me say anything different 
from what I have told you." 

*' We shall see about that," said the 
commissary, as he reseated himself, 
perceiving at a glance how utterly 
powerless were his menaces against 
this exlraordinar)' child. 

M. Estrade, a silent and impartial 
witness of this scene, was divided be- 
tween the astonishment he felt at the 
convincing manner of Bemadette, 
and his admiration of the cunning 
policy which Jacomet had adopted, 
and whose aim he saw^ as the conver- 
sation developed. 

The struggle now assumed an en- 
tirely unexpected character between 
the redoubled efforts of shrewdness 
and tlie innocent feebleness of child* 
bood, deprived of any other defence 
than its truthful simplicity. 

Jacomet, meanwhile, armed with 
the notes which he had been taking 
for three-quarters of an hour, began 



to repeat in a different or< 
thousand captious fonns 
interrogatories, putting alwa? 
cording to his method, rouj 
rapid questions, and demand! 
mediate answ*ers. He did no 
moment doubt his ability to i 
the little girl at least into some 
contradiction. This done, thi 
an end to the imposture, a] 
would become master ©f the 
tion, But he vainly exhaus( 
his wit in the many twistings 
subtle manoeuvre. The child < 
once contradict herself, not c 
the least particular, in the least 
tittle, as the Gospel says. Hi 
different might be the terms in 
they w^ere couched, she alwaj 
the same answers to the sam^ 
tions; if not the same in woi 
least the same in substance, an 
the same air of candor. M. Ja 
nevertheless, still persisted, 
events, he would weary this 
intellect which he wished to 
in some false step. He tum< 
twisted the sense of the story 
she had told of the apparitiC 
was unable to alter her repK 
tions. It was like an insect gi 
at a diamond. 

"Very well," said he fin| 
Bemadette, " I shall now wri 
and read to you the official a^ 
of this which I am to send in.** 

He rapidly transcribed two 09 
pages from his notes. He inl 
to introduce some details v 
from her former statements; j 
ample, with reference to the k 
dress, or the length and positi 
the veil worn by the Blessed ^ 
This w^as a new trick. It 1 
fruitless as all the others had p 
For as he read on and aske< 
lime to time, " This is all righ 
not ?'* Bemadette repliedhumb 
with firmness as simple and 
as it was immovable; " No, I i 



Our Lady of Lourdes, 



113 



HI Sir 

I 



uy that At all ; I said this/' Then 
she corrected the inexact particular. 

Gentirally, Jacoaict contestc*! her 
ansv* cr. ** But you said so-ajid-so ; 
J wTole it down at the very time, 
Knd you have tohl several people the 
sime thmg," ctc», etc. 

How strange was the modest and 
yet invincible assurance of this little 
girfl AL Estrade remarked it with 
flawing sur|mse, PersonaUy, Ber- 
lidette appeared and really was ex- 
tremely timid. Her attitude was 
humble and confused in the presence 
of strangers. And, nevertheless, on 
point connected with the appa- 
she show^ed a force of character 
an energy of affinnation that 
by no means common. When 
oked to tell what she had seen, she 
answered without difficulty, and with 
pcrtcct confidence. It was always 
er, to recognize that vir- 
ly of soul which loves to 
■it iTom the sight of all. Any 
J Id see that it was only respect 
far the truth of which she was a 
messenger to men, only her love 
for the ** Lady " who appeared at the 
grottOy that triumphed over her ha- 
bftTLtl timidity. It was duty alone 
wl I overcome the sensitive 

in: , ic reserve of her nature, 

which instinctively shrank from the 

.,,11: ^T^Q^ 

jimmissary again had recourse 

its: ** If you persist in going 

grotto, I will have you put in 

You shall not leave this place 

)U promise me not to do so 

re/' 

I aavc promised the ' Lady ' to be 

tiicrc," answered the child; "and 

wnen the time comes I ajii forced 

by something within which calls and 

moirtt me," 

The examination was evidently 
DOT its close. It had been long, oc- 
cupyijig at the very least an hour. 
TKc people were waiting outside, not 



without considerable impatience, for 
the retiun of the chikh whom they 
had seen that very monjing transfig- 
ured in divine ecstasy. The confus- 
ed sound of their voices could be 
heard in the room where the scene 
wliith we have just described was 
taking place. The noise seemed to 
swell and become threatening. Soon 
the crowd became agitated, as if 
some anxiously-expected person had 
arrived. 

Almost immediately after^s^ard^ a 
violent knocking was heard at the 
door. The commissary did not ap- 
pear to be disturbed by it 

The knocks became more violent, 
and whoever it w^as that gave them 
also attempted to open the door. 

Jacomet, very much irritated, w^nt 
himself to open it. 

"You can*t come in here,*' he said 
angrily. "AV'hat do you want?" 

** I want my child !'' answered Sou- 
birouSj the miller^ and pushing by he 
entered, followed by tlie awimissaircs^ 
the room where Bemadette was stand- 
ing. 

The peaceful countenance of his 
daughter calmed the father's anxious 
excitement, and he was no longer 
anything more than a poor man, in 
the presence of a personage who, in 
spite of his very humble position, was 
on account of his activity and his 
shrewdness one of the most import- 
ant and influential men in the place. 

Francois Soubirous had taken off 
his B^aniese cap, and began to 
twist it about in his hands, Jacomet, 
whom nothing could escape, saw at a 
glance the embarrassment of the mil- 
ler. 

He aggin put on his good-natured 
and compassionate look. He put his 
hand familiarly on the miller*s shoul- 
der. 

" Soubirous," said he, " take care, 
take care ! Your daughter is in a fair 
way to be committed to jail If I 



U4 



Early Jesuit Missions in Marylaftd* 



do not send her there now, it is on 
coDdition that you forbid her to go 
to that grotto vv here she performs her 
Uttle comedy^ On the first relapse, 
I shall be inflexible; and you know, 
besides, that the pro€ureur imperial is 
not a pleasant personage to have to 
deal with." 

*' Since you wish it, M. Jacomet," 
said the poor, frightened father, " I 
shall forbid her, and her mother will 
do the same; and, as she has never 
disobeyed us, she will certainly not go 
there any more." 

** At all events, if she does go, if 
this scandal continues, I shall hold to 
answer not only her, but likewise you/' 
said the terrible commissary, as he dis- 
misused them with a menacing gesture. 

The people outside greeted with 
shouts of joy the reappearance of 
Bemadcttc and her father. Soon the 
little girl was home again, and the 
crowd di-^persed through the town* 

The commissary of police and the 
receiver of taxes were now alone, and 
they naturally compared their impres- 
sions of this strange examination. 

*' What immovable firmness in her 



answers!'' said M. Estrade, 

with astonishment. 

" What invincible obstinacy in 
lies !" replied M. Jacomet, stung 
his defeat, 

" What a truthful manner I" conti 
ed the receiver. ** Nothing 
language or gesture contradic 
self once. It is plain that shlj 
ly believes all that she says/* 

** What a cunning mind T' ansi 
ed the commissary. ** She did 
maJte a single shp, in spite of all 
efforts. She has the whole si( 
her fingers' ends." 

Nevertheless, both these 
men persisted in their incredu 
to the fact of the apparition. B 
shade of difference already distingu 
ed their negations, and this shadi 
difference separated them as wa 
as if there had been an abyss betiir 
them. One considered Bemad 
adroit in her deception: the ol 
judged her to be in good faith to 
delusion. 

** She is very sharp,** said the 1 
mer. 

" She is sincere," said the latter 



TO ȣ COKtlKtrCD. 



EARLY JESUIT MISSIONS IN MARYLAND. 



In the month of March, in the 
year 1634, the Catholic cavaliers of 
England, after a long and perilous 
voyage, landed and took solemn pos- 
session of Mar}'land, where tljey were 
to establish their home and rear an 
empire. It was the Feast of the An- 
nunciation of the Blessed Virgin; 
Mass was offered, after which a pro- 
cession was formed, led by the gov- 
ernor and chief officers of the new 



colony, carrying on their shoulders 
immense cross, which they planted 
the shore, while the Litany of 
Holy Cross was devoutly sung. 

The colonists were delighted \ 
their chosen home in the wildem 
Although so early in the season, 
woods were vocal with the songs 
many birds, the air mild and bal 
as June, and the earth covered ¥ 
every variety of rich and brilliant 1 



Early Jesuit Missions in Maryland. 



115 



lowem. They were grateful to God 
ht the beaudiul land which he had 
given diem. 

The ships which brought these Ca- 
tholic pilgrims to Mar}'land were very 
appropriately named the Dm>e and 
tk Ark — for they came bearing the 
olive-branch rather than the sword — 
seeking to conciliate the Indians by 
kindness, not to exterminate them by 
war, Protestant historians are oblig- 
ed to acknowledge that the intercourse 
of the Catholics of Maryland with the 
natives was far more blameless than 
that of die Protestants of New Eng- 
land and Virginia. Maryland was 
tlie only state which was not stained 
wiih the blood of the Indian. These 
Catholic colonists purchased the land 
trhich they required; they did not 
obtain it by fraud and murder. 

The Maryland pilgrims were fortu- 
nate in ha%'ing such a leader as Leon- 
aitl Calvertt a man who united in a 
itmarkable degree the wisdom » pru- 
(bee, and discretion of age with the 
cotcrprise, courage, and daring of 
jouth. The friendship and confidence 
of the Indians, which he soon won 
by his kindness, he retained by a 
strict fideUty to his contracts, and a 
&kllhful adlierence to his promises. 
We have a remarkable instance of the 
oriy confidence and friendship of the 
tdians. A few days after the land- 
JD g of the colonists, Governor Cal- 
\ gave an entertainment to several 
he native chiefs. Governor Har- 
^ of Virginia was also present At 
\ fcist, the King of the Patuxents, 
la special honor, was placed be- 
the Governor of Maryland and 
•isc Governor of Virginia. Before 
tiichicflain returned home, he made 
*Sf)etch to the Indians, in which he 
'J^ them to be faithful to their en- 
ingccoents with the English ; and, in 
delusion, used this extraordinary 
il&^ge : '^ I love the English so 
*efl thai^ if they should go about to 



kill me, if I had so much breath as 
to speak, I would command the peo- 
ple not to revenge my death ; for I 
know they would do no such thing, 
except it were through my own fault/' 

Of all that brave band of Catholic 
gentlemen and Catholic yeomen who 
abandoned their ancient homes in 
England to establish in America the 
glorious principles of civil and reli- 
gious liberty, none are more worthy 
of our admiration than the two Jesuit 
fathers. White and Altham, who ac- 
companied the expedition at the re- 
quest of Lord Baltimore, "to attend 
the Catholic planters and settlers, and 
convert the native Indians.'* The 
colonists came to rear for themselves 
ajid for their children homes in a new 
and most delightful land. They came, 
like the children of promise, to a land 
flowing with milk and honey. Na- 
ture surrounded their path with fruits 
and flowers. The Indians received 
them as beings of a superior order, 
and invited them to share their homes 
and their lands. The present was 
bright, and the future promising. 

Those good fathers came, induced 
by 1^0 such considerations. They 
neither sought nor desired an earthly 
reward. Burning with a divine en- 
thusiasm, they left their sweet and 
quiet cloisters, to labor, and suffer, 
and die, it might be, for the salvation 
of poor ignorant and unknown sav- 
ages, living in another hemisphere, 
thousands of miles away. Chateau- 
briand, with a magnificent burst of 
admiration, thus speaks of the Catho- 
lic mission : 

" Here is another of those grand 
and original ideas which belong ex- 
clusively to the Christian religion. 
The ancient philosophers never quit- 
ted the enchanting walks of .Acade- 
mics and the pleasures of Athens to 
go, under the guidance of a sublime 
impulse, to civilize the savage, to in- 
struct the ignorant, to cure the sick, 



Early Jesuit Missions in Maryland. 



to clothe the poor, to sow the seeds 
of peace and harmony among hostile 
nations; but this is what Christians 
have done and are doing every day. 
Neither oceans nor tempests, neither 
the ices of the pole nor die heat of 
the tropics, can damp their zeal. 
They hve with the Esquimaux in his 
seal-skin cabin; they subsist on train- 
oil mth the Greenlandcr; they tra- 
verse the solitude with the Tartar or 
the Iroquois ; they mount the drome- 
dary of the Arab, or accompany the 
w^andering KafFre in his burning des- 
erts; the Chinese, the Japanese, the 
Indians, have become their converts. 
Not an island, not a rock in the 
ocean, ha5 escaped their zeal; and 
as, of old, the kingdoms of the earth 
were inadequate to the ambition of 
Alexander, so the globe itself is too 
contracted for their charity/' 

Father Andrew White was bom in 
London, about the year 1579. The 
odious laws of Elizabeth, which de- 
nietl the advantage of education to 
Catholics, w-crc tlien in force in Eng- 
land, and young White was obliged 
to seek on the Continent the educa- 
tion which was denied him at home. 
He entered the English College at 
Douay, in Flanders ; and, being call- 
^ to the ecclesiastical state, was or- 
dained in 1604-5. ^^ soon afler- 
wanis repaired to England to assume 
the glorious but dangerous functions 
of a missionary priest. In i6o6» his 
name appears in a list of forty-seven 
priests *• who were, from different 
prisons, sent into perpetual banish- 
ment" 

In the following year, he entertd 
the Society of Jesus, and, aft» a no- 
vitiate of two years at I-ouvain, re- 
lumed to England, where he lalxired 
as a missionary for several years, Ss 
ihe pcnsJty was death to a priest who 
rrtumcd to England after l>anishment, 
his life was in ixvn!^tant danger while 
lit icmaiBC^l in that country, lie 



was, therefore, recalled to tlie 
nent, and sent to Spain to 
educating Enghsh Catholic st 
who were qualifying for the 
ministry in England. While in 
he filled the chairs of Sa 
Scholastic Theology, and 
with distinguished success, 
terwards taught divinity at L 
and Liege. In Rev. Dr. 
Biography of English, Irisi 
Scotch yesuits. Father W^hite 
scribed as **a man of transo 
talents." 

This accomplished priest, 
first call of duty, left his boo 
the professor*s chair, turned 
from those intellectual pursuits 
w^ere so congenial and in w 
had been so long and so suco 
engaged, to bury himself in 
demess among rude savages 
lerate peasants, to meet, perl 
martyr's death. More truly grai 
heroic is such a career than th; 
Alexander, a Caesar, or a Na; 
who sacrificed the lives of 
that men might call them grej 

Father White WTote to the C 
of his order in Rome an tat 
narrative of the voyage and 
of the Maryland pilgrims, 
description of the country 
native inhabitants. This rare 
cal document, together with d 
ous annual letters \%Titten 
Jesuit missionaries in Maryl 
preserved in the archives of 
ciety of Jesus, They were 
w rittcn in Ladn, but have 
been translated into English^ 
a most valuable contribution 
cariy history of Catholic Marj 

Father White's journal fun 
very interesting account of 
dians of Maryland. They 
scribed as a simple, afectionai 
and confiding race ; of a 
and bandsome stature ; living 
huts, but liiU of native 




Early Jesuit Missions in Maryland. 



oorant of the vices as well as of the 
rriioemcnts of civilization ; liberal in 
d^osition, grateful, and possessed 
of a wonderful desire for the culture 
and arts of the Europeans. 

I'hey were neither warhke nor nti- 
merous^ and, with the excejjtion of 
the Pascatoes and Susquehannocks, 
fltither powerful nor enterprising, only 
oaupying a very limited extent of 
tcfritory- Father White thus speaks 
of them : 

"When rulers and kings are spoken of, 
t^l 00 one form an august idea of men 
*udi AS are the difTerent princes of Eu- 
rope, For these Indian kings, though 
thty have the most absolute power of life 
4n<l death over their people, and in ccr- 
Utn prerogatives of honors and weaUh 
excel others, ncvcrlhcicss in their per- 
woal appearance arc scarcely in anj thing 
fttnoved from the muUiludc. The only 
pecoUarity by which you can distinguish 
J chief from the common people is some 
bodge, cither a collar made of a rude 
jewel, or a belt, or a cloak ornamented 
with circles of shells. The kingdoms of 
thc?e cliicfs are generally con lined to the 
QXRfivr boundaries of a single village and 
tlie idjaceal country." 

The Jesuit missionaries began their 
pious labors among the Indians soon 
liter the landing of the colonists* At 
firit, their ministrations were confined 
to the natives who resided in the im- 
ifiedi.'' neighborhood of the new set* 
tlcme.- Governor Calvert not deem- 
ing it safe for them to live among 
the Indians* But in four or five 
ytars the colony had become so 
nd was so generally extended 
ie province, that it was consi- 
'iocd sale for the missionaries to re- 
ftdf among the Indians, The Pa- 
iwaii tribe gave Father White a plan- 
on the Patuxent River, where 
I established a missionary station, 
store-house, and made it the 
Dg-pomt for their various expe- 
•ftions into the interior of the coun- 
^* These excursions were general- 



ly made by w^ater, as the Potomac 
River and the Chesapeake Bay af- 
forded the most convenient means of 
transportation from place to place, 

A father, a servant, and an inter- 
preter embarked in a pinnace, carry- 
ing with them two chests: one con- 
taining bread, butter, cheese, and 
other provisions; the other filled with 
a variety of articles — a bottle of wine 
for the sacrifice of the Mass ; six bot- 
tles containing holy water for bap- 
tism ; a casket with the sacred vessels ; 
a small table, or altar; another cas- 
ket full of beads, bells, combs, fish- 
hooks, and other trifling things which 
the Indians prized. They were also 
provided with a little tent, which 
sheltered them when obliged to sleep 
in the open air, and that was very 
often. 

They always endeavored to reach 
an Indian village or an English house 
by night. Failing in this, they land- 
ed ; and while the father moored the 
boat to the shore, collected fuel, and 
made a fire, the others went hunting. 
The evening repast over and the eve- 
ning prayers said, they lay down by 
the fire and took their rest. 

So early as the year 1639, these 
devoted soldiers of the cross had 
ex tended their missionary work all 
tliroufjh the country then embracerl 
in the colony of Maryland* Four 
priests and one lay assistant were the 
only laborers in this immense vine- 
yard. But their zeal was equal to 
the task, and they had the happi- 
ness of seeing their zealous labors 
crowned with success. ITie piety of 
the missionaries, their pure lives, their 
perfect self-devotion, filled the minds 
of the Indians with respect and won- 
der. They pointed out the way of 
salvation, and walked the " steep and 
thorny Way " themselves. They prac- 
tised the virtues which they taught, 
and fully exemplifieil by their own 
lives the tmth, the beauty, and the 



• 



sanctity of the Gospel which they 
preached. 

Many tribes were visited, and many 
converts made. Four permanent sta- 
tions were estabUshed: one at St. 
Mary's, the seat of the colony ; one 
at Mattapany, one at Kent Island, 
and one at Kittamaquindi, the capi- 
tal of the Indian king Tayac. From 
these several stations, they pene- 
trated into the interior in every di- 
rection, preaching the trudis of Chris- 
tianity to the savages, and contribut- 
ing by Xlidi gentle influence to the 
peace and security of the settlement. 
By making the Indians Cliristians, 
they made them friends; and thus 
Marjdand was spared the bloody 
wars which stained the early history 
of all the other American colonies. 

This year (iGjfj), Father White 
look up his residence widi the Pas- 
catoes, or Patapscoes. Tayac, the 
king of tins powerful tnbe^ treated 
the missionar)' with great cordiality, 
and insisted upon him residing in his 
palace. The queen showed her at- 
tachment to the holy guest by i>re- 
paring meat and bread for him with 
her own hands. 

The Patapscoes occupied about 
one hundred and thirty miles of ter- 
ritory, lying on both sides of the Pa- 
tapsco Kiver. Their chief town, or 
capital, was probably on the vcr>^ 
spot where Baltimore now stands; if 
so, the inhabitants of that beautiful 
city are daily w^alking over the seat 
of ancient Indian power and glory. 

Shortly after the arrival of Father 
White, Tayac was seized with a dan- 
gerous sickness. Forty medicine- 
men tried their remedies upon him 
in vain. At length, at the request 
of the sick chief, Father White, who 
added a knowledge of medicine to 
his other accomphshments, prescribed 
the necessary remedies, and caused 
the patient to be bled. He began to 
recover immediately, and in a short 



time was perfectly restored 
health. 

Father W^hite availed himself of his 
newly-acquired influence to instruct 
the king and his family in the Chris- 
tian religion. The example and in - 
stnicrions of the pious missionary pro- 
duced the most happy result, Ta- 
yac, at a grand council of his tribc^ 
announced his determination, and 
that of his family, to abjure Uieir 
superstitions, and to worship the 
only true God — the God of the 
Christians. Soon after, he accom- 
panied Father W'hite to St. Mary's, 
where his conduct was most edifying. 
He desired to be baptized immedi* 
ately ; but the good father deemed it 
better to postpone the ceremony unbl 
the king returned among his own 
people, when his family, and such 
others as were prepared, might be 
admitted to the sacrament at ihf 
same time. 

The 5th of July, 1640, was appoint- 
ed for diis solemn and interesting cere- 
mony* It was made the occasion of 
a very imposing display, in order to 
impress the minds of the savages with 
the beauty and grandeur of the Chris- 
tian religion. In the presence of 
Governor Calvert, his secretary, 
many of the principal inhabitants of 
the province, and a crowd of wonder- 
struck natives, Tayac, his queen, Ulcir 
child, and several of the chief men of 
his council, were solemnly admitted 
into the Catholic Church by the re- 
generating waters of baj^tism. ITie 
king received the name of Charles, in 
honor of Charles L of England; his 
queen, that of Mary. In the after- 
noon, the king and queen were mar- 
ried according to the rites of the 
Church, Soon after, Tayac sent his 
daughter to St. Mary's to receive a 
liberal and Christian education. 

Great results were expected to fol- 
low from the conversion of Tayac, 
but he died in the following year, in 




Early Jesuit Misswns in Maryland, 



tfce pious practice and firm belief of 
iht Catholic faith. His daughter was 
DOW queen of the Patapscoes ; she 
had aJready acquired the English lan- 
guage, and was baptized at St. Mary's 
soon after the death of her father. 
Many of the natives followed the ex- 
ample of I'ayac and his family. The 
inhabitants of the town of Potopaco, 
to the number of one hundred and 
thirty, together with their queen, were 
bapiixed. The young queen of Pa- 
tuxent Town and her nioihtr were 
converted, Anacostan^ a powerful 
sadiem, not only became a good 
Christian, but uished to take up bis 
residence among the whites as a citi- 
icn of the colony. 

In the w^inter of 1642, Father White 
was returning from one of his annual 
lisiis to St, Mary's by water, and was 
detained by the ice nearly opposite 
Potom ac To wn , in V irgi n i a . A 1 way s 
anxious to do good, he crosseil the 
ke on foot to tho, Indian town, where 
br d nine weeks instructing 

th. in the saving truths of the 

GQspcL His zeal was rewarded: the 
chief of the town and its principal in- 
habitants w^ere converted, also a neigh* 
bonng chief, with many of his tribe ; 
a third with liis wife and son ; and 
s£^ a fourth chief of very high rank, 
whose conversion prepared the way 
fiar \n& whole tribe to enter the one 
iold as soon as they could receive the 
necessary instructions. 

'*The Old Guard dies, but never 
BiTTenders.** So it was witli those 
nolle missionaries of Maryland. Ex- 
hausted by their excessive and inces* 
Milt Ubors, they continued their glo- 
rious %'ork as long as they had strength 
to pfcacli the Gospel or to pour the 
saving water of baptism upon the 
hca*is of the poor savages. Like 
tTue !»oIdiers of the cross, they died 
on tlje field of battle. Father Althani 
was the first of this devoted little band 
»ho perishedi He died on the 5th 



119 

of November, 1640, at St* Mary's. 
Father Brock, the superior of the 
Jesuits in Maryland, in announcing 
this sad event to the general of the 
order, alludes to the difficulties, dan- 
gers, and privations which they had 
to undergo^ but expresses the most 
unbounded confidence in the protec- 
tion of an ever-watchful Providence; 
concluding with tliis magnanimous 
language ; ** In whatever manner it 
shall please the Divaae Majesty to dis- 
pose of us, may his will be accom- 
plished. For my part, 1 would rather, 
laboring in the coii version of these 
Indians, expire on the bare ground, 
deprived of all human succor, and 
perishing with hunger, than ever think 
of abandoning this holy work of God 
from fear of want. God grant that 
I may render him some service ; the 
rest 1 leave to his providence/" 

On the 5th of June, 1641, only 
five weeks alter uttering this most 
generous and most Christian senti- 
ment, Father Brock went to enjoy 
the reward of his earthly labors. 

Earnest appeals were now made 
by the few remaining Jesuits in Ma- 
ryJand to their brethren in Europe, 
in which it was said that *' a harvest 
is placed within our reach, the labor 
of which will be richly repaid with 
fruit* The greatest fear is^ that we 
shall not have laborers enough to 
collect so abundant a crop. Let not 
those who may be sent to our assist- 
ance fear that they will lie destitute 
of the necessary supports of life ; 
for he who clothes the lily of the 
valley and feeds the birds of the air 
will not suffer those engaged in ex- 
tending his heavenly kingdom to 
want the necessary supplies.'* 

These appeals were not made in 
vain. Dozens of English Jesuits 
begged to be sent upon the glorious 
Maryland mission. l*heir letters to 
the provincial soliciting this privilege 
are full of the most ardent zeal and 



I20 



Early Jesuit Missions in Maryland, 



most edifying self-devorion* The few 
fathers who could be spared for this 
distant vineyard of the Lord proved 
that they were worthy to be chosen. 

But, in 1644, the peace and pros- 
perity which had hitherto blessed the 
colony of Maryland were sadly in- 
terrupted. The civil war between 
the king and parliament, which had 
been fiercely raging in England for 
several years, seemed about to be de* 
cided in favor of the parliament, A 
colony of Puritans, who had been ban- 
ished from Virginia, which tolerated 
neither Catholics nor dissenters, after 
being cordially welcomed in Mary- 
land, which tolerated men of every 
Christian sect, repaid kindness by 
dissension and hospitality b}" civil 
war. Led on by the notorious Clai- 
borae, who had been a deadly enemy 
of the Maryland colony from its first 
settlement, and one Ingle, a pirate, 
smuggler^ rebel, and murderer, they 
succeeded in driving Governor Cal- 
vert into Virginia, and obtained com- 
plete possession of the province. 
The conquerors immediately com- 
menced to plunder and oppress the 
Catholics, Episcopalians, and all who 
adhered to the proprietary's govern- 
ment. 

The missionaries, who had scru- 
pulously avoided taking any side in 
the exciting political questions of the 
time, were seized by the marauders, 
their stations robbed and broken up, 
antl they themselves sent in chains 
to England. Among them was the 



venerable and good Father \ 
who had spent ten years of unc< 
labor in the Maryland mission, 
never saw his rude but beloved 
in the wilderness agam. Bar 
from England, he returned li 
kingdom in defiance of the 
laws, and exercised for some tir 
duties as a priest Again an 
he remained in close and cruel 
finement until his death, which < 
red in 1 656, in the seventy-cighi 
of his age. 

Truly grand and beautiful ws 
career of Father White, who w« 
served the triple crown of a s< 
by his learning, of a saint by his 
tity, and by his missionary labo 
glorious tide of Apostie of Mar 
Compared with his noble and 
rous deeds, how mean, how 
how useless^ appear tlie lives of 

** Ye k«y phltosophers. t^tf-seekins raea- 
Vo fireside pblUiithroplsts, great at ttie 

This imperfect sketch will c< 
some idea of the work accompi 
by the Jesuit missionaries in Mai 
They brought the twofold bit 
of religion and civDization: t 
dians were good, docile, and ej| 
instruction and improvement, 
the teachers and the taught ha^ 
since passed away, but the gooi 
then commenced has increase 
after year, and become the g 
American Catholic Church i 
day, which has extended its 
influence all over this vast repi 



A ftw Words abaut Precious Stones. 



121 



A FEW WORDS ABOUT PRECIOUS STONES. 



•* * Jasper first,* I fciid, 
' And second upphire, Lh'iTtl dutlcedooy ; 
The rest in order— last an anicthytt/ '" 



*• There I I have finished Aurora 
lii^h, and those last words remind 
nic of your promise ; and pennit me 
todaim it this evening, mach^re tante. 
Have you forgotten that long ago 
vou said that, the next time I came 
to sec you, you would show me your 
jewels and idl rue something about 
precious stones in general ?'' 

** No, I had not at all forgotten it ; 
and I have brought my jewels out, and 
am ready to redeem my pledge now. 
First I will open the case of dia- 
monds," 

*' Oh ! how beautiful See how 
they sparkle on their beds of crimson 
velvet! Don't tell me they are crys- 
Ullijced carbon — only another form 
of that ugly lump of coal lying in the 
bod tliere; I can*t believe it! Tell 
roe tiiey arc crystallized dew, tears 
libcd by the Peris when turned out of 
paradise, and I will credit it." 

*^ Still, dear, it is the truth; any 
dtemist can show you of what a dia- 
mond is made by destroying its pre- 
sent form. But who can make one ? 
And so it is of all jewels. The ruby, 
ihcsapphire, are only crystallized clay ; 
fct what imitations can equal nature ? 
The opal, the topaz, the emerald, and 
the amethyst are but colored pebbles, 
tinged more or less with the great 
ooiormg matter of mineral nature, 
iron;' 

*" Please tell me, are the stones 
tn^mioncd in the description of the 
New Jerusalem, in the Bil^le, those 
•fhiclj are known to us by the same 
names?'* 

**Sonie are, some are not The 
apphire ai the ancients is supposed 



by mineralogists to have been simply 
the stone called by us lapis-lazuli ; and 
the two on)Tc stones * inclosed in 
ouches of gold, graven as signets, and 
with the names of the children of 
Israel,' that were placed in the epliod, 
on the shoulders of the high-priest, as 
described in the Scriptures, were really 
diamonds. 

** During the middle ages, how and 
where gems were found remained al- 
most as much a mystery as among 
the ancients. The merchants of 
Venice, who were the first to pene* 
trate to the East Indies, kept their 
secrets well. Of course most wonrler- 
ful accounts were given of the origin 
and qualities of their wares, and their 
value was proportionably enhanced. 
It was said there was an inaccessible 
valley in Arabia, where diamonds lay 
* thick as leaves in Vallonibrosa ;* 
and the only means of obtaining the 
gems was to throw pieces of raw meat 
down into the valley, from tlie rocks 
above ; the vultures eagerly pounced 
upon this food, and carrieti it away, 
and with it the jewels that adhered. 
The diamond hunters immediately 
sought the nests of the birds, recap- 
tured the meat, and picked oGf the 
diamonds. Marco Paulo, the great 
traveller who visited India in the 
thirteenth century, gives this as the 
manner of obtaining diamonds, and 
his description is identical with that 
given in the Arabian Nii^hts in the 
adventures of Sindbad the S^iilor. Ta- 
vernier, a traveller of the seventeenth 
century and a jeweller by trade, was 
the lirst to give a faithful and detailed 
account of the diamond mines, and 



how they were worked. He visited 
all the mines of Golconda — those 
mines that have become a proverbs 
Their discovery, as that of many an- 
other, was the result of accident. An 
ignorant shepherd stumbled over a 
shiny pebble, which took his fancy, 
but which he afterward changed for 
a little rice. The one into whose 
hands it thus fell was as ignorant as 
the other of its value; he sold it for a 
trifling sum^ and thus it passed, after 
several transfers, into the possession 
of a merchant who knew its worth, 
and with inhalte trouble traced it back 
to its original finder, and the place 
where it was discovered. 

** Another mine was found in nearly 
the same way — that of Gani, in the 
same kingdom. The fint!er was a 
poor man who was preparing to sow 
millet ; he knew the value of his dis- 
covery, and carried the stone he had 
picked lip to the capital. The dealers 
in such things were greatly delighted 
and surprised at its size, for it weigh- 
ed tsventy-ftve carats." 

" How much is a carat, aunty ?" 

** It weighs about three and a half 
grains, I think. The same mine 
yielded.! much larger ones. One pre- 
sented to a traitor who had betrayed 
the king of Golconda, by the prince 
whom he served, weighed seven hun- 
dred and eighty-seven carats. 

** There are diamond mines in Africa, 
and in the island of Borneo ; also In 
Siberia, and among the Ural moun- 
tains. Brazil rivals Golconda in her 
diamonds, and their discovery too 
was an accident. There they are 
found in the beds of rivers, and are 
washed out by the natives. 

"The diamond is the king of gems* 
and is the hardest body known. Its 
electric qualities are shown even in 
its rough state; while no other uncut 

em possesses this f|uality. When 

St dug from its mine, it is cover- 
ed with a thick crust, which only 



another diamond can remove, i 
substance in nature can be cii 
diamond; the diamond can i 
cut by itself. There have bee 
specimens of these superb stonj 
yellow, rose, and green— evefl 
but the latter very rarely, 
think that is all I can telj yd 
the diamond as a stone. TTJ 
various ways of cutting them ; ^ 
rose, table, etc. But I dori 
you would understand by m 
description. The most of tbd 
monds are * rose-cut;' that 
ring is a * table ' — ^the least 
of all the styles of cutting. 

** Now 1 will put these 
open the next case, which 
pearls. I never see this stone 
thinking of poor Mary Stui 
was her favorite gem, and si . 
have looked very lovely in * g 
satin and glimmer of pearlsj 
pearls were the admiration of i 
saw them, and were famous f 
Europe. Miss Strickland d^ 
Elizabeth's mean robbery^ft 
nothing else — of these long 
gems, and gives Mary's letti 
** sister and cousin" on the 
which, if the latter had any coi 
must have heaped coals of fin| 
head. These beautiful stonei 
genuine, are either the result ofl 
or the eggs of the oyster win 
not hatch, and gradually | 
covered with rta^rf, the secre^ 
the fish. You hav^e read tlesci 
of the Indian pearl fisheries, a| 
the poor divers are often chea( 
of tl^eir hard eaniings, 

** Pearls are manufactured^' 
inserting beads or some foreij 
stance in the oyster, which ' 
grees becomes covered with 
But these are always inferior I 
ty, being irregular in shape, a| 
sequently not so valuable al 
produced by nature. At tlie U 
position, however, in Paris, the' 



Words about Precious 



chemists displayed some beautiful 
pearls that had never seen the inside 
of an o)'ster-sheIl, and yei could not 
be distinguished from natural ones. 
l\i\% is the first instance in which 
chemically manufactured gems in any 
degree approached in beauty and 
wlue those of nature, 

** Chemistry has shown that the pearl 
can readily be dissolved in acids; 
consequently Cleopatra's act is rob- 
bed of its wonder, and indeed it has 
several times been imitated. 

*' Pearls were fount I in great profu- 
iionift the South American and Mexi- 
CMi coasts after their discovery ; but 
the demand for them from Europe 
was 80 great tliey soon became ex- 
haasted They are found also on the 
coast of Wales and of England, but 
of an inferior kind. 

**! have mentioned pearls next to 
diimonds; but in value the ruby 
second. Open that case on 
table, and I will show you some 
bauitiAU rubies — not the necklace; 
n thdit, though the gems are very 
baiutilul, they are only garnets — the 
estf*ring$are the oriental ruby» the most 
bauuful of the several kuuJs of the 
ttme stone ; see of what an exquisite 
color they arc when held up to the light. 
D^you know 1 value this pair of ear- 
rings almost as much as I do those 
dkmond ones ?" 

** They are certainly very beautiful ; 
but why do you say the stones in the 
necklace are only garnets — they are 
vciy beautiful/* 

** Yes, they are very beautiful, for 
they are Syriam garnets — so called 
^oraSyriara, the capital of Pegu^ — and 
«re often confounded with the ruby ; 
but they arc a far inferior stone, neither 
*»kiog so fine a pohsh nor giving nor 
^fleeting so beautiful a light. The 
pnict has a black tinge, owing to 
tfa« oiLide of iron which is its coloring 
flatter; the different shades of the 
|an>ct come from the presence, more 



ypki 

■wta 



or less, besides the oxide of iron, of 
manganese, cliromium, lime, or mag- 
nesia. There are yellow, green, rose- 
color, and white garnets ; the ruby is 
pure alumina, or cby without its sUi- 
cious ingredients, and its coloring mat- 
ter is chromic acid^ while the garnet 
is a silicate of alumina, colored by 
metallic oxides. 

** Rubies are of three classes, the 
oriental, the singel, and the balas; 
the last is of a rose tint, and not very 
valuable unless of a certain weight. 

"There is a ring with an emerald 
surrounded by pearls. This is very 
valuable, because it is a perfect stone, 
and perfect emeralds have passed into 
a proverb. According to chemists, the 
emerald is a double silicate of alu- 
mina and glucina. At first the beauti- 
ful green of the emerald was attributed 
to oxide of chromium, but it is now 
thought to be due to the presence of 
some organic matter. The Duke of 
Devonshire has the largest known 
emerald; it is an uncut, six-sided 
prism, two inches in width and from 
one to two and a half inches in length, 
and weighs over eight ounces. The 
emerald is a soft, light stone. 

^* Now I will show you my topaz set 
— Brazilian tojiaz. They were made 
for my mother by my father*s orders, 
when he was living at Rio Janeiro. 
See this crescent; it has Brazilian dia- 
monds each side of the row of topaz, 
and the gold is South American gold ; 
you see it is of a reddish tinge, 
much richer than that from Califor- 
nia. Put the crescent on black velvet 
or nbbon, and see how much belter it 
is shown ; my mother wore it in the 
turban head-dress it was then the style 
to wear ; the topazes are very beautiful 
in it, but I think the cross is the more 
chaste. See, there are no diamonds 
in the cross, only the clear, pure topaz. 
The ear-rings are by no means old- 
fashioned in shape even for these 
days ; but the bracelets are the least 



■ 



handsome part of the set — with ihe 
chains of gold and a large topaz in 
each clasp. 

**The topaz is another silicate of 
alumina, with a little i^uonne ; tliere 
are red, blue, pink, and white topaz. 
I'he best stones come from Brazil ; 
though this is a disputed honor, some 
claiming precedence for the orientab 
They are found in New Wales and 
Ceylon. Large ones arc also found 
in Scotland, in the Cainigorm moun- 
tains, although a kind of rock crystal 
called the Cairngorm stones is also 
fottnd in the same mountains, and the 
two are confounded. 

** There le a pair of sapphire car-rings ; 
some call this stone the blue ruby, 
but though a beautiful gem, it is not 
as valuable as the ruby. The largest 
sapphire known is in the museum of 
mineralogy in Paris. It is called the 
Ruspoh, and weighs 132 carats. 

" In that box is a ring set with one 
large amethyst. This is a very rare 
stone, so rare that my father always 
doubted its genuineness. Amethysts 
are crystallized quartz or silica, color- 
ed by small quantities of oxide of 
manganese. They are found in the 
East Indies, Hungary, Bohemia, and 
particularly in Obersiein in Saxony; 
they arc also found in Brazil. 

** There are a number of jewels in 
that box. A set of agate studs — 
agates are quartz, and can easily be 
polished j they are never transparent 
nor wholly opaque. Agates are of 
every variety of agate, and some are 
very beautiful. Here is an onyx pin; 
this is a kind of agate. You see it is 
in layers of diflfcrent colors, generally 
brown and white and black. The 
sardonyx has a red tinge (whence 
the name, sard), in place of one of 
the more usual colors, and the chab 
cedonyx is of a milky blue tinge. 

" Jasper, of which the bloodstone is 
a variety (so called from the veins 
and specks of bright red through it), 



lapis lazuli, amber, malachite, 
feldspath, are more or less used for 
ornaments. The last is found every- 
w^here; it is white, and not as hard as 
quartz, Malachite is a hydraled car- 
bonate of copper. Marcasite ranks 
with it, and is a kind of iron pyrites. 
Mirrors of marcasite were found in the 
tombs of the Peruvians. It is capable 
of a very high polish. 

** Amber you have heard more about 
than any of the olhere. Modem mi- 
neralogists have been at a loss to ac- 
count for this pecuHar substance ; it is 
of vegetable origin, being the fossil resin 
of a pine-tree, Sometimes pieces of am- 
ber have insects imbedded in ihem, 
and perfectly preserved. It is very 
transparent, though occasionally quite 
opaque ; when burnt, it gives out a 
very fragrant odor. It possesses strong 
electrical qualities; and this perhaps ac- 
counts for the great value set upon it 
by the ancients. It is found in Asia 
Minor, China, and Sicily, and also 
along the Prussian shores of the Bal- 
tic. Many romantic and chonniog 
fables are connected with this stone ; 
you easily recall Moore's lines : 

" * Around ihec shall gli&ten the loveUcit •mber 
That ever Uic sorrowing tea-bird baih wtpL* " 

»* Here is an opal stud, aunty ; 3^011 
forgot that,*' 

" Yes, I had passed that by ; and yet 
it is a most interesting stone to one who 
loves romance ; for it was this stone 
which was said to reveal the absent 
love's truth or falsehood; paling if 
false, glowing in roseate hues as long 
as he or she w^as faithful. Black opals 
are found, but very rarely, in Egypt 
The harlequin opal is a hydrated sili- 
ca ; it is not so precious as the noble 
opal, which is of a milky whiteness, 
exhibiting a rich play of colors, greei% 
red, blue, and yellow. Opals we 
found in Hungary, Germany* and 
Honduras, 

** But the opal was not the only stone 




Wards about Precious Stones, 



wMcb was supposed to have some 

tccTtt power. Almost every stone 

hid some superstition attached to it. 

The emerald as well as tlie opal could 

ram of treachery by the paling or 

glowing of its light; you remember 

nbecte L* E. L. speaks of it : 

** It it « gem wliich hAth the pawcr to show 
If fAi^ttd iovei* keep their faiUi or no : 
If Ciitl^lful, it it lilte the leaves io «prin$; ; 
]i ^ildctt, like those leaver when witlieiing.* 

** The emerald also puts evil spirits to 
flight, if set in a ring or worn round 
the neck, I believe it also brought 
eloquence and increased wcaltli to its 
owner. Amethysts were thought to 
be aniidotes against intoxication. lis 
name to Greek, amethystos, has that 
aeaniiig/* 

•* Had the diamond no mysterious 
pr 

^ aimed anger and increased 
kyvc ; u gave victory and strength of 
mind and body. From its quality of 
ftxengtheniDg love, it was called the 
it0oe of reconciliation, a name which, 
bowerer, might be given to almost 
jny of ihe others, or to all; for how 
nuay quarrels, how many heart-scalds, 
lu\T been healed or salved by pre- 
p--- ,.. rvf these gemsl It is said also 
presence! of guilt, the diamond 
Its lustre. 

. lie oriental ruby or carbuncle, 
1 to powder and taken inter- 
ft-as considered an antidote 
t pobon. It also changed its 
to t darker hue if danger of 
id, except death, threatened the 
If death was impending, the 
}>ecame pale. The ruby, like 
mond, possesses the power of 
light in darkness; this power 
course, been much exaggerat- 
ive ancients, but modem writers 
> it to a certain extent, 
rjost all precious stones are elec- 
liat is electricity can be evolved 
ftwn them by friction ; but none per- 
liaps more than ihe^mber. It would 



be an endless task to tell you all the 
properties attributed to precious 
stones — a task too long, at least, for 
this evenmg." 

** You have not said a word about 
turquoise. Do you remember this ring 
you gave me for a birthday gift ?'* 

" Inhere are two kinds of turquoise, 
the eastern, which is the real gem, and 
is a phosphate of alumina, colored by 
oxide of copper; and the odontolite, 
or bone turquoise. The former was 
found first in Turkey, hence its name ; 
it is very rare, and consequently very 
high-priced. The odontolite turquoise 
is teeth of fossil mammalia colored 
by phosphate of iron. The real gem 
is very hard and of a beautiful 
azure blue, opaque but slightly trans- 
parent at the edges. They are found 
in Turkey, Persia, and Arabia Petr^ea. 
The odontolite is found in France; 
these can be acted upon hy acids, 
though the real ones cannot; they 
are not so hard as the latter, and 
ivhen burnt give out a very strong 
animal odor, 

** Precious stones are long-lived, if 
I may so speak. Handed down from 
generation to generation, who can 
tell what they have passed through, 
how often they have changed own- 
ers, or what their age ? Had they 
but the gift of speech, what stories 
they could tell ! The gems that flash 
or gleam upon the j^er^on of a mo* 
(1cm belle may be the very stones 
upon the gift or rejection of which 
empires have fallen and kingdoms 
been convulsed by war and bloodshed. 
And the gems flash back no record 
of the past. No tears have cr)'stalliz- 
ed upon their surface^ — no drops of 
blood congealed there; yet perhaps 
the faiikless hand of a Mary Stuart 
or Marie Antoinette caressed them ; 
the cmel touch of an Elizabetli or a 
Catharine de' Medicis is among the 
memories they could recall ! 

"Nor was the love of the glitter and 



■ 



display of elaborate toilettes, or the 
aid of precious stones in dress, con- 
fined to the old world alone. In the 
wilds of Mexico and among the South 
American mountains the natives were 
fully aware of their value and beauty. 
You have read in Prescott and others 
of Montezuma's magnificence and the 
sad story of the Peruvian Inca. 

** Of all nations of the cast, India 
and Persia are the most famed in 
this matter of precious stones. We 
read of the army of Darius, magnifi- 
cent beyond anything in its equip- 
ments, etc. The * immortals,' a body 
of picked troops, wore collars of gold 
and dresses of cloth-of-gold, while 
the sleeves of their jackets were co- 
vered with precious stones and gold 
embroil ler)'. 

"The women of those days were 
as fond of decking their persons with 
gems, and did so to a far greater ex- 
tent than do their modem sisters. 

•* Nor were the Greeks behind the 
Persians ; for history tells as of Alex- 
anders chariot enriched with gold, 
his gorget covered with precious stones, 
and his mantle embroidered with gold 
and gems. In saying * Greeks,* of 
course I don't include the Spartans. 
With them every kind of luxury, clean- 
liness included, was strictly forbidden; 
even their money was of iron, and it 
required a cart and a yoke of oxen 
to carry from one place to another 
a sum equal to only a few dollars of 
our coinage. 

" The Romans, after they had con- 
quereil the world by physical force, 
were conquered in their turn by the 
superior luxury of some of their cap- 
tives; Greece and Carthage, bowing 
to the yoke of their conquerors, threw 
around them the chains of beauty 
and epicurean enjoyment 

*' When Paul us ^-Emilius returned 
from the conquest of Macedonia, he 
laid before the astonished Romans 
tlie magnificent spoils of Greece, and 



his countrymen were not slow to ap» 
propriate and follow the taste for ex- 
travagances thus excited, and soon 
outstripped their teachers. On the 
occasion of Porapey's triumph, there 
Tivcre displayed a chess-board with all 
its pieces set with precious stones; 
thirty-three crowns of pearls ; the U- 
mous golden vine of Aristobulus, esti- 
mated by the historian Josephus at 
five hundred talents (2,400,000 frcs.)j 
the throne and sceptre of Mithridates, 
his chariot also, glistening with gold 
and precious stones, were among ilic 
trophies. 

" Lucan in his Pharsalia describes 
the hall in which Cleopatra feasted 
Caesar — columns of porphjTy, ivory 
porticoes, pavements of onyx, thresh- 
olds of tortoise-shell, in which were 
set emeralds; funiiture inlaid with 
yellow jaspers, and couches studded 
with gems — a description hardly to 
be cretiited did not history indorse it, 

" Caligula built ships of cedar and 
inlaid them with gems; his mantle 
was embroidered with gold and je- 
wels, and his favorite horse wore a 
collar of pearls. 

" Nero's house had pands of mo- 
ther-of-pearl, enriched with gold and 
gems ; and Heliogabalus wore sandals 
covered with gems. 

" Roman luxury spread among the 
Goths, to whom before it had been 
little known. They were fond of 
high colors and of gold, but knew 
little or nothing of precious stones 
Suq^assing everything, but true, are 
the accounts of the magnificence, the 
treasures of gold and silver, possessed 
by these rude despoilers of Roman 
grandeur. But haven't I talked yoy 
almost to sleep, child ?" 

"No indeed! Please * tell on/ as 
the children say, unless you are tireA" 

" Oh J not at all. Well, then, we 
will leave die barbarians and their 
splendor, and turn to more civili^ted 
ages — to Charlemagne's sad watch 




Wards about Precious Stones. 



h&i^t the lake into which the talis* 
manic ring had been cast; and look 
mio his tomb when opened by Fre- 
deric Barbarossa, who sought to rob 
the dead monarch of his golden chair, 
upon which he sat in his imperial 
robes with his jewel-covered sword at 
his side, his diadem on his head, and 
golden shield and gemmed seep- 
hanging before him. 
•* iVs Christianity spread, goUl and 
s3ver and precious stones were lavish- 
ed upon the service of God, and no 
church in France owned greater trea- 
sure than St. Denis. The Abb^ Suger 
presented it with a crucifix profuse- 
ly oraameuted with precious stones, 
whtdi was destroyed by the Leaguers 
in 1590. The church besides had 
shrines, crosses, and chalices of gold, 
enamelled and jewelled, presents from 
Charles tlie Bold ; Ptolcmy^s famous 
ikmking-cup of agate ; the sceptre of 
Dagobert, a gold eagle set with sap- 
phires and other gems with which he 
Gbsjicd his mantle ; the gifts of Char- 
lemagne, etc. 

" Gems were also devoted to enrich- 
ing the houses and plate, and the 
drcttes of the laity. 

•The wedding-gifts of Henry IIL 
bo the beautiful Eleanore of Provence 
cost him thirty thousand pounds. 
Miis Strickland enumerates in this 
^ trousseau 'nine guirhinds, or 
, IS for her hair, formed of gold 
migrcc and dusters of colored pre- 
cious stones. For state occasions she 
had a crown most glorious with gems, 
wctflh fifteen hundred pounds at that 
eta.* Her girdles were worth hve 
tbousaod marks, and the coronation 
|)rcscni from her sister queen^ Marga- 
T<t of France, was a large silver pea- 
«>ck, t receptacle for scented water, 
rtose tjain was set with pearls, sap* 
' f , and other gems. 

1; !t it is in tlie historj' of Charles 

;'!<], and the preceding and sub- 

4 reigns of the Dukes of Bur- 



gundy, that we find the most astonish- 
ing accounts of expensive and lavish- 
ly ornamented garments. 

" When Philip the Bold, Duke of 
Burgundy, met the Duke of Lancaster 
at Amiens in 1391, his wardrobe was 
on a scale of great magnificence. One 
surcoat was of black velvet ; on the 
left sleeve, which hung as low as the 
hem of the garment, was a large 
branch of a rose-tree with twenty 
flowers. Some of these roses were of 
sapphires surrounded by pearls, others 
by rubies ; the buds were pearls ; and 
the collar was similarly embroidered, 
A wreath of Spanish genet (in comiili- 
ment to the English king) surround- 
ed the button -holes^ the pods formed 
of pearls and sapphires. His other 
dresses were equally magnificent. 
One was of crimson velvet ; down 
each side was embroidered in silver a 
bear, whose collar, muzzle, and chain 
were of rubies and sappliires. With 
this dress he wore a bracelet of gold 
set with rubies. 

"The Duke of Burgundy was the 
wealthiest prince in Europe. He and 
his son John spent large sums in gold 
and silver and jewels. Not only their 
own jewellers, but those of Florence, 
Lucca, Genoa, and Venice contribut- 
ed to the Indulgence of these tastes. 
It is said that the art of cutting and 
polishing the diamond was discover- 
ed in tlie reign of Charles the Bold; 
but as these stones were in great de- 
mand during the times of his ances- 
tors, it woultl seem that the art must 
have been discovered earlier. 

** When the son of Philip the Bold 
was married at Cambray to the Prin- 
cess of Bavaria, in 1396, the duke dis- 
tributed diamonds among the ladies 
to the amount of seventy-seven thou- 
sand eight hundred francs. At his 
death, his wife was compelled, in or* 
der to save his territorial possessions 
for his children, to declare her hus- 
band bankrupt. All his store of je- 



158 



A few Words about Precious Stones. 



wels, etc., was not sufficient to pay his 
debts. 

" In 1406, when Louis XL succeed- 
ed to the throne and made his public 
entry into Paris, Philip the Good of 
Burgundy wore jewels to the value 
of one milh'on francs. His dress and 
the trappings of his horse were cover- 
ed with them ; he Hterally shone with 
diamonds. When he visited the 
churches, during his stay in Paris, he 
made costly presents to tlic altar. 
He changed his jewels daily, some- 
times wearing a belt covered with dia- 
monds, and a rosary of precious stones j 
again, a hat covered witli them, or a 
surcoat sparkling with gems. He 
was, at his death, in 1467, the weal- 
thiest prince of his age, notwithstand- 
ing that in Uberality he exceeded his 
predecessors. 

" Although many of the European 
courts were on the verge of bankrupt- 
cy, although their armies were ill-paid 
and the people starving, still the no- 
bles and the members of the royal 
families seemed never at a loss for 
means to gratify their taste fur display 
and love of personal adornment with 
jewels and jewellers' work. 

'* Of all the kings of France, none 
was as parsimonious as Louis XL, 
and none, not even excepting Louis 
XIV,, was more magnificent in his 
outlay for jewels and golden orna- 
ments than Francis L His presents 
to his mistresses, particularly Madame 
de Chateaubriand and the Duchess 
d'Fstanipes, and to his relatives anrl 
friends, w^ere unequalled, if we may 
believe Miss Pardoe and Miss Strick- 
land. The famous Field of the Cloth 
of Gold — * where,* to use the words 
of an ancient chronicler, * many of 
the nobles carried their casdes, forests, 
and mills on their backs,* so great 
was the outlay necessary for the oc* 
casion — has often been described. 

Nor were Hemy VHL and Wolsey 



behind the French king and 
nisters in their display- 

" Francis's presents to the b€ 
Countess de Chateaubriand w< 
only priceless in value, but b< 
in design, owing to the good li 
his sister, Marguerite de Valois 

** The Duchess d*Estampes 
grasping, miserly nature, and tbi 
king soon found her chains w 
of roses. Still his infatuation 
and her power over him were so 
that he could refuse her nothinj 
we read of the large sums sp< 
him to gratify her with araazi 
the more so as his wars with C 
V. and Henry of England draii 
country and reduced his subj 
the greatest sufferings for the 
cessities of life. Yet wx see the 
pleasure-loving monarch div 
sums voted him reluctantly by h 
liament, for the prosecution 
wars, to supply a passing desire 
beautiful duchess, or to gratify 
one of her many extravagant 

" Elizabeth of England was 
of jewels as her Bluebeard 
Her dresses were heavily embi 
ed with pearls, emeralds, and 
and even her couch was studd€ 
precious gems — even diamond! 

*' Mary Stuart's jewels were vc 
and very numerous ; her pearls 
mentioned. WTien she was n 
to the dauphin, her train of bVu 
velvet, some six or seven yards 
was covered wnth precious 
She danced in it, too, althoi 
must have weighed consideral 
had to be carried by six young 
who, of course, had to folic 
through the mazes of the danca 

" Gradually, through the reigna 
Stuarts and the Bourbons, royi 
noble personages have laid asic 
lavishly-ornamented and volui 
robes, and now, except on oa 
of ceremony or great state, the; 



Ike ordinary mortals ; so that some- 
times it would be difficult to tell by 
ihe dress w hiLli was an earl and which 
his butlen" ' 

"Hut I think the change is for the 
WORC ; don't you, aunty ? I admire 
exceedingly the dresses worn by men 
in the days of Francis I. and Charles 
If. Then dress meant something; 
DOW I defy you to find a meaning in 
iC 
"It is certainly not so picturesque ; 
Alyou must admit that it is more 
eonyenient/' 

»* Perhaps so. But tell me, is the 
* Regent * or the * Koh-i-noor' the larg- 
est diamond in the world ?'* 

** Neither can claim that honor. 
The largest diamond in the world is 
not yet cuU and belongs to the Rajah 
ofMaian in Borneo; it weighs 367 
carats. The * Orloff ' weighs 193 ca- 
rats; the* Grand Tuscan/ 139 H \ the 
' Regent/ 137 ; the * Star of the South/ 
Jij; and the ♦ Koh-i-noor/ 122. The 
! owned by the Rajah of Ma- 
oeen little seen. The Malays 
r proud of it, and attribute all 
: powers to it. The English 
birc tried to buy it, but the rajah 
he always refused to part with it 
"The * Orloff' was ones among the 
'ewcls of the Grand Mogul. 
le was defeated by the Shah 
^a, these jewels were stolen, 
^ -iter a while this remarkable 
ttooe was offered for sale. The Rus-, 
" ~ itbid the English for the dia- 
. !vd it was bought by Count 
|ilu?f iot Catharine of Russia for four 
ulred and fifty thousand roubles 
^ 1 patent of nobility. This stone 
* the size of a pigeon's egg^ but its 
*^pe ii defective, though its lustre is 
*^' fine. 
*' The * Grand Tuscan ' is an heir- 
I b ihe Austrian imperial family; 
jhily tinged with yellow, which 
its value. It is a * rose-cut/ 
Jcd, looking like a star with 
VOL, xiu-^g. 



nine rays. This diamond was for a 
long time in the Medici family. After 
the Emperor Maximilian owned it, 
it was frequently called by his name. 

** The most valuable and beautiful, 
though not the largest, diamond in 
Europe, is the * Regent/ Before cut- 
ting it weighed 410 carats; the cut- 
ting, which occupied two years^ re- 
duced its size to 137 carats. It is cut 
as a brilliant. The name was given 
it because the Duke of Orleans, when 
Regent of France, bought it for Louis 
XV. for ninety-two thousand pounds. 
It was brought from India in 17 17 by 
the grandfather of the Earl of Chat- 
ham, who was governor of Fort St. 
George in the East Indies, and who, 
for the five years he owned it, suffered 
constant dread of its being stolen. 
Its w^eight in the rough was 410 ca- 
rats. This stone is now in the impe- 
rial diadem, though the great Napo- 
leon wore it in the hilt of his sword 
of state. Pawned, sold, stolen, given 
away, and passing through several re- 
volutions, this beautiful gem has al- 
ways been regained by France, and is 
justly considered one of the most va- 
luable of the state jewels. 

**The ^Star of the South ' belongs 
to the royal family of Portugal, It 
weighs one hundred and twenty-five 
carats, and is estimated as worth about 
three millions sterhng. This stone 
was found in the interior of Brazil 
by three men, who were banished 
as a punishment into the wildest 
part of the country. Their discov- 
ery, of course, procured their pardon. 

** The * Koh-i-noor* is the most un- 
fortunate of all. Once the largest 
ever known, weighing nine hundred 
carats, it is now the sixth in size of the 
paragon diamonds, and weighs only 
one hundred and twenty-two carats. A 
Venetian diamond-cutter, Borgis by 
name, is responsible for this injury to 
the stone. The name signifies moun- 
tain of light, and this diamond, it is 



4 



150 



A few Words about Pncious Stones, 



said, was worn by an Indian rajah, 
Kanah, three tliotisami and one years 
before Christ. After many changes and 
transfers, it at last came into the pos- 
session of the English, and has been 
recut and very much improved by 
the process. According to Mr. I^en- 
nant» only a portion of this great 
stone lias been brought from India. 
He says the great Russian diamond, 
and a large diamond slab captured 
at Coreham \xi the harem of the chief, 
and the Koh-i-ngor, were once one 
stone. 

'' The * Shah of Persia/ so called 
because that monarch presented it 
to the Emperor Nicholas, is of fine 
water and lustre, but its shape is irre- 
gular, being a long prisni. It weighs 
eighty-six and three-sixteenth carats, 
and is valued at two hundred and 
twenty thousand francs. The names 
of its former owners, Indian princes, 
are engraved on this gem.* 

" Perhaps there is no stone of which 
more conflicting stories are told and 
histories given than the * Sancy.' 
The stone so called is now among 
the crown jewels of France ; it is pear- 
shaped and beautifully white and 
clear. According to some, this stone 
belonged to Charles the Bold, and 
was lost out of the hilt of his sword 
at Granson. According to others, he 
wore it in his helmet. Some say he 
wore it and another, a larger dia- 
mond, suspended around his neck, 
and that the larger one was found by 
a peasant ; it was sold for graduating 
prices, and bought by peasants, mer- 
chants, dukes, and princes, until it 
finally came into the hands cf Julius 
II., and now rests in the papal tiara. 
Many consider this the true * Sancy/ 
Others say the stone Charles wore 
with this diamond was found by a 
Tord de S;mcy, and by him taken to 
England, where it was bought by 
Henry VI 1 1, and presented by him 

* III IS stone if now tn the Rtuauun teeptre. 



to his daughter Mary, and by her 
given to Philip IL of Spain, and thai 
by the marriage of the Spanish prin- 
cess Maria Theresa to I.ouis XIV. 
it was brought into France. Others 
say James IL owned it, and when 
he took refuge in France he preseni- 
ed it to Louis XIV., and that Louis 
XV, wore it at his coronation. 

" The most valuable of the French 
crown jewels was the famous triangu- 
lar diamond, of the most exquisiie 
sapphire blue and the most splendid 
lustre. This diamond was stolen in 
1792 with the rest of the crown jewels, 
and though many of them, among 
them the * Regent,' were recovered, it 
has never been seen since, 

** Although the diamonds of the 
Spanish crown je^ls are magnificent, 
they do not suqiass, or even equal, 
those of Brazil, which are said to be 
the most splendid of modern times* 

**The crown jewels of England are 
kept in the Tower in an iron cage, 
There are in the imperial crown five 
rubies, seventeen sapphires, eleven 
emeralds, two hundred and seventy* 
three pearls, four drop-shaped fieaHs, 
one hundred and forty-seven table 
diamonds, one thousand two hun- 
dred and seventy-three rose diatnonds, 
and one thousand three hundred and 
sixty-three brilliant diamonds. The 
famous heart shaped ruby in the front 
of the crown, and centre of a diamond 
Maltese cross, is said to have been 
given to Edward the Black Prince 
by Don Pedro, King of Castile^ after 
the battle of Nagera in 1367. This 
diamond was worn by Henry V. at 
Agincourt On the summit of the 
cross in the centre is a splendid rose- 
cut sapphire. 

** While talking of diamonds we must 
not forget the famous diamond neck- 
lace, one of the first steps in the 
downfall of the beautiful and inno- 
cent queen of Louis XVL The 
whole matter was entirely unknown 



A few Words about Ptecions Stones. 



131 



to her, and she never saw one of the 
diamonds ; but it is too long a story 
for lo-night. To-morrow I will give 
/ou a book that has a full account 
of tlic whole matter, 

•* Another diamond necklace story is 
connected with the present Empress 
of the French. At her coronation, 
the city of Paris voted six hundred 
ihotisand francs to purchase a dia- 
mond necklace as a present to her 
roajcsty; but, at Eug^nie*s request, 
ihe sum was devoted to the founda- 
Lj^bCm of an educational establishment 
ton poor young girls of one of the 
poorest faubourgs in Paris. 

" The fashion of wearing necklaces 
was revived by Agnes SoreL Charles 
VI I. presented her with one of dia- 
monds; she wore it always, although 
the gems, being uncut, hurt her neck. 
** Tlie Queen of Prussia has a neck- 
lace of pearls, each pearl alike in size 
and beauty. This has grown from 
one pearl presented to her by her 
husband the first birtliday after their 
miniage, followed by a similar one 
cath succeeding year. If the royal 
coujjle live only a few years longer, 
the STJiierb cerdon will l>e long enough 
to make a doable row hanging to the 
waist 

** Girdles or belts are of great anti- 
quity, and perhaps in the history of 
)^th no ornament has greater sig- 
nificance than girdles and rings. 
Those worn by the Roman ladies 
were very broad, like the more mo- 
dem stomacher, and loaded with pre- 
ntiits stones, 

'* In the middle ages, the belt or gir- 

^cwaa an important adjunct in the 

"*•-■ ny of paying homage. Dur- 

.^ ceremony the belt was taken 

I led to the suzerain. This 

r, was only performed in 

^ e, and the refusal of the 

' > iiritlany to yield this point 

! brought on a war between him 

-i Chalks VII. of France. The 



taking off of the belt was also a por- 
tion of the form of declaring bank- 
ruptcy; and the widow of Philip the 
Bold, who, I told you before, was at 
one time the richest prince in Eu- 
rope, had to go through this painful 
and disagreeable ceremony over the 
coffin of her husband. 

** In the East for a long time the 
belt was a badge of the profession of 
a Christian. 

"The queens from the tenth to the 
seventeenth century were very fond 
of sto mar hers and belts, and owned 
many, always more or less ornament- 
ed with precious stones. Elizabeth 
of England had one so covered with 
gems that the original fabric could 
not be seen ; and it must have been 
almost as hea\n»" above her heart as 
her conscience (supposing she pos- 
sessed so inconvenient an article) was 
within. 

**'A girdle richly studded with dia- 
monds saved the life of Queen Isa* 
bella II. of Spain from the dagger of 
the assassin Menino. The point of 
the dagger striking on one of the 
stones, slipped aside, and inflicted only 
a flesh wound. 

*' Rings are of the greatest antiquity 
and of universal fashion. Solomon 
was said to owm one which possesse<l 
magical powers, and you rememlx;r 
the ring of Pharaoh which he gave 
to Joseph as a sign of his delegated 
authority, 

" The wedding-ring we get from the 
Hebrews; adopted from them by the 
Romans, it became a general custom. 
In the time of Pliny this ring was of 
iron with a loadstone, as emblematic 
of the love which should bind closely 
together man and wife, 

** Rings were worn as a badge of 
knighthood. In early ages it was a 
mark that its wearer was a freeman 
frecdman. Among the Romans 



I 



ing considered cooler aod lighter 
than others. 

" Seal-rings^ are as ancient as the 
days of Alexander of Macedon ; and 
as early certainly as the fourth cen- 
tury rings were made part of the dress 
of a bishop. 

** The popes have two rings, of which 
one, the annuius piscatoris^ the special 
ring of the popes, is broken whenever 
a pope dies, a new one being provid- 
ed for his successor. 

*' Now one word more before saying 
good-night, by way of a moral retlec- 
tion and a sumramg up of our talk, 



or rather my monologue. If 
w^ere to put a diamond beneath a 
bell-glass filled with oxygen gas, and 
expose it to the rays of the sun con- 
densed to a focus by means of a lens, 
your diamond would bum, and the 
result w^ould be merely carbonic acid 
gas. So you see, my dear, that not 
only our hopes and plans, our glor)- 
and happiness — the most precious 
desires of the human heart — but the 
hardest and most precious substance 
in mineral nature ends — ^in smoke 1 



* '' Sic tntuit gtoria mtndi ! * " 




A FREAK OF FORTUNE. 



: 



S\muel Duhobret was a disciple 
of the famous engraver Albert Durer, 
admitted into the art -school out of 
charity. He was employed in paint- 
ing signs and the coarse tapestry then 
used in Germany. As he was about 
forty years of age, small, ugly, and 
humpbacked, he was the butt of ill 
jokes among his fclIow-puj>ils, and 
selected as a special object of dislike 
by Madame Dijrer, who tormented 
the scholars and domestics, as well as 
the master, by her Xantippical tem- 
j>er. Poor Duhobret had not a spice 
of malice in his lieart, and not only 
bore all his trials with patience, eating 
without complaint the scanty crusts 
given him for dinner, while his com- 
panions fared better, but always show- 
ed himself ready to assist and serve 
tliose who scoffed at him. His in- 
dustry was indefatigable. He came 
to his studies every morning at day- 
break, and worked till sunset. Dur- 
ing three years, he plodded thus, and 
said nothing of the pamtings he had 



produced in his lonely chamber by 
the light of his lamp. His bodily 
energies wasted under incessant toil 
No one cared enough for him to no* 
tice the feverish color in his wiinklcd 
cheek, or the increasing meagreness 
of his misshapen frame. No one ob* 
servx^d that the poor pittance set aside 
for his midday meal remained un- 
touched for several days. The poor 
artist made his appearance as usual, 
and as meekly bore the gibes of the 
students or the taunts of the ladyj 
working with the same untiring assi- 
duity, though his hands trembled and 
liis eyes were often sufiused with tears, 
One momingj he was missing from 
the scene of his labors, and, though 
jokes were passed about his disap- 
pearance, no one thought of going to 
his lodgings to see if he were ill or 
dead. He w\is indeed prostrated by 
the low fever that had been lurking 
in his veins and slowly sapping his 
strength. He was half-delirious, and 
muttered w^ild and incoherent words, 



A Freak of Fortune. 



m 



i^ncying his bed surrounded by mock- 
ing demons, taunting him with his 
inability to call a priest to adminis- 
ter the words of comfort that might 
smooth his passage to another world. 
From exhausted slumbers he awoke 
feint and with parched lips ; it was the 
fifth day he had lain in his cell ne- 
glected. Feebly he stretched out his 
bafids toward the earthen pitcher, and 
Cound that it contained not a drop of 
water. Slowly and with difiiculty he 
arose ; for he knew that he must pro- 
cure sustenance or die of want. He 
had not a kreutzer. He went to the 
other end of the room, took up the 
l^kture he had painted last, and re- 
HBlired to carry it to a dealer, who 
Qitght give him for it enough to 
furnish him necessaries a week 
longer. 

On his way, he passed a house be- 
imt which there was a great crowd. 
There was to be a sale, he learned, 
of many specimens of art collected 
flaring thirty years by an amateur. 
The wearied Duhobret thought he 
xsix^l here find a market for his pic- 
UBc, He Worked his way through 
the crowd, dragged himself up the 
Heps, and found the auctioneer, a 
Iwiiy little man, holding a handful of 
pipers, and inclined to be roui;h with 
^t Ican^ sallow^ hunchback who so 
. implored his attention. 
Vv hat do you call your picture ?" 
li€ asked. 

**Il is a view of the Abbey of New- 

Ixjtirg. with the village and landscape," 

1 the trembling artist. 

' auctioneer looked at it, hum 

'nd contemptuously, and asked its 

pncc. 

"Wliatever you please; whatever 

Jt iili bring," was the anxious reply. 

** Hem !" — with an unfavorable cri- 

t*ciiin — ^♦* I can promise you no more 

tHin three thalers." 

l*oor Duhobret had spent the nights 
rfminy months on that piece \ But 



he was star\ing, and the pittance of- 
fered would buy him bread. He nod- 
ded to the auctioneer, and retired to 
a corner* 

After many paintings and engrav- 
ings \\:xA been sold, Uuhobrct's was 
exhibited. *^ Who bids ? Three tha- 
lers ! Who bids ?*• was the cry. The 
poor artist held his breath r no re- 
sponse was heard. Suppose it should 
not find a purchaser ! He dared not 
look up ; he thought everybody was 
laughing at the folly of offering so 
worthless a piece at ]>ublic sale. ** li 
is certainly my best work !** he mur- 
mured piteously to himself. He ven- 
tured to glance at the picture as the 
auctioneer held it in a favorable light. 
There was certainly a beautiful fresh- 
ness in the rich foliage, a transparency 
in the water, a freedom and life in the 
animals ! The steeple^ the trees, the 
whole landscape, showed the genius 
of an artist. Alas ! he felt the last 
throb of an artistes vanity. The dead 
silence continued, and, turning away, 
he buried his face in his hands, 

^* Twenty -one thalers!*' a faint voice 
called out The stupefied painter 
gave a start of joy, and looked to see 
who had uttered those blessed words. 
It was the i>icturc-dcalcr to whom he 
had first meant to go. 

" Fifty thalers !" cried the sonorous 
voice of a tall man in black. 

Inhere wms a moment^s silence. 
** One hundred thalers !" at length 
cried tJie picture-dealer, evidendy 
piqued and anxious, 

*' Two hundred 1'* 

^' Three hundred 1" 

** Four hundred !" 

" One thousand thalers!" 

Another profound silence ; and the 
crowd pressed around the two oppo- 
nents, who stood opposite to each 
other with flushed and angry faces. 

The tall stranger bid fifteen hun- 
dred thalers. 

'*Two thousand thalers!" thunder- 



t54 



Tki Oxford Afoxfement. 



ml ihfj jiit turt-'-tlcaler, glancing around 
\\\\\\ irluiriphantly, 

♦* 1 en iliou§^ind !*' vocifcratetl the 
Uilt niftHp his face crimson with rage, 
11 nd his hunt Is clinched convulsively. 

ihv tlealer i^nrcw ])ak, hts frame 
ahnnk with agitation, His voice was 
iufloi alcd ; but after two or dirce ef- 
fcfrli* he cried out : 

•• Twenty thousand !" 

Hill tall o|iponent hid forty thou- 
Haufl. The dealer hesitated. His 
adversary laughed a low laugh of in- 
wih-nl triumph, and the crowd gave a 
njuriuur of admiration. The picttire- 
flvaler fck his pea^e at stake, and 
( ailed out in slieer desperation : 

♦* Filiy thousand!" 

The tall man hesitated ; the crowd 
waj^ brL-athless, At lengthy tossing 
\\\% arms in defiance, he shouted : 

*' t)ne hundred thousand !" adding 
an impatient execjration against his 
advcrisary. The crestfallen picture- 
dealer withdrew. The tall victor bore 
away the prize. He passed tlirough 
the wondering people, went out* and 
wuti going along the street, when a 
tleu-epit, lame, humpbacked wretch, 
touering along by the aid of a stick, 
presented himself before him. The 



stranger threw htm a piece of 
and waved his hand as if disfi 
with thanks. 

** May it please your honor, 
sisted the supposed beggar, 
the painter of that picture.'* 
rubbed his eyes; for he had 
yet been able to persuade hims 
he had not been dreaming* 

The tall man was Count D| 
bach, one of the richest nobl 
Germany. He stopped, and 
tioned the artist. Being con 
of the truth of his statement, li 
out his pocket-hook, tore out 
and wrote on it a few lines. 

" Take it, friend," he said. 
the check for your money- 
morning." 

Dtihobret invested his monc 
resolved to live luxuriously t 
rest of his life, cullivating painl 
a pastime. But, though he ha<| 
privation and toil, prosperity i 
much for him. Indigestion 
him off. His picture had !< 
ho!iored place in the cabi 
Count Dunkelsbach, and the 
incident of its purchase was 
related. It aftenvard passei 
the possession of the King of B 



THE OXFORD MOA^EMENT. 



A WRITER in a recent number of 
Fraset's Magazine calls earnestly on 
some bishop of the Church of England 
" to prove that he is worth his salt by 
writing a Grammar of Dissent^ from 
which the ' beggarly elements of Pro- 
tcstantiiim* shall be excluded;" and 
while we wait this answer to what the 
same writer calls ** the logical splen- 
dor of that most distressing book, 



The Grammar of A ssent^^ otir tt 

turn back to the last years of 
thor's connection with the Ai 
Church. 

Whatever we may think of th< 
ford movement" and its re 
must always be far the most ini 
phase of the ever-recurring 
troubles of the Established C 
interesting not only from its 



Tft€ Oxfard Mavemrnt. 



136 



though futiJe attempt to check the 
liberalism which under the name of 
•* progress " was sapping the very foun- 
dations of the church, explaining away 
the Articles, and encouraging the En- 
gli:ih aversion to a dogmaiic faith, 
also from the character of the 
who conducted it. To the ori- 
ginal ** Tractarians *' we yield a respect 
for iheir single-heartedness and signal 
abilities which their successors, the 
^ualists* cannot claim. Incomplete 
it n^as, there is a lesson for us all in 
HurreU Froudc*s beautiful fragmenta- 
ry life ; and Palmer. Rose, and Kcble 
vdl tod no detractors in the opposite 

h was at Oxford, July r4th, 1833, 
that Kcble preached his sermon on 
'* National Apostasy." Among his 
bearers was John Henry Newman, al- 
ftiidy a well-known man in his col- 
lege, and destined to play an imjior- 
titnt pan in the movement of which 
diat day was the birthday. A man' 
of Ijrcat learning, and possessing great 
Ittgiai powers, he seemed also admira* 
% 6tted for a leader from his very in- 
iicrence to his own popularity. With 
4e culture and intellectual training 
rf his age he combined the uncom- 
PfOtttiang spirit of the past. His 
®iK?h misunderstood remark, that 
"ihe age needs a little intolerance," ex- 
iles ihis side of his character better 
we can describe it. Alike by na- 
***ft and by intellect, Dr. Newman re- 
volted from the string of moral plati- 
'^^des which constitutes the slipshod 
V of the day. ** From the age 
ji," he says, ** dogma has been 
Juntiaraental principle of my reli* 
eligion as a mere sentiment is 
TOc a dream, and a mockery." 
As a boy, he passed through ma- 
y phases of religious feeling. 1 he 
who always crossed himself in 
dark, at nine translated Voltaire, 
g a foot-note, *• How fearful, but 
pJausible!" Scott obtained a 



great ascendency over him at one 
time, and he often speaks of Dr. 
Whately's influence. It was not till 
his visit to the continent with Froude, 
in 1832, that the great attempt which 
absorbed years dawned on him. The 
conviction that there was work to be 
done in England seems to have entire- 
ly ** possessed " him. He tells us him- 
self that one night, when his servant 
feared for his life in a sudden illness, 
he told him he should not die, ** for he 
had work to do." It was this feeling 
that brought him back to Oxford. 

The great need of the '* movement '* 
was the sanction of some well-known 
authority. Keble and Newman had 
at that lime only a university reputa- 
tion, and Froude, with his *' contempt 
for inferences" and power of ** going 
across country," carrted little weight. 
This need was fully answered when 
Dr. Pusey joined them, and published 
his tract on ** Baptism " over his own 
initials. Tract after tract appeared, 
filling the air with a sort of breathless 
suspense ; hardly a corner of Europe 
or America was ignorant of the ^' move- 
ment " that was trying Oxford to its 
centre. Confident in their power to 
prove the catholicity of the Articles, 
unsliaken in their belief in the Via 
Maiid, they saw the better part of 
Oxford rallving around them. It was 
at this time that Dr. Newman pub- 
lished The Prophetical Office of ike 
Church, 

In 1S38 came the first trouble; 
the bishop in his charge animadvert- 
ed on the tracts. With characterise 
tic deference to legal author! tv, Dr. 
Newman wrote at once to say that 
he had submitted them to the archdea^ 
con, and that he felt greater pleasure 
in that submission than in the largest 
circulation ihey could have; the bi- 
shop, however, did not require their 
withdrawal, and for a time all was 
quiet. But the ever-growing restless* 
ness of the opponents of the tracts 



lei! to the celebrated "Tract 90/' 
written to jirove that the Articles do 
not contradict Catholic teaching, that 
they but partially oppose Roman dog- 
ma, and for the most part are directed 
against the dominant errors of Rome. 

At this tract the stomi burst. Un- 
expected as it was, we can under- 
stand that to a nature like Dr. New- 
ma n*s it was ahnost a relief. Even 
those who supported hini urged him 
to retract, but in vain ; he would only 
agree to stop the series, still keeping 
the tracts on sale; to be silent, if not 
attacked ; and to publish his own con- 
demnation in a letter to the Bishop of 
Ox!brd. They refused to pledge thetii- 
selves for what a few of the bishops 
might say in their charges. No written 
promise was given to Dn Newman ; 
parts of letters were read to him, but 
not placed in his hands. It was an 
''understanding" — ** I have always 
hated understandings since/* he says. 

But a graver trouble was at hand. 
For the first time, doubts of the tena- 
blencss of Anglicanism were begin- 
ning to dawn upon him. While he 
was reading the history of the Mono- 
physiies, a friend placed in his hands 
W'iseman's article on ** The Anglican 
Claims." In if he found the key to 
the ^lonophysite difficulty, and for a 
moment the veil was lifted, and he felt 
*'that the Church of Rome will be 
found right after all ;" then it darken- 
ed again, and, disgusted with himself, 
he resolved to trust only to reason; 
and forgetting that one who has seen 
a ghost c^n never be quite the same 
afterwards, he thought of Samuel be- 
fore he knew^ the voice of the Lord, 
."and went and laid himself down to 

ep again." 

lUturning, after a short absence, to 
Oxford, he found him*ielf too weak 
10 conci^al his own doubts, still less 
able to help others ; but the endeavor 
lo answer the article which had caus- 
ed all this trouble, by a tract on the 



** Catholicity of the Anglican Church," 
calmed him for a time. 

Then c^me the second stumbling- 
block, namely, the catholicity of the 
Articles. The night was beginning to 
close in on him now, and he resolved, 
if he found this position untenable, 
to resign St. Mary's and retire to Liltic- 
more, where he proposed to erect a 
monastic house, which proves bow 
little thought he had of leaving the 
Established Church. In a despondent 
letter of about this date (1840), he 
speaks of his utter want of influence 
in his parish, of the strong disaptjroval 
with which the authorities regarded 
him, and of his own feeUng that he 
is leading the university straight to 
Rome, lulled to a false security by his 
wTitings against the Romish Church* 

The same year. Dr. Newman re- 
signed the British Crifu, and on M^y 
the 9th, at the bishop's commaiid, 
wrote him a letter stopping the tracts. 

Dr. Newman remained at Little* 
more in peace and quiet until 1841, 
when three blows crushed him. Ifl 
translating St. Athanasius, the ghost, 
so carefully laid, reappeared ; in the 
Arian history, yet more clearly than 
in the Monophysite, the truth lay with 
the extreme church, not with the \la 
Media. In the very thick of this irou- 
ble came the charges of the bishops : 
one after the other they denounced 
the tracts, disregarding the understand* 
in^ that a ** few might mention thcjtn,** 
Dr. Newman entered no protest ; but 
under the third blow he could not 
remain silent, Hiis w%as the celebrat- 
ed "Jerusalem Bishopric," Mr. Boo* 
sen's famous project, too well known 
to neetl any description here. Against 
iljis Dr. Newman published his pro- 
test to his bishop. V'ery little for good 
or ill ever came of this project, except 
that it brought nearer the bcginuiflg 
of the end to Dr. Newman, 

1 \\ resigning his place in the ** move- 
ment/' J>r. Newman had no thought 



The Oxford Movanent, 






of deserting those he had led into it. 
As it was iiwpossiible for him to hold 
office if he was denied his view of 
the *\ilicles, his intention was to fall 
back into lay communion; he had 
no idea of leaving the churchy for lie 
could not go to Rome on account of 
the honors paid to the Blessed Vir- 
giu and the samts. His great desire 
was ibr union with Romej as church 
with church. During this time he 
held back others from Rome, for 
nun)' reasons ; some, he thought, were 
ing through excitement; others, 
iin, had been intrusted to him by 
their Anglican friends or guardians. 
Of coarse, he could not advise others 
to do what he could not do him- 

His theory of the Anglican Church 
at this, its last rallying- point, is inte- 
Pstitig from its ingenuity; how im- 
possible it was for a mind like Dr. 
Kcwnian's to be long bound hy what 
fee confuses to be only an experiment 
ii dear enough. The history of St. Leo 
having convinced him that certainly 
tf>« eventual consent of the body of 
tbc church ratified a doctrinal de- 
Qsionj it also proved that the rule of 
ifltnjuit)' was not infringed, though 
^ doctrine had not been recognized 
for ccuturies after the apostles. This 
wa» the tleath'blow of the l^ta Media, 
llie argument that proves it part of 
"^ old ciiurch roust also prove die 
viiidity of ** Roman corruptions," So 
ftc JiUts the whole matter on a lower 
ievd "♦ VV*c have been a church/' he 
^)\ '* and are even as Samaria T' 

h was In support of this theory 
*^^t be preached the four well-known 
^*nnQns at Sl Mary*s during Decem- 
^» to prove Uiat in spite of their 
^^m^ the ten tribes were a part of 
•S'Ul, and were never commantled 
lit to Judah. As the lla Mi- 
^ a thing of the past, this new 
*** xccms to have been a great com- 
"JR la him, December 1 3th, he writes 



to a friend, " I am well content to be 
with Moses in the desert." 

During all these yeai-s a change had 
taken place in the '-movement."' A 
new, younger body of men had come 
into it, cutting across the old line of 
thought and bending it to dieir owil 
Indifferent as l)r, Newman had al- 
ways been to the enthusiasm of his 
followers, he felt a deep sympathy with 
their troubles, and pleasure in their 
devotion to him — a devotion which 
must have been doubly precious, now 
that his older friends seemed passing 
away. Troubles were pressing thick 
ui>on him; he was subjected to all 
those wearing litde persecutions he 
so graphically describes in Loss and 
Gain, His house at Littlemore was 
infested widi spies, and the newspa- 
pers charged him with starting a mon- 
astery. At length his bishop wrote 
to him, that he might have a chance 
of denying the many charges against 
him, In reply, Dr, Newman ex- 
plained that he had felt it better to 
leave St. Mary's to a curate, and had 
retired to Littlemore for peace, and 
in order to lead a more rigid, re- 
ligious life; that he also encouraged 
young men to join him, and held 
them back from Rome, It was the 
sudden secession of one of these, 
who had promised Dr. Newman to 
remain in the Anglican Church for 
three years, which was the final cause 
of the severing of his active connec- 
tion with the church. 

So much was said at the time, and 
has been said ever since, against Dr, 
Newman's slowness in publishing his 
change of l^uth, antl remaining in the 
English Church as an *' enemy,'* that 
it is wisest to give his own summary 
of tliose years : 

** For the first four years I desired to be- 
nefit the Church of England at the expense 
of the Church of Rome. Tlse second four 
years, to benefit the Church of En gland with- 
out hurting the Church of Rome. At the 



138 



The Oxford Movement 



beginning of the ninth year, 1 despaired of 
the English C!iurch, gave up all clerical dut>% 
and strove neither lo injure nor to benefit by 
my writings. The t^^nth year I contempbt- 
cd leaving the church, but also said so frank- 
ly; during the latter part 1 wrote the JE'j/zjy 
on Devehpmittt^ but hardly meant to publish 
it.** 

In February, 1843, Dr. Newman 
wrote a retraction of all he had ever 
published against the Church of Rome, 
and in September resigned St. Mary's, 
including Littlemore. 

it was with great reluctance that 
he made up his mind to leave the 
church ; for he felt that many whom 
he had led to a dogmatic faith could 
follow him no further, and he dread- 
ed seeing them fall back into Hberal* 
ism. Then, too, it was with great 
difficulty that he could make people 
understand his troubles, and an idea 
gained ground that he felt pushed 
aside; this idea gave rise to an arti- 
cle in one of the quarterlies, full of 
generous sympathy. He does not 
seem himself to have borne any ili- 
will to the liberals, **They have 
beaten me in a fair 5eld/' he says; 
"but I think they have seethed the kid 
in its mother's milk/' 

All this time he had been working 
steadily at the Essay on Dn^thpfmnt^ 
the view clearing as he wrote, so that 
the conversion was finislied before the 
book. The following letter tells its 
own story : 

** October %th^ 1845, LittUm&re.—l am this 
night expecting Father Dominic^ the Fas- 
sioaisL . , He does not know my tnlen- 
lion, but I mean to ask of him admi^iisiun 
to the fold of Christ. 

** P.S. This will not go till all is over; of 
course, it requires no answer." 

On Monday, February 25th, 1846, 
Dr. Newman left Oxford for ever. It 
must have been with a certain pang 
that he looked for the last time on 
the snap-dragon growing over the 
Emails. In one of his earlier poems he 



likens himself to it, and speaks of his 
destiny to " in college cloii.tcr live 
and die.*' His old friends, Buckle, 
Pusey, Patterson, Church, etc, ga- 
thered round him at the last. 

His original intention had been to 
enter some secular calling; but Dr. 
Wiseman soon summoned him lo Os- 
cott ; from thence he was sent 10 
Rome, and fmally placed at Birming- 
ham. The order of St. Philip Neri 
has always been very dear to English- 
men. Faber, Dalgairns, St. John, ha%'e 
made the Oratory well known in all 
countries. What Dr. Newmaji has 
done we all know. 

One would have thought that when 
Dr. Newman had fairly taken the 
step which his opponents had so long 
urged upon him as the logical se- 
quence q{ his opinions, they would 
have left him in peace. Far from ilf 
To one of these incessant attacks, wc 
owe the Apolo^a pro Vtia Sua. 

Most unwisely for himself, btil 
most happily for \x% the Rev. Charies 
Kingsley wrote of him in Maamlhrn*t 
Magazine in a manner as ungenerous 
as it was untrue. He had probably 
forgotten that Dr. Newman's pen was 
a sword. Half a dozen notes passed 
between them, and Mr. Kingsley had 
the mortification of seeing the Anglo- 
Saxon love of fair- play for once over- 
come prejudice, and public opinion 
supporting Dr. Newman with "sin- 
gular unanimity," as even Frasercxm- 
fesses. But the matter was not h 
end here. For the first time, Dr_ 
Newman realized how entirely the^ 
motives and actions of himself ani^ii 
his associates had been misunder ^ 
stood, or rather misrepresented. I -I 
was after a severe struggle tlial h». 
resolved to sacrifice the privacy of s- 
reticent, sensitive nature, and la: - 
bare the workings of his mind, Th 
is hardly a page of the Ap<^\ 
which does not bear on its face tl 
pain which it cost in 





The Oxfard Moimnent, 



ult is the best controversial book 
m the language. 

A shrewd observer once said of 
Dr, Newman, •* There is a man wh© 
will l>e silent till he begins to speak, 
and then will never stop." Volume 
xfter volume, sermons, lectures, minor 
articles, tales, poems, he has poured 
fonh 

'* In the clear Ssun of xhxx tilrcr style," 

In these days of word-painting 
and fine writing, Dr* Newman's clear, 
ncn*ous English is a positive bless- 
ing; lie never writes for verbal efifcct ; 
his periect mastery of lus language 
k«i)6 it always subservient to the 
idea, as the setting to a diamond. 
Long after the book has been laid 
aside, his terse, epigrammatic sentences 
ibger in the memory. It has been 
ibc custom in England to say that 
Ur. Newman*s writings since his con- 
vemon have lacked the fire of earlier 
^)\\ that his sermons have not the 
jwwo'of those delivered at St. Mary*s, 
»iiich carried Oxford fairly off its 
feet In reply, we need only point 
m thtf Leciures an the P^cs^nt Ihsh 
htn of Cat/ialks in Eng/anti ; they 
^n r.,„i jiQ lack of fire there ; 
i^lant reviewers have thought 
'tim of Gerontius worthy of 
I who \sxKA^Ltad^ kindly Light 
^W «iouht if the author of the Eircni- 
'*^ thinks his quondam comrade's pen 
^ grown blunt* 

So thoroughly was Dr. Newman 
^^tificd with the Anglican hopes, 
"•Hat his conviction of their untenable- 
\hook their most sanguine sup- 
Indeed, his secession could 
be a blow to the entire church. 
kid become the habit in the ad* 
school of liberal thought to 
ter the Catholic faith as a sort 
picturesque, sentimental 

^ pted to *' women and par- 

•Om" Artists painted Madonnas, 
*«id faahioivible authors turned their 



superfluous heroines into Sisters of 
Charity ; at the same time they would 
not have tolerated a Catholic servant 
in their household. Liberals and 
Anglicans were alike startled that a 
man, confessedly one of the first minds 
in England, trained in her highest 
school, of ripe scholarship, and cer- 
tainly the last in the country to be 
swayed by gorgeous ritual and a 
" sentimental religion," should de- 
liberately, and after a long menial 
struggle, which they might follovr 
step by step, find his highest happi- 
ness in the Church of Rome. 

And yet in spite of all she has 
written against him, Protestant Eng- 
land is proud of Dr. Newman, with 
an unwilling admiration ; from the 
Saturday Revieiv^ wliich holds that 
from him alone can we learn the ca- 
pabilities of our mother tongue, to 
Temple Bar^ which says that " the 
workings of Dr. Newman's mind is 
of more interest to the thinking peo- 
ple of England than that of any other 
individual mind, im!ess Stuart Mill is 
worthy of being bracketed with htm, 
in this particular alone " — all yield 
him a deprecating respect. It used to 
be their plan generally to speak sadly 
of his*' mistake,'^ and confidently of his 
"disappointment," and of the want 
of sympathy he had met with, careftdly 
shutting their eyes to the warmth of 
attachment which Catholics have ever 
shown him, and to his reiterated as- 
sertions of happiness in his faith. 
As this ground has proved untena- 
ble, it has become the fashion to speak 
of him as a ** gloomy man with a 
lonely mind, a man cut off from hu- 
man sympathies," Would such a 
nature have inspired the enthusiastic 
devotion which has always followed 
Dr. Newman? Could such a man 
have expressed such gratitude for the 



* Bte»insi of firieudi. which to my door 
Uaisked, unhoped, have come ?*^ 



140 



New Publications. 



Yet wc grant that Dr. Newman's 
idea of a Christian Hfe is hardly the 
generally received one among Pro- 
testants. In one of his lectures he 
says: 

"You hear men speak of glorying in the 
cross of Christ, who arc utter strangers to 
the notion of the cross as actually applied 
to them in water and in blood, in holiness 
and in pain. It is the cross realized, pre- 
sent, living in him, sealing him, separating 
him from the world. Thus the gieat pro- 
phet clasped it to his heart, though it pierc- 
ed through him like a sword ; held it fast 
in his hands, though it cut him ; reared it 
aloft, prcachcil it, exulted in it. And thus 
wc in our turn arc allowed to hold it, com- 
memorating and renewing individually, by 
the ministry of the Holy Ghost, the death 
and resurrection of our Ix>rd. Our crosses 
arc but the lengthened shadow of the cross 
on Calvary.*' 

This will never be a popular doc- 
trine with the sects ; and it is asking 



perhaps too much to expect them in 
the hurry of the nineteenth century 
to understand a life whose whole ob- 
ject has been to learn the truth and 
then to teach it; but, in putting aside 
all else for this, Dr. Newman has 
never lost his warm human sympa- 
thy with his fellows, nor his interest in 
the questions of the day. 

The greater the loss to the Protes- 
tant church, the greater the gain to the 
Catholic cause in England. How great 
that gain has been, none know belter 
than those whose difficulties he has 
solved, whose despondency he has 
cheered, and who, following him afar 
off, have learned from Dr. Newman 
to 



'* Hold in renentiom 

For the love uf Him alone, 
Holy church as His creatioa. 
And her teachingias Uii own.** 



NEW PrBLICATIOXS. 



TlIK POIT. ANP niE ClIl'ROII CONSIDERED 

IN iiiKiR Ml rr.vi. Rki-avions. Kv the 
Rev. Paul liottalla. S.J.. Professor of 
Theology in St. He u no's Collogo. N. 
Wale*, Pan II. The iNKALLiBiiirv 
OK ruK Pv>rK. London : Burns, Oatos 
Jfe Cv\, 17 Poimun Stii'ci. i5:o. Fv>r 
sale by the Catholic Publication So- 
cioiv. Now YvMk. 

Tho first part of this Wv^rk has 
alioady boon nv^ticcd in this nia^a- 
.'ino, and wo have oxpiossod our 
v^piuix^n that it is far tho bost of 
sc\oral voiv o\oo!'.ont Wv^rks on tho 
Sut^roiMAOv ot" tho IViv wh:oh we 
^v^nSv-n"* in ilu* Knjchsh lanjjuAj^. 
r.v.s >.\\^:\vl :u:t. whuh wo !ia\o 
boon waHV;: :,'*. ::!r.M:'.o:U*i\ !\*; a 
l.M'^ij l:"'u\ ■.'». > '*.»!. V". av*. to. a:*o. 00:*.- 
o'u^,\o. a:\o. \%v* .':*'\ :v};:o; ::^i: *: 
».lui •.'..^t avT^ca: sooiui. :a o;o.c; liia: 



it might have had its due influence 
on the controversy which has been 
going on during the past )'ear, but is 
now happily settled for all time. The 
most distinctive merit of this treatise 
is the exact, judicious, and skilfully 
arranged series of citations from an* 
cient authors and councils, with pre- 
cise references to the places where= 
they may be found. The treatmenl^ 
of the case of Pope Liberius is re^— 
markably satisfactory, and clears u^gj 
one or two objections made by He^ 
fe'.o against the view taken by Still^B 
ing. Pal III a. and Archbishop Kei— ^ 
rlok. In our v^pinion. the suppos e — 
ta*I of Liberius may now be finally 
:o*cjrato.l t '^ :is proper place amoi^ 4 
A:;a:i :.;b'os ar.vi calumnies. Jl^»< 
::oa:rv.o::i . : :::e m.^re difficult zsm^ 
\\\v^.\\x\\\ i:uos5:oi: of Honorius E» 



New Publications. 



141 



realbe, take a in connection 
'the author's pamphlet on tlie 
me subject, is also quite sufficient. 
IC argument of the entire treatise 
\ the topic of infallibility is logical, 
►Tnp:ict, and for a scholar who is 
ready tolerably up on the subject 
ilisfactory. It is. however, in re- 
ject to several important points, 
try concisely expressed, and by no 
Leans exhaustive. For ordinary 
Bbrs. there are many things not 
^Bcntly developed and explain- 
i?» and we think, therefore, that it 
loe$ not precisefy supply the great 
hiififr<ttum, which is an able, tho- 
oughly learned, and yet popular 
reatme, which will give ordinary 
re-tdcrs all the information which 
Ibcycan desire or need on this all- 
nvportant doctrine of papal infalli- 
tjility. The necessity of treating this 
k'pic in a distinct and separate man- 
lier from the general doctrine of the 
mprcmacy which has heretofore ex- 
isted, has been one somewhat em- 
' " n^ both to writers and rend- 
jjily, the definition of the 
' 11n.11 of the Vatican has removed 
H. We would suggest to F. Bottalla 
)^\, in a future edition, he should 
^Icnd together all the different por- 

ts of his work, enlarge it con* 
rably, and endeavor to give us a 
" rind exhaustive treatise on 
[ Supremacy — a task to 
^fi:ch we believe him fully compe- 
'<^t In the meanwhile, this treat- 
K in its present shape, will answer 
Very valuable purpose, and we re- 
''itimend all our readers, who are 
^able of following out a closely- 
HiKined argument, sustained by an 
^jr of documentary evidence, to 
HK this book, and study it care- 

.'s New Series of Geografiiies. 

►Icfc in six numbers. Published 

H. Butler & Co., PhiUdclphia, 

^«3 series of geographies founded 

ilylic method of teaching 

t. these books cannot be 

tcciied. Each number is re mar k- 

Jqt neatness. The maps are 



clear, and in general accurate. The 
plan of questioning is good, and the 
vocabularies will be found of great 
benelU, in spite of the cumbrous way 
adapted by the author of explaining 
the pronunciation of geographical 
names. The Physical Geography was 
prepared for advanced classes, and 
aims at a completion of the sub- 
ject which will impress the pupil 
with the importance of the theme 
under consideration. In this num- 
ber, the author adopts, of necessity, 
the synthetic plan, and is thereby 
enabled to group facts and pheno- 
mena, and give logical explanations, 
which will leave a lasting impression 
on the memory of the pupil, because 
they satisfy his curiosit3% and appeal 
to his understanding. This number 
deserves unlimited praise, and suc- 
cess in teaching will ahvays follow 
its correct use. The great objection 
to the system, as well as to all others 
with which we are acquainted, is that 
it calls for so much memory work 
without taxing the child's reasoning 
powers. 

Seventh Annual Rek>rt of thk So- 
ciktv for the protection of desti- 
TUTE Roman Catholic Cjiildren in 
THE CiTV OF New York, etc. New 
York ; D. & J, Sadlier & Co. 1870, 
This report is very satisfactory. 
We especially congratulate the so- 
ciety on the completion of the girls' 
new building. Another large struc- 
ture is in the course of erection, the 
main central building of the Ooys' 
Protector}'. This is real work ; work 
to be thankful for. The general 
management of both boys' and girls' 
departments is excellent in every 
respect. We have no doubt that 
before long this institution will stand 
comparison with the best similar 
establishments in Europe. 

Keigiitlv Hall, and other Tales ;Tke 
m y ste r i o u s 1 1 erm it ; c lare m ait- 
LAND ; Winifred Jones. New York : 
D, & j. Sadlier vl' Co. 
We have read with interest these 
stories for children. They give very 
pleasant pictures of life drawn from 



Neiv Piiblicatims, 



I 



society in European countries. They 
must prove instructive as well as in- 
teresting to young people, and well 
adapted to Sunday-school libraries. 
Th^ AfysUri'aiiS Hermit is a trans- 
lation from the French, by the fruit* 
ful pen of Mrs. Sadher — a quaint old 
story of feudal times, portraying the 
power of Christian faith. Winifrtd 
Jones : or. The Very Ignorant Girl, 
is a remarkably well-told tale, show- 
ing how the life of an utterly illiter- 
ate person may be filled with the love 
of God. and her example lead those 
wiser than herself to seek heavenly 
things. 

The Heart of the Continent. A Re- 
cord of Travel across the Plains and in 
Oregon^ with an explanation of the 
Monmon Principle. By Fitz Hugh 
Ludlow. New Voik : Iliird& Hough- 
ton. 

An octavo volume of 586 pages in 
large type. This Plains and Rocky- 
Mountain story is fast getting to be 
an old o»^e. Nevertheless. Mr, Lud- 
low gives us a xtxy readable book. 
His descriptive powers are good, and 
he dwells con a more on recollections 
of fine scenery ; but he also too often 
dwells on matters not so interest- 
ing. The information concerning the 
Mormons is ver)^ full, and, we should 
judge, reliable. The author appears 
to have given much attention to the 
development of Mormon polity and 
Mormon life, and his account of 
Brigham Young's kingdom is one 
of the best we have seen, 

A Manual op Composition of Rhe- 
toric. By Jolin S. Hart, LL D. 
Philadelphia: Eldredgc & Broihcr, 
1871. Pp. 380. 

With the help of an able teacher, 
this manual will be ver>* usfffuL It 
appears to be more complete and 
practical than any similar work 
which we have seen. The author 
has brought to his task a Jong ex- 
perience, and, as he tells us himself, 
a keen relish for the discussion of 
the principles of rhetoric. He has 
limited the book strictly to written 
discourses^ including poetry as well 



as prose composition. Under the 
general head of style and invcntioiip 
he gives those maxims which have 
become the recognized rules of cor- 
rect writing, and teaches the art of 
writing, so far as it can be taught by 
rules. 

A Latin Grammar ; An lNTKor>rcno3t 
TO Latin Composition ; A First 
Greek Book, By Professor Hark- 
ncss, Brown University. New York: 
D. Appleton & Co. 1870. 
The Uarkness series of text-books 
appears to us deseri-^ing of high com- 
mendation. The works before us 
have been compiled with a most 
laudable industry, and show a both 
accurate and extensive scholarship. 
Of the Latin Grammar, in particular, 
let us say that for completeness and 
judicious arrangement nothing re- 
mains to be desired. 

Pastoral Lkttrr of the Most Rev, 

ARCHHISHOP S|'Al.DtKG ON PAPAL IX- 

FALLiBHjrY. BaUimorc : Kelly, Piel 

& Co, 1870. 

We recommend this very aWe 
pamphlet, not only to our Protestant 
friends who are in earnest about 
truth, but also to such Catholics as 
have not yet seen any clear and full 
explanation of the subject of the 
great definition. 

PeABODy Memorial. Maryland liistari- 

cal Society. January. 1870. 

An account of the proceedings 
of the Maryland Historical Society 
upon the announcement of the death 
of the distinguished philanthropist, 
who had been one of its members 
and benefactors. The paper and 
typography are excellent, and very 
creditable to the press of John Mur- 
phy & Co., by whom the MrmaHdi 
is published. 






Tire HL9T0RY of Rome. By Tb«o 

Mommsen, Vols. IL and ilL Ncir 

York : ScrLbner & Co, 

The second and third volumes of 

this splendid history fully bear out 

the promise of the first We believe 

the minds arc not a few who will find 



sllghtful reading:, so happily does 
ifler from the ordinary dry style 
ncicnt history. 



New Pubiications, 



M3 



TO THE Graduates op Man- 
KTiAH CrtjxEc;E, Jlne 27, 1870, By 
on* John McKeon. New York : D. 
J. Sadlicr. 

his address has pleased us much, 

only by its eloquence, but also 

ao$c the advice it gives is tho- 

ghiy sound, practicaJ, and Catho- 



i Last Days of Jerusalem. By 
lidAiDC A. K» Dc La Grange. Trans- 
ited ffom the second ItaHan edition. 
!nr York: R O'Shca. 1S70. 
fin this talc there is but little de- 
nsurc, there is less worthy 
itdation; its chief features 
tug Juscphus very much diluted. 

msKoRUM Registrum, ad Mentem 
Pairitm CoNriui Provjncialis Bal- 

rWORENStS X. CONCLNNATirM, ET AB 

Lll»«<*« AC Rev MO. Baltimorensi Me- 
ntorouTAJio EROBATUM, Baltimore : 
I4nff>5v 9i Co. 

'RL'M Registritm. Baltimore : 
V Co. For sale by the Calho- 

«iiLiiCAtion Society, 9 Warren Street. 
nave received these two regis- 
*>r baptisms and marriages. 
^have the approbation of Arch- 
Spaulding. 



ablish with pleasure the fol- 
f letter, which we have receiv- 
the Rev. Joseph Bayma» 
tMdcnt of St. Ignatius' Col- 
Francisco : 

Sfr IcxATttn' CoLtmCK, Saw Fran- I 
ciscot C Ai„ , August »3 , 1 870. I 

fAin> Dear Father Hecker : In 

He on " ^falte^ and Sptrit m the 
f Modern Science,"* prinied In Tke 
JC World for August, 1870, the 
•tttcfof the sjiid article (page 648) calls 
ie« '.....-. J rfi^iishman, and gives as 
dttri Ummti it/ McUcutar Me- 

M^rting words : 
\ extension of bodies is an appear- 



from L9 CtrreJ^ndmnti 10 yuim 




ance caused by the dissemination in spare 
of the elements which compose them: 
abstract space is extension ; consequent* 
ly the science of exicnsioo, or geometry, 
is not a science of observation, but of ab- 
straction." 

He then adds: "According to this 
theory, the forces placed from tljc begin- 
ning in the clemcnis govern everything in 
the world. Nature is under their control ; 
matter obeys them, or is, rather, a com* 
pound of forces.*' 

I beg leave to say, Reir. Father, that I 
have not the honor to be an Englishman, 
though I have been eleven years at Stony- 
hurst College, teaching philosophy ; and 
secondly, that the words which your writer 
quotes as mine are not mine at all, nor 
can they be faund in my work on Moleatiar 

Moreover^ the author of the article gives 
the title of my book in Fttmh, This leadc 
me to suppose that my Ekmtnts 0/ 
Mo/fcf4/*tr MuhtiHus must have been 
translated into French, and that the 
writer had before his eyes a copy of a 
French edition, iu which he may have 
found the words which he quoted as 
mine- * . . 

I hope 30U will allow me some further 
remarks on the aforesaid artfcle, 

1st. The writer says that, according t» 
my ihrory, matter obeys forces, or is, rathtr^ 
entirely a tem/^oHnii iff forces. I must say 
that I am very far from having taught this 
last proposition. The doctrine which I 
have advocated throughout with regard 
to primitive elements is the scholastic 
doctrine of matter attJ f^rm ; the matter 
being the principle of passivity, the form 
the principle of activity. To say that 
matter is force, or a compound of forces, 
to my mind would be to suppress the 
matter altogether, and leave only the 
form, and thus to have a /«rwjr t7^/«/ with- 
out any pofentiii. This would imply a 
denial of the most fundamental principles 
of ail metaphysics, and would lead both 
to idealism and pantheism. 

2d. The writer says that, according to 
me^ the elements or atoms are indivisible 
points. But elements and atoms are not 
synoriymous; iliey are quite diflfercnt 
things. An atom is a chemical equiva- 
lent, say a molecule, and is not an indi* 
visible point, but a dynamical system 
made up of a greater or smaller number 
of material points. 

3d. The writer asserts that to attribute 
forces to the elements is to attribute them 



* 



* 



« uvrd and a nam/t which caftiHfi hf a 
fatise (page 651). His reas^m is because 
force is ruithtr a hring^ since it is joined io 
a Jirst dement^ ncr a suifsfaiue^ since it is 
considered as an attribute (p. 649). 

But some will say.- If force, or active 
power, is a name only, ihcn it follows that 
neither creatures (material or spiritual) 
nor God himself can act ; for all action 
implies active power, and active power is 
a name wAicA cannot he a cause. Nor is it 
true that active power is Joined to a first 
element. For. according to all metaphy- 
sicians» /tJ/'w/fi est id quo agens agit ; and 
the form is not joined to a first element, 
but is its intrinsic and essential consci* 
lucnt, Ilcnce the active power is not a 
substzince, but is the formal constituent 
of a substance ; and, as actuating its own 
matter, comes under the nlme of form, 
though, as ready to actuate something 
else, comes under the name of active 
power, and is considered as an attribute 
of the substance. 

I am sorry 16 be compelled to make 
these remarks. The writer of the article 
has many accomplishments ; but from 
his style, I conjecture that he is a young 
man. who as yet has not acquired the 
habit, and perhaps the knowledge, of 
metaphysical reasoning. Certainly I am 
afraid he exposes himself too much by 
treating of such difficult matters without 
consulting St. Thomas and the rest of the 
Catholic metaphysicians. I %vould have 
remained absolutely silent on this last 
point, were it not that at page 65 3» in the 
same article. I found a phrase which 1 
consider to be most dangerous. It runs 
thus: 

*' Author of all things, God causes with 
the qualities which belong to him the 
dilfcrcnt manifestations of nature : he 
acts on matter, possesses it, causes it to 
subsist, gives it the power of producing 
lis phenomena, is its force, its order, its 
law ; and thus, if wc may say so. he ani- 




mates the world, not indeed in (be same 
manner as the human soul animates the 
body, , , . but with a certain superior 
and divine power of animation, which 
produces the being, motion, and life of 
all that exists in the universe, moves or 
breathes, as the soul is the source and 
focus of the life of the body," 

Indeed. Rev. Father, this phrase fright- 
ens me. Let me ask : Is quality the right 
name for the attrihntes of God ? Why 
should God cause with his qualities rather 
than by his omnipotent power ? \% it 
perhaps because power is nothing but a 
name, and cannot cause? TVien, how can 
the writer call manifestations of natum 
that which is caused not by nature, btit 
by, or with, the qualities of God? Ate 
wc, then, to say that nature and God axe 
nearly the same thing, and differ only in 
this, that the first is the Schellingian ap, 
parition of the second ? How dors G(kI 
possess matter, and cause it 10 subsist? 
Is it that matter is God's body, as ihc 
author seems to imply a little later? Is 
it enough to say that God causes matter 
to subsist, without mentioning £rtaii^f 
What is the use of giving to matter tAi 
power of producing phenomena^ since this 
power, according to the writer, is *iw 
empty name, and God alone is supposrijiL 
to do cvcr)*ihing ? Who can conceives 
that God is the order of matter and tli«^ 
like? Who can tell how many ahsuicA 
and blasphemous corollaries might h^r^- 
drawn from such assertions? Lastly* 
what is it, that divine power oi animafif^^^ 
vt\\\c\\ produces the beings of the universe 
Is animation to take the place of creattota ^ 

It is not my intention to develop ^m'3^ 
of these points. I only wish to dia 
your attention to them : they might her^-^ 
after bring discredit to your most valuabl 
and orthodox magazine. , , . 

Your obedient servant in Christ. 
Jose Pit Bavma, SJ.. 
President of St. Ignatius College. 




THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. XII., No. 68.— NOVaJiBfeRji I'is/ai* 



TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST CANTO OF THE PURGA- 
TORIO OF DANTE. 

BY T. W. PARSONS. 



The twenty-second of the thirty- 
nine i^rt5ftr^j of Religion established, 
in confonnity with the Church of 
England, by the Protestant Episco- 
pal Church in tlie United States, de- 
clares thus: 

** The Romish doctrine concerning 
pnrgatory, pardons, worshipping, and 
atetdon, as well of images as of 
ftfques, and also invocation of saints, 
a fond thing vainly invented, and 
grounded upon no warranty of Scrip- 
^, but rather repugnant to the 
Word of God." 

In perusing our version, therefore, 
^ the Purgaiorio of Dante, the 
l^testant reader of The Catholic 
World may profitably direct his at- 
tention less to any dogma of the 
^nrch or any formula of a special 
creed, than to the allegorical sense 
^ the poet, founded, as it must be 
^owledged by all Christian be- 
"^ers, upon the facts of our na- 
^fe and the history of the human 
heart 

^^'hat our church teaches, Dante 
lu5 developed. It may be combat- 
ed as an article of faith, but must be 



admitted as a true statement of the 
condition of mankind, religiously con- 
sidered. 

The wretched state of man " liv- 
ing without God in the world" — the 
self-conviction of sin — the necessity 
of a Saviour — and the possibility of 
attaining, through the heavy passages 
of contrition and the wearisome sta- 
ges of penance, to the " peace which 
passeth understanding," is the sum 
of the doctrines embodied in the 
Divina Commedia, Dante, having 
partly in imagination, and partly (as 
we may justly suppose) in reality, 
passed through the torments of the 
life of sin and passion and unbelief 
that make the hell of this world, has 
come to the antipotks of his poetical 
creation, whose way is up the toil- 
some hill of penance to the terres- 
trial paradise of pardon and peace. 
Still, as in the infernal realm, under 
the guidance of his master in song, 
Virgil, he is met by another pagan 
spirit, Cato the Suicide, of Utica, 
who teaches him the first lesson to 
be learned before the soul of man 
can enter into the penitential state — 



^tcred, according to Act of Coogress, in the year 1870, by Rby. 1. T. Hbckbr, in the Office of 
the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



146 The First Canto of the Pur gator io of Dante. 

and that lesson is humility. The hand who wore at the same 

" lowly reed " wherewith Dante is in- the crown of thorns, and who 

structed to gird himself (v. 90) is ^^ Learn of me ^ for I am meek an 

typical of that which He bare in his ly of heart '^ 

PURGATORIO. 

CANTO FIRST. 

The littie vessel of my genius now 

Hoists sail o*er better waves to follow helm, 
Turning from sea so terrible its prow : 

And I will sing now of that second realm 
Wherein are purified the souls of men 

Until of heaven they worthy shall have grown. 
But here dead poesy must rise again : 

O sacred Muses ! I am now your own ; 
Nor let Calliope here fall below 

But soar to my • song ! >vith that ancient strain 
Whereof those wretched magpies • felt the blow 

So that their hope of pardon was but vain. 

Of oriental sapphire that sweet blue 

Which overspread the beautiful serene 
Of the pure ether, far as eye could view 

To heaven's first circle, brightened up my mien. 
Soon as I left that atmosphere of death 

Which had my heart so saddened with mine eyes : 
The beauteous planet t which gives love new breath 

With laughing light cheered all the orient skies. 
Dimming the Fishes that her escort made : 

Then, turning to my right, I stood to scan 
The southern pole, and four stars there surveyed — 

Save the first people, never seen by man. 
Heaven seemed rejoicing in their blazing rays. 

O widowed North, how much art thou bereft 
That constellation hidden from thy gaze ! 

Ceasing my look, a little towards the left 
(The pole whence now the Wain had disappeared) 

♦ Verses lo and ii : every a^e fret the genuine poet, Rtres 

*' S<»ar to my song," etr. his native scorn for all the pretenders of 

"... vtai:pies'' etc. Horace, in his Ode to Calliope, 
Ovid tells the storv of the nine daughters of t* rk - t i » i- .....% 

l»icrus-Pieridcs-wl.o challon-cd the Muses to Descende copIo, ct die affe tibil 

sing, and heing defentcd were changed into ma^- Kcgina longum, Calhope ! melos, 

pies. As the Muses were albo called Pierides— .,.,«„ n.- ^-j- » i r . 41 ■*» 

* uses the ordinary style of poetry: ** ^171 

" Dulccm qua? slrcpitum, Fieri ! temperas "— t9£«"— ** Musa raihi causas memora"— " S 

venly Muse !" etc. Dante is the first wh 

a familiar verse of Horace— it has been supposed craves the goddess of epic song to be his, 

that the victorious Muses took the name of the — '' sr^uiian,io ^l mio canio,^^ 

vanquished maids. A curious commentator might infer fi 

In this lofty invocation Dante, many times be- how hard a step to Purgatory a nati 

fore depressed ami faltering, becomes fully con- Dante's found it to gird his spirit with thi 

scious of his powers, and, by this allusion to the of humility." 

chattering fowl of antiquity, whose successors in • \ Venus. 



The First Canto of the Purgatorio of Dante. 147 

I turned, and saw an old * man all alone 
Near me, whose aspect claimed to be revered ; 

More might no father claim it of a son. 
His beard was long, and streaked, as was his hair 

Which fell in two lengths down his breast, with white. 
The rays of those four sacred splendors there 

So sprinkled o'er his countenance with light 
It seemed to me the Sun before me stood ! 

And thus he spake, shaking those reverend plumes : 
" Say, who are ye 'gainst the dark stream who could 

Fly, as ye have, the eternal dungeon's glooms ? 
Who was your guide ? Who lighted you the way 

Escaping forth from that profoundest night 
Which makes the infernal valley black for aye ? 

The laws of that abyss, are they so slight ? 
Or is the purpose changed which heaven did please. 

That ye condemned approach these crags of mine ?" 
Here my lord beckoned me to bend my knees 

And brows (words adding to his touch and sign), 
Then answered thus : 

" My will was not my guide ;^ 
A maid from heaven besought me so to bear 

This being company that I complied. 
More of our state wouldst have me to declare, 

Thy will to gainsay, my will cannot be. 
This man hath never seen life's closing even, 

But through his folly came so nigh to see 
That for escape but little space was given. 

Therefore was I, as I have told thee, sent 
To turn him back, and other way was none 

Save this to which my guidance I have lent 
All the bad spirits I to him have shown. 

And purpose now revealing to him those 
Who under thee their natures purify. 

'Twere long how I have led him to disclose, 
But a grace aids me, granted from on high, 

To bring him thus to see thee and to hear : 
Now may it please thee, greet him fair ! he goes 

In quest of Liberty — that is so dear ; 
How dear, who spurneth life for freedom knows. 

Thou know'st ! who didst in Utica dehght 
To die for her, doffing that vestment there 

Which at the last great day shall show so white. 
Unchanged for us th' eternal edicts are ; 

This being breathes, and Minos binds not me ; 
I come from where thy Marcia's chaste eyes shine 

• Cato of Utica. 




148 The First Canto oj the Pur gat or io of Dante. 

Who seems in aspect still imploring thee, 
O sacred breast ! that thou wilt keep her thine. 

Then for her love incline thee to our prayer ; 
Through thy seven kingdoms grant us leave to go : 

Thy grace I gratefully will tell her where 
She dwells, if thou deign mentioning below." 

" Marcia delighted so mine eyes above, 
When I was there " — he answered — " that I gave 

Whatever she asked me freely to her love. 
But now she dwells that side the wicked wave 

She cannot move me longer : I am stayed 
By laws which when I came thence were decreed. 

But since thou tell'st me a celestial maid 
Urges and guides thee — of fair words what need ? 

Enough her name to sanction thy demand. 
Go then ! and let this being with a plain 

Smooth reed be girt, and wash with thine own han'l 
His visage pure from every soil and stain : 

For, until every dimness be dispersed. 
It were not fitting to beclouded eyes 

To come before the One who sits the First 
Angel — a ministrant of Paradise. 

Round its low margent, on the yielding ooze, 
Down by the low strand where the waves have strife, 

This isle bears reeds : not any plant which grows 
Hard, or that puts forth loaf, may there have life. 

No such a stem to every stroke would bow. 
In fine, not this way look to journey back : 

The sun will show you, which is rising now. 
To take this mountain at some easier track." 

Herewith he vanished : I straiglitwny did rise 
Without a word, and toward my guiding One 

All closely drew, fiistening on him mine eyes, 
Who thus began : " Follow my stops, my son. 

Turn we back this way ; for this way." he said, 
" The shore sinks low to where its limits are." 

Now day's white light had quelled the morning's red 
Which fled before it, so that from afar 

T recognized the trembling of the main. 
Like one who turns to find a pathway lost, 

And till he find it seems to walk in vain, 
Silent that solitary plain wc crossed. 

When we had corne to where the dewdrop-s pass 
lUit slowly oft* (by reason of the shade 

The sun resisting), on the soft small grass 
His outstretched palms my Master gently laid: 

Whence I, acquainted with his act's intent, 



English Translatio7ts of the Bible. 



149 



Held up ray cheeks all wet with tears to hira, 

While he restored unto my face besprent 
My natural hue which Hell had mad& so grim. 

We came soon after to the desert shore 
A\Tiich never yet beheld a man who had 

Come back, once having crossed those waters o'er. 
Here then he girded me as Cato bade : 

O how miraculous ! with instant growth 
Sprang up immediately another spray 

In the same spot — and of the same kind both — 
AVhence he had plucked the lowly reecj away. 



ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF THE BIBLE. 



The Bible question never certain- 
ly was in a more interesting position 
JD England and America than it is 
^t the present moment ; never has 
the Bible been more talked of, never 
hive the current English translations 
been more openly condemned and 
new versions called for. 

Now, has the term " The Bible " 
*Dy definite, recognized meaning? 
^^ertainly. For centuries before the 
Refonnation and down to the pre- 
sent time, the books now received 
as inspired by the Latin and all Ori- 
ental churches have been recognized, 
as the Bible. Before the Reforma- 
tion, these formed ike Bible, and to 
the vast majority of Christians these 
have constandy continued to be the 
Bible. As to what these books are, 
the Latin Church, the Greek, Arme- 
nian, Chaldee, and other Oriental 
churches, numbering over two hun- 
^ millions, are a unit, and have 
been firom time immemorial. 

But another volume comes for- 
^'ard. What are its claims? The 
Reformers did not choose to accept 
^ the Bible what was thus received 
^ the Latin and Oriental churches. 



They wished a Bible of their own, 
and, as it was to be the ostensible 
groundwork of their experimental 
forms of Christianity, they very na- 
turally took neither the Bible, nor 
the whole Bible as theretofore under- 
stood, but proceeded to make a Bi- 
ble for themselves by expurgating 
this Bible as received by the Chris- 
tian world for centuries, and thus 
made a Bible suited to their scheme. 

They eliminated a number of 
books, and what they consented to 
receive as inspired form to this day 
the "Protestant Bible;" but it is a 
perversion of all human language 
to call these books, or any translation 
of them, even if honestly made, " the 
Bible," much less " the whole Bible." 

The CathoHc Church discusses 
great questions in councils, which, re- 
garded in a merely natural view, re- 
present the faithful in all lands, and 
the accumulated learning, teaching, 
and experience of centuries. Pro- 
testantism, in taking its position as to 
the inspiration of the Scriptures, show- 
ed no such wisdom. Their canon of 
the Scriptures was not made the mat- 
ter of dose study or examinatum by 



ISO 



English Translations of the Bible. 



any body representing the learning 
and scholarship of Protestantism. It 
wuS merely the rash act of a few, ac- 
cepted gradually and enforced by 
governments, which, finding money 
in it, made Bible printing a state mo- 
nopoly, and finally carried out in full 
ftrce by the Bible societies, which 
rre neither church nor state. In 
Kngland, parliament, by establishing 
the Thirty -nine Articles, excluded from 
the Bible books then and now gene- 
rally received by Christendom, and 
this is really the highest authority for 
their rejection in English-speaking 
lands. 

Yet the fact of inspiration is one 
of terrible moment. To reject as un- 
inspired what God has really inspired, 
and to reject it in the face of the 
majority of Christians of all ages, 
must be a fearful sin — a sin against 
the Holy Ghost. 

And can Americans say that par- 
liament, whose right to lay a trifling 
tax on tea they resisted unto blood, 
could be God*s messenger to men in 
this matter of inspiration ? 

This first great act of hostility to 
the Bible has not been sufficiently 
examined. It opened the door to 
the modem assaults on all revealed 
truth; for, if a few individuals were 
competent to pass on the question 
of inspiration then, every man now 
has the same right as to the remain- 
ing books, especially all Protestants, 
who claim the right of private judg- 
ment, and deny in themselves or in 
any one else infallibility on this or 
any other religious point.* 

The books recognized as inspired 
by modern Jews form the Hebrew 
Bible. The Pentateuch, Psalms, and 
Ciospels recognized as holy books by 

♦Since this was written, two articles have ap- 
peared by a professur in Harvard, New Eng- 
land's greatest university, which endeavor to 
show that in the New Testament ooly one Gos- 
pe. and four EpisUes are authentic Is this to be 
±e New England Testament ? 



the Mohammedans form 
The books received by 
constitute the Protestant I 
received by Catholics an 
who form the vast majori 
tians, are the Bible. 

But how came Protest: 
ject some of the books ? 
mation arose in the Gen 
— the last to bow to the i 
the Catholic Church, the 
ject it. The old heathe 
not brook the yoke of Chi 
and princes, seeking to h\ 
wished to be supreme in 
state, to assume divine ri{ 

Now, in the Bible as it 
was one singularly unpala 
and on the principle that 

" There is no law to say such ll 
As are not pleasing to the ean 

they determined to m 
How could Henry VIII 
II., or Gustavus Vasa, oi 
of the princes who forcec 
jects out of the Cathol 
allow them to regard th« 
Machabees as inspired? 
no book more full of less 
last three centuries, none 
by day seems more typic 
ochus assumed to be h< 
church, and wished to mj 
cations in faith and worsh 
book condemns him, . 
kings had no such rigf: 
who were found with be 
old faith or observed it v 
death according to the e 
king, and this book hone 
martyrs. How could En 
archs, consigning to destn 
ry book connected with t 
worship, tolerate such a pici 
could Gustavus Vasa, si 
his brave Dalecarlians, 1 
lowers read the martyrd* 
Machabee brothers in tlM 
A priest cries 00^ ^Aldio 



English Translations of the Bible. 



151 



tions obey King Antiochus, so as to 
depart every man from the service 
of the law of his fathers and consent 
t:o his commandments, I and my sons 
and my brethren will obey the law of 
our fathers." This was not language 
for the imitators of Antiochus to allow 
men to regard as inspired. 

Here, too, we see men taking up 
anns against the civil power which 
sought to force them to abandon the 
fiuth of their fathers, and this book 
praises them. Here we see high- 
priests leading armies, wielding tem- 
poral power, and at last encircling the 
tiara of Aaron with the crown of 
David, and coining money — a royal 
prerogative then exercised for the 
fcst time in Jewish history. All this 
'Was not to the likmg of those who 
'vere denouncing the royalty of the 
iigh-priest of Christendom, and his 
temporal power and his armies, as 
something utterly at variance ^ath 
the pontifical character. 

Nor could men who plundered the 
shrines of religion find much comfort 
in the miraculous chastisement of 
Heliodorus. 

The Book of Machabees was re- 
plete with lessons that people would 
not be slow to understand. As we 
read it now, it seem in parts a his- 
tory of a few centuries past, where 
»e need but change the name of 
long and \'ictim, to have a perfect 
picture, full of encouragement, of les- 
sons of religion and fidelity to God, 
of loyalty to the sovereign pontiff, of 
readiness to suffer loss of property, 
Hberty, home, and life, rather than 
teert the faith of the fathers. 

The princes who carried out the 
^cfonnation naturally desired to be 
rid of such a portion of Scripture. 
Like King Joakim with the pro- 
phecy of Jeremias, they would cut it 
^ and cast it into the fire. 
How was this to be done? A 
' Phttwas ready. This book and all 



others of the Old Testament not re- 
ceived by modern Jews in their He- 
brew Bibles, were to be discarded. 
They were stigmatized as apocry- 
phal, and that word made to bear 
the signification of fictitious, invent- 
ed, false. 

And yet what a senseless plan! 
The canon of the Hebrew Bible, as 
we have it, was the work of the 
Hebrew schools of Masora and Ba- 
bylon, which arose after the fall of 
Jerusalem, and of course after the 
establishment of the Christian church. 
They were a revival of the old He- 
brew learning as against the Helle- 
nist Jews, out of whom mainly Chris- 
tianity grew, taking what they ac- 
cepted as inspired. 

These Hebrew schools rejected all 
the writings of the Apostles and 
Evangelists and all that seemed to 
lead to them. The Book of Ecclesi- 
asticus existed in Hebrew then, as 
much if not all of it does to this 
day, and is known as Ben Sira ; and 
we actually know why they rejected 
Ben Sira. It was because it seemed 
to favor the doctrine of a Trinity in 
God, the same identical reason why 
they rejected Peter and Matthew, and- 
John and Paul. 

And Protestantism rejects Ben 
Sira, and of course rejects it for fa- 
voring Trinitarian doctrines. Did 
the Holy Ghost guide these Hebrew 
schools in rejecting himself and Christ, 
and the Gospels and Ben Sira ? Be- 
fore the coming of our Lord, the 
high-priest and the Sanhedrim were 
doubdess guided by God; but who 
can pretend that, after our Lord 
founded his church and promised to 
be with it all days, God guided these 
Rabbinical schools which rejected 
the Divine Son ? 

The Bible was thus cut down, so 
far as the English are concerned, on 
the authority of two strange bodies 
to decide as to what God inspired — 



152 



English Translations of the Bible. 



schools of unbelieving Jews, and a 
legislative body in half a small island, 
establishing a religion that only a 
portion of the people even of that 
half-island have ever accepted. 

As to the text of the Bible, there 
was here another divergence. The 
Latin patriarchate which included all 
these dissidents had from a very ear- 
ly period used a translation of the 
Scriptures made into the Latin lan- 
guage probably for the African 
churches, subsequently corrected with 
care by St. Jerome, and known as 
the Vulgate. This, in daily use, and 
carefully copied for centuries, the 
Catholic Church held as authentic. 

The Reformers scouted this as a 
translation, and fell back on what 
they assumed to be the original 
Hebrew and Greek. It was not 
a critical age, far from it. The 
first manuscripts that came to hand 
were printed; collation of codices, 
comparison of age, country, or excel- 
lence, were scarcely dreamed of As 
first printed, these texts took a cer- 
tain rank and became received texts. 
These were the basis of Protestant 
translations ; and yet three centuries 
of study have established two f:icts : 
first, that the so-called received texts 
are utterly unsafe guides, teeming 
with errors and unsustained by the 
best and earliest manuscripts ;* and, 

• " Ik ikt fourth tdition rf Erasmus^' says 
the English HisliDp EUicoll, "«r really have the 
mother-tf.tt cf our o-vn Authorized Version."* 
** The fourth eiiition of Erasmus was not," says the 
London S/ectator^ " in any very maikeJ deprce an 
improvement on the first, and the first represented 
six months* work of a man whose Creek scholar- 
ship was n«>tof the ver^' first order, and who ha»l 
to work w ith materials of inferior quality, con- 
sulting absolutely no first-class ms. (the one that 
he had at hand, the Codex Hasiliensis, he did not 
use. because it differed so much from his orvn). 
It is a specimen, though, it must be allowed, an 
extreme one, of the way in which the text was 
formed, that, having to supply a lacuna in the 
Hook of RevulatioM, Erasmus translated the Vul- 
gate int'.> (ireek. S..me of these renderings secra 
still to hold their place." ..." That the ' Re- 
ceived Text ' has no critical value whatever is a 
fact which it requires but a most elementary 
knowledge of the case to accept." 

Another English periodical says : " To dte but 



second, that the Vulgate so cavalier- 
ly discarded is really more in har- 
mony with the best and oldest co- 
dices known than the received Greek 
text of the New Testament ; for none 
of the immense labor hitherto given 
to the Greek has been bestowed on 
the Hebrew, and we yet await any 
such succession of critical labors on the 
Old Testament as we now possess on 
the New. That such labors will sustain 
the Vulgate, there is litde question. 

Recent editions of the Greek Tes- 
tament by Protestant scholars are 
curious indeed, with their critical re- 
marks, and the free use of the notes 
designating spurious or doubtful. 
And it is no less instructive than 
curious to see how often the readings 
followed at the Reformation in prefer- 
ence to the Vulgate are now marked 
spurious by Protestant scholars. 

Take, for instance, the spurious ver- 
sion of the Lord's Prayer, which is not 
only retained in the Protestant Bible 
of the day, but enforced in our pub- 
lic schools on all, and for refusing to 
say which Catholic children have 
been punished. Yet every critical 
Protestant scholar admits that the 
words added to the Vulgate form 
are spurious ; they are so marked in 
Greek Testaments; they have been 
abandoned by the Baptists in their 
recent translation, as well as by Saw- 
yer and others who have given inde- 
pendent versions. Alford says : " We 
find absolutely no trace of it in early 
times in any family of manuscripts or 
in any expositors." ♦ 

two instances out of n thousand, Tyndale omits 
the words * of the vine' in Rev. xiv. i3, following 
a mere typogra|>hicaI error of Krasmus. A like 
error of Erasmus's second edition only (1518-19) 
led both Luther and Tymlale to substitute * enry * 
for ' kill ' in James iv. 2 ; the Vulgate being cor- 
rect in both passages." 

•The Anglican Church, ever attempting to 
compromise between truth and error, ^ives bot'i 
the genuine and the spurious form in different 
parts of her Book uf Comm<m I'raycr, whence it 
has been wittily remarked that an Anglican cler- 
gyman never can say the Lord's Prayer withoot 
hisboolc. 



English Translations of the Bible. 



153 



The so-called received text is now 
meeting the contempt it so richly de- 
serves, but it has been regarded al- 
most with idolatry. The deference 
paid to it was so great that some of 
our Catholic translators and editors 
from Challoner down have at times 
followed it in preference to the Latin 
in occasional texts, where, strangely 
enough, modem research proves that 
the ancient codices confirm the au- 
thenticity of the Vulgate. 

Protestantism mutilated the Scrip- 
tures, and in order to translate took 
up a wretched text How did they 
transbte? Starting with a new set 
of religious ideas, they translated the 
Scriptiures to favor their o>vn views. 
The translations were intended to be, 
and were, partisan documents. The 
people, unable to go beyond the ver- 
nacular, took them as the very word 
of God, and to this day the transla- 
tion in their hands is looked upon as 
conclusive on all points. Thus, for 
instance, the whole idea of the Catho- 
lic orders was to be done away. The 
Greek words, ^a-<(wto7rof, irpea^vrepo^y and 
Wwrof, as representing three ranks 
in the clergy, had been adopted into 
Latin, and thence into modem Euro- 
pean languages, and, being words in 
constant use, got strangely altered. 
The Italian vcscavo, Spanish obispo, 
French rcique, English bishops and 
German bischoff^ all sprang from episco- 
pos. ^presbytero, prete, pretrCy pries t^ 
»ere modifications of the word pres- 
h'tftvs. But these words, worked by 
4e usage of centuries into the very 
fibres of the national speech and 
thought, were to be discarded, and new 
*ords introduced to divorce in the 
niinds of the people the Catholic clergy 
from the clergy of the New Testament. 
Hence episcopos became overseer ;//rj- 
^Afwj, elder. Deacon, in Latin minis- 
ter^ in English servant, was, however, 
retained. 

But the leaders of the Reformation 



soon found that people wished to ex- 
ercise private judgment and private 
authority too freely. Then these lea- 
ders set up a teaching body in the 
church : some wished one rank, some 
two. When they came to names, up 
springs the discarded word episcopos 
or presbyteroSy and our friends take 
as a distinctive name not Overseers- 
men and Eldermen or Aldermen, but 
Episcopalians and Presbyterians. 
Then came another confusion : their 
clergy adopted the general name of 
ministers, equivalent to deacons, but 
assumed to be presbyters, yet they 
had deacons or ministers and elders 
or presbyters below them. 

The word church was another to 
be abolished. It became congre- 
gation. The celibacy of the cler- 
gy, so long a point of discipline 
in the Latin patriarchate, was to be 
refuted; so, wherever possible, the 
Greek word yivri was rendered wife, 
and texts adroitly translated so as to 
make marriage imperative. In ren- 
dering the future, j/z^r// would be used 
to favor Calvinistic views, and so on 
from one end to the other. 

The Bible thus translated could 
not be called honest. Wickliffe be- 
gan this tampering in PZngland, and 
the persistent efforts of his follow- 
ers to revolutionize church and state 
by means of his doctrines thus cun- 
ningly garbed in Scripture led the 
orthodox to discountenance a gene- 
ral diffusion of the Bible in English, 
even after Catholic translations had 
appeared in the languages of the na- 
tions on the Continent. In Germany, 
there were seventeen Catholic edi- 
tions of the Bible issued from the press 
between the invention of printing in 
the middle of the fifteenth century and 
Luther*s revolt in the beginning of 
the sixteenth. At an auction sale of 
incunabula not long ago in Germany, 
copies of no less than ten different 
early editions of this period were of- 



154 



English Translations of the Bible, 



fereil. Norton, a book-dealer in Xew 
Vork, had one a few years since, 
and advertised it as Luther's, not 
lireaming that there had been any 
German transhition before Luther's, 
and forgetting that, great an indivi- 
dual as he was, he could scarcely 
have translated the Bible and printed 
it before he was bom or while he was 
at most an infant at the breast. 

Tiie Kndish government did not 
sot up a religion that suited all : nor 
were the translations got out accept- 
able to all. Kaeh party had its own 
pet tluvries to ailvance, and its Bible, 
rhameleon-like, must take its prevail- 
ing hue from them. So there sprang 
up Tyndale's, C'overdale's, Crom- 
well's, Cranmer's, the Geneva and 
the nishops' Bible. 

To meet this motley array by giving 
the I'lngliNh Catholics a faithful ver- 
son was a serious thought with the 
persecuted clergy in Kngland. Driv- 
en IVom their churches and from the 
univerNilies, their monasteries and 
seats of learning destroyed, the pos- 
session of any book containing the 
I hur\ h service being prohibited, as 
well as any upholding Catholic doc- 
liine,* that is to say, nearly all the 
writings oi Christendom for fifteen 
1 cnturies, their very hves in daily and 
lumrly peril, it was not an easy mat- 
ter fi>r the Catholic clerg)' of the Bri- 
tish Lsles to find time or place for so 
important a work. 

At last, by the exertions of the Rev. 
William Allen, the Catholic members 
of the Universities of Oxford and 
Cambridge scattered over the Conti- 
nent were gathered, in 1 568, at Douay, 
the univer>ity there adopting the new 
I'lnglish college. This new college 
soon numbered a hundred and fifty 
persons, including eight or nine emi- 



• V,\ iM V book f ontaining any part of the church 

koulio wrt!* ict]uiroil to l»e destroycil (Wilkins 

\\ P \*V Mmumlit of Kpixtles and Gospels as well 
^ j.^ .... .. ... 



r«klaui«uta thus perished. 



nent doctors of divinity. 
Martin, one of the original 
of St. John's College, Oxfoi 
his learning was long rem 
a man of rank, "of extr: 
modesty and moderation," " 
braist, the Grecian, the j 
honor and glory of St. Jol 
lege," where for thirteen year 
Edmond Campian had been 
est and most inseparable oi 
Gregory Martin, a man s 
fitted for the task, at once set 
to translate the Bible from 
gate into English for the us 
Catholics in the British Islei 
scious how much of the p< 
quired by the Reformation w 
on Scriptural per\'ersion, tl 
roused the jealous fears of t 
lish government, and steps 
once taken to break up an ir 
laboring to supply the Eng 
tholics with clerg)'men and 
them the Bible in their vei 
By underhand working, the 
ities of Douay were induced, 
to expel the English Catho 
their college, which then ren: 
Rheims, in France. 

Here Dr. ALirtin compl 
translation, and his work w; 
ed by William, afterward < 
Allen, Richard Bristow, ar 
Reynolds. The notes to tl 
Testament are generally at 
to Dr. Bristow, Bristow and 
being the first two priests < 
from the new college, so t 
work was mdeed the first-fruit 
college and a proof of the 
vitality of the church founde 
Augustine. 

But means were not as 
found to print the needec 
It at last appeared at Rh< 
1582. 

What times those were for 
lies histor)' tells. Within fiv< 
eighteen priests had perished 



English Translatiofis of the Bible. 



155 



cial murders in England,* six bishops 
and seventy-nine priests in Ireland,t 
Elizabeth's government making the 
celebration of Mass and the adminis- 
tration of the sacraments treason ; as 
though all the brave men who knelt 
at Mass before the fight at Crcssy 
or at Agincourt were traitors to the 
king and country whose glory they 
made undying! Not only Catholic 
priests were doomed : Catholic book- 
sellers hke Jenks are nailed to the 
pillory; printers of Catholic tracts 
like Carter, those who circulated them 
like Alficld and Webley, schoolmas- 
ters like Slade and White, perish by 
the barbarous and obscene punish- 
ment of the day ; hanged till nearly 
(lead, then cut open, mutilated inde- 
cently, and while the whole frame 
quivered the brutal executioner would 
grope amid their vitals for the heart 
to fling it into the flames. 

Before this very volume reached 
the hands of many Catholics in Eng- 
land, Margaret Clither, a lady at 
York, was pressed to death by the 
terrible punishment, the peine forte et 
dure, for giving hospitality to a priest. 

Such was the terrible period when 
the Rhemish Testament appeared. 

It is a book to be opened with 
levcrence. We ever feel that it 
should be read kneeling, for it seems 
environed with the halo of the mar- 
tyred priests and laity of the British 
Isles. It impresses one with the 
sanctity of a relic. 

The original Rhemish Testament 
is a small quarto volume, with this 
tide: 

"The I NEW TESTAMENT | of 
Iesvs Christ, Trans- | latf.d faith fvl- 
LYiMTo English, | out of the aiithentical 
Latin, according to the best cor- | reeled 
copies of the same, diligently conferred 
nith I the Grceke and other editions in 
dioers langvages : Vvith | Argument's of 

• Ckanoiier'i BHt»Umuy PrittU, 
t O'R^Ily, IrUk Mmrifrt, 



bookes and chapters, Annota- | ii')Ns. 
and other nccessarie hclpcs, for the better 
vnder- | standing of the text, and spe- 
cially for the discoucric of the | Corrvp- 
TIONS of diuers late translations, and for 
I clccring the Controversies in reli- 
gion, of these dales: | In the English 
College of Rhemes. | Psal. 118. | Da 
mihi intelU'clum^ 6"* scrutabor legem tuam, 
&* cusioJiam \ illam in toto corde mco. \ 
That is, I Give me vnderstanding, and 
I will search thy law, and | will 
keepe it vvith my whole hart. | S. Aug. 
tract. 2. in Episl. Joan. | Omnia qua 
Icgiintur in Scripturis Sanctis^ ad instmc- 
tioftem <Sr* salutcm nostram intente oportet \ 
audire : ma.xime iamen mcmoria commen- 
danda sunt, qua adversiis JIareticos valctit 
plu- I ritnum : quorum insidia, infirmiores 
quosque <Sr» negUgaitiores ciicumuenire non 
cessant. \ That is, | All things that are 
readde in holy Scriptures, we must hear 
vvith great attention, to our | instruction 
and saluation : but those things specially 
must be commended to me- | mode, 
which make most against Heretikes: 
whose deceites cease not to cir- | cum- 
uent and beguile al the weaker sort and 
the more negligent persons. | PRINTED 
AT RHEMES, I by lohn Fogny. | 158c. | 
Cum Privilihuo. 

On the back of the title is " The 
Censure and Approbation " of the 
official ecclesiastical authorities at 
Rheims, Peter Remy, archdeacon 
and vicar-general of Rheims, Hubert 
More, dean, John le Besque, canon 
and chancellor of the academy, and 
William Balbus, professor of theolo- 
gy, permitting the printing of the 
work in these words : 

"Whereas the authors of this version 
and edition are fully known to us as men 
of sound faith and erudition; and whereas 
others well versed in sacred theology and 
the English language have certified that 
nothing has been found in the work that 
is not conformable to the doctrine of the 
Catholic Church and to piety, or that is 
in any wise repugnant to civil power or 
tranquillity, but that all rather promotes 
true faith, the good of the state, and pro- 
bity of life and manners : relying upon 
them, we think that it may be usefully 
printed and published.** 



156 



English Translations of t/te Bible. 



This is followed by " The Preface 
to the Reader, treating of these three 
points : of the Translation of Holy 
Scriptures into the vulgar tongues, 
and namely into English: of the 
causes why this New Testament is 
translated according to the auncient 
vulgar Latin text : and of the maner 
of translating the same." 

This is an important treatise, the 
three subjects being to this day as 
vital as then. The discipline of the 
church, varying with times and cir- 
cumstances, discountenancing the ge- 
neral circulation of the Scriptures 
where evil men made them a cloak 
of malice and a means of misleading 
the ignorant and unwary, is clearly 
stated. It is no inconsistence that 
allows at one time or to some what 
is withheld at another. The physi- 
cian is not inconsistent who prohibits 
to his sick friend the hearty food or 
wine that he advised him to take free- 
ly in health. 

The argument in favor of the Vul- 
gate over the wretched received text 
of the Greek is very strongly put, 
although the more recent publication 
of the Vatican, Alexandrian, and Si- 
naite codices has in our day abso- 
lutely settled the question. As it is, 
however, it should have been retained 
to this day in all English Catholic edi- 
tions, to give all who read a concise 
argument justifying the use of the 
carefully handed down Vulgate in 
preference to a carelessly kept Greek 
text. 

The third branch of the preface 
was also important. It explained 
why certain terms, not English in 
themselves, had been retained, rather 
than paraphrased, such as Amen, Al- 
leluia, Parasccve, Pasch, Azymes, etc., 
and why certain obscure passages 
had been translated literally rather 
than paraphrased on a mere conjec- 
ture as to the real meaning of the 
sacred penman. 



This preface is follow 
Signification or Meaning 
bers and Marks used, e 
ing one page ; by a list c 
extracts from St. Auguj 
lian, St. Jerome, Vincer 
and St. Basil, on the ai 
and abuse of Scripture, 
dition. This occupies 
and is followed by twc 
" The Sum me of the New 

The text follows, ext 
page 3 to page 745 inc 
clearly printed as a para 
mcnt, with the numbers 
on the margin, and paral 
beyond; and on the otl 
occasional notes and refe 
Gospels and Epistles of 
holidays begin. The c 
tions are printed in sm 
the end of each chapter. 

The note at the end 
calypse, on page 745, clc 
touching prayer, whici 
remember the torrents 
blood then poured forth 
tish Isles, will speak to e 

"And now, O Lord Chi 
and merciful, we thy poor ( 
are so afflicted for confessic 
of the holy Catholic and A 
contained in this thy sacn 
in the infallible doctrine 
Spouse, our Mother the C 
also unto thy Majesty with 
our hearts unspeakable, C 
JESUS, QUICKLY, and j 
us and our Adversaries, and 
time give patience, comfort, 
cy to all that suflfer for tl 
trust in thee. O Lord G 
helper and protector, tar 
Amen." 

The supplemental n 
prises a " Table of Epistl 
pels," covering nearly 
" An Ample and Parti 
directing the reader to : 
truthes, deduced out o 
Scriptures, and impugnec 



English Translations of the Bible, 



157 



>aries," occupying nearly twenty- 
t pages, followed by " The Expli- 
ion of certaine wordes in this trans- 
on not familiar to the vulgar read- 

This ends the volume properly, 
•ugh there is generally an inset on 
aller paper, " A Table of Certaine 
ices of the New Testament corrupt- 
translated in favour of heresies of 
se days in the English editions, es- 
ciallyof theyeares 1562, 77, 79, and 
, by order of the Books, Chapters, 
d Verses of the same," extending 
six pages. 

Such, in its outward guise, is this 
nerable volume, which our fathers 
the faith welcomed with such joy, 
lich they prized for all the peril that 
:ended its use. This was that Ca- 
3lic Bible hid away like the priest 
d the altar-furniture in those cun- 
igly contrived retreats; this was 
e book brought out in those days 
deadly persecution, and read in a 
lii^r to the faithful family, while 
e bloodhounds of persecution were 
ound to drag to prison for pretend- 

1 civil crimes the faithful Catholic 
io read the Word of God in its pu- 

Every copy of the book that reach- 
cur day might tell its history — 
id by the faithful Catholics of the 
Itish Isles at the risk of life, liberty, 
i property — Bible of our fathers, 
ought in the day of martyrs, read 
i prized by heroic confessors. 
It should be a pride in every one 
our Catholic institutions, and in 
e Camily libraries of Catholic gen- 
men, to show a copy of this venera- 

2 and holy book ; yet we fear there 
s few copies in the land, and it is 

the conviction that the volume is 
^known to the generality of our 
adcrs that we have somewhat mi- 
•itely described the Rhemish Testa- 
«nt of 1582. 

Kizabeth had in vain endeavored 



to prevent the appearance of this ho- 
nest translation; her law prohibited 
its introduction into England, but it 
came ; and it came on the Protestant 
zealots like a thunder-clap. It was 
learned — for they could not gainsay 
the capacity of Gregory Martin — it 
was, in point of language, equal to 
the best they could show, and, what 
galled them most, it was honest, rig- 
idly, thoroughly honest. It was in- 
stantly attacked in every shape and 
form ; but, though they dared to as- 
sail it on many a pretext, none had 
the hardihood to question its honesty. 
It stands, and will ever stand, as the 
first really honest English translation 
that issued from the press. Scrivener, 
a learned Protestant writer, after go- 
ing over the whole ground, admits 
this frankly, and says : " In justice, it 
must be observed that no case of 
wilful perversion of Scripture has ever 
been brought home to the Rhemish 
translators." 

No harder blow was ever dealt by 
Catholics against the motley array of 
sects with which England teemed 
than this honest translation. It star- 
tled them all, and they forgot their 
differences to make common cause. 
Bishops of the Establishment joined 
with Puritans, whom they hated, to 
parry this blow. 

In 1583, Dr. William Fulke, of 
Cambridge, came out in a defence of 
the Bishops' Bible, two years after 
one Bilson tried to answer the notes 
of the Rhemish Testament, " to shew 
that the things reformed in the Church 
of England by the laws of this Realm 
are truly Catholic, notw^ithstanding 
the vain shew made to the contrary 
in their late Rhemish Testament." 
In 1588, one Wither, feeling unable 
to attack the body of the work, couch- 
ed his lance against the marginal 
notes. The same year, Dr. Edward 
Bulkeley was rash enough to come 
out in defence of the received Greek 



f58 



English Translations of the Bible. 



text. Poor man ! what would he 
think of Tauchnitz*s thousandth vol- 
ume, The New Testament of Pro- 
testant England, with its references 
to the departures of the text from the 
best Greek manuscripts, and tlieir 
conformity to the Vulgate ? 

The next year, Fulke came out with 
his work commonly called Fulke's 
Confutation. 

Fulke's title shows how weak he 
felt his cause to be by his resorting to 
false means of prejudging the case in 
the minds of his readers, meeting the 
honesty of the Rhemish doctors by 
dishonesty. 

Omitting the Title and Approbation 
of the Rhemish edition, Fulke gives 
this as his title : 

** The text of the New Testament of Je- 
sus Christ, translated out of the vulgar 
Latin by the Papists of the traiterous Se- 
minaric at Rhemes. With arguments of 
bookes, chapters, and annotations, pre- 
tending to discover the corruptions of 
divers translations, and to clear the con- 
troversies of these daycs. Whereunto is 
added the translation out of the original 
Greeke, commonl3'uscd in the Church of 
England, with a confutation of all such 
arguments, glosses, and annotations as 
conleine manifest impietie, of heresy, trea- 
son, and slander against the Catholikc 
Church of God, and the true teachers 
thereof, or the translations used in the 
Church of England ; both by auctoritie 
of Holy Scriptures, and by the testinionic 
of the auncient fathers." 

This work was reprinted in 1601 
and 1617.* 

* It was from this work that an edition of the 
Rhemish Testament was printed at New Vork in 
1834. although several clerpymen of note among 
I'rolest.ints were so bold as to sign a certilicato 
that it was reprintctl Irom the orifjinal Rhemish 
of \-:S/.. It is one of tlie greatest acts of ill faith 
that Dr. ('otlon, in his Khtmes and Douay^ 
covereil up instead of exposing this fraud. He 
rails it ilistinctly "a reprint ot the first edition of 
ifbi ;" yet no man was better al»le than himself 
to detect at a glance that it was reprinted Iroin 
Fulke's (.imtutation. No professed bihliograph- 
er of his experience coidd be deceived for an in- 
stant with the three books before him as he had. 
Vet so strong is party feeling that lie made him- 
self an at complice after the fact in the fraud of 
bis fellow-religionists on this side of the Atlantic. 



But this work did not altog 
please the Puritan faction, and 
of their champions, who pref 
"Geneva" to "Bishops," Th 
Cartwright, wrote a confutation, v 
did not, however, appear till 16] 

Meanwhile the persecution ha 
relaxed; priests fell so rapidly 
their blood in one continuous to 
bedewed the British Isles, to 
rich fruit in tlie season set apai 
the Lord of the Vineyard. Ai 
the laymen who perished with 
spiritual guides was James Du< 
a bookseller, whose crime was d 
ing Catholic books — the infai 
Judge Popham, after whom a fc 
Maine is named, ordering the 
back when they found him " not 
ty," blood alone being sufRciei 
satisfy his fanatical cruelty. 

Verily the circulation of the S 
tures was attended with some dif 
ties in those days. Yet a new ed 
of the New Testament was i.ssu< 
Antwerp in 1 600, and Catholics \ 
death in every shape to obtain 1 
Testaments and read them in se< 

Meanwhile the printing of the 
Testament was delayed. Dr. Co 
with an unfairness that runs thn 
his Rhcmcs and Douay, preteni 
wonder at this delay. Yet the 
face of the New Testament s 
that lack of means had preventec 
issue of the whole Bible dowi 
1582. The persecution had certJ 
not improved the circumstance 
Catholics or made it more eas 
publish tlie work during the ren 
ing years of that century or the 
Her years of the seventeenth. 
case of John Towneley, of Town 
in Lancashire, is not a solitary 
This gentleman, for professing 
faith of Alfred, of Kdward the < 
fcssor, of the Illack Prince, am 
Henry v., was imprisoned succes 
ly in nine dirterent prisons, and < 
pellcd to pay fine after fine, til 



English Translations of tite Bible. 



IS9 



, they had exacted from him 
e five thousand pounds, 
or was the college left in peace 
heims. The French government 
onger offered it an asylum, and 
institution, in 1597, returned to 
lay. These changes, of course, 
larrassed them, and prevented any 
ortant work like the printing of 
Bible. But the time came at last, 
n 1609, the first volume of the 
I Testament appeared with this 



The I HOLIE BIBLE | Faitiifvllv 

NS- I LATED INTO ENGLISH, | OVT Of 

lAvTiiENTiCAL | Latin. | Diligently 
ferred with the Hebrew, Greeke, | and 
erEditions in diucrs languages. | With 
iRGVMENTS of the Bookes and Chap- 
i : I Annotations : Tables : and other 
*<'/, I for better vnderstanding of the text : 
dixouerie of \ CORRVPTIONS in some 
translations : and \ for clearing CoN- 
>VEMiEs in Religion. \ By the English 
LLEGE of Do WAY. | Haurictis aquas in 
vSo de fontibus Saluatoris, Isaiae 12. 
a shal draw waters in ioy out of the 
liours fountaines: | Printed at Doway 
Laurence Kellam, | at the signe of the 
icLambe. | m.dc.ix." 

Dn the back of this title is an ap- 
bation by three professors and 
tors of theology of Douay Uni- 
sity. Then comes a preface 

To the Right Welbcloved English 
der Grace and Glorie in lesvs Christ, 
rlasting. At last through Gods 
Ines (most dearly beloued) we send 
here the greater part of the Old Tcs- 
tnt : as long since you recciued the 
1 ; faithfully translated into English, 
residue is in hand to be finished : and 
r desire thcrof shal not now (God 
spcring our intention be long frus- 
e. As for the impediments, which hiih- 
> hr.Te hindered this vvorke, they al 
ceded (as manie do know) of one gc- 
"al cause, our poore estate in banish- 
nt. Wherin expecting belter mcancs, 
^ter difficulties rather ensued. Neucr- 
*■!«$, you wil hereby the more per- 
iQeour feruent good wil, euer to serue 
^ in that we haue brought forth this 
w»c, in these hardest times, of abouc 



fourtie yeaxes, since this College was most 
happely begune (anno 1568)." 

The preface then proceeds to dis- 
cuss " Why and how it is allowed to 
have holie Scriptures in vulgar ton- 
gues." The Vulgate is again defended. 
Of the translation now given, it says : 
" Those that translated it about thirtie 
years since, were wel knowen to the 
world, to have bene excellent in the 
tongues, sincere men and great Di- 
uines." As in the meantime the edi- 
tions of the Vulgate issued under Slx- 
tus V. and Clement VII. had appear- 
ed, they note, " For which cause we 
have again conferred this English 
translation and conformed it to the 
most perfect Latin edition." 

The use of certain Hebrew and 
Greek terms is again defended ; and 
they make a strong point against the 
, new English words introduced by the 
Reformers, which require explanation 
as much as the original terms if re- 
tained. " It more importeth, that no- 
thing be wittingly and falsely trans- 
lated for aduantagc of doctrine in 
matter of faith. Wherein as we dare 
boldly avouch the sinceritie of this 
Translation, and that nothing is here 
vntruly or obscurely donne of pur- 
pose in fauour of Catholique Roman 
Religion, so we cannot but complaine, 
and challenge English Protestantes, 
for corrupting the text contrary to the 
Hebrew and Greke, which they pro- 
fesse to translate, for the more shew 
and mainteyning of their peculiar 
opinions against Catholiques." 

It then concludes with a touching 
address to all that understand Eng- 
lish, encouraging the Catholics amid 
their persecutions, trials, and suffer- 
ings, and inviting the others to return : 
" Attend to your saluation dearest 
countriemen. You that are farre of 
draw nere, put on Christ. And you 
that are within Christs fold kepe your 
standing, persevere in him to the 



i6o 



English Translations of the Bible. 



end. His grace dwel and remain in 
you, that glorious crownes may be 
giucn you. Amen." 

This preface, dated the Octave of 
All Saintcs, 1 609, covers twelve pages ; 
The Summe and Partition of the 
Holie Bible, The Summe of the Old 
Testament, Of Moses the author of 
the first five bookes, make four; The 
Argument of the liooke of Genesis, 
two. 

Then comes the text, paged i to 
1 1 14 to the end of Job, after which is 
a page " To the Cvrteovs Reader." 

The arranp^ement of the Testament 
is followed, the numbers of the verses 
being in one margin, and notes in the 
other; but there is no rule beyond the 
numbers, antl no parallel references. 

There are occasional notes in the 
margin, with references to the use of 
portions in the Church service, but 
the mass of the annotations is given 
at the end of each chapter. 

The next year, with a title differing 
only in date, appeared the second 
tome of the Old Testament. 

On the back of the title the Appro- 
bation was repeated. Then followed 
Proemial Annotations uj^on the Booke 
of Psalms, pp. 3-14. Text, 15-1071, 
including the Prayer of Manasses and 
the second and third 15ooks of lOsdras. 
1072, Table of K|)istles; 1073-1096, 
An llistoricalTable; 1097-1123, ** A 
particular Table of the most i^rincij)al 
things;" 1124 is an Approbation of 
three English theologians, all formerly 
connected with Douay College, John 
AV right, I>oan of Courtray, Matthew 
Kellison, Pnjfcssor at Rhcims, and 
AVilliam Ilarison; 1125, Krrnla. 

The la.st note on the Machabees 
ends in iIr'sc words: 

" Piiit W'- v.'ii.) liv (i->ils i^rr.it j^'im ln«'v;s 
liaiu: I .j^<'«l i;.,".v to llii- (Mil <^I tlii«< I'm^- 
li-lj Ol-l 'I\ ■ :.t:)( lit iii^-tly l\;iiiMir. th:il 
ui- l:.«:;i- M<t'. u n \\\\\\ k\\ -<}i;ir:ji''l sn ^ical a 
WMi Kc : .11 il in i'.'> \\ i--'* i^:c^iiiiiin.i» that \v«- 
hauL' u'iuiMclI al ciu.trs, as wcl ol doctrine 



as historic: much more we acknowlege 
that our stile is rude and vn polished. 
And therefore we necessarily and with al 
hvmilitie craue pardon of God, and al his 
glorious Sainctes. Likewise of the Church 
militant, and particularly of you. right wcl 
bcloued English readers ; to whom as at 
the beginning we directed and dedicated 
these our endeuoures : so to you we offer 
the rest of our laboures, euen to the end 
of our Hues: in our H. Sauiour lesvs 
Christ, to whom be al praise and glorie. 
Amen." 

The great work of the illustrious 
Gregory Martin was thus printed at 
last. The Old Testament as issued 
was revised by Dr. Thomas Worth- 
ington, who was president of Douay 
College from 1599 to 16 13, and the 
Annotations and Tables arc said to 
have been written by him.* 

The translator may have lived to 
see the New Testament in print, but 
even that is doubtful, as he died iix 
the same year that it appeared, Oc- 
tober 28, 1582. But of this grea^ 
man who thus gave them a leamec^ 
and needed translation of the Bibl^=- 
P'.nglish -speaking Catholics have lo 



* To show how general a misapprehension c 

i<sts even amonfi: Catholics in rcj^rd to the Ei^^^ 
lish Catholic Hibles, we give the following fr< 
a speech uf Daniel O'Conncll. Dec. 4« 1I17 : 

''V}^ic<^n Mary of Scotland had actire pa^H^ 

sann. who thought it would forward their purp* ^ 

to translate the Bible, and add to it these obn^ 
ious notes (the Khemish notes). But very ihoi -J 
nfU^r the establishment of the College of Don^s" - 
this Khemish edition was condemned by all ~ 
doctors of that institution, who, at the same li^i^r 
called for and received the aid of the Scutch ^^bes 
Iri^h colleges. The book was thus supprei 
mid an edition of the Uible with notes was 
lishcd at D<may, which has been ever 
adopted by the ("atholic Church, so that they " 

oiilv condemned anil su]>pressed the Khen^^ca 
tdilion. but thev published an edition with n^^- < 
to whi'h no i>bjcction has been or could 
urjjcil." 

Almost cvcrv line contains an error. ^ 

Khemish Test anient and Douay Ifible 1^ ^^^ 
tian-.lateil by the same man, Grcpory Mai"^" " 
there was ni> KhcTriish Hible ; the Khemish •* 

ti'>ii uas n>il ninilemiietl at Douay, but repri^^^nft 
in I' .., I'l.-. \( w. almost unalti-rcd. TheC "* ' 
\\-\ tr.ue <.t iMiy i.illiny; in the aid ot Si'otrh ■*"' 

Irish (••>llr;iv «,. Till- book was not supprcs^S^j*"! 
i.> i(!i::'.:i i.| the whol,- Mililc was P''»"*^*^^/!? 
I)..iiay. anil what w.is pjiM:>hed there, the ^W 
Ti'st.iment, has W\:\\ only ouie ri. printed in * ^J* 
and caunot be said to be adopted. 



English IVanslations of the Bible, 



i6i 



remembrance. His very grave is 
LQown. No monument expresses 
' sense of obligation and respect 
Dr. Gregory Martin. Of his life, 1 
1 little, A volume of the writings 
the martyred Campian has a letter 
to Dr. Martin, showing the 
earnest friendship between 
fro, and from it we infer that Mar- 
wrote to Campian in Ireland to 
5^ him to join them at Douay } as 
had previously, when in some way 
imected wiUi the English court, 
itten to Campian, apparently be- 
re his conversion, exhorting him 
I to accept any ecclesiastical dig- 
ty, undoubtedly referring to the 
ktablLshed Church, in which Cam- 
Ul had actually received deacon- 
^ And it is clear that Dr. Mar- 
l contributed in no small degree to 
m those illustrious missionaries who 
int forth from Douay and Rhetms 
keep ti\e faith alive in their native 
k1, worthy followers of St. Ger- 
mus and St. Augustine. 
The Old Testament evoked no 
Jtfoversy in England. In spile 
iQ the confutations, answers, and 
^ments issued against the Rhem- 

ftament, the leaders of English 
stntism had convinced neith- 
public nor themselves. The 
rk of Gregory Martin was a terri- 
blow : it was truth holding up 
mirror to error. They felt at last 
t something must be done. To 
e a really honest translation was 
rcely possible, so much of their 
MiHre was reared on mistransla- 
^■r misconceptions carefully fos- 
^fcy all their systems and teach- 
^Brhe question was; How far 
ffi we be honest ? This led to the 
Hlptinent of a body of translators, 
^Bpolc in hand all the editions 
^Vyndale down, and going over 
Hntole carefully, steadily using 
Kuors of Dr. Martin, the Rhemes 
Bible, and frequently adopt- 

VOL. XII. — in 



ing its renderings, both as correct 
translation and as idiomatic English, 
in preference to those of any of the 
previous translations. This is clear, 
for ihey waited for the Old Testa- 
ment to appear at Douay, and when 
that too reached their hands in 1609 
and 1 610, and Gregory Martinis 
whole labor was before them^ they in 
161 1 brought out a new translation 
of the Bible, and dedicated in a str;tin 
of fulsome panegyric and disgusting 
adulation to a profligate king. 

This edition is the one known as 
the King James Bible, or the " Au- 
thorized Version," and which, modi- 
fied in parts and misprinted in others, 
is now generally used in England, 
and this country, after being razeed 
by the Bible eocieties. 

Men talk now of this version al- 
most as if it had been handed by 
an angel to James L, as if all Pro- 
testant England hailed it with joy 
and adopted it. Yet this is one of 
the many errors of the day. The 
book pleased few. The sturdy old 
adherents of the Church of Eng- 
land clung to the Bishops' Bible; the 
whole Puritan faction, daily gaining 
strength, clung even more resolutely 
to their Geneva Bibles; the King 
James Bible was at first taken up 
only by the rufilers of the court. 

It is ludicrous to hear declaimers 
now talking of this Bible as that used 
by Cromwell and his Puritan follow- 
ers, or by the Pilgrim Fathers of New 
England, when in fact they loathed 
and scorned it as a weak device of 
the prelatical malignants. Crom- 
welFs Soldier's Pocket Bible, which 
after years of search was at last 
found by the late George Livermore, 
of Cambridge, proved to be a series 
of texts drawn from the Geneva Bi- 
ble; and, after Mr, Livermore had re- 
printed it, one of the tract societies 
here very comically got out an edi- 
tion giving the texts from the King, 



James Version, and yet putting it 
forth as Cromwell's, making hira fa* 
ther in death what he loathed in 
life! 

The reader may ask how the 
change carae about which made this 
the only current Protestant version. 
The King James Version gradually 
supplanted the Bishops' Bible, and 
became the Episcopal, as the Geneva 
was the more distinctly Calvinist, ver- 
sion ; but the printing was so careless 
that all editions swarmed with errors. 
Writers tell of one Bible that had 
several thousand errors, and there is 
an amusing story of a bishop on his 
way to preach buying a pocket Bible, 
and, on opening it in his pulpit, find- 
ing to his horror that his text was 
missing* Things came indeed to 
such a pass that after the Restoration 
the printing of the Bible was made 
a state monopoly, and, as the Puritans 
and their ideas were very little re- 
garded, only the King James Bible 
was printed. Then, as no other could 
be issued, the various sects matle a 
virtue of necessity, took up with it, 
and now we find the descendants of 
the Puritans clinging to it, and de- 
claiming about it as though it were 
really that prized by their ancestors, 
instead of being one they detested. 

Though not made in its renderings 
so completely Calvinist as to please 
the ultra followers of that reformer, 
James's laws and education were suf- 
ficiently Calvin istic to give the new 
Bible a thoroughly Calvinistic tinge. 
But all English Protestants did not 
embrace these views. The High 
Church party on the one side, the 
Baptists and at a later day the Me- 
thodists, in iheir contests and contro- 
versies found that they had to fall 
back from the Bible as it was to the 
original texts, and murmurs loud and 
deep have constantly prevailed against 
the version as unfair, and made with 
a view to uphold one set of Protes- 



tant opinions by straining the 
ing of texts, by the sly introdui 
of occasional words, and by giving 
words which were broader or nar- 
rower in their meaning than the ori- 
ginal term. 

But as the version continued to be ' 
printed by the English government, 
"allowed to be read in churches/' 
no general attempt at its reformation 
was made. Insensibly, however, de- 
viations and misprints crq>t in, alte- 
rations were made, nobody knows ( 
by whom, and the ordinary reader 
mil find in his Webster's Dictionary 
a list of some of these alterations, 
made by nobody knows whom. 

Among the famous misprints of 
the Protestant Bible is the phrase 
which has now become proverbial, 
" Strain at a gnat, and sw^allow a ca- 
mel." Yet the original is very dear 
and it should be as in our Catholic 
Bibles, " Strain out a gnat," the allu- 
sion being to the extreme care of the 
Pharisees, who strained tiieir waiei' 
for fear of contracting uncl^ 
by swallowing any gnat or other 
sect ; but as ** strain at " made sei 
though a different sense, it has 
printed so time and again. 

Within a few years, movements 
gan in this country looking to a 
vision of this King James Bible, 
the matter has actually been iak< 
up, as we shall see further on, in 
British Parliament, and in one of 
Convocations of the Church of Ei 
land. 

But the King James Bible, in 
far as it was an improvement on tl 
previous Protestant versions, in 
far as it abandoned some of the mi 
unwarranted perversions, was due 
the noble Catholic version, fur wl 
we are indebted to the English 
lege founded originally at 
but sojourning for a time at 

In the lull of the perseci 
England between 1618 and i6|i 



English Translations of the BibU, 



163 



(T- three years, in which 
*st was hanged and quar- 
tathohcs contrived to issue 
1 of the Bible, this time in 
le English Cathohc Bible 
' the first time reprinted 
men, in 1633-5, by John 
in three quarto volumes, 
^inal The edition, like 
iisly issued, was probably 

and was apparently all 
lOssible to introduce into 
srritory for nearly a cen- 
eing, so far as we know,* 
seventeenth century, no 
I of any part of the Bi- 

those now inentioned, 
ckel edition of the New 
ssued at Anlweqj in 1621 » 
ions in the prayer-books 
r devotion, 

)tton expresses great as- 
it this apparent neglect 
e English Catholics with 
^c matter explains itscir 
le suppose that a book- 
■lave sent over a case of 

to another bookseller 
bolic priest in England 
stribute ? Every one is 
»c circulation of that Bi- 
nal offence, that the co- 
Dl into England were 

one by one. When 
ttras hot, a year might 
its being possible to get 
' in. Hence the copies 
beyond the English fron- 

^ditioti may have been iKSucd ; 
not conclu^ve proof to the con- 
Uon found none and hiblJofr^- 
; I livve «n edition of Dr. Wi- 
luneiit that Cotton hvas not « wnrc 
ftl edition of Hlyth's Peniteiuial 
never mcl. lie knew nothing of 
bleofiT^. Indecd,when I called 
bUogTBphen here to it, they could 
ti&tence, Bdr, Li vermore would 
pent 1 ',, Cambridge lor 

Be r ' ic.f and satisfy 

I r ican- This of 

I' han, in his Litt 

Itfhc of Carey's ta- 

^1 _^„_. ,-i.nily procured a 
I kbi requen. 



tiers were treasured as gold; they 
were carefully used and kept in fa- 
milies from father to son. The Ca- 
tholic body did not increase during 
those terrible days, and to many the 
Latin was always more full of unc- 
tion than any translation into mo- 
dem speech. So rigidly was this 
war on Catholic literature carried on 
that, according to Thomas Plearne, 
the antiquarian, Archbishop Laud, 
in 1636 or 1637, had a Catholic 
edition of the Introduction to a De- 
vout Life, by St. Francis de Sales, 
" about eleven or twelve hundred 
copies, seized, and caused them to be 
burnt publicly in Smithfield." Had 
he, or those who subsequently sent 
him to the block, got hold of an 
edition of the Douay Bible, they 
would have treated it in the same 
way, and consumed it as completely 
as the Bible Society did the large ba- 
lance of Catholic Bililes and Testa- 
ments in French, Spanish, and Por- 
tuguese which they once disposed of 
as Laud did of the Dcimtt Lift, 

The days of the Commonwealth 
were dark days indeed ibr the Catho- 
lics of England and Ireland. Fhere 
could he little thought in them of 
printing a Bible. Run through the 
list of martyrs in Challoner and 
O'Reilly, sec the long list of confis- 
cated Cadiolic estates, and even Dr. 
Cotton might cease to wonder why 
the Catholics did not print an edi- 
tion of the Bible then. It is 
strange that he did not wonder why 
they did not then sing High Mass 
every Sunday in Westminster Abbey, 
which was certainly built for Catho- 
lic worship by Catholics. 

If we asked Archbishop Plunkett 
on his scaffold in Tyburn » in the reign 
of Charles II., we should learn that 
Catholics had some litde difficulties 
in that reign ; and under James the 
time was too brief to admit of any 
great work ; and his fall Jed to 



new penal laws, and even greater se- 
verity. 

Meanwhile, a new system of tactics 
was taken up, and the Doyay version 
was steadily decried as antiquated, 
un-English, accompanied by notes of 
undue severity, as though the victims 
of the infamous English persecution 
were obliged to invent virtues for men 
that made no pretence of any.* Gra- 
dually, however, this told, and Ca- 
tholics began to think that Gregory 
Martinis translation might be greatly 
bettered. In this they made a most 
unfortunate mistake, so lar as prac- 
tical results have shown. Martin's 
translation is terse, close, \4gorous, 
grand old English of the very best 
era of English literature ; coeval with 
Shakespeare, Bacon, Ben Jonson, 
Spenser, and with the King James 
Bible, that is not regarded as anti- 
(fuated or obsolete. 

Some even now speak as though 
Martin and his associates residing on 
the Continent became uo- English ; but 
this is a fallacy. These gentlemen 
lived secluded in their colleges, using 
their own language, and having httle 
intercourse with the people of the 
country in which they resided. No 
man can read the works of Gregory 
Martin, Cardinal Allen, Bristowc, or 
Parsons, and deny that they are pure, 
idiomatic, forcible English. Macau- 
lay was a great admirer of Parsons, and 
advised the reading of his tracts, es- 
pecially those against Lord Coke, as 
specimens of pure, forcible, vigorous 
English and vigorous argument. It 
is a mere delusion to talk of the Eng- 
lish of these men as Frenchified or 
Fiemingized or Italianized, Despite 
the learning and position of those 
who have seemed to countenance this 

• The scvcrily of ihc notes In the Rhemea- 
Doua-Y Hib]e comes wkh a good j^mce from nd- 
mirers of Tyndalc, whose edition of the Penta- 
teuch is BO course, *m ^osa, and so outngeouH 
th&t ui Attempt to rcpHnt it recently in Euglund 
wrai ftbaodoned. 



view, it is apparendy based 
idea that the Bibles we now 
uniform, and that the versioa 
gory Martin's, while it hi fa< 
his at all Cardinal Wisemaa 
of his noble essays, has deplo! 
yieldmg to Protestant prejm 
far as to abandon a really gn 
noble translation. Of all the at 
made to modernize it or im| 
by borrowing from the King; 
not one has suited the capricioi 
of amendment, till at last cvi 
tholic Bible is a version by h 
different are they from one 
The title-pages are delusive, 
profess to give the Bible as pi 
at Rheims and Douay, and r 
our people undoubtedly suppc 
that is actually what they h 
their hands, while in point 
we suppose not one in a bund 
might almost say one in a th< 
of our Engllslvspeaking Cj 
ever saw or read a page of tin 
ine RhemeS' Douay Bible. 

The late learned and tnil; 
Archbishop Kenrick in his 
thus moderately gives the obj 
raised to Gregory Martin's trani 

'* Ahbough I cannot agree with 
who characterizes the Rhcmish 
zs * l>;irbarous/ I will not dewy 
scrupulous adherence of the tra 
to the letter of the Vutgate in r« 
the names of places and persa 
their desire to retain Hebrew an 
words which had been preserved 
LaiiHp and their study (o express 
lin words by corresponding terms 
origin, rather ill an to draw * from i 
of EiJgbsh undcfiled/ dctractCi^ 
from the perspicuity and beauty 
version/' 

In an article like this, a gem 
fence of the original edition 
be attempted. On the firsi 
here made — the names of plac 
persons, Dr. Martin is unifod 
the Protestant Bible is not* 
has Noe, Eliseus, Elias, etc*, 



English Translations of the Bible^ 



165 



out ; the Protestant version has these 
same names in the New Testament, 
bot ia the Old calls these personages 
Noah, Elisha, Elijali. Archbishop 
Kenrick atteinpted a raedium, and his 
names ha%e not been generally adopt- 
ed. Tlie retaining of Hebrew and 
Creek words where the Latin trans- 
lation ado[>ted them seems welJ- 
founded. The Protestant version 
tnnslated Pass over where we have 
kept the Hebrew word Pasch, but as 
no*' pronounced^ Passover, it has ac- 
tually lost its original meaning, and 
mjuires explanation just as much as 
Paich, which all recognize as the 
root of Paschal. Protestants took 
from us the Greek names of the Old 
Testament books, without transla- 
Tiftg ihcm, as well as circumci- 
rion and uncircumcision^ baptism, 
.crucify, neophyte, and in any work. 
but the Bible will call the coin 
didrachma, as the Rhemists do, but 
there they render it penny, and 
iKus keep the name of an English 
coin in the Bible* Martin's retaining 
itnen, in our Saviour's style, rather 
thaa gidng *' verily " or " alleluia/' 
for '• praise ye the Lord," now needs 
ao justificiitjon. As a test of the ex- 
tent to which the Rhemists indulged 
m neologisms by introducing new 
tords made from Greek or Latin, it 
curious to run through the list 
which they give and explain* 

Abstraf:ted, acquisition, advent, 
adtiltctating, allegory, amen, anathe- 
flia, given under the letter A^ certain- 
lyife intelligible enough. Agnition 
Wnot been adopted, nor archisyna- 
gogue, though it is as clear as " rul- 
«rof the synagogue/* Assist they use 
to the vcnse in which our careless Ca- 
toc tmnslatora from the French use 
H when they talk of " assisting at 
- *• to mean in plain Eng- 
I High Mass/' Assump* 
with a peculiar meaning, 
-i" for unleavened bread. 



Yet, as leaven has yielded to yeast 
and baking-powders, "leaven and un- 
leavened *' have now to be explained 
to the young* And still this letter is 
really a sample of the whole alphabet. 

Parasceve is, in the Protestant Bi- 
ble, preparation, with of the Saifbath 
introduced to explain it, although St. 
Mark defines the term as a technical 
one. Yet the Greek Church adopted 
the word for Good-Friday, and then 
for Friday as a day of the week ; and 
not only this, but has made it a com- 
mon baptismal name for girls in Greece 
to this day. 

Impious, impiety, arc used by Mar- 
tin where the Protestant has ungodly, 
ungodliness, words which have really 
become obsolete. 

Comparing a chapter at random, 
the Latin words will be found about 
the same in the King James and Mar- 
tin's, and far more numerous in our 
modem Catholic Bibles than in either. 
Stopping to look where the Bibles are 
open, I find in the King James "prce- 
torium" where Martin has ''court of 
the palace," and ** transgressors ** 
where he has "wicked/' ** compel'* 
where Martin has *' forced," while he 
has ** Calvary " where they give " a 
sk u 1 1 . " They h a ve * ' rec e i v ed " w here 
he reads ** took ," but then he has 
** divided " where they say '* parted/' 
They translate: "The superscnption 
of his accusation was written over/* 
He has : " The title of his cause was 
superscribed/* 

It b admitted that Dr. Challoner 
weakened Martin's style by avoiding 
inversions ami inserting unnecessary 
qualifying particles. He really wea- 
kened it also l)y introducing Latiniz- 
ed words, and the common charge, 
if examined, will be found to bear on 
his version rather than on that of 
Gregory Martin ; and as he wrote in 
about the worst period of English lit- 
erature, his style lacks all the purity, 
force, and %ngor of the Elizabethan 



English Translations of the Bibli 



age. Hence, as English merely, his 
Bible, even as he gave it, is far infe- 
rior to Gregory Martin's, which stands 
to this day without a rival as the fin- 
est English version of the Vulgate 
text. 

Hence the reverence due to the 
original edition, which for purposes 
of comparison, if not out of respect 
for it as a relic of the days of perse- 
cution, should, as we have said, be 
found in all our great institutions, as 
well as in private hbraries of any size, 
until it is, as we soon hope to see it, 
reprinted. 

The fact is that the expulsion of 
James IL and his setting up of a 
shadowy court at St. Germain's, 
where he conferred titles of nobility 
and gathered around him his exiled 
followers and secret adherents who 
stole over from England, led to a 
change of taste among Catholics, 
*rhcse nobles and gentlemen entered 
into die military service ; their daugh- 
ters and sons were educated in French 
colleges and convents; they soon he* 
came to a great extent French, and 
the clergy in the English, Irish, and 
Scotch colleges on the Continent, in 
constant intercourse with them, be- 
came less English in speech. These 
gentlemen were certainly superior in 
culture to those of the same rank in 
England, but they, as intercourse be- 
came less difficult, helped the down- 
ward tendency of the language even 
in England. 

Early in the eighteenth centur>', 
when Shakespeare was looked upon 
as rather barbarous, Gregory Mar- 
tinis English was out of fashion. The 
first who attempted to modernize 
the Catholic version was Cornelius 
Nary, a secular priest of Dublin, 
who, in 1718. Issued a New Testa- 
ment, giving this as his reason ; 

" We have tioCnrholkk Transhilion of 
the Scripture in Ihc English Tongue but 



ihe Doway Bible and the Rhemish 
nient, which have been done now 
ihan an Hundred Years since ; ih 
guage whereof is so old, the words \ 
places so obsolete, the Orthogrs 
bad, and ihc translation so very 
that in a number of places it is un 
gible« and all over so grating to th 
of such as are accustomed to sp< 
a manner, another Language, tha 
People will not be at the pains of r 
them. Besides ihcy are so bulk 
they cannot be conveniently carriei 
for publick Devotion, and so scar^ 
dear, that the generality of Ihc 1 
neiihcr have, nor can procure tht 
their private U*c." 

Except in occasional passage 
Nary does not depart from XL 
translation as much as some < 
recent editions, and his note 
brief; but though some copies 
the date of 1 719, there seems to 
been really but one edition, am 
an extremely scarce book, * 
and dearer" than the Rhemi 
tament. It did not meet 
acceptance, and was not gc 
adopted as a standard. 

The attempt, however, mui 
done service so far as it went, 
roused Douay College to rev 
Biblical labors. In 1730, Dnj 
ert Withaio^ of Douay College^ 
a New Testament, in two v< 
under the title ** Annotations 
New Testament of Jesus { 
adopting this title evidently 10I 
Hnghsh laws, and not, as 
would have us think, from an] 
lation in the church. In his p 
he admits the necessity of lh« 
and, speaking of the Rhemi 
Duuay version, says, ** What 
makes that edition seem so 
at present, and scarce intcUig 
the difference of the English I 
as it was spoken at that time, 
it is now chang'd and reiinM, 
many words and expressions 
are become obsolete ami no 
in use." 



English Translatiam of the Bible. 



He criticises some of Nary'8 ren- 
derings, especially where in doubt- 
ful passages he followed the King 
James, and his work carae before the 
laiholic public with the approbations, 
"iiiong others, of Richard Challoner 
and Father Paciticus Baker. Though 
Witham^s New Testament reached 
a second edition in 1733 * it did not 
s) supply the want as to meet a gene- 
lal approvaK 

Accordingly in 1738, apparently 
to meet the wishes of those who pre- 
ferred Martin's, an edition was print- 
ed in a 6ne folio volume, with the 
octhography modernized and some 
few alterations in the text and notes* 
Jtom a remark in Dr. Barnard's 
U^i $f Challoner^ this edition w^as 
«vvilcntly due to him and to the Rev. 
Imncis Blyth, a Discalced Carmelite, 
^hose ]iaraphrase of the seven Peni- 
teitial Psalms was so popular in the 
list century. 

Dr. Challoner then, aware of the 
sof the great majority of English- 
king Catholics, set to work to give 
'■ntw version of the Bible, with few 
potcs, suited to the times, and the text 
*^ language no longer obsolete or 
«3*iih- H e issued a New Testament in 
*7|8, and the whole Bible in 1750, his 
^^ Testament being revised and 
^^nded in occasional cases. 

Tliis is properly Challoncr's trans- 
action. It was accepted as a whole, 
\ every new edition, while profess- 
exterDaUy to be Challoner's, 
red alterations, changes, and 
5, so many and so varying 
^two CathoHc Bibles or Testa- 
in the English language read 
ly alike. Cardinal Wiseman 

^--TF-^enti U SA merely thit of 

it;cs^ It is an entirely dif- 

itcd cleirly in Englund^ 

t llie (u^Jiicr riiAV hare been printeil on the 

ItftffiiL Tlic second vo/ume m the edition of 

» b*» « T''. fMi^L^. Errati one t^agc^ and two 

; tbmt of 1731 lia^ 541 pages, 

iUOQsaU on one piigc, and 



remarks: " To call it any longer the 
Douay or Rhemish version is an 
abuse of terms. It has been altered 
and modified, till scarcely any verse 
remains as it was originally publish- 
ed, and, so far as simplicity and 
energy of style are concerned, the 
changes are in general for the worse. 
It had been well if Dr. Challoner's 
alterations had given stability to the 
text and formed a standard." These 
alterations began in ChaOoner's life- 
time, without his consent and to his 
great regret. In 1752, an edition of 
his Testament appeared, the editor 
of which seemed to have tried to 
make it as near King James*s as pos- 
sible ; and, strange as it may appear, 
this singular edition, var)'ing, as Dr. 
Cotton assures us, in more than 
two thousand places from Chal Ion er*s 
edition of 1750, has been twice re- 
printed in this countr)% with, of course, 
additional modifications. 

But these changes were not all 
** The mass of typographical errors to 
be found in some editions,*' says Car- 
dinal Wiseman, ** is quite frightful." 
In point of fact, then, we have nei- 
ther the Douay Bible nor Challo- 
ner's Bible in the current editions, 
and no one knows whose we have. 
The evil is a great one. Archbishop 
Kenrick endeavored to meet the 
want by a new translation, but with 
all his Biblical and theological learn- 
ing his edition has not met such favor 
as to ensure its adoption even in this 
country. It was put forward as an 
essay in a limited edition, and is not 
in a shape for general use. 

There seems no alternative but to 
go back and modernize Dr. Martin's, 
and print it correctly by the Vulgate, 
or to reprint as accurately Challoner*s 
edition of 1750. 

No greater service could be ren- 
dered than to give Gregory Martinis 
translation with modern spellmg, with 
or without the Latin. 1 1 is to be hoped 



English Transiaiions of the Bible. 



uch a work will yet appear, the 

f published separately, or replac- 

a few, as required by the regu- 

Je Catholics have actually no 
Idard English Bible;* and as no 
Iticular edition is made compulsory 
any, we are not likely to make 
attempt to force any on our fel- 
v' -citizens against their will, although 
jrs all follow pretty correct texts, 
Ind are not liable to the charge of 
fyutting forward passages admitted to 
t>e spurious* 
Based on a \^Tetched text, translat- 
[ ed to suit a purj>ase, the King James 
Bible has been frequently changed 
by unwarranted and unauthorized 
parties. It has been asserted and 
never denied that no edition of the 
present centiu*y or the last was com- 
pared closely with the original trans- 
lation adopted in the reign of King 
James^ and which alone can have 
such theological support as an act 
of parliament is capable of giving. 
Whether in the hm printing this was 
strictly followed is even uncertain. 

The first movement on any consi- 
derable scale to secure for Protes- 
tants a fair translation of anything 
like a critical text was that which 
was inaugurated by the Baptists in 
this country, and led to the American 
Bible Union, They had long object- 
ed lo the retention of " baptize " 
and " baptism/' against which, indeed, 
the argument was as strong as against 
•* priest '* and ** bishop ;" and then the 
frequent need of resorting to the ori- 
ginals to show the bias in the King 
James translation induced them to 
project a new translation- 

• It is tn ImpresMon with !iomc tli»t the Douny 
Bible %vas approved at Rome; this is an error, 
Rome docs not g:i%'e any approbntion to verna- 
cular vcr&ions.the decinon as to them iti point of 
orthcKloxy, fidelity, and purity of language being 
left to tbe bishop ii\ nvhose diocese the voiuoie 
appears. Hence the wide latitude for various 
venions, and the corresponding difEculty of 
Btftking any one edition a standard. 



The movement led to an d 
which was eminently wise in its \ 
nageraent* The translation was ci 
mitted to men fitted for the work 
study ; every critical aid to ensu] 
correct text was obtained ; and 
the work progressed, a periodical j^ 
lication gave the proposed vcr?a 
with explanatory and defensive nd 
This cnableti them to have the o] 
ions, arguments, and advice of stf 
lars in all parts before the text 
any one book was definitively seB 
upon. Funds were collected, 
the expense was great, and, as o1 
I'rotestant bodies gave little aid, I 
work languished, and during the \ 
was almost if not entirely suspenc 
The New Testament has, howe 
been completed and issued in po 
lar form, and is creditable to tl 
learning and fairness. 

Recently the necessity of a 
of the King James has come to 
admitted very generally. It has b 
taken up in Parliament, where 
thing positive was done. Then 
was taken up in the Convocation 
the Province of Canterbury, wf 
the impetuous Dr. Eliirort, Bii 
of (Gloucester and Bi 
by the Bishop of \\ 
adroit a man to sustain him 
any opposition, has precipital 
work in a strangely rash 
The Convocation of York 
dined to join; the Scotr 
Irish Episcopacy hold al 
Colonial Episcopal churches 
part. It is impossible, then, 
to give more than an essay, 
likely to fall dead. The 
result that can follow will 
tical and general system 
It should include at least 
of the Anglican Church 
it to include all forms of J 
ism is hardly possible ; b 
must be attempted, or tl 
lation, if merely a Ch 



English Translations af the Bible. 



169 



will never be generally ac- 
w. this country as against pre- 
long usage, and stereot>'pe* 

uly system open is to form a 
learned men of all denorai- 
cither as translators or revis- 
^ adopting the plan of the 
III Bible Union, issue a publi- 

Elng the original text, the 
I, and proposed reading, 
ussion of tlxe text and the 
This, submitted to the theo- 
ieminaries where the English 
t is used, will draw out opin- 
i the discussion of which a 
I may be adopted. 
hey should begin by being 
It, and discuss the canon of 
Is first, and reject the Gos- 
Ihe authority of the Hebrew 
or restore Ben Sira in spite 
^ 'Hie Vatican Council, in 
I of the Catholic millions^ is 
Ig the inspiration of all the 
las so long regarded as in- 
Is Protestantism to go on 
ting books as uninspired, and 
lout examination ? 
lltics arise at once; but as 
torthlessness of the received 
(ext, the Saturday Revinu 



iishop cannot (as which of us 
ipl the received Greek text as 
any auihorit y adequate to coun- 
the researches of modern criti* 
\ the united testimony of ihc 
Ul manu scripts ; to the List dis- 
f which, I he Sinai tic, about which 
Bcmcd doubtful) he now accords 
Ihcrcncc." 

ihould make the new trans- 
ms to be a question of difh- 
'he Aihencsum says : 



would be the most competent, tmpartiml, 
and acceptable council for a national 
work. Dr, Ellicott, true to the instincts 
of his ordcr^ rightly supposes that a Royal 
Commission would be constructed on the 
principle of including all representative 
men who had any sufficient claim to scho- 
larship, and would therefore produce a 
' representative version' — a thing he dis- 
likes. How that version could be inferior 
to one representing orthodox ecclesias- 
tics, 1.^. a narrow represeniative one, it 
is difficult to sec/* 

But are the Protestants in the 
United States disposed to take this 
view ? Is the English Bible merely 
national, to be directed and managed 
by the English croNvn or an English 
Convocation ? Even English dissen- 
ters will be loth to admit the autho- 
rity of either. 

The Spt'ctator also discusses the 
matter, and makes admissions rather 
damaging to the common version : 
but it too has no thought of what an 
English writer has called '' Greater 
Britain," the countries in which Eng- 
lish is the spoken language, and to 
whose population that of England 
proper must in a few years be a com- 
parative tritie : 

'* In the first place, it may be safely as- 
serted that no possible translation would 
satisfy everybody. In the next place, it 
may be regarded as almost certain that w 
revised translation, executed by a Royal 
Commission^ would be far more likely to 
satisfy reasonable persons and ihc public 
generally than one appearing under any 
other auspices. And thirdly* an cxperi 
mental version by a Convocation com- 
mittee may prove very embarrassing. It 
is quite certain to be more correct than 
the present version, but it may not be so 
jfood as it might be The public and the 
civil authority may be puzzled whether to 
accept it or reject it, and may not impro- 
bably end in accepting it with a sense of 
dissatisfaction." 



iffcr from the opinion of Dr There are other difficulties in the 

10 the best body for conducting ^^^^^^^ ^,,^j^^ j^ ^^,^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ 

d revision. A Royal Com- , .„ ^. ,.,^ ^ , 

laied by the crown, or by f^^^^ ^^ overcome. The Woman taken 

under the Crown, in adultery, for instance, must be re- 



I70 



Dwn and Oi€ Sibyls. 



tained on the authority of the Vul- 
gate, if retained at all. The fact that 
it is wanting in the best Greek codi- 
ces will otherwise exclude it. Then, 
too, the text of the Three Witnesses 
can scarcely be retained except on 
the authority of the Vulgate, 



When we are likely to 
revised King James, it is 
impossible to say ; but the j 
is admitted that tlie Protest 
needs revision, in its basis 
and in its form. 



DION AND THE SIBYLS* 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL. 



BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA^ AUTHC 
** HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



CHAPTER III. 

"We have made more than fifty 
miles, and the piu^ tiers do not ap- 
pear/' said Paul us. 

Longinus was holding for his supe- 
rior the bridle of the famous horse of 
which Tiberius Csesar had made a 
presen t to t h e break e r of h i m . Ch a: - 
rias and Thellus were standing on 
each side of our youth, who had dis- 
mounted ; and all three, shading their 
eyes with their hands from a dazzling 
Italian moon at full, were looking 
along the straight backward road. 
Two wagons were in front, or be- 
hind them, as they now stood watch- 
ing ; the soldiers had unharnessed the 
six horses of one of them — that in 
the rear— upon which the heavy iron 
chest was borne, and were letting 
them drink from a roadside spring ; 
the other wagon, drawn also by six 
horses, and laden with corn-bags, and 
hay at the bottom, and various pack- 
ages and soldiers' cumber above, was 
moving forward at a walk, conduct- 
ed by two soldiers, who rode the tw^o 
horses in the middle. 

High banks on each hand lined 
at that point tlie Roman road, which 



led to the north-east of Ita 
these banks w^cre densely 
w*ith copse-wood, which in 
places thickened into an imj 
ble jungle. 

** Do any of you see aii)^ 
inquired Paulus, when be tbi 
one disposed to answer his nd 

A few moments of silent wj 
followed, when Longinus, thi 
rion, said : " I see nothing, ceq 
but I htar something— the 
beat of hoofs upon tins ha] 
echoing road.'* 

Paulus at once cried to tl 
conducting the hay* wagon 
(that is, behind theni, as lh< 
were facing round) to dri%^e 
steadily, but to take care not X 
the horses until followed l>y tl 
ward wagon, when they were 
forward at the top of their 
and to continue at that pao( 
next ordered the two soldit 
were giving water to the hoJ 
the other wagon in the l 
which was the chest, to re 
them quickly, and as soon as 
of mounted men should app 
the road behind j and sbouli 
them plainly in sight — but a< 



Dian and the Sibyis, 



171 



their horses into a gallop, 
;e sure of not gaining upon 
in front, but, beginning 
possible, to continue their 
y about a thousand paces, 

walk. Lastly, he turned 
C remaining soldiers, and 
d draw their short swords, 
tir shields, and prepare for 
Jpon which he clapped his 
i the emerald hilt of his own 
tntly-shapcd weapon, whip- 
E>f the scabbard, and» spring- 
le ephippia upon the back 

(or, more properly, of the 
d), he said : 

IS, stand upon my right 
ttle further, so as to give 

1 my weapon is made for 

well as thrusting. Chaerias 

BUS, stay on my left hand. 

whether we can keep this 

^d awhile against all who 
ft 

time the clatter from die 
of galloping hoofs upon the 
lad become audible to all 
[lartes of the fourth cenlu- 
d Paulus, turning round, 
pi the road into the brush- 
ither hand, three each side. 
\ us, as we face now, a few 

«nan legionaries vanished 
execute this order, and 
ugh the copse on either 
the highway. Meantime 
ragon trotted steadily for- 
the other remained sta- 
pidy for an appanntiy pan- 
gallop. 

V came forward, with rat- 
S and clang of metal, and 
lay of the moonlight upon 
column of mounted men, 
of whom had on his face 
&k — not tJie mask used in 
The column filled the 
the road. Fronting ihem 
!, in tlie middle of the 



way, stood the colossal chestnut horse, 
and like a statue sat young Paulus 
on his back. 

The riders pulled hard and stopped 
a Ic^ yards from Inm, when their 
leader called out : 

"Young centurion, no affectation 
or hypocrisy is required. Eleazarhas 
— perish my tongue ! I was going 
to say that I know you to be a youth 
of precocious prudence. It is best 
to speak out what we mean and what 
we want. You are conveying a large 
treasure to the amiy in Venetia ; we ' 
must have every sesterce of it," 

Paulus looked, and saw that the 
wagon laden with the iron chest had 
just departed in well-acted terror at a 
gallop. 

'' Take it, then," said he. •' We have 
been careful and sparing of the horses, 
and it is only now we have pushed 
them into a gallop \ and I entertain 
a hope that we shall hold you at bay 
so long upon this road that the chest 
will have reached Gennanicus Caesar 
before you — I am wrung \ I mean to 
leave you here upon the ground — 
before your followers, I say, can ac- 
complish two-thirds of the distance.** 

** Demented youdi !" replied the 
other, ** why resist without the hope 
of success? We are ten to one. We 
can, besides, send men into the copse 
on each side of the road^ and in a 
moment they will be in your rear.'* 

" You fifty men on the right," 
cried Paulus, " and you fifty on the 
left, select three of your best javelin 
throwers each side, and, after I have 
ridden back from the midst of yonder 
gang, give them a sample of what 
you can do." 

He made hJs horse bound as he 
fiiced the column l>etween Thellus, 
on the one lianth and Chierias and 
Longinus, on the other. 

** Now," said he, shaking his long 
rapier aloft, ** I have a great mind to 
ride through the whole of you and 



172 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



back again for the mere sport of it 
Your horses are Hke cats compared 
to mine ; you are only fourteen deep, 
and the beast that bears me, even 
if mortally wounded, would trample 
down fifty of you in file before he 
dropi^ed." 

The leader of the pursuing band 
was a shrewd man. After a mo- 
ment's consultation with the persons 
on either side of him, he said: 

•'It is a bold idea, young centu- 
rion. If it deceived us, you could 
march away unattacked. But we 
countevi you lea\*ing Rome ; we know 
for certain that >*ou were only four- 
teen men, all told ; we ha\-e a post 
of two men more than forty miles 
ahead of you, who would have retum- 
evl and joined us if any reinforcement 
havl met or was coming to meet you. 
We seriv>usly mean to have yonder 
treasure, therefore^ listen to good 
sense. You might kill and wound a 
tew of us, but not a man of your own 
luny wouKl survive, and we should 
gel the chest afters ard all the some 
You will kxse yv»ur life, yet not save 
the :re.isure. l^at will not be dis 
in;crx^v\lnosis but maviness." 

" I:: answer to that." said Paul us, 
\v hv^ ha.l uo v^l\»oct:on to prolong the 
*tV,r*c\ , " I raus: remind you of your 
owt* >:n,:u.ar viis;:i:ere^:edness. You 
wtll Io>o vv>ur v^wn life in orvier that 
thvso Vvh::xl >ou way enjoy the 
u\vvu*\ Vou must love them more 
:>sa*t \o;: lo\e yourself: for I swear 
;o \ou :>,a:. tf i: cv^:iie:> to violence, 
tiv^: .; ^'>:o:vv iu the che^t will voir, 
,^: \\:n:, Tv\vi\o. The v!cad di\-ide 
!\o Nx:^ I:* \ou have authonty, 
vho \ o\v: \ our txvlouers^ oaier them 
'\u*v. .; -,•, Vv\co"0 >our^<r'.:V* 

V; ;>snc ^vo:^:<. a crv arv»se from 
1^.0 V -A ^^ ot vu^\vr,;:o :v.or. bchini: 

'•\o o-.v.x:s tV: \:>: >»e are all 
v\','. /n >ovv' " A". I one voice avivl- 



,,• " \\ w , ,v "O , 
xM \ix \;x^ i;o: K.V.vV. . 



/. :.i:r.^ i: some 
hx^se ^ho sur- 



vive will each have more of 1 
ney." And a loud laugh gree 
sally. 

Paulus hesitated. A do 
wish to fight, and a strong 
nance to obey even in app 
mandates such as theirs, ; 
however, to prudence, and 
conviction that the proper n 
for a struggle would come on! 
the robbers should attempt, 
should attempt this at all, to t 
wagon containing the hay {\ 
the treasure was concealed) . 
as that which carried th< 
chest filled with stones, to 
they were welcome. Having 
fore played out hi^ little cora< 
now said : 

" Had I not a message o 
importance to give to Germ 
Caesar, which forbids me to 
away my life till I have fulfill* 
enrand, I would rather be slain 
we stand than comply. But 
upon you, Thellus, and you, 1 
nus and Chxrias, to bear \ 
that we yield only to ovennhi 
and irresistible odds. Ten me 
not withstand seventy. Be p 
to move aside, and let these 
come fon^ard. I will gallop o 
them and overtake the chest, 
ifc-ith you the legionaries in the 
after us, and follow at a fast mo 
may need you after all, should 
new ftiends prove too unre: 
ble,- 

- We sha*n"t prove mireaso 
You pay us too well for that," i 
ed the leader of the robbers. 

Meanwhile, Thellus, Chasria 
Longinus had stepped to the s 
the road, and Paulus had tunv 
hor?e round. He forthwith n> 
at a furious gallop, vhidi sog 
far behir.d him the doud of str 
pursuers. 

-^ Was noc that ncadj done? 
Thellus in a k>v race to Oi 



Dian and the Sibyls, 



^73 



think our chick-chick was 

-actor;' 

lendiU lad," said the 
iut come, no time is 
lese villains may want 
bth the wagons, and we 
\ on the road, rathcn I am 
id, I think. Legionaries, 
Q from the copse, and fol- 
V run/' 

\ three friends, with the 
iries behind them, started 
of sling-trot, wiiich every 
Idier was obliged to prac- 

various gymnasiums at- 
the Roman camps, 
fably more than a thou- 
l forw^ard, they heard an 
voices, and saw the free- 
the act of turning the wa- 
[Contained the iron chest, 

wagon was far in front, 
I of sight indeed ; and, as 
rards learnt, would by this 

been so altogether, only 
^Uveness of one of the 
ich had cost the drivers 
lutes. 

lad a design in galloping 
f, and obtaining so great 
Jie freebooters. The mo- 
vertook the drivers of the 
van, who, according to 
re now going at a walk, 

them to cut the traces, to 
\ of the horses, and then to 
d on two of the remaining 
i join the escort of the 
iclc. This measure had 
ects : first, there would be 
ilay occasioned, and each 

Eased the distance which 
ro^^ing between the pur- 
he treasure ; secondly, the 
, if requisite, the locomo- 
r immediately attached to 
muld be increased ; third- 
ride containing the chest 
or at the least four, of those 
5S^ to be drawn with any- 



thing like the speed indispensable to 
the safety of the plunderers, none of 
whom, until they had dehberated, 
would be likely to part with their 
own steeds, considering the chance 
of pursuit, or the chance that their 
accomplices might leave them be- 
hind, and divide the treasure with- 
out them. But a far more impor- 
tant effect than any of these was 
contemplated by Paulus in the whole 
operation of separating his two vehi- 
cles, and this effect soon appeared. 
When Chxrias, Longiiius, and Thel- 
lus, with the six legionaries, came up, 
they found the robbers in great dis- 
order and uproar, endeavoring to 
turn the w^agon, nearly half of them 
having dismounted, and working with 
their own hands, Paulus, on his tall 
steed, was conspicuous a little beyond 
the further verge of the crowd, and was 
holding an angry dispute with the chief 
who had first addressed him. 

" You looked so formidable/' said 
he, in a low voice and with a haugh- 
ty smile, *" as you came thundering 
after me along the road, that 1 do 
not at all wonder the two soldiers 
should have sought their safety in 
flight, and, in order that they might 
fly effectually, should have taken the 
two horses with them," 

" That one, at ail events," said the 
other, " which you are riding, must 
be instantly harnessed.** 

** We must mend these traces as 
best we can." 

*' Here's another set of traces in 
the cart itself!" shouted one of the 
robbers. 

'* Good !" said the leaden ** Some 
two or three of us must harness our 
our own horses to the vehicle, be- 
sides yonder chestnut steed. We 
can ride them all the same. No man 
need walk, for t/uiL Now*, my mas- 
ter," added he, turning once more to 
Paulus, *' dismount, and give me the 
key of this chest." 




** The key is not in my possession," 
replied Paulus; "but 1 can tell you 
where it is.'* 

" Where, then? and quickly !" 

" Please to remember,*' said Pau- 
lus, " that you have obtained posses- 
sion of that chest by convention, by 
agreement. We might have made 
you pay a dear price for it. There- 
fore, before I tell you where the key 
is» let my men pass. It was to spare 
f/i^m that I gave up the chest," 

"By all the gods !" cried the lead- 
er furiously, *'they shall never pass 
till we know where the key is ! It 
would take many strong men hours 
of hard work to break open this box 
with crowbars, or cut it with steel 
saws." 

Paulus perceived that Chrerias and 
the two decurions, followed by the 
six soldiers, had quietly and swiftly 
sprung into the copse which still lin- 
ed the road, and were working their 
way round to where he rode. 

He said, *' A good locksmith in 
Rome would soon make you a key," 

** Are you courting a needless 
death ?" roared the other. ^' I am 
very hkely to let a Roman locksmith 
see this ! Once and for all, where is 
the key r 

By this time, some of the freeboot- 
ers, who had ridden after and caught 
the two stray horses, had hamcssed 
these and two of their own to the 
wagon, and the two men who had 
parted with their own had now mount- 
ed the leaders. One of them here 
called out» *' Cut him down, if he don't 
tell us where to find the key. We 
may have troops upon us before we 
can lake this money to a safe place 
and tlivide it." 

Paulus made his horse bound a few 
paces away, Choerias and his com- 
panions sprang into the road, and 
passing Paulus, who had faced round 
again toward the robbers, resumed at 
his command theb vigorous slinging 



run along the high-road in the I 
direction of the march. 

** Listen to me," cried Pauluj 
robbers. ** Time is more pre< 
you than you are aware, ^ 
are now safe, and Til tell yott 
the key is. But, first, let me 
those of you who drive the ' 
to move on with it fast ; and, 
can leave some of their comrai 
hind, they will evidently havi 
of what is in the box to divide i 
themselves. On the other hai 
of you who may wish to abanc 
share in the box has only to 
out here after me, and so k 
brief time of security. If nC 
than f^r^e of you come out al 
some of them will doubtlea 
something else besides time; 
greater number come, let thecD 
me." 

Cries of ** The key ! the k^ 
terrupted him. 

' " The key of that chest,*' hel 
ed, " is lying as far as I could ! 
in the forest on the roadside cil 
the right or to the left, not fift| 
from Rome. Farewell!" 

As he said this in a loud v(J 
slowly turned Sejanus, and l 
him in pursuit of his running 
jjanions. Some of the robbers 
ed they could find the key up 
person. A .shower of javelins 1 
ed him, all of which, except 
missed. One glanced again 
back of his helmet; two othol 
in the small rings of a steel shff 
the same time, the rattle of ho< 
hind warned him that he wai 
sued. He turned half-round i 
saddle-cloths, exclaiming as 1 
creased his pace, " Right ! Los 
part in yonder box, which is 
now trotting off. Come with u 
masters* and let the others has 
chest. Come along !*' 

They did not mean to take 
vice, however much tbj 



Dian and the Sibyls. 



175 



punish him for his trick re- 
e key, as well as for his de- 
eering tone. In spite of 
anger, the great majority 
booters were in excellent 
\ the wildest spirits. Their 
>een short; their success, 
>posed, perfect ; and there 
^ enough now in their pos- 
give them more than the 
dve hundred pounds ster- 

The great majority of 
jct, felt literally unable to 
dves away from the iron 
ining twelve millions of 
and this division of their 
id consequent diminution 
imbatant power, were the 
Is which Paulus had had 
icn separating by so wide 
his two vehicles. Had it 
cessary to defend the one 
^ he felt sanguine and even 
t he should have had only 
jlhe enemy to resist, and 
part would not long con- 
attack which might give 
uplices time to divide the 
sir absence. 

n, however, among whom 
leader, had dashed forth 
lass of riders to wreak the 
c moment upon the scoffer, 
going at an easy canter, 
trued back, saw that they 
coming on abreast, their 
tlie best mounted, and the 
straggling after him as if 

He pressed Scjanus for 
tidred and fifty yarcis, and, 
ir that there was a sufficient 
tween the leading pursuer 
owers, pulled up abruptly, 
k1 round, 
no need and no wish/' he 

I long rapier flashed above 
r*s head in a wide lateral 

II left to right, ** to take 
lut you shall carry a mark- 
jrour grave I'* 



It was not a very violent cut, but 
measured with great exactness, and 
deUvered with half- force. There was 
blood on the three-edged sword as it 
came away. The man yelled. The 
next pursuer pulled up in haste to let 
the third join him ; and in the mean- 
time Paulus, who had passed the lead- 
ing robber on that gentleman's right 
hand, now made a curve across the 
whole road in returning, and flew by 
him at full speed on the opposite side, 
where the poor caitiflf would have had 
to strike or thrust across his own bri- 
dle. He made an awkward attempt 
to do the fonner, but was, of course, 
short of his chastiser, who continued 
his course until he overtook Cassius 
Chserias and the others* still running 
steadily along the road. 

Here, looking back, he perceived 
that his pursuers had given up the 
chase, and were using their best speed 
to rejoin the main body, who (some 
before and some behind the precious 
van) could lie seen travelling away 
in the distance at a vigorous trot. 

" Stop a moment/' cried l\iulus. 
dismounting ; *' take breath now/' 

And Chasrias, the two decurions. 
and the soldiers all stopped, and ga- 
thered round the young centurion. 
The four oflicers burst simultaneous- 
ly into a hearty laugh, and their mirth 
rather surprised the grim legionaries, 
who conceived that to have just losi 
twelve million sesterces of military 
pay was no laughing matter. 

AVhile Hielkis picked out of our 
hero's shoulders the two javelins still 
sticking in the steel shirt, he said in 
a low voice : 

*' Young master and friend, had 
you not better ride forward fast ? It 
is not well to leave those weighty 
corn-bags too long in the charge of 
common soldiers/' 

** Yoy are right, ray friend, I will 
do so. Chaerias, I must overtake 
the other vehicle. Bring all our 



176 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



friends here quickly after mCt Fel- 
low-soldiers, yon must sustain your 
severe pace for a few hours or so 
longer. At evcr>^ milestone you must 
change the run to a quick walk until 
quite in breath again." 

And remounting, he galloped for- 
ward. It was in a part of the road 
'perfectly level with the land around, 
under bright starlight, the moon hav- 
ing set^ that he carae up with the 
four soldiers who were escorting the 
baggage-cart. They were halting. 
The linch-pin of one of the front 
wheels had given way, the wheel 
had wobbled off the axletrec, and the 
legionaries were even then busy in 
endeavoring to manufacture a tem- 
porary fastening. In other respects 
all was not well. Two of the horses 
had fallen lame. To maintain a 
forced pace was no longer possible. 
When the wheel had been replaced 
in a rude fashion, Paulus directed 
his men to move forward gently at a 
walk, until they should be rejoined 
by the nine others belonging to their 
little expedition ; and while riding 
quietly in their rear, and affecting 
to hum an air of music which was 
then popular in Greece, and used to 
be played by ladies upon the seven- 
stringed lyre, he considered, with no 
little anxiety and carefulness, was it 
possible that the freebooters should 
find out the contents of the strong 
box, and return in pursuit ? 

First, it was certain that they 
would not go all the way back to 
Rome J they would not dare to take 
their cumbrous and conspicuous prize 
into the city at all. They must al* 
ready have halted ; and it was likely 
that, making their way off the high- 
road into the forest, they would have 
deposited the chest in some safe dell 
or dingle. Secondly, however, it was 
not probable they could open the 
L chest by any forcible means for many 
liours* lliis thought was & relief. But 



suddenly an alarming idea > 
to him. Eleazar had betraj 
would not Eleazar be sii 
cunning to anticipate — not 
the removal of the monej 
the chest, but the easy and 
artifice of concealing the ke] 
delay which could be caus<^ 
want of a key might enabi 
mounted rider to fetch from 
guard of Gennanicus's array 
escort, and to lead it bacl( 
to recover the booty; ai 
HPi EUazar possess a dtipm 
Might he not have foUowo 
complices, and, meeting thenj 
return, have produced thi 
which they desired but la 
opening the box ? Then ' 
discovery be made which w^ 
vince the band that Paulus 
the treasure still ; they woul^ 
ber there was a second wag< 
would follow him again ; he 
yet made a hundred miles, I 
with these lame horses, he i 
longer fly fast. His difficult] 
and responsibilities became \ 
ly painful to the young man 
clinched his hands involunt^ 
groaned aloud. 

After a time, looking back { 
road, he saw Chaerias and tl 
in the distance following 
He turned his horse rot^ 
awaited them. There wes 
wines and other provision! 
cart, and he determined tl 
halt, afford his men the refn 
which their severe exertions 
dered so needful, and cond 
his three friends. 

Distributing to the Icgionatj 
meat, and wine, he ordercdj 
give the horses a feed of < 
bags, and then to go back I 
road, beyond hearing ; to 
tentive watch for any sign < 
to take a repast, and to rest] 
ther orders. 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



^77 



iese things had been done, 
the soldiers were out of 
rur youth and his tlirce 
IS took their seats upon the 
in the wagon; and while 
K)e bre2id and meat and 
I passing round a horn of 
)us laid the subject of liis 
tfore the others. Hiey 
h him as to the gravity of 
Dus possibility impending 
J and Longinus, who was 
est, seeing tliat neither 
>r Thellus proffered a word, 

•ions, we left Rome, you 
the Via Nomentana; we 
about a hundred thousand 
are now not far from the 
isymene, of evil fame. I 
country well. Not six 
^aces from the road, on 
band, there is an ancient 
jle or hollow. It was, I 
lerly a quarry, from which 
tisand paces of this very 
paved. It is now lined all 
h copse and brushwood, 
end that we take the wa- 
jh the fields into that dell, 
fill remain concealed conv 
it will be much below the 
the surrounding country, 
ink of the dell we can un- 
,e horses, which some of 
p mount and ride off upon, 
provisions enough for three 
lys for three of us. We 
le m*agon roll down to a 
he concave of the dingle. 
Hon Chncrias, Thcllus, and 
B remain on guard, and 
|brester*s life for a day or 
BC You, who are so well 
fcan ride as fast as possible 
Inp of Germanic us, near 
[leni, and bring back a suf- 
say fifty men, and we 
return." 



"You have touched it with the 
point of a needle." cried Paulus. 

** It is good advice/' added Chse- 
rias, •* in substance. But we h ad better 
not leave whtei-marks through thcfietds. 
Let us ourselves carry the com -bags, 
as well as the provisions, into the 
dell. Let the wagon, the weight of 
which will be enormously lightened 
after the coin is removed, proceed 
forward. The horses can then bear 
it swiftly; and ali the ten soldiers 
can have a conveyance, two on 
horseback, eight in the wagon ; the 
two lame horses can be led by the 
mounted men ; all six beasts will 
thus be preserved for future use, \ 
don't like, when in war, losing aOr 
ass, or even the ear of an ass, that I 
con save.*' 

" Nevertheless," returned Paulus* 
*^ we must not separate the convey-^ 
ance too far from what it has to con- 
vey. Yours be the task of obliterat- 
ing the wheel-marks, not all the way 
to the dell, but near the road. I 
may be able to bring back soldiers, 
yet not to bring another wagon. 
Therefore we will forthwith carry 
Longinus*s plan into eftect. It is im^ 
possible to say how soon it might be 
too late." 

Without calling to the soldiers, 
who were a hundred yards off in 
their rear, and were enjoying their 
supper, Paulus tied his horse*s head 
to a tree, and, with the vigorous help 
of his tliree companions, soon saw 
removed into the dingle, to which 
Longinus led the way, the wagon 
and the whole of the treasure con- 
cealed itt the tightly-strapped com- 
bags. 

At the brink of the hollow, Paulus 
had unharnessed the horses, and led 
them back to the road. He now 
summoned the ten legionaries, told 
them to ride in turn, four at a time, 
for some miles, leading the lame 



178 



Dion mid the Sibyls. 



horses. They were then to tether 
the animals where there was good 
grass, some fifty yards from the road- 
side, and continue their own march 
on foot to Cortona, and there they 
were to wait until they heard from 
him again. 

They set forth obediently at a good 
round pace. But Paulus, on his mighty 
steed, which was now fed and refresh- 
ed, was to follow and to pass them, 
and was to be the first messenger of 
the emergency. Nevertheless, he 
-could not yet move nor tear himself 
away. He looked in the direction 
of the dell, where all was quiet and 
nothing visible. He looked forward, 
where he saw his men fast disappear- 
ing in the uncertain starlight. He 
looked back, where he could hear 
and see nothing but the dim land- 
scape, nothing but physical nature. 
At last, with a deep breath, he poised 
himself well upon the back of Sejanus, 
shook the reins over the brute's pow- 
erful neck, and departed. The horse, 
as if he understood the long and hea- 
vy strain that was to be put upon his 
resources, seemed to exercise a sort 
of economy, and, without bounding 
into the full fury of his speed, settled 
down into a long and steady stride 
which soon carried him abreast of 
the legionaries. Paulus here drew 
reins, and said : 

"You can tether the horses here- 
abouts, and leave them to graze. 
Then come on at a good pace, my 
men ; there may be pursuers behind. 
I ride forward on purpose to bring 
help back. Halt at Cortona; apply 
at the Quccslor for your lodgings and 
subsistence, and on my return from 
Ferrara, I will pick you up." 

And he went forward at an easy 
canter, with the dark waters of Thra- 
symene upon his loft hand. Corto- 
na was considerably to the left of 
the straight line as the crow flies; 



but, taking this direction, he < 
ed upon striking the Apennin 
where there was an easy pa 
liar to him since early boyho* 
the military lectures of his 
who used to point out to tl 
upon a diagram the exact s 
yond Fiesole and near Pistoi: 
Hannibal had led his arm] 
those mountains. He therefc 
on, within Etruria, passed 
Florence, where but few perse 
yet out of bed; left Fiesole 
right, and reached Pistoia a 
ter noon. He had spared hi* 
er; and he performed the 
miles from a point somewha 
Lake Thrasymene in about 
hours. Here he halted to gi^ 
himself and his beast refref 
and some two hours of rest. 1 
passed the mountains, and r 
to the north-east, by Clater 
Bologna, along the road to F 

CHAPTER IV. 

No sooner was the protec 
her son Paulus's presence n 
than the I.ady Aglais detenu 
avail herself of the cordial h< 
ty and opportune retreat whi 
been proffered to her and to 
by their aged kinsman, Man 
pidus -^milius, who was nov 
in such systematic obscurity, al 
his energy had once stridden 
of gigantic enteq>rises, and ha 
ed, with two rivals only, the 
ion of the world. 

Aglais, with the aid of Crisj 
Crispina, took her plans to 
notice, and to leave no trace 
destination when she should h 
parted from the inn. Yet, i 
of the astuteness of the Grc< 
and the prudence of her allies, 
proved that both an enemj 
friend respectively had bee& ] 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



179 



>er game against her and 
\ of hen 

Ixngiiished soldier and still 
ithor, who, as the reader 
Bibcr, secured the wan der- 
ation in Crispus's inn the 
Jcir arrival, had once after- 
pd upon them. During 
Iglats could not fail to be 
Something unusually ardent 
If-possessed and courtly a 
Velleius Paterculus) in the 
is inquiries after Agatha's 
[ spirits. 

be evening before the in- 
^arture of the ladies to Mar- 
e, Crispina entered their sit- 
j and brought a request from 
ry tribune in queMion that 
d favor him with a short 
Crispina was ordered to 
he way to their apartments; 

few minutes he entered, 
s military casque in his left 
\ bowing low. The door 
ed, Velleius having taken a 

a few courteous inquiries 
al son having been inter* 
le said : 
w w^ould leave us to-mor- 

^ere very much surprised. 
, and continued : 
lavo good cause to change 
5nce ; and if you could reach 
mvir's castle at Monte Cir- 
lout the positive certainty 
\KX you had taken refuge 
j^bce has hiding resources 
ykl, I think, frustrate any 
rch after you or after your 
lighter Once» during the 
I your brother-in-law, Mar- 
Us, successfully eluded pur- 
le same immense edifice, 
frork of a Greek architect. 
lasterpicce of structural in- 
The whole building, at the 
iich I allude, was methodi- 
z an account was ren- 



dered of every cubic foot within it, 
under it, and around it, but the 
triumvir was not discovered, and, 
when times had mended, he nego- 
tiated for his own permanent immu- 
nity and security. If you were once 
within those walls, whik any doubt 
remained whether you had Jltd^ I 
should feel no furtlier anxiety for you, 
lady, or for this fair damsel." And 
he bowed gravely to Agatha. 

After musing a little, Agatha said : 
" You fill me with astonishment, and 
make me acquainted with new alanns. 
Why should we not reach Circcllo ? 
And why should not that home shel- 
ter us ? What, too, have we done ? " 

"You cannot," replied Paterculus 
slowly, ** mistake tlie only end 1 have 
in view, if I am forced to alarm 
you. I am ready to do much, and, 
believe me, to hazard not a little, for 
your safety. You would not have 
arrived at Monte Circello at all^ had 
I left you to execute your plans. You 
would have been waylaid." 

** Waylaid !*' she said, white with 
terror. ** We will not stir, I will 
send for my son." 

*'Alas!" said Paterculus, "it will 
not be safe for you to stay in this inn 
two days longer. 1 have come to 
submit to you the only plan which I 
have been able to devise. You must 
not reject it." 

She tried in vain to utter some- 
thing, and could only gaze in speech- 
less dismay at her visitor. The gen- 
tleness of his words and the consum- 
mate quietude of his bearing, as he 
immediately endeavored to reassure 
her, produced the desired effect, and 
at the same time drew the hearts of 
both the mother and daughter with 
an irresistible and natural feeling of 
gratitude and even tenderness to- 
ward one whom they regarded as 
their sole present champion amid 
vague dangers, and nameless ene- 
mies, and undefined horrors. 



i8o 



Dion and tlie Sibyls, 



Instinctively the two poor women 
rose together, and, approaching Vel- 
leius, sat down near him. 

" My time," said he, with a scarce- 
ly audible sigh, " runs fast away. 
Listen to such a letter as your kins- 
man at Circello might write to you." 
And he drew forth from a fold in his 
tunic the draft of a letter, and read 
as follows : 

*' M. Lep. iEmilius to his sister 
Aglais, greeting : I rejoice that you 
see the force of my reasoning, and 
that you will adopt the advice con- 
veyed to you in my last communica- 
tion. The vessel which I have hired 
to take you to Spain, where you can 
live in tranquillity, will hover off the 
coast near Caietne in about a fort- 
night. I will, on the seventh day 
from this, send you a person who 
shall conduct you by Fondi to Caie- 
ta\ and take you to the ship in a 
small boat, when all shall be ready 
to receive you on board. Fare- 
well." 

Having read this, Patcrculus paus- 
eil. The ladies remained silent in 
sheer astonishment. 

** lUit," said Aglais, at last, " there 
is no time left, if we are not safe 
here, to get my kinsman to write this 
letter." 

'• He need not write any letter," 
saivl Taterculus, *'Vou observe in 
what I have just read an allusion to 
a sui)iK)seil jirevious letter, which, 
nevertheless, he has not written. If 
you will merely consent to be guided 
l\v nK\ I will cause such a letter as 
the one of which you have now 
hoard the draft to be intercepted 
on the way from the farmer-triumvir 
to you. It will straightway be laid 
before a certain personage. That 
persvniage will see, or imagine he 
sees» that the triumvir is not only re- 
luctant to receive you, but has suc- 
cet\led in persuading you to change 
for an early flight to Spain your plan 



of a retreat or refuge in 1 
The personage to whom 
will be carried will moreo\ 
that your change of mea 
been produced by a forme: 
Lepidus's, not intercepted, i 
fore that the present seizur 
munications has been mad 
to prevent the relinquishme; 
original design. He will, 
neither lay any ambush fa 
the way to Circello, nor su: 
you have gone thither, 
same time you disappear 
will await you at Caietse, 
the coast and the vessel, ' 
will be safe in the triumvir's 

"But the person of w! 
speak wjjl find that there is 
hovering on the coast," re 
lady, " and will again questl 
er we have gone." 

" Pardon me for contradict 
said Velleius. " He 7vtii fin( 
has been hovering on the cc 
after receiving a skiff and it 
gers on board (two women 
oarsman), that the vessel h: 
ed seaward. I have mys 
the vessel, distributed the 
hearsed the performers, anc 
ed all the scenes of the little 
But you must not go to-m 
you had intended, for on 
you would be seized. Giv 
morrow to have the letter i 
ed, give me the next day to 
means for your journey. ' 
meanwhile, Crispus, and no 
must carry your luggage hin: 
eel by parcel, into a thick* 
wood which skirts the w« 
seaward road. On the nig 
day after to-morrow, you m 
the inn on foot, after people 
tired to bed, and you must 
a mile or more to the large s; 
tree near the place where Ci 
murdered ; Crispina will go 
to the spot through tiif» «■> 



Dian and the Sibjfls, 



iSi 



fields. Under the 
find a Mga with two 
and a trusty driver; on 

the Mga your luggage 
sen already strapped." 
be needless to describe 
e of the mother and 
rhe former alluded de- 
to the expense which 
»een incurred, espet:ially 
:h a vessel as would ap- 
d to traverse tlie sea; 
lus checked all further 

that matter with a per- 
ture, and, rising, added, 

low voice in which the 

td all along been car- 
ded to the hiding re- 
the Circello (?astle. J 
;ribe the wonderful con- 
the architect. He was 
man — an Athenian even, 
Imi once with Lejjidus, 
■id as you remember — 

[Oi aniroos demissa per aureB, 
■(At oculU &ubjcctu fidelibus/ '* 

^said Aglais, 'Mf you 
;h of these lurking-places 
i doubtless know them 

swered Velleius, with 
preparing the histo- 

nes. 1 note and re- 
ch which every one else 
m his mind, if remarked 
«Js one point very im- 
H supposing you could 
^Lny ambush laid for 
^m% and have reached 
^o reached it that it 
ft certain you had taken 
^■en you would not be 
1^ although physically 
ly all search of the place 
• would be vain, a moral 
n Marcus Lepidus might, 
I, compel the surrender 

by his own act.'* 



** I understand,*' said Aglais, and 
simultaneously Agatha exclaimed 
.i Oh !^' 

** Fair damsel/' said Velleius, *' he 
is not like his nephew, your brother, 
your dauntless Paulus.*' 

** But,*' concluded the handsome 
tribune, " w^itb the measures taken you 
can banish anxiety, and set yourselves 
at rest. Think sometimes of me. 
Farewell.^' 

Before they could answer a word, 
he had gone. 



CHAPTER V. 

It was a stormy night in early win- 
ter, a few weeks afterward, that Mar- 
cus ^railius Lepidus {still in conver- 
sation styled the triumvir where not 
wholly forgotten) had returned with 
Aglais and Agatha to his favorite sit- 
ting-room in tlie third stor)% after 
showing the wonders of his solitary 
castle to the widow of his warlike 
brother and to her child. It would 
require a book to itself to describe 
this mysterious masterp»iece of archi- 
tectural ingenuity, and another book 
to depict the almost Eastern luxury 
with which it had been furnished, 
when its proprietor determined to ex- 
change the dangers of political ambi* 
tion in a very dangerous age for the 
com forts o f o pu lent o bs c u ri I y * 

*'Are you tired?" asked the old 
man* 

The ladies, both flushed tvith exer- 
cise, declared that their excursion had 
been delightful, the suq^rises of it as- 
tounding, and, if more was to be seen, 
they were ready and eager to see 
more. 

** More !*' said the triumvir, smiling. 
** If we spent every night for a month 
in similar explorations, you woul<i still 
be liable to lose yourselves without 
great caution.'* 

llie room was lighted by eight 



lS2 



Dian and the Sibyls. 



lamps, and a brazier diffused a com- 
fortable warmtJi. 

** Agallia/' said the old man, throw- 
ing himself upon a couch, ** before I 
ask you to accompany yourself upon 
the six-stringed lyre in a Greek song, 
pray go to the curtains against the 
western wall, draw them back, open 
the lattice behind, and tell me how 
the night looks upon the Tyrrhenian 
Sea," 

** It looks stormy over the sea, un- 
cle, and the waves are beating upon 
the rocks far down ; the foam shines 
very white under faint stars ; the wind 
is roaring among your towers ; and 
a world of waters thunders below at 
the foundations of the castle, which 
trcm — " 

The voice of the young girl ceased, 
and Aglais, who stood warming her 
hands near the brazier, looked round 
and saw her nowhere. 

" Why, brother/' she cried, in utter 
bewilderment, " where is^ — where is 
Agatha ?*' 

The iriumw arose, and approach- 
ing his sister-in-law^, so as to stand 
between her and the window, pointed 
in the opposite direction significantly. 

She turned, and endeavored to dis- 
cover to what he wished to draw her 
attention, and while still gazing heard 
Agntha say, as if concluding her sen- 
tence : 

"And do you not fee! the floors 
vibrate to the shock of the unseen 
armies of the air ?" 

** Where have you been^ Agatha ?*' 

** Here, gazing at the wondrous 
tempest/* said she, closing the horn 
shutter of the lattice, drawing the 
curtain, and coming back toward the 
fireplace, with her beautiful counte- 
nance one glow of poetr>% 

After the song which Lepidus had 
requested, supper was braught. Some 
tale of the civil wars and his adven- 
turous youth was recalled accidental- 
1}' to mind by Lepidus, and when he 



had finished it he begged Agi 

once more to go to the wm 
infonn them again how 
looked over the sea. 

She rose, ran to the curtains^ 
drawing them aside, uttered an c 
mation, which drew her moth< 
the place. 

The sea was gone, and the w< 
of Latium waved wanly and dii 
in the gale under the uncertain sr^ 
The triumvir joined them. " .Vs ^^^ 
have so obligingly accompanied y^ay/ 
self, my child/' said he, ** upon f^ 
lyre, come now, you and your rno^ 
ther, and accompany me*^ 

While he spoke, the lights, the bra- 
zier, and the whole apartment 
peared behind them. A m^^\ 
shutter, running in grooves from ceil- 
ing to floor, had silently slippal il( 
the space. I'he whole of that st( 
of the house seemed to have pivol 
on a ium-tabie. They were now 
a little galler), with no hght 
what entered by the lattice; and, 
ing through this, they thought the 
landscape appeared to glide aw*iy 
the left, and the roaring sea to 
round under them from the n'l 
'When they were just over iti 
thunders they descended swiftly, 
the spray blew into their faces. 
the triumvir shut the lattice, anJi 
the same instant a flood of light 
from behind. Turning round, 
saw in the centre of a wide-flag 
passage a white-bearded ser\aiit, 
a torch in each hand, bowing \< 
and inviting the ladies to follow 
to the sitting-room. Marcus Lepi 
gave an arm to the ladies on ell 
hand, and for ten minutes, or 
more, they followed the aged <loi 
tic up flights of stairs, round sj>3' 
halls, and along passages and col 
nades, until the man stopped at * 
door in the third story. 
opening the door, bowed his 
back into the room which tlicj 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



183 



nexpected and unex- 
lanner. A handsome, ef- 
Dking youth, with traces 
>ii in his face, whom they 
seen before, sprang from 
favorite couch, and was 
n a constrained and even 
r to tlie ladies by the tri* 

had slightly started on 
^m — as his grandson 

flra not expect you for six 
,*• said the tnumvir dryly, 
explaining why you enjoy 
tot my company so soon," 
le youth, in a somcwliat 
e, which reminded Agatha 
Paterculus's graceful slow- 
ent, as a clever copy re- 
of an authentic master- 
Tected refinement of genu- 
ce, ** will you be good 
nform me of the names of 
lies whom I have the lin- 
pleasuie of meeting ?" 
or brother's widow, the 
is, and her ilaughtcr, your 
tsin Agatha/' said the tri- 

len/' cried he, making a 
ncc to each of the ladies 
>n, "you are the mother, 
ber, of the heroic youth of 
vess I have heard all men 
rjirae tlirough Fornii^e, and 
ve missed meeting because 
it followed Gennanicus to 
North Italy; you are the 

1 sister *Ekto()q^ Inwodmum, 
last words of die last line 

I, so familiar to the Greek 
suddenly applied to young 
jbvious allusion to his kite 
tr the Sejan horse, brought 
Measure to their faces. 
come back from Rhodes," 
be young man, " a little 
El had been arranged ; first, 
>ecause^ — if 1 had remained 
must have been oblig- 



ed to borrow money for my jour- 
ney." 

**Your studies, I am sure, will 
make you famous ; but your allow- 
ance/' said the triumvir, ** was surely 
most liberal; a proconsul's son would 
not have wished more in my time." 

" Just so, grandfadier; but you say 
in your time. The times ha\'e chang- 
ed ; new wants have sprung up. I 
can't keep the pace. The boy Cali- 
gula, and young Herod A grip pa, my 
particular friends, were bolh at For- 
niiai when I arrived, and I pledge 
you my word I was ashamed to let 
them even know my presence ; they 
would have laughed at me. No 
horses ; no money ; I could not have 
joined them. I skulked in an inn ; 
and while the gayeties of a court, 
which is my natural s})herc, were cir- 
cling around me, was obliged to 
amuse myself by listening to some 
low seafaring man, in a state of par- 
tial intoxication, who was making 
people laugh by telling them that he 
had gaioetl as much money for dress- 
ing up two boys in women's clothes, 
and rowing them in a skiff to his 
ship, off the coast at Caietse, as if he 
had performed his intended voyage 
to Spain and back. When they ask- 
ed for an explanation, he declared 
that, if they could keep a secret, so 
could he ; but although his vessel 
was in the port at Naples, that it 
was good for him to be near a court, 
where men had the spirit to spend as 
much money on a freak or a whim 
as low people would venture on a 
trading voyage." 

Agatha and Aglais exchanged 
glances. The triumvir was afraid to 
look toward them. He remarked 
that the seafaring churl was dotibt- 
less a swindler, pretending to be 
tipsy and to have funds in order to 
lure some idler into playing at the 
fesscrm with him, and thus to win 
his money. 







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DioH and the Silry/s. 



185 



arc you so sad ?" demanded 
[vir cheerily. 

sh," said Agatha, ** that we 
IX, I do not say from, but 
Oy brother Paulus.'* 
will see him here before 
idly able to bear up under 
&-upon-Obsa of Iiis honors," 
>ld man» 

' groaned the young gid ; 
S Lady Aglais perceptibly 
d a sigh. There was a 

my grandson been here to- 
ked Lepidus. 

kad not ridden off an hour," 
tglais, " when Melena said 
waidng for us, I feel that 
mce must be most embar- 
7 you, dear brothtT ; and it 
I us to increase willingly the 
• which we entail upon 
t I dread your grandson 
He left us to-day with a 

catr 

! you must have noticed^ 
^e obser\'ed, that — that he 
led a manner which — ** 
btated. 

e observed that he admires 
p yonder^ and that Agatha 
[)m encouraging his atten- 
id Lcpidus gra%ely. After 

^ddenly added : ** Surely 
■etch has better reason 
ve to know this; and has 
importune, to persecute 
i% of his preference, a dam- 
s under my protection, to 
ig of Agatha's merits, birth, 
ling.'' 

f of the ladies replied, Aga- 
De very red, and Aglais very 

was the threat?'* inquired 
ir* 

lid/* replied the mother, 
daughter showed as much 
was in Spain, and he 



hoped she might display no abate- 
ment of it when Tiberius Ccesar 
should learn that she was yet in 
Italy." 

" And who," roared the aged tri- 
umvir, " is Tiberius Cjesar ? I have 
been the — the equal of his master." 

His head drooped, and he added^ 
in a mutter: "1 have no legions 
now ! Alas, we all helped to substi- 
tute caprice for justice when we low- 
ered the Roman Senate into a court." 

Aglais was in terror. 

**Yoiir bounty," said she, ** to- 
gether with the means I myself re- 
tain, place us beyond the fear of 
want. 1 have determined to seek 
concealment in a little villa or cot- 
tage near Rome ; and, assuming a 
new name, there to await Paulus's 
return, and the result of Dionysius*s 
efforts in our behalf. The sooner 
we depart, the safer." 

"Let us neither nm," said Lepi- 
dus, " into snares, nor fly, wnthout 
need, from tranquillity. If Tiberius 
has learnt that you are here, your at- 
tempt to leave me and your seizure 
would be simultaneous events; if he 
has not learnt it, your departure is not 
yet necessary. But I will give all 
requisite orders, nevertheless, and 
make every preparation ^ within three 
hours. Le of good heart. The 
power of flying shall be yours, from 
this very afternoon. There— enough ! 
What a fallen man is Lepidus ! 
Once, a world shook at my name ; 
and now ray gallant brother Paulus*s 
widow and daughter imagine they 
are not safe under my roof!" 

Rising from the table, he threw 
himself on a couch, near which some 
jewels were dis[>laycd on ^ stand. 
He took up a litde casket, and said : 

'* Niece Agatha, I may never see 
your pretty face again after you once 
leave the Castle of Circello ; wear 
this for my sake." 

And opening the casket, he drew 










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Thi Great Commission 



187 



THE GREAT COMMISSION.* 



is a standard Protestant 

the subject, and has been 

public for nearly thirty 

e a Htile surprised to learn 

itle-page that its sales have 

thed tlie ninth thousand, 

is possible if we were to 

r surijrise would be sonie- 

tncd. Read it we have 

ih we have looked into it 

friere ; and certainly we do 

|e to review it. We are not 

bit of reviewing books we 

read; and as w^e did not 

rorth our while to read it 

were a Protestant, we are 

sposed to do it now we are 

L We have no doubt that 

I patience to wade through 

be might fish out some curi- 

; but w^e would rather fore- 

an to submit to the weary 

eking them, especially in 

T. We are contented to 

he title and the question it 

the Great Commission^ or 

o evangelize the world. 

I the assertion contained 

V that our Lord constituted 

lissioned his church to con- 

ispel to the world. We do 

jde that this is all his church 

kuled or instituted and com- 

to do ; but we do admit 

as instituted, among other 

this, and that this is includ- 

eat commission which our 

le his apostles. Ijut here 

(the question : To whom did 

|com mission issue; and who 

authority it confers ? Who 

C^mmtuUn ; or, Tk* Christian 

^4^iMtrd and Chnrxcfi tp CoNT'fv fhf 

ir^id ^\v^n\m Hunts D.D. With 

r 1-. William R. WiJ- 

Dostoii : Gould 



have received it, and have the right 
to act under it and appropriate the 
promises that accompany it ? 

\V'c know well the commission, and 
to whom it was originally given. " And 
Jesus coming, spake to them [the 
apostles], saying : All power is given 
to me in heaven and in earth. Go 
ye, therefore, and teach all nations, 
baptizing them in the name of the 
Father, and of the Son, and of the 
Holy Ghost; teaching them to ob- 
serve all things whatsoever I have 
commanded you ; and behold I ain 
with you all days, even to the con- 
summation of the world *' (St. Matt 
xxviii. 18-20), This is the commis- 
sion, given by one who had ample 
authority, for he had all power in 
heaven and in earth, anrl it is sufficient- 
ly broad in its terras. There can 1)e no 
dispute that it was given originally to 
the apostles; but was it given to them 
personally, during their natural life 
only ? If so, the commission exjiired^ 
by its necessary limitation, with their 
death, and there is now and has been 
since no ** great commission/' no 
" church constituted to convey the 
Gospel to the world.'* If there has 
since been no such church, no such 
commission, certainly our Protestant 
friends have no commission, no au- 
thority from God to evangelize the 
worki ; and their missionaries at home 
or abroad, in Protestant nations; Ca- 
tholic nations, or infidel nations are 
like those prophets of whom the Lord 
says by the mouth of Jeremy the 
proj>het : '' I did not send these pro- 
phets^ yet they ran ; I have not spok- 
en to them, yet they prophesied" 
(Jer. xxiii, 21.) If the Lord hath not 
commissioned and sent their preach- 
ers and missionaries, they have no au- 
thority that anybody is bound or even 



1 88 



The Great Commission. 



has the right to respect. In matters of 
religion, nobody is bound or has the 
right to listen to any preacher or 
teacher not commissioned or autho- 
rized to teach by our Lord himself. 

But Dr. Harris, the author of the 
book before us, cannot take the ground 
that the commission was to the apos- 
tles personally, and expired with their 
natural life. The very purpose for 
which he writes is to show from the 
Scriptures and other sources that the 
great commission was issued to the 
church, which still subsists, and is in 
full force now, or that the church was 
constituted for the very purpose of 
evangelizing the nations in every age 
of the world. It could not then have 
lapsed with the natural life of the 
apostles. A careful analysis of the 
terms of the commission, as recorded 
by St. Matthew, will sustain the au- 
thor, and prove that it was to remain 
in force through all time; for our Lord 
promised those he commissioned that 
he would be with them "all days, 
even to the consummation of the 
world," which proves that they whom 
he commissioned were in the sense 
intended to remain to teach or evan- 
gelize till the consummation of the 
world, an event still future ; for evi- 
dently he could not remain with and 
aid and protect with his gracious pre- 
sence teachers or evangeHzers that 
had ceased to Hve in the world. Ei- 
ther, then, we must admit that the 
promise of Christ has failed, which is 
not possible, or else maintain that the 
commission was to the apostles in a 
sense in which they are still living in 
time ; for the promise is, " Behold, I 
am with you all days, even to the 
consummation of the world." 

As the apostles are personally no 
longer inhabitants of time, evidently 
it is only as a body or corporation of 
evangeHzers, which survives the death 
of its individual members in their suc- 
cessors, that the apostles do or can 



continue to exist in time to 
of the world. The commissic 
"Gojr," and the promise i: 
with you " — plainly proving i 
who received the commissic 
sense in which they were con 
ed, are precisely they who wc 
to continue in time till the 
consummated, which is not 
except in the sense of a coi 
of teachers or evangeHzers, 
by the lawyers to be an artii 
immortal person. The cor 
must then have been give 
apostles and their successors 
the corporation is perpetuate 
to be perpetuated to the en 
world ; for it is only in thei 
sors in whom they survive t 
do or can live to the consu 
of the world. Dr. Harris n: 
this ground, or else say nothi 
the " Great Commission," as 
any body now living. 

There is no question of 
that the commission issued an« 
petual commission to the chi 
teaching body to evangelize tl 
We have read enough of th( 
before us to see that Dr 
abundantly proves this point 
Scriptures. So long as there 
nations not yet converted, th 
must either prove false to hei 
be in one sense a missionary 
But the church to whom the 
sion is given must be the chi 
continues or perpetuates the 
of the apostles, or, more str 
identical apostolic body, Ev 
or any other body, whatevei 
call itself, whatever its preter 
however successfully it may i 
has no authority, no commis« 
our Lord to evangelize at 
abroad. A man who is not 
sioned by the regular auth 
that purpose has no right tc 
the command of the anny. 
officer or soldier has an^ 



The Great Commission. 



189 



bey his orders. It is neces- 
, to identify the body claim- 
re received the commission 
[lostolic body, and any body 
51 esiabUsh its identity with 

must be treated as a usurp- 
Ithout amhority to evange- 

apostle St, John assures us 

early beloved, believe not 

it ; but try the spirits, wht*th- 

of God; because many 

ihets are gone out into the 

iy this is the spirit of God 

very spirit that confc<iseth 

St to have come in the flesh 
and every spirit that dis* 

us, is not of God ; and this 
ist, of whom ye have heard 
meth, and he is now alrea* 

world. You are of God, 

iren, and have overcome 
aiuse greater is he that is 
lan he that is in the workl 
of the world ; therefore of 

they speak, and the work! 
letn* We are of God, He 
tth Goii hearetk us ; /ir thai 
rPti^ hearetk us not. By this 

the spirit of truth ami the 
wr/' (1 St. John iv. 1-6,) 
c quoted the whole passage ; 
5 moment we use only the 
e, which we have italicized, 
lie gives two tests, one of 
ind the other of communion, 
r only is to our present [>ur* 
Ugh we shall refer to the 
>rc we close. We, the apos- 
f or communion, says the 
PC of God — ^** He that know- 
hcareth us ; and he that is 
»d^ heareth us not. By this 
the spirit of truth and the 
aror/' Clearly, then, any 
Wated from the perpetual 
)ody, and who heareth it not, 

to receive its teachings, is 
)y the spirit of error, is of the 
d has neither commission 
rity from our Lord to evan- 



gelize the nations. No body nr cor- 
poration of evangelizcrs not idenrical 
with the apostolic body, and commis- 
sioned in its communion, therefore 
extending without any break, or the 
failure of a single link, from the apos- 
tles down to uSy can have received a 
commission from our Lord, or can 
evangelize by his authority. This be- 
comes rather a serious matter, and 
renders it necessary to ascertain what 
body existing to-day, claiming the 
apostolic commission, if any, is the 
continuation of the apostolic body, 
and identical with it. 

Into the question of corporate iden- 
tity we do not propose at present to 
enter at any length ; it Ls sufficient for 
our jiresent purpose to say that no pre- 
tended church that is not in the aposto- 
lic communion, or that cannot trace its 
historical union with the apostolic 
body from the time of the apostles 
down, without break or interruption, 
to the present, is or can be the body 
commissioned. This, of course, ex- 
cludes all socalled Protestant church- 
es ; for they have all been born fifteen 
hundred years too late for that, and^ 
besides, are in communion with no 
body or corporation that dates from 
apostolic times. The oldest Protestant 
churches are not yet three centuries 
and a-half old, and date only from 
the first half of the sixteenth century. 
They were all founded by men who 
inherited neidier the commission nor 
the promises of our Lord to his apos- 
tles^ and who acted upon their own 
personal authority alone. The Lord 
did not send tliem, yet they ran ; he 
did not speak to them, yet they pro- . 
phesied^ and could prophesy only 
from their own hearts. So far from 
having commissioned or sent them, 
the Lord forbids us to hearken to 
them. ** Hearken not to the pro- 
phets that prophesy to you and de- 
ceive you ; they speak a vision of 
their own heart, and not out of the 




mouth of the Lord" (Jer. xxiii. i6). 
So much is certain and undeniable. 

PrutestantSj therefore, in any case 
are without any commission or aiitho- 
rity from God to evangelize the world. 
If the great commission was never 
given, or was given only to the apos- 
ties personally, they, as we have seen, 
never received it ; and if it was given 
to the apostles as a teaching body to 
continue to the end of the world, they 
.Are equally without authority to evan- 

lize the world; for none of their 
churches are that body, or participate 
in its authority, its commission, or the 
promises it inherits. Whether, then, 
our Lord did or did not constitute, 
institute, as we say, the church ** to 
convey the Gospel to the world/' Pro- 
testant churches are equally without 
mission or authority, and have no 
right to apply to themselves any of 
the passages of Scripture that speak 
of it. 

Protestants cannot abide the test 
of apostolic cum m union proposed 
by St» John. Can they any belter 
abide the doctrinal test ? '^ Every 
spirit that confesseth Jesus Christ to 
have come in the flesh is of God ; 
and every spirit that liisso/vctk Jesus, 
is not of God.'* Whether Protestants 
profess to believe that Jesus Christ has 
come in the flesh or not we need not 
inquire, for all Protestant churches, 
so far as we know them, really dis- 
solve him, or deny in him the hypo- 
static union in the unity of the Di- 
vine Person of the human and divine 
natures. This is evident from tlie 
fact that, like Nestorius, they all 
refuse to call our Blessed Lady the 
Mother of God, and will only call 
her the Mother of Christ. They 
stigmatise the honor we pay to her 
as the Mother of God as Mariolatry. 
This can only be because they do 
not really believe that He who took 
flesh in her womb and was bom of 
her, flesh of her flesh, was really and 



truly God, or that the h 
which he took from her was 
tially joined to the one pcrsoi 
Word, so as to be as truly an 
dissolubly the nature of Goi 
his divine nature itself, Thcj 
that Christ died in his human 
for they know the divine natt 
not die, but they feel great rel 
to say that it was really an 
ally God who died on the rrt 
in their minds hold that it i^ 
the man the Word assumed i 
died. This is really to dew 
Christ to have come in tb 
and to dissolve him, to sep« 
humanity from his divinil)^ 
other words, to deny Uie Ul 
his person, and to assume thi 
dual in person as well a^ m rrt 
Rationalists or naturalistic 
tants, if they do not regarc 
Christ as a myth and deny 
ever really lived, dissolve 
denying his divinity and hol(fl 
to have been only a man — a gi 
good man, the most of ih< 
a messenger from God with 
mission, others of them say ; U 
all a man with a simple humi 
sonaliiy and simple human 
like other men. The supemati 
or tlie so-called orthodox Pro! 
though they recognize in 
union of the human and dii 
tures, fail to recognize the in 
ble union of the human nati 
the divine personality, and t 
solve him, ^t least so far as c 
the work of regeneration aw 
tion- The human nature 
Word serv^es no purpose in i 
noray of grace as they hold 
cept in regard to that part 
mediatorial work which coo 
satisfying by his atoning saa 
divine justice. That sacrifii 
once for all, his human n^ 
longer comes into pl:u% and 
forth he acts solely in bisjl^ 



The Great Commission. 



TQI 



aity. The Incama- 
niiporar}% a transitory 

eiiher does not sub- 
as no oftice in the ac- 
n of the atonement, in 
ion, the justrtication, 
^n of souls* The hu- 
: Word has done its 
led it nearly two thou- 
go, and has nothing 
If this is not dissolving 
«r not what would be, 
ision is e\ident from 
; denial of the church, 
Hit of the Incarnation, 
oehler well maintains, 
ts %isiblc continuation ; 

by Protestants of sac- 
», or the whole so- call - 
d system, and of all 
e new birth or of the 
oul with Christ, as we 

in our article on Uftian 
h. With Protestants the 
:e was a transitory act, 
:h as to God and man 
>l a continuous fact in 
(f grace ; the new birth 
om of God in his hu- 

Eod in his divinity, 
: regeneration but 
fication, sanctinca- 
pertains to regenera- 
tes glorification, is done 
iiatcly in his irresistible 
ut any intervention of 
Hence Protestants re- 
iving mediator of God 
: Man Christ Jesus* 
jny the intercession of 
d regard all honor or 
Catholics pay to the 
1 by nature through his 
lx> Christ and redeemed 
by his grace, as idola- 
lunished as such by the 
e. Id all this we can 
enial of the hypostatic 
~|>Vord made flesh." 
I failure to recognize 



the indissoluble untoo of the two na- 
tures in one divine pen>on. The di- 
vine person is always, eternally, the 
second person of the divine nature, 
and is therefore God, in the fullest 
and strictest sense of the word. This 
divine person, remaining as ever the 
second person of the divine nature, 
assumes human nature, which hence- 
forth is as much and as truly his nature 
as the divine nature itself, and can no 
more be separated from his person* 
ality, or his personality from it. To 
assume a separation in any act or 
part of the mediatorial kingdom of 
grace is to dissolve Jesus, or to deny 
him to have come, in the apostolic 
sense, " in the flesh." 

And the spirit that does this ** is 
Antichrist, of w^hom ye have heard 
that he cometh, and is now already 
in the world/* ** They,"' the apostle 
further informs us, who follow this 
spirit, diis Antichrist, "are of the 
world; therefore of the world they 
s[jeak, and the worid heareth them/* 
If we wanted further confrrmation 
of the fact that Protestants dissolve 
Jesus, ihi.^ would give it. Pro- 
testants are unquestionably of the 
world, speak from [the sense of i>f\ 
the world, and the world heareth 
them. Is it not so? WHiat is the 
great Protestant charge against the 
Catholic Church ? Is it not that she 
does not conform to the spirit of the 
age — that is, of the world — but is 
hostile to it, and anathematiiies it ? Is 
it not that she opposes what it pleases 
the world to call modern civilization? 
What else means the savage outcry 
which we have heard in all lands 
against the Syllabus of our holy fa- 
ther, Pius IX., now gloriously reign- 
ing ? Protestant as well as secular 
journals with one voice condemn the 
church in the name of the world, 
accuse her of hostility to the age, of 
lagging behind it, and refusing to go 
on with it. They charge her with re- 



192 



The Great Commission. 



sisting the world's movements, with 
opposing its plaus of reform and pro- 
jects of revolution. They opj)Ose 
her in this age and in this country in 
the name of democracy, as in the six- 
teenth century in P^ngland and Ger- 
many she was opposed in the name 
of monarchy. They charge Catho- 
lics with a want of worldly enterprise 
and activity, and Catholic nations 
with inferiority in commerce, indus- 
try, and national wealth. 

Nowhere do we find Protestants 
in antagonism to the world, or if they 
seem now and then to antagonize the 
world, it is in the spirit of the world, 
and from the world's point of view. 
They are ever)' where in close affilia- 
tion with its revolutionism, and join 
it everywhere in its war against 
authority, against strong and stable 
government, and the sacredness of 
marriage and the family relations 
which religion enjoins and has always 
labored to protect and defend. Pro- 
testant literature breathes the spirit 
of the world; it lets loose the pas- 
sions, wars against all social or moral 
restraint as tyrannical, and demands 
and it tends to create universal li- 
cense. Even when it affects to be 
pious, it does not rise above the piety 
of the heathen, that is, above the 
piety which lies in the natural order. 

**And the world heareth them." 
The world did not oppose but en- 
couraged the reformers, and whatever 
opj^osition they encountered came, 
as Protestants themselves boast, not 
from the world, but from the clnirch. 
Kings, princes, nobles, the men who 
belong to this world and are devot- 
ed to its interests, everywhere favored 
them, and if they did not all openly 
side with them, it was because the old 
church retained too strong a hold on 
their people to make it in all cases 
safe for them to do it. It is the same 
still ; nobody has ever heard of Pro- 
testants being opposed in the name 



of the world. Who has c^ 
of a Protestant martyr ? 1 
knoweth and loveth its own 
ed our Lord and crucified 
tween two thieves, because h 
of the world ; it hates the 
Church, and uses all the mc 
power to destroy her, to j 
her power and influence, 
she, like our Lord, is not of t 
but seeks its subjection to tl 
God. In point of fact, 1*] 
are the world, and the wor 
testant, and Protestants m 
boast of it. Protestantisr 
on with the world, changes 
changes, and maintains ah 
ever>'where a good unde 
with it, and condemns th( 
because she does not do the 
In the outset, Protestants \ 
to have some theological re 
breaking from the church a 
ing against her, and they : 
deceived many simple-mini 
pie by their theological prete 
it was from the first the world, 
logy, that constituted their 
and secured them the succe 
obtained. But at present Pi 
have pretty much droj)ped 
logical or even religious \ 
and defend themselves an 
the church almost entirely o: 
grounds. The late prime 
of England oi)poses Cath 
his Lothair as un-P',nglish, 
tic, and not a becoming rel 
an Englishman ; and in this 
the i)aradise of Protestants, 
troversy between Catholics 
testants has pretty much c 
be theological, and so far : 
on the part of Protestants 
political or social. The k 
oi)posed on the ground th 
hostile, and Protestantism de 
the ground that it is favoral 
civilization of the nineteent 
and " the American idea." 



The Great Commission. 



193 



adcrs everywhere seek to 
IT forces and inflame thera 
th against Uie church on 
ence that she is hostile to 
H liberty, and would, were 
come predominant, destroy 
institutions and reduce the 
L people to civil and spiri- 
dage. The motive, whether 
^or not, is manifestly borrow- 
the world, not from religion 
Cliristianity, and the fact 
iestants act from it proves 
<ire of the world worldly, 
place politics, or the goods 
ife, above religion or the 
the life to come, 
Ian is claim to be the great 
Ing nations of the world, to 
ly progressive nations of the 
. the only nations that sup- 
and religious liberty, 'i'hey 
chief merit of modem sci- 
Ventions and discoveries, as 
ie marvellous application of 
science to the' mechanical 
uctive arts. It matters not 
resent purpose whether their 
e well founded or not; 
that they make ihem and 
forward in their justifica- 
irove that they are of the 
also does the fact that 
y but Catholics who are 
profess to be not, of the 
Imits aU they claim, for it 
lal the world heareth and 
ihem. They un question a - 
the ear and the heart of the 
Vhat they agree in asserting 
;d by the organs of public 
md is generally credited, 
(pi on the part of Catholic 
refute Protestant claims or 
and to stem the current of 
jitnion passes unheeded, or, 
\ is only sneered at or con- 
ks Uie raving of a lunatic, 
of persons whose eyes are on 
^dc of their heads^ and who 

VOL, XII. — 13 



are hopelessly '* beh in d the age . " We 
may, then, repeat without feat of con- 
tradiction, that Protestants ''are of 
the world, and the world heareth 
them." Indeed, this is their boast, 
and they are daily flinging it in the 
face of Catholics as a proof that llie 
world belongs to Protestantism, not to 
the church- 
But, if the beloved apostle St- John 
is to be believed, this boast is their 
shame as Christians, though not as 
Protestants, and proves that they are 
not animated by the spirit that con- 
fesses Jesus Christ to have come in the 
flesh, but follow the spirit that dis- 
solveth Jesus, which, according to the 
same apostle, is Antichrist, who even 
in his day was already in the workl 
Protestants, it is clear, then, can abide 
neither of the two apostolic tests, 
and utteriy fail in regard to both. 
They confess not the great central 
truth of Christianity, Jesus Christ has 
come in the flesh j they dissolve Jesus, 
separate his humanity from his di- 
vinity, deny him as the present, living, 
active mediator of God and men. 
They gather not with the apostles, 
are not affiliated with the apostolic 
body, but separate from it and scat- 
ter, and, instead of being moved and 
directed by Christ, they are moved 
and directed by Antichrist. It were 
absurd, then, to pretend that they are 
the recipients of the great comrais- 
sion, or that they are constituted by 
our Lord himself " the church to con- 
vey the Gospel to the world.** 

Protestants have two answers to this 
conclusion — the one that, though 
theu' ministers have no outward or ex- 
ternal commission, they yet have an 
inward caU or authorization from the 
Holy Ghost; the other, that no 
commission from God is needed, for 
every congregation has the natural 
right to call any riian to be their 
minister they please, and any one so 
called has the right, if he pleases, to 



» 



I thi 

■ th< 

m. 



cept the call and to assume the 
nc lions of a minister of Christ, It 
a matter of mutual agreement and 
;ontTact. The first answer would do 
ell enough, if the minister had any 
means of proving his internal com- 
mission from the Holy Ghost. A com- 
mission from the Holy Ghost is ne- 
cessary and is no doubt sufficient, 
but while the operation of the Holy 
Ghost is necessarily internal, it is ne- 
cessary that there be an outward sign 
of the inward grace^ or else they to 
whom one is to minister can never 
know that he is commissioned or 
duly authorized to minister in holy 
things. Nor can he himself know 
it, and must be always in danger of 
mistaking his vocation, and of running 
without being sent, and of preaching 
the dreams of his own fancy, or the 
crude imaginations of his own heart. 
The outward sign must be either 
miracles which prove his mission or 
the sacrament of orders and a com- 
mission from a regular authorit}'' com- 
petent to give it. Protestant minis- 
ters can appeal to neither. The re- 
formers proved their mission by no 
miracles, and the Protestant minis- 
ters of our day are no miracle-work- 
ers. The several Protestant sects 
have no orders, no authority to confer 
jurisdiction, and can give no external 
proof of the internal call Hence 
they can bind no one, nor render it 
lawful for any one to hsten to their 
preachers or missionaries. Some of 
these sects indeed affect airs as if 
they were churches founded by our 
iord himself^ but everylx)dy knows 
ought to know that they are only 
self- created societies, or simple vo- 
luntary associations, with no more of 
the authority of the church than a 
political caucus has of the authority 
of the state, nor even so much ; for the 
caucus is composed of a portion of the 
people through whom the stale de- 
lives its authority from God, and the 




tJiC 



sect is no part or portion of a divi 
ly constituted church* Besides^ ih« 
church derives its power immediate 
ly from our Lord, not tlirough 
medium of the faitliful. 

The second answer only pr 
that those Protestants who adop 
are of the world, and understand j 
difference between purely worll 
matters and religious and eccle 
cat matters. Yet we deny the assua 
tion that any congregation or 
persons whatever have the nat 
right to call any man they pie 
minister to them in religion; 
have no right to call any one 
duly ordained according to the 
of God, and duly commissione 
our Lord himself, Nor has any 
who knows that he is not so ordi 
ed and commissioned the righc» n^i. 
tural or acquired, to take upor: 
self the work of a religious ii 
or to contract with any 1 '• 
their minister; for no man 1 ; 
right to contract to do what he \ 
no power to do. In religion, whk 
is the law of God, all authority most 
proceed directly from God. R 1 
ion binds alike the congregatitjii 
the minister, the people and the a 
gy, and therefore the people or m 
gregation cannot invest a man witiil 
authority to minister unto thcra. HowJ 
can a man teacli with authority ihtf 
from whom he derives all the au 
rity he has ? No man has a n«tt 
right to teach or to be t: 
any more than he has to 
deny what he pleases. The au 
zation is necessary both for the s 
herd and his flock — as a gujtnui| 
the flock that they shall be 
the truth ; and to the shephc 
he shall be divinely aiiled to] 
it, and no authority except tn 
our Lord can guaranty eithj 
cause no other can impart v^ !l 
missioned the inward ability j 
the obhgation he inciuv 



Tfu Great Commission, 



19s 



[of these answers can avail 
^anything. The Anglicans 
bpalians pretend that their 
jhtirch did not originate in 
lib centur\% bat is the iden- 
ph that was in England 
pn version of the nation to 
jy^ and that they come 
iegulai succession from the 
• But this is historically un- 
pr church was changed in 
nth century from the Ca- 
krch /// England to the na- 
tch of England. Since the 
Sentury it has had and has 
(mmunion with any churcJi 
bd in England or else- 
br to the reformers, and 
kes with no body but it- 
ps h ad and it has no au- 
Hhat it has derived from 
mm crown and parliament, 
WL the civil power. It may 
|ied some of the forms of 
Ic Church in England, and 
ps may have retained their 
|cs, mutilated or unmutilat- 
ktaie, and at its mercy ; but 

!l to pretend that a national 
ding from the civil power 
I with the Catholic or apos- 
ib* holding from our Lord, 
k vicar, the supreme pastor 
br of the universal church, 
por of Peter, on whom our 
f his church* The change 
dental, and the Church of 
ad its offspring, the Protes- 
>ptil Church of the United 
the affiliated churches in 
b colonies, are as much chil- 
je Reformation in the six- 
ptory as are tlie Lutheran 
Jviiii^tic churches of Ger- 
erland, Holland, or Scot- 
instinct of the English 
slant; and no more 
lestant church has 
llhan tiie Church of 
English Church is 



not a church, it is only an esta1> 
llshment. 

Anglican bishops, indeed, preteild 
to the apostolic succession of orders; 
but even if their pretence could be 
made good, it would avail thcra no* 
thing, for they have received no mis- 
sion, have no jurisdiction, except 
what they derive from the crown, 
which has no authority in the case. 
But the pretence has never been and 
never can be made good ; and An- 
glican bishops and priestis or minis- 
ters arc simply laymen, and just as 
much so as are Presbyterian, Metho- 
dist, Baptist, or Congregational min- 
isters. They are generally well-bred, 
gentlemanly, amiable, many of them 
fine classical scholars and cultivated 
and learned men, but that does not 
make them bishops or priests of the 
church of God* They are outside of 
the apostolic body, and have no lot 
or part in the apostolic commission 
to evangelize all nations. 

Having no part in the great com- 
mission, and consequently no autho- 
rity from God, Protestants have no 
ability or capacity to teach the 
Gospel. They can inquire, reason, 
discuss, form and express opinions, 
which after all may or may not be 
true, but they cannot teach; they are 
not doctors. In religion, in man's 
relations and duties to God, only 
truth will answer. These relations and 
duties do not originate in our creative 
power, and do not subsist by any act 
of our will or understanding; they 
are imposed by our Creator as his 
law, which is alike law for the will 
and the understanding, and demands 
interior obedience as well as exterior 
submission. Only the law of God 
can bind the conscience, and hence 
it is the divine law, and not any oth- 
er law, that must be taught, promul- 
gated, declared, defined, and appli- 
ed. It is the divine law itself, not men's 
opinions of what it is, that we must 



;6 



The Great Commission. 



e taught, if truly taught; for it is 
nly that wc can be bound to obey 
>r have the right to submit the con- 
jcience to. The Lord says, " The pro- 
phet that hath a dream, let him tell 
a dream ; and he that hath my word, 
let him speak my word with truth. 
What hath the chaft* to do with the 
wheat?" (Jer. xxiii. 28). To declare 
the law, to speak the word, or to 
teach the revelation of God with 
truths that is, truly, demands on the 
part of the teacher immunity from 
error, or, in other words, that the 
teacher be infallible in his teach- 
ing ; and to a fallible teacher in 
relation to the law or word of 
God no man is or can be bound to 
listen. The fallible teacher is always 
liable to be deceived and to deceive, 
to mistake his dreams for divine re- 
velations, and to give us the chaff in- 
steail of the wheat. 

Not only must the teacher be ex- 
empt from all liability to err in his 
teaching, but he must be able to 
establish the f;ict, not only before 
we can be bound, but before we 
can have any right, to listen to his 
teachings. Hence the need of the 
external commission. No doubt a 
simple external commission does not 
of itself give the interior ability to 
tc.u h infallibly, but a commission to 
teach from Him who hath all power in 
lieaven and in earth is a divine guar- 
anty of intallibility in teaching. The 
olivine commission to one to teach us 
is a command to us from God to 
hear him, and to believe what he 
teaches, as Really sv^ as when the 
voice thundereil from the hoaver.s, 
** This is my KKn ed Son : hear ye 
him;** and if one liivinely commis- 
sionevl could err in the matters cover- 
c\l by his commission, it would follow 
that Govl couKl CvMumar.d us to l>e- 
lieve en\>r, which is imjvssible, since 
God is tnie, the truth itself. Hence 
the divine commission to teach car- 



ries with it the divine pledge o; 
libility in teaching, the pledge c 
who can neither deceive nor 
ceived. Proof of the commis 
all that is needed. It is all th 
racles prove. " Rabbi, we kno 
thou art come a teacher from 
for no man can do these m 
which thou doest, unless Goi 
with him" (St. John iii. 2). 
God himself can work a real m 
and the miracle therefore prove 
the teacher comes from God, 
dits him as sent or commissior 
God, and we know therefore 
whatever he teaches in the na; 
God must be true, for God c 
accredit a teacher that can in 
which he teaches either deceive 
deceived. 

We do not say that every i 
dual member of a teaching 
must be personally infallible, but 
must be infallibility in the bo 
least in its head, so that ever 
vidual member when teachin; 
what the body authorizes him t 
can teach infallibly. So mud 
cessary if truth is of more ^ 
rehgion than falsehood — the 
preferable to the chaft Eit 
individual teacher must be 
ately accredited by our Lor 
or be authorized by the be 
so accredited and commissi 
neither is the case with F 
Ciod nowhere vouches for 
city, and nowhere, and in 
whatever, stanils pledgeif 
them able to teach his 1 
bly. Indee^l, they disclai 
ty, and make it one of 
charges against the Cat' 
that she claims immuni 
in matters of taith and 
we not hear them fron 
in all tones, crjing 01 
recent detinition of paj 
or that the supreme ]» 
er of the univenal i 



The Great Commission. 



197 



ance, is infallible in de- 
^nd morals? Do they 
le hini of claiming an attri- 
lod, nay, of making him- 
F Yet how can they teach, 
lidlible? Wliat more can 
ban ofiTer their opinions, or 
y man to his neighbor, I 
imed, I have dreamed"? 
the pope be or be not infal- 
|e sense the Council of the 
las defined, is not now the 
• but it is clear he must be 
ito speak the word of God 
I Protestants both as congre- 
d ministers being really and 
y fallible, it is equally clear 
have, as we began by say- 
dUty or capacity to teach. 
; ministers being confessed- 
have not the divine assis- 
ich secures them immunity 
\ and are therefore virtually 
wn confession blind guides, 
Lord says, "If the blind 
blind, they shall both fall 
itch." 

mts, or at least a large class 
fay, ** We have the Bible ; 
is infallible ; and therefore 
% the Bil>le infallible autho- 
tat we believe and teach." 
RStants have, properly speak- 
pile may be questioned, for 
iriginally addressed to them, 
It deposited with them as 
|r appointed guardians and 
s. Legally, or by divine 
they have not the Bible. 
Dver this. How from the 
'fact that the Bible is inHiI- 
Sude that Prnte-^tants are 
ar have an infallible autho- 
ftt they believe and teach ? 
Igism is not good in logic, 
B what logicians call the 
hn which unites the two 
i The Bible being infallible 
' rm sense, and con- 

innn doctrine, con- 



sistent with itself throughout, and 
free from all self-contradiction* How 
can Protestants, confessedly fallible, 
detcmiine infallibly this one sense or 
this one doctrine, so as to have infal- 
lible authority for what they believe 
and teach ? It matters little to say 
you have the Bible and the Bible is 
infallible, unless you have some in- 
fallible means of ascertaining its true 
and real meaning. Those means 
Protestants confessedly have not, and 
they prove they have not by their 
inability to agree among themselves 
as to what that meaning really is. 
All Protestants, not avowed unbe- 
lievers in Jesus Christ as the Word 
made tlesh, profess to derive their 
doctrines from the Bible, and yet. 
except in so far as they follow the 
tradition of the Catholic Church 
against which they protest, there is 
no such thing as agreement or uni- 
formity in doctrine among them. 
Their whole history is a history of 
disagreement and variation in doc- 
trine. For three hundred years and 
over they have been trying to fix in 
their minds the sense of the Bible, 
and they are still seeking, and modi- 
fying tlieir doctrines everj^ day. De- 
spairing of success, they arc begin- 
ning boldly to avow that uniformity 
of doctrine is neither practicable nor 
desirable. The tendency among them 
just now is to discard all doctrinal 
or dogmatic theology, to resolve faith 
into fiduda or trust, and Christianity 
itself into certain inward emotions, 
sentiments, or affections. Objective 
trudi is counted of little value, and 
religion ceases to be a law for con- 
science, and becomes little else than 
a subjective emotion or affection* 
At the very best, what Protestants 
profess to believe and teach is not 
the real doctrine or meaning of the 
Bible, but their views of what that 
meaning really Is; not the revelation 
God has made to man, but their 



98 



The Great Commission. 



/iews of it, which, as they are falli- 
ble, must not be taken for the revela- 
tion or word of God itself. 

Besides, the Bible, as language it- 
self, is unintelligible without tradition. 
The best grammars and lexicons are 
those that most faithfully reproduce 
the traditionary sense of a language. 
The Bible interpreted by grammar 
and lexicon is still the Bible inter- 
preted by tradition. The Jewish rite 
of circumcision is intelligible only by 
the tradition that explains it. Baptism 
can be understood only by the tra- 
dition of those who practise it. The 
word may mean aspersion, effusion, 
or immersion — how then, except from 
tradition, determine in which sense 
it must be taken ? Take the word 
presbyter, presbyteros. It means in 
classical Greek an ancient or elder; 
it means with Catholics a prust — 
which is the Christian or Scriptural 
sense of the word ? But as the word 
pticst comes from presbyter^ and is 
the same word under an English 
form, how except from tradition can 
even the lexicographer determine the 
Scriptural sense of the word priest? 
We might continue our instances, and 
ask similar questions in regard to 
ever>' word in the Bible. Gramma- 
rians and lexicographers can only 
give the tradition as they receive it, 
and as nobody pretends that they 
are infallible, appeal to them can set- 
tle no point on which error is not 
permissible. How then without tra- 
dition, and an infallible guardian 
and interpreter of tradition, is it j)os- 
sible to arrive infiillibly at the st^nse 
or teaching of the Bible? Even 
granting that the whole word of God 
is contained in the Bible, expressly 
or by implication, l^rotcstants gain 
nothing, for they cannot understand 
the Bible without tradition, and tra- 
dition requires an infallible guardian 
and interpreter to cnal>lc them to 
claim, because they havj an infallible 



Bible, they have an infallible aut' 
rity for what they profess to bell 
and teach. 

It is well, also, to bear in vex 
that the Holy Scriptures, tho ■ 
when read in the light of auth& 
tradition preserved by the chia. 
are not difficult to understand,, 
are, when read without that li 
well-nigh unintelligible, — are rx 
likely to mislead and bewilder t 
to enlighten and edify the reai 
Experience proves it, and it is wo 
than idle to deny it. Something i 
that tradition, in a mutilated form, ; 
no doubt, still retained by the o\^i 
Protestant sects, though they ai 
daily losing more and more of it, an 
they may derive more or less profitfroi 
reading the Bible ; but where thattn 
dition is wholly lost, or where it h* 
never existed, as with the heathe 
the Bible, save in the history ar 
laws of the Jews, is pretty much 
sealed book, and is by no mea? 
fitted to give much light on the Chr 
tian religion, or to draw unbeliev 
to Christ. So well satisfied are e 
Protestant sects of this that they 
not, in their efforts to convey ' 
they call the Gospel to the he.' 
or benighted papists, rely on tb 
culation of the Scriptures alone 
out note or comment, even i' 
mutilated text and perverse 
perfect translation, but accc 
them wherever they can witl 
readers and inter|)reters. Th 
out Protestant tracts and P 
men and women to expounc 
plain the written word. 

The reason of this unint 
is that all the books of 
were written for believers, 
believers, for those who ai 
to have been more or les 
in the doctrines or truth 
tion, and their writers pi 
readers already know 
something of the mattf 



The Great Cammisslon. 



199 



writing. Whoever reads 

will find on its face that its 

Jve very little fonnal doutri- 

uction ; ihey assume much 

given and is believed, and 

lo the full meaning of what 

ite is to be found only in 

1 been previously taught and 

The written Word, except 

stains to the Mosaic law and 

!ars on Its face the evidence 

supplementary to the oral 

already given* Hence the 

truths or mysteries of the 

are alluded to rather than 

taught. This is true of the 

of the Trinity, which, though 

10 and necessarily implied, is 

in the Old Testament or 

expressly and unequivocally 

We may say almost as much 

ystery of the Incarnation, 

Hie whole Christian scluma^ 

y use the word, grows out 

d depends on it. Yet it is 

re read the passages that im- 

X mystery in the light of 

itioQ of the oral teaching 

1 by the church that we ful- 

stand those passages, and 

\ it is they really imply. 

lose Protestants who profes- 

rcgard all tradition of the 

It both mysteries, even while 

ing the infallible authority of 

These instances suffice to 

vanity of the Protestant 

of the sufficiency of the 

, and that they have in 

infallible authority for their 

fttism* 

not now either defending 
ity or refuting Protestantism. 
>ose from the beginning has 
show that Protestants have 
Ecived the " Great Commis- 
which Dr. Harris speaks in 
fe, and that diey are in no 
Ihe church constituted to 
Gospel to the workl*' 



That our Lord instituted his church 
for that purpose, and to bring all na- , 
tions under the evangelical law, we ' 
of course believe fully, and without 
a shadow of a doubt; but we have 
proved as conclusively as anything 
can be proved that Protestants are 
not that church, are not included in 
it, and therefore that none of the 
commissions issued by our Lord or 
promises made hy him to his church, 
and which are recorded in the Holy 
Scriptures, are applicable to them. 
They are aliens from the common- 
wealth of Clirist, and however loud- 
ly they may call liim " Lord, Lord," 
he knows them not as his servants^ 
They have no authority, and there- 
fore no capacity, to teach. They 
are, as we have seen, of the world, 
and follow the world, and the world 
heareth them, for in them it recognizes 
its own. 

We have no leisure to follow Pro- 
testants in their propaganda at home 
or abroad, among the heathen or 
among Catholics \ we did that suffi- 
ciently in our articles on the learned 
and elaborate work of the Abbt* Mar- 
tin, on Thelhdurt of Frokstantism and 
CathoUtity, Suffice it to say that diey 
incur, we fear, the terrible censure our 
Lord pronounced on the Scribes and 
Pharisees ; ** Wo to you, Scribes and 
Pharisees, hypocrites, who compass 
sea and land to make one jirosel) te, 
and when he is made, ye make him 
twofold more the child of hell than 
yourselves" (St. Matthew xxiii. 15), 
They seem to us to be moved in thcii 
propaganda less by a love of souls 
or the wish to evangelize the world, 
than the desire to thwart the mission- 
ary efforts of the church and to pre- 
vent the spread of Catholicity ; for as 
a rule they follow only in the track 
of the CathoHc missionary. Their mis- 
sions in all Catholic nations succeed, 
to a certain extent, in unmaking 
Catholics, or converting ignorant or 



Rachel, 



201 



ly that fiction seemed reali- 
s her early life passed, and 

began to develop and ma- 
lt, whether selling an old 

for the coveted Racine, 
ncing a will made resolute 
tion, her genius grew with 
vth, and " bent and broke 
umstance to her path." 
discouraged, never allowing 
) think of failure even when 
ame, she struggled bravely 
each phase of her dark life, 
rocuring an engagement for 
irs, where her talents were 
i by a two-act piece of Du- 
i Vendcenne^ written expressly 
'but. In this she did very well, 
?, for the first time, she was 
La Marseillaise, which years 
d in a season of vast mo- 
rilled thousands at the Fran- 

is not pretty, but she pleases," 
verdict rendered at the Gym- 
She utters no screams, makes 
'es ; • . . . she excites tears, 
, and interest." 
)eople always rallied to her 

nightly the boxes were oc- 
by this class of Parisians, 
jgh the house was generally 

she could not be called a 
for the Jews were unable to 

reputation. Her voice and 
were also un suited to com- 

which she was afterwards 
)r, despite careful study, she 
3 entirely in this line that 
kindly cancelled her engage- 
eling convinced of her unfit- 
the stage. 

her old friend Sanson work- 
ind with her, and at length 
^ in procuring for her an 
lent, at four thousand francs 
r, at the Theatre Fran^ais, 
tin circumstances were against 
it was summer, and Paris was 
town. The Israelites again 



thronged the house, and a few appre- 
ciative critics were pleased, yet to 
the many she was still " the little 
fright." Then Jules Janin saw her, 
and he was the first to realize that 
the genius of the girl would yet 
make her the queen of tragedy. 

At last, Paris awoke, and the citi- 
zen-king hstened, condescending to 
say that he would be glad to hear 
her again. Indeed, a royal footman 
brought Mile. Rachel a present of 
one thousand francs, the day after 
the king's visit to the theatre, and her 
salary was also increased. 

At this time, her repertoire consist- 
ed of Camille in Les Horaces, Emi- 
lie in Cinna, Hermione in Andro- 
viaque, Amenaide in Tancrede, Eri- 
phile in Jphi^cnie en Aiilide, and Mo- 
nime in Mitliridate, 

She had now fairly asserted her- 
self, and the most aristocratic court- 
ed her presence. But, notwithstand- 
ing all the attention and flattery of- 
fered, the young girl was faithful to 
her studies, and touching pictures of 
the simple household come tq us; 
how she controlled the younger chil- 
dren, always retaining her position 
as the daughter, and even preparing 
the simple food with that quiet dig- 
nity which was her especial charac- 
teristic. Studying carefully, persever- 
ing indomitably, was it suq^rising that 
she could demand where others sued ? 
'* Xeglect is but the fiat to an undying 
future," a great thinker has told us, 
and so those early, cruel years prov- 
ed to Rachel. But though success 
was sweet, and the voice of applaud- 
ing thousands a necessity, yet a very 
short time was sufficient to develop 
tlie great characteristic of her race, 
and the insatiable greed for gold was 
stronger than her strongest passion. 
Certain money transactions were 
bruited that did not redound to her 
honor, and many of her best friends 
grew cold. Then, with all the pas- 



Rachel 



f sion of a pythoness, she roused her- 
fself, and, making each endeavor 
stronger by her womanly antago- 
nism, she determined to succeed de- 
spite their displeasure. 

The first night of Raxane dosed, 
and for the only time in her life " the 
woman sank dismayed at sight of 
unfriendly brows." This was ice to 
her heart, but it was the ice that quick- 
ens and intensifies the flame. So, ral- 
lying with a grand courage worthy 
a better motive, she prepared her- 
self for the second night. Thunders 
of applause repaid her, and her " Sor- 
t€Z r brought down the house. Hers 
was a new school, where the rules 
that had once been laws were entire- 
ly disregarded. No studied declama- 
tion, no loud ranting, marred the clas- 
sic beauty of her perfect rendition, 
but each phase was true to nature, 
each gesture told its part; and the 
actors themselves were startled by the 
fearful earnestness of her tones. The 
fiercer and more terrible passions 
seemed hens pre-eminently; and ha- 
tred stole the fires of hell, while jeal- 
ousy incarnated the passion of devils, 
when her genius made them realiza- 
tions. Not so much a living imjier- 
sonation of characteristics, she pos- 
sessed the art of waking conceptions 
of what might be, and, with these pre- 
monitions of the possible, she would 
pass onward to some newer and more 
sublime translation. 

Never finding expression in screams, 
indicative always of mere surface-feel- 
ing, hers was the utterance of con- 
trolled passion, which you saw gleam- 
ing in her burning eyes, or listened to 
ynlh bated breath in each whisper of 
her distinct voice. Her physique 
was very frail» but there was wonder- 
ful power in each movement : and 
more than any other actress has she 
realized the eloquence of action. 

She never appealed by her sex's 
gentleness, neither did this woman 






dazzle by the beauty others owBcd; 
but she extorted what you could not 
withhold — she demanded as a queen, 
and you dared not deny her tribute. 
The most exclusive saloons were now 
open to her, and the noblest of France 
offered their homage, Chateaubriand 
petted her ; Recaraicr welcomed J 
with winning grace. 

Her career has been reckoned tfi 
184010 1 856^ closing in January. 1857- 
and during this long period t 
lie gave her a loyalty tliat was 
faithful. But those who are most ex- 
alted must expect the world to treat 
them as a marksman would a first- 
rate target. Therefore, in V 
case, many and in quick sii 
were the arrows aimed* TIj-. u. i 
only acts, said one, and the wcniiiri i^ 
devoid of feeling ! — but had they sccQ 
her after the imprecations of Cainillc^ 
when, panting for breath, her Urge 
eyes would close, and her pur ' 
prove the fearful strength of i 
sion ! 

At this time^ she appeared as Pjui-| 
line in Rilyeucte^ but the public 
not pleased with this, and it was onW 
when she concentrated her strcngtq 
in the magic words, " Je crois- 
suis Chretienne !" • Uiat her eyes ! 
died, and her audience felt its old 1 
spiration. 

Many incidents have been recal] 
to disprove her want of feeling; 
none are more touching than ihaj 
Lyons, She was at her zcnitli 
with two continents echoing hen 
claim ; and again she trod the 
known streets, and entered die 
(afe where the chilled and trend 
child first essayed her verses,/ 
was rich and powerful now ; \ 
sands passed through herlir:- 
she only saw the faded tali 
she only heard the hungry 
** two sous I" '* They willingly 1 

• *' I bcUevfr-I Am ft Chcikt*£.i^ 



RaduL 



203 



louis, now I am rich and celebrat- 
i/* sbe said then» while assisting 
)me charity. "They refused me 
ivo sous when I was a poor child 
yiixg of hunger I'* And, with tliis 
ill tide of the past sweeping her pas- 
ionate heart, she sat in the little ca/t 
lear the T/udtrc Ceiesfins, The tri- 
traphs of the artist were forgotten, 
unci the greats burning eyes of the 
*oraan wept ! 

Kow caine tlie famous English 
tour, in all respects a triumjjh ; 
*' ' extended her travels to the 
, and afterward went further 
<ju liic Continent. But tlie Parisians 
nc^er iiked her absence, and were al- 
ways sulky on her return. 

Then the February of 184S came, 
ad Kuchel entered Paris amid the 
illouts of " La Marseillaise," Who 
could tiNist that hymn ? for, as a 
rl told Beranger, *' One felt 
I a mighty breath of hope, that 
iJore along with it all youthful hearts." 
And she, the idol of the people, she 
Of the masses, chanted the great hymn 
y* Clad in long flowing white 
T, grasping the tricolor in her 
hand, she appeared before the 
Ls, half-chandng, half-reciting 
ic Marseillaise, "llie whole fig- 
writes a contemporary, ** in its 
brific grace, its sinister beauty, was 
I Lent representation of the 
= .r Nemesis of antiquity, and 
tnick every heart with terror and 
blmiralion.'* Then when she sank 
p \ht gruund, clasping the flag, the 
nthusiasni of the people broke forth 
m one spontaneous, electric shout of 
;4ilau5;c. 

jjicre were free performances at 
tie, and, with the sash of a 
W€ bound around her waist, 
itcd such a furor that even 
• "iscd their hats, coUect- 
i monster bouquet to 
I, the em- 
, and the 




Marseillaise ceased even in the streets. 
Then Adtienne Lecouvnur appeared, 
calling forth a remarkable criticism, 
and contradicting the heartlessness 
so often lu-ged ; for it was now said 
that her success was more that of the 
woman than the artiste. Only on rare 
occasions did she allow ghmpses of 
her better nature to appear, but these 
showed a kindliness none the less real. 
Witness her generosity to the poor 
peasant aunt in Germany, whom she 
invited to stay with her, bestow- 
ing upon the old woman a sum that 
made her comfortable for life. And 
again, when her quick passion made 
her forget the deference due to her 
mother, she would never rest till she 
had speedily returned for pardon. 

At one time, it was reported that, in 
Rome, she was desirous of being 
baptized by the Holy Father, and 
this impulse is said to have originat- 
ed in deep feelings, the result of 
powerful im])ressions. Indeed, after 
her return from the Vatican, she ex- 
claimed, ** Yes, this is the true faith. 
This is the God-inspired creed. None 
other could have accomplished such 
works. Truly I will be one of them 
yet." These words excited great 
alarm in her family, who looked with 
horror upon the prospect of her be- 
coming a Christian. However, the 
precious grace then apparently given 
was never followed. We fear that 
by a life of worldliness and even sin- 
fulness it was soon crushed. 

Rachel was treated with distin- 
guished courtesy both by the Em- 
peror of Russia and the King of 
Prussia; and her success in Russia 
was said to be due not only to her 
genius as an actress, but to her per- 
sonal influence over the young offi- 
cers and nobUsse. At one of the 
farewell dinners, the invasion of 
Prance was discussed, and then the 
tact of the tnt^etiiemte was most hap- 
pily displayed. 



204 



Rachel 



" We sliall not bid you adieu, but 
au rtimry madcmohelk^' said one of 
the officers, " We hope soon to ap- 
plaud you in tlie capital of France, 
and to drink your health in its excel- 
lent wines." 

" Nay, misskurs*^ she replied ; 
*' France will not be rich enough to 
afford champagne to all her priso- 
ners," 

She returned to Paris, and then 

^the fatal American journey was first 
broached. Raphael, with his keen 

^love of money, urged it, because Jen- 
ny Lind's hardest had been easy and 
abundant. She was now in her splen- 
did maturity, and at this time Rachel 
first realized those gTan<! conceptions 
of Racine and Corneille which she 
had heretofore only rendered from 
close application. But now every 
shadow of passion represented was 
intensely felt in each fibre of her be- 
ing ; therefore as Phedre she held 
Paris spell-bound. Her death-scene 
was thrilling, and the people of her 
heart rewelcomed her with unswerv- 
ing fealty. But at tliis time her 
youngest and darling sister Rebecca 
died, and this event sadly afflicted 
her. Then, rousing her darker nature, 
came the Francesca of the beau- 
tiful Italian. Right gracefully did 
Ristori yield her meed of apprecia- 
tion, but Rachel's was extorted by 
public opinion. Perhaps her quick 
jealousy urged her to surjiass herself 
during that triumphant London sea- 
son, and perhaps pique hurried her 
across the ocean to America. Strange 
was the omen shadowing the first 
day of that voyage, for it was mark- 
ed by death from consumption; but 
they were enthusiastically received 
in New York, and on the 3d of Sep- 
tember, 1S55. Rachel appeared as 
Cam ill e, afterwards came Phedre, 
and then Adrienne. In a few weeks, 

^slie visited Boston and Philadeli^hia, 
nd ill this last city, from neglecting 



to heat the theatre, her cold en 
dered by the varying New Yorlj 
mate was aggravated, and she| 
came ill. Famiiy dissensions 
tormented her, for Raphael was \ 
ing, and Sarah passionate be 
control; then even her maids 
relied, and her rapidly devek 
disease preyed upon body and \ 
She was restless and eager to re 
for an early fancy had proved 
an earnest passion, and for the 
time Rachel felt that she loved- 

For some reason she altered 
plans, and with part of her fa mi] 
proceeded to Charleston, South C^an; 
lina, where much was ext>ectcd froa 
the warm climate and balmy air. 
Her physician in this city recom- 
t7iended six months* rcst^ but she woiiJtl 
not consent to it. Act she wo 
act she must, and on the lyth^l 
December a crowded house bch 
the (ragcdimne for the last time^ 
Adrienne. KxpecLition was at 
height, and the iltU of a very pros 
city crowded the small theatre, 
of the tickets sold as high as 
dollars, and every seat was <][ui( 
secured. 

Can we ever forget her, as she 1 
appeared, tall, lilhe, and self-conii 
ed, with those large, burning eye 
deep, passionate strength ? lite | 
was perfectly colorless, and ever i 
anon the ^ital cough shook her fn 
Then the voice, as we hear her rep 
ing the lines of Roxanc — no rant,! 
even a loud note, but you hold 
breatii to listen, too absorbed, too 
chained, to applaud. So we pass 1 
the exquisite music of ** J .cs 
Pigeons,'* when her newly awakd 
love sounds in each sofi 
lation, and watch her in 
lous splendor of her iliamontis, 
brow and bosom flash with a 
gift; see her as she passes thts \ 
ess de Bouillon, herr ' 
one luok of wither 



RacftcL 



205 



^ghty coldness of contempt, 
tmces; 

\ " Je «is mes perfidies, 

le suts point tic ces fcmmcs bardies. 
It d»iit le crime une traaqulllc paix, 
lire un &^at qui ne rougic jiuuais." 

Doment she was the queen 
lid dominant, even though 
t with all the passion of 
n. Again she comes, but 
pds no longer flash upon 
i; the festive dress is put 
1 ghastly, dying, she leans 
iie robe on the dark vel- 

low chair. Gxsp by gasp 
Udied this m the hospitals 
I Paris, but she is nearer re- 
ban she dreamed then, and 
\ bears a cruel truth and 
enjonition. Could she feel 
d she realize it, and life so 
low ? See her gasp, and 
ter, as she leans on the 

velvet-^hear her cough, 
t, but deep and hollow and 
.1 Watch the death-shadows 
darken — aye, the scene is 
^ the tones are sounding 
gh blood and battle stand 
le present and that Decern- 

tc!** A whole lifetime of 
entrates in that eager, im- 
elcome. Then, hold your 
you bend forward breath- 
th each word that is barely 
J not loudly spoken ; but 
juet to tier no syllable is 
die hush grows inlenscr, 
k more profound, as she con- 

[ucUes soufirances . . . 
ius ma tete, c'est ma poi- 
^t brulante . * , j'at 
in brazier . . . comme 

Qt qui me consume. 

|e mal se double* . . . 

Valmez tant, sauvez moi, 

U • • t jeneveuxpas 

& present je ne veux 



" Mon Dieu I exaucez-moi ! . , . 
Mon Dieu, laissez moi vi\Te 1 . . , 
quelque jours encore. . , * Je 
suis si jeune et la vie s*ouvrait pour 
moi si belle 1 

'* La vie ! . . . la vie 1 . , . 
vains efforts ! . . . vaine pri^re ! 
♦ . . nie^ jours sont comptes. Je 
sens les forces et Texistence qui 
m'echappcnt I" • 

Who can forget her ** Adieu!" in 
which all of life's passion merged into 
the agony of the long parting ? 

Thus the scene passed from us; 
and to \\\Qtrag(^diennr^ her own life fur- 
nished a drama too sadly real to allow 
assumed feeling; therefore, despite the 
murmurs of the Havaneros, among 
whom she afterward sojourned, she 
was utterly incapable of appearing 
again on the stage. 

The company then disbajided, and 
on the 28 th of January, 1856, she 
returned to France. 

How strenuously she fought death, 
those who watched her can testify, 
for she yearned for life with a crav- 
ing that wotild not be subdued. 

The climate of the Nile region was 
recommended, but in May she came 
back imlmproved. 

A Parisian winter was thought too 
severe for her, so she prepared to re- 
move ; and in September, when her 
carriage drove past the Gymnasc to 
the Thhitrc Francis ^ where for fif- 
teen years she had triumphed, she 
stopped for one lung, last gaze, and 



• '* Ah ! what snfTerings , . . k is no longer 
tny head, it is tny breast^ that burns , , , it is 
here like a Ike conl . . . like & devouring fire 
which consumes roe. 

**Ah S the pain crrows worse, , . . You who 
love me so much, save me, hclpmc. . . . I do 
not want to die. . - . at t>rc!$c[it I do not want 
to die. 

'* O Gim3 \ hear me! » , . O God, permit mc to 
live ! . . . a fevr days longer. ... I am 
so young, and life was opcoing before me so 
beautiful 1 

"Life! ... life! .. . rain struggles! . . . 
vain prayer! . . . my days are numbered* 1 
feel my streagth and my very being passing 
away 1" 



206 



Rachel. 



fondly watched it while even a single 
line remained within her vision. 

She was lifted from her carriage 
to the railway station, whence she 
went to Cannes, and from that place 
to Cannet, a little village near, where 
she accepted the loan of a villa from 
a friend. 

And here we are told of the bed- 
room with its snow-white walls, its 
friezes, and antique sculpture, and 
even of the white bedstead, and sta- 
tue of Polymnia, all of which had 
been fatally foreshadowed in a dream 
which came to Rachel in the flush 
of her splendid career. Five years 
before, she dreamed that a giant 
hand crushed her chest with fiery 
pain, and, still dreaming, she thought 
that she waked in a room strangely 
like the one into which she was now 
ushered, when a voice cried aloud 
to her, "Thou shalt die here under 
my hand ! Thou shalt die here un- 
der my hand!" Strange warning, 
and stranger coincidence; for the 
life was being crushed by the same 
burning pain, in the very room with 
its white walls and antique sculpture ! 

Carefully and persistently she fol- 
lowed the advice of her physician, 
but the winter of 1857 found her ra- 
pidly passing away. On Sunday, 
January 3, 1858, her suffocation was 
painful, and, after dictating a little to 
her father, her thoughts wandered to 
her youngest and favorite sister, 
whose death she had so faithfully 
mourned. 

" My dear sister, I am going to 
see thee!*' she exclaimed, evidently 
realizing the approaching change. 

Sarah, who nursed her with tireless 
affection, and who was also the most 
orthodox Jewess of the family, at 
once telegraphed to the Consistory at 
Nice, which sent ten persons to assist 
in the last offices. Rachel was slowly 
sinking ; but as she still clung despair- 
ingly to life, fearing to agitate her, 



Sarah delayed introducing 
till the last moment ; the 
grew rapidly worse, the) 
and two women and an ol< 
proached the bed, comm 
sing in Hebrew the psalm, 
to God, daughter of Israel. 

Rachel then turned her 
looked upon the singers, 
tinued: 

" In the name of thy lov< 
Israel, deliver her soul : si 
to return to thee; break 1 
that bind her to dust, and 
to appear before thy glor>'.* 

The effect upon the dyir 
seemed soothing, for her coi 
grew calmer and milder; so 
on: 

" The Lord reigneth, the 
reigned, the Lord will rei^ 
where, and for evermore !" 

Sarah held her hand, for 
chel was really dying. 

" God of our fathers, revi 
mercy, the soul that goeth 
unite it to those of the holy [ 
amid the eternal joys of the 
Paradise ! Amen !" 

And when the last notes 
her soul echoed the " am< 
higher court, before the 
Judge. On earth the vo 
" Blessed be the Judge of T 

Thus the great star paj 
our horizon, leaving the 
blacker than before. She 
with her magnificent genii 
time to rescue French traj 
neglect; for Talma and D 
had passed away, and roi 
triumphed where classic dr 
reigned. It was at this < 
the young Israelite swept 1 
and for almost a score of 
continents echoed with her 

More than ten years ha 
since her death ; and whethe 
of the age is educated by 
of the age, or whether lost 



The Sicpping'Stoncs. 207 

iders a love of pinchbeck, future tury there has been a perceptible de- 
mist resolve. Only this we rea- cline of all genius, save the genius of 
[lat for the past quarter of a cen- invention. 



THE STEPPING-STONES. 

At the feet of grand old forest trees, 

Round whose gnarled arms wild grape-vines throw 
Shadows that shift with the shifting breeze, 

A deep stream crawls to the lake below ; 
Silent and sullen and slow it crawls 

On its eel-grass bed to the lake below. 

A path from a restless neighborhood, 

Through tangle and brushwood, toils away, 

To the brink of the stream by the shadowy wood 
\\'here are laid the stones that are green and gray ; 

Crosses the treacherous stream of ill 

On stepping-stones that are green and gray. 

Beyond the stream the path goes wide 

Over a green hilFs gentle breast, 
To the church and the convent-gate beside, 

To the sacred homes of peace and rest ; 
Goes broad and plain to the open doors 

Of the sacred homes of peace and rest. 

By many a path is the brushwood crossed : 
One leads to a mound over human bones ; 

Others in reedy fens are lost ; 
But one path leads to the stepping-stones ; 

A hundred paths that lead astray, 
And only one to the stepping-stones. 

There are stepping-stones in the path of life. 
That cross its streams and give release 

From the tangled mazes of doubt and strife, 
To the dwellings of eternal peace ; 

That lead from the regions of unrest. 
To the dwellings of eternal peace. 

But a hundred paths that lead astray 

Run wild through the dim, uncertain ground ; 

And the wildered travellers miss the way, 
And the stepping-stones are never found ; 

The dwellings of peace are lost for aye, 
For the steppmg-stones are never found. 



208 



Tlie Church in China. 



THE CHURCH IN CHINA. 



TKANSLATED FROM TUB GERMAN. 



Great changes have taken place 
within the last thirty years in the re- 
lations of China and the extreme East 
to the rest of the world ; and these 
changes, so important in a commer- 
cial point of view and in their bear- 
ings upon the intercourse of nations, 
are no less so when viewed from a 
Christian and missionary standpoint. 

The Roman See had already turn- 
ed its attention to the conversion of 
the vast empire of China in tlie Mid- 
dle Ages. In the thirteenth and four- 
teenth centuries, a time when China 
was ruled by the Mongol dynas- 
ty and was less exclusive in its poli- 
cy toward foreigners. Pope Innocent 
IV. in conjunction with St. Louis 
of France, Popes Gregory X., John 
XXL, Nicholas III., Nicholas IV., 
and Clement V., sent missionaries 
belonging to the Dominican and 
Franciscan orders to plant the Chris- 
tian faith in that distant land, then 
almost inaccessible to people of the 
outer world. We cannot go into the 
details of their mission : suffice it to 
say that it was not entirely fruitless. 
The faith found numerous adherents, 
and flourishing churches sprang up 
in various places. But the hopes 
awakened by the progress of the 
church in China, and by the erection 
of an archiepiscopal see in Pekin, 
were entirely blasted by the downfall 
of the Mongol dynasty and the rise 
of that of Ming. The emperors of 
this family revived and enforced the 
old national policy of exclusiveness ; 
and the attem])ts of Catholic mission- 
aries to eflfect an entrance into the 
kingdom were frustrated by the se- 
verity with which that policy was en- 



forced. It was only after an intern- 
tion of two hundred years that n» 
sionary labor became again possit 
in China. St. Francis Xavier, towa-: 
the close of his apostolic career, w- 
seized with an ardent desire to pri 
claim the faith in that land. Afti 
the great apostle had won ov( 
millions of idolaters to Christianit 
in India, Japan, and intermedial 
places, he yearned to undertake tl" 
conversion of the Chinese. In vai 
the Portuguese governor of Malacc 
throws obstacles in his way. Nc 
ther remonstrances, nor threats, n( 
dangers avail to restrain him froi 
his purpose. Almost unaccompanio 
he goes on board a merchant-shi; 
and lands on the little island of Sa: 
cian, not far from the coast of Chia 
From this point, he surveys the lar 
of his desire, and hopes soon to rea« 
the end of his journey. But God, 
his inscnitable designs, has decre* 
otherwise. The apostle of India and 
Japan, the renowned wonder-work^ 
Francis Xavier, must end his cou« 
on this barren island, separated frc 
his children in the faith, and ahnc 
entirely forsaken by men. He L 
in a wretched shed, devoured \sf 
burning fever. Inspired from abo"" 
he knows that his hour is nigh. S 
casts one last, wistful look at the h -: 
of China, offers to God the sacriS 
of his life and his desires, and surrtf 
ders his beautiful soul into the haC 
of his Saviour. 

The ardent desire of St. Fraik. 
Xavier to replant the faith in ChS 
did not die with him. He bequei^ 
ed it to his companions of die SflP* 
ety of Jesus. After many tf' 



The Church in China, 



209 



attempts, a few members 
lebrated society succeeded, 
ond half of the sixteenth 
in paving the way for mis- 
ork in China. What hitherto 
on earth had been able to 
at a European should be per- 
enter China — was brought 
by a few Jesuits through their 
iments in the sciences, 
nat was It that proved so pow- 
i inducement to Francis Xa- 
d the Catholic missionaries in 
It was the vastness of the 
population of four hundred 
■a people who, on account 
commercial enterprise and 
state of their civilization, de- 
ic highest regard. 
a triumph it woidd be for 
irch to win over such a peo- 
be Catholic faith I Their con- 
■ould double, perhaps treble, 
ber of Catholic believers in 
dl Nor was it only the 
population of China that 
>e affected by the change. 
w as not to be lost sight of — 
ded importance to the con- 
l^hina — that for centuries 
igh its literature and civi- 
cxerted great influence on 
ghboring nations. It seem- 
so ver, that tliere was no good 
irhy the conversion of the 
should be so dilhcult a task. 
5y not retained glimmerings 
?val and patriarchal truth ? 
t Confucius in his works 
Anticipated in some points 
ings of Christianity ? Why 
not be expected that a peo- 
held the works of their phi- 
in such high esteem would 
cir hearts to the purer and 
blime doctrines of the Gos- 
!his was the view which the 
fcionaries of the Society of 
the situation, Hence 
themselves by pre- 

TOL. XU* — 14 



ference to the educated and the 
learned, and their labors were not 
without success. Men of the highest 
rank, distinguished officers of state, 
learned in the writings of their philo- 
sophers and sincere seekers of truth, 
were converted to the faith — a cir- 
cumstance well calculated to encou- 
rage the zeal of those holy men. 

Yet, spite of all this, it soon be- 
came apparent that there \vere great 
difficulties in tlie way of China's con- 
version. It will be well to cast a 
glance at the nature of these difficul- 
ties before considering the present re- 
lations of China to the church and 
the grounds of our hope for the fu- 
ture. 

The greatest obstacle to the increase 
of the Christian faith in China has 
always been its jealous and exclusive 
policy toward strangers. The empe- 
rors believed that the celestial king- 
dom stood in no need of intercourse 
with the outer world, 00 account of 
its vast extent and the variety of its 
products. They saw in their isola- 
tion policy a guarantee against for- 
eign conquest, and threatened every 
stranger who dared to enter the king- 
dom, and every native who dared to 
leave it, with death. Nevertheless, 
the missionaries of the Society of 
Jesus made their way, spite of all pe* 
nal enactments, into the capital of 
the emperor, ingratiated themselves, 
into the favor of the highest dignita- 
ries, and even of the emperor himself* 
This inconsistency in the treatment 
of the missionaries had its origin sole- 
ly in the fact that they made them- 
selves indispensable to the govern- 
ment. They calculated the yearly 
calendar; and the Chinese, be it re- 
marked, held in the highest repute 
the prediction of the phenomena of 
the heavens* Father Ricci and 
Schall showed themselves in such 
matters far in advance of the philoso- 
phers of the country. So long as the 







IP! 



aoe* 






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The Church in China. 



211 



jrwhere filled with 
They were subjected to 
aents, and, when they 
ny their faith onder the 
e rack, they were put to 

death or sent into a 
iment. Many persons 
n, even members of the 
ily, s\ifiered for years in 
ns on account of their 
;onsequence of this se- 

gradual diminution in 
of the laity, many of 
ay, while others received 
palm. The number of 
m, became smaller, the 
Esecution hav ing thinned 

The accession of new 
abroad became almost 
rhile the seminaries for 
\ of a native i>nesthood 
^ered and abolished, 
ishops, also, disease and 
n e their work . Th e fe w 
d necessarily exercised 
: over an immense terri- 
i few priests, native or 
sist them. In this con- 
lirs, it is plain that the 
if the Jesuits was a great 

China. They continu* 
IS after the dismember- 
>rder; but at their death 
others to succeed them ; 
a time w^hen most need* 
:y was lost to the Catho- 
if China. 

er of Christians sadly de- 
this, both in Pekin and 
c^. At the end of the 
entury, it had sunk to 
tly tradesmen and small 
t the worst was not yet. 
part of the present cen- 
' the faithful fel! away on 
tisecution and the lack 
^he seminar)' of the I.az- 
LO, and that of the French 
at Paulo-Pinang for the 
;ive priests, were diffi- 



cult of access to the youth of ChinSj 
and could hardly supply the pressing 
needs of the country. The state of 
society in Europe, also, at this tirae^ 
was very unfavorable. The French 
Society of Priests of the Foreign Mis- 
sions, the Lazarists, and other orders 
had been suppressed. The wars on 
the Continent greatly prejudiced vo- 
cations to the priesthood; while the 
vacancy of so many bishoprics, and 
the imprisonment of the Holy Father, 
contrilmled to prostrate the missions. 
It really seemed in the first decades 
of this centur}^ as if all that had been 
purchased by the blood of martyrs 
during two centuries was about to be 
lost to the church in a short time 
through lack of missionaries. Bui 
when the need was greatest, God's 
Providence interfered in a palpable 
manner, and in a short time eAectetl 
a w^onderfyl change in the situation 
of the church in China. 

After the overthrow of the first 
French empire began an era of peace 
for the church. Pius VII., released 
from captivity, returned in trium|)h to 
Rome ; the old religious orders arose 
from their ruins; the Society of Jesus 
returned to life ; the Lazarists, and 
the Seminary of Foreign Missions in 
France^ were restored. Thus, about 
the end of the first third of the pre- 
sent century, there were promises of 
a glorious future for the faith in China. 

At this time, too, the religious feel- 
ings of the people of Europe were 
visibly strengthened, and took a di- 
rection, particularly in France, which, 
under the guidance of Providence, 
was of great ser\ice to the cause of 
religion in China and in the distant 
East. The Xaverian Missionar)^ So- 
ciety owed its origin to this feeling. 
It was founded at Lyons in 1822, and 
increased in so wonderful a manner 
that it soQn spread over the whole of 
France and of the neighboring coun* 
tries. At present, its members are to 



The Church in China, 



be found in every quarter of the globe, 
This society, and another afterward 
established, the *' Apostleship of Pray- 
er," have been of the greatest semce 
to the missions in China by their 
prayers and by their alms. 

Besides these societies, there is also 
the " Society of the Holy Infancy," 
established to aid the missions in 
China. Originating in 1S43, it soon 
spread to all parts of the world. It is 
especially intended for Christian chil- 
dren, who associate together to ran- 
som the children of heathen parents, 
to have them baptized, cared for, and 
educated in a Christian manner. Aid- 
ed by this holy enthusiasm for the 
salvation of souls, the number of mis- 
sionaries in China gradually increas- 
ed. Dominicans, P'ranciscans, Laza- 
xists, the priests of Foreign Missions, 
and members of the Society of Jesus, 
flocked to the work of evangelizing 
China. Disguised in the native cos- 
tume, they exercised their sacred func- 
tions — not, however, without danger, 
for several paid for their boldness with 
their lives. But no dangers availed 
to deter them. They penetrated into 
the remotest provinces, sought out the 
Christian families, and collected to- 
gether the scattered remnants of the 
tiock. 

I'he missionaries found a sad state 
of things in the provinces. In a few 
places only did the Christians dare 
to meet together, under the leader- 
ship of a catechumen or perhaps of 
an aged native priest. In some parts 
of the country wherei a short time be- 
fore, there had been flourishing Chris- 
tian communities, there was now not 
a trace of Christianity to be found. 
In other places, there were scatter- 
ed Christian families ; but it was a 
difticult task to discover their where- 
abouts, because of the continual dread 
of persecution in which they lived. 
Such being the state of affairs, the 
iQissionaries were unable to extend 



their efforts to the unconvertq 
then- Their ministrations I 
Christians, even, had to be caitj 
secretly. 

The appearance of fresh oai 
aries in China, and the coiu^ 
increase \xi the number of bi 
awakened both the old and fj 
cenUy established Christian dk 
nities to a new life. The 
long deprived of the use of tl 
raments, rejoiced at having 
portunity to receive the minis^ 
of a priest more frequently. , 
education of a native prief 
now became a matter of the fit 
portance. At the request of | 
cars- apostolic of China, the Q 
gation of Foreign Missions reoi; 
ed and enlarged its college al 
minary on the island of Paulo-Fj 
The Lazarists had still their seii 
at Macao. These two congreg| 
besides, had established schod 
boys in the interior ; and the 1 
nicans and Franciscans had doi 
same in the portion of the OQ 
sul>ject to their jurisdiction, \ 
same time, the number of catii 
was everywhere increased; ai 
the social laws of China di) 
allow that women should rece^ 
struction from men, young % 
and pious widows were chose^ 
the religious orders to instruci 
of their owti sex» 1 

It was not till the old C\k 
communities were reorganize^ 
the missionaries could give tl|| 
to the conversion of the heath 
task necessarily slow, as the di 
ties which had prevented the i 
of the faiih in former times 
ed it still. 

But God watched over 
ests of his church. The prosci 
of the Chrisrian faith in Chin^i 
rather from a political than a 
cause. It originated more in % 
to shut China out from tlie rest! 



thj 



any wish on the part of 
iraent to mould the con- 
f its subjects. There was 
on to believe that, when 
t up its policy of exclusive- 
bad thrown open its doors 
t of the world, it would 
nterference with the pro- 
if Christianity* which was 
arcel of that policy. That 
ot far distant, 'jhe com- 
terests of Europe^ which, 
times, had inflicted untold 
the missions in China and 
-e now destined, under the 
3f Providence, to open a 
le Gospel By the treaty 
in 1842, it was stipnlated, 
htT things, that five sea- 
% of the empire should be 
the commerce of all na- 
that foreign merchants 
let certain conditions, take 
sidence in these cities. It 
(den, however, to al3 for- 
penetrate into the interior 
nain limits. 

Inch commercial treaty, ra- 
he 2^\h of August, 1845, 
cial importance to the Ca- 
nons, inasmuch as^ by its 
tnce virtually constituted 
s protector of Christianity 

rraity with this treaty, three 
:licts appeared in the ofh- 
tl of Pekin. By the first, 
e were permitted to em- 
practise the Christian reli- 
c second recognized the 
i«Iigion as a good one. 
restored to tlie Christians 
urches built since the time 

uhich had not been tum- 
godas or public buildings. 
, however, one ynflivorable 
he French treaty. It was 
hat no European, and of 

missionary, should pass 
terior of th e coun try. B u t 



it was at the same time provided that 
the mandarins should not visit with 
any punishment Europeans found in 
the interior, but should send them 
back, at the expense of the state, to 
one of the seaport towns open to for- 
eigners. Thus the clause above-men- 
tioned was shorn of its severity, and 
the missionaries resolved to continue 
to penetrate into the interior. 

The French treaty was hailed with 
enthusiasm by all the friends of the 
faith; but it soon became apparent 
that their expectations had been rais- 
ed too high. The results were not 
all that had been expected. The 
edicts of the empire served, in one 
respect, only to make the enemies of 
the faith more watchful. The prisons 
were in many of the provinces fdled 
with Christians, and Christian blood 
flowed anew. In the province of 
Kuang-si, M. Chapdelaine was de- 
capitaier! in 1855, together with seve- 
ral of his neophytes. New wars and 
new treaties were wanting to put the 
Christian religion on a firmer footing, 
and they were not long in coming. 
The Chinese were not overparticu- 
lar in their observance of the terms 
of the treaty. The result ^vas an- 
oth er war wi t h C h i na . Th e po pulous 
city of Canton was stormed Decem- 
ber 30, 1857, and the viceroy and 
general in command taken prisoners. 
A new treaty wns signed in June, 
1858, but violated the year afterward. 
Another and greater war followed* 
The combined forces of France and 
England defeated the imperial anny, 
and advanced as far as the capital. 
The treaty of Pekin, which was rari^ 
fied by the em|>eror on the second 
day of November, concluded the 
war between China and the allied 
powers. In the treaty with England, 
it was stipulated that a greater num- 
ber of harbors should be opened to 
European commerce ; that foreign 
ships shouli! have the right to navi- 



The Church in China. 



great rivers; that certain 

\>Vi those slreaius should be 

In to foreigners; that consuls 

be recognized at the points 

|>ened ; irut all strangers with 

from the authorities of the 

should be allowed to travel 

interior; and that foreign am- 

ilors should have the right to 

Jle at Pekin^ 

rhe following provisions, proposed 
the French Commissioner, Baron 
:)S, were also agreed to : That the 
ssionaries of the Catholic faith 
lould be allowed to preach the Gos- 
el in the whole of China^ and that 
Rie Chinese should be allowed to 
embrace it ; that the right to prac> 
Itise their religion should be guaran- 
ftced to the Christian Chinese; that 
all churches, cemeteries, and reli- 
gious buildings which had been tak- 
en from the Christians should be re- 
stored ; that the mandarin who had 
caused M, Cha|Klelaine to be behead- 
ed should be declared incapacitated 
^ hold any office whatever, and that 
lis punishment should be made 
'"known in all parts of the empire as a 
warning to others. 

We may now inquire what the 
church has to hope for from these 
changes in the policy of China, and 
from the important concessions which 
that countT}' has been forced to make. 
Shall we witness the realization of 
the hopes and wishes of St. Francis 
Xavier ? Shall we soon see the 
great empire of China converted to 
he doctrine of the cross, as was the 
'empire of Rome after three centu- 
ries of persecution ? We cannot an- 
M^wer these questions with any degree 
Hpf certainty; but a consideration of 
^^fcresent circumstances and of indi- 
vidual facts may give us some insight 
into the real condition of religious 

r flairs in those parts. 
Before proceeding any further, we 
lust mention one circumstance which 



■the 



111 lura 
of i| 

booW 

avc3i 



is quite new in th^ 
ncse missions. As I 
ciition was the order o 
tholic missjonaries foil 
titors from the ranks 
ism. Previous to the t 
Protestant missionariei 
ture outside the rang€ 
American cannon. Si 
however, their number 
In Pekin, in the town 
rope an commerce, an 
consul has taken up 
they have establish^ 
with their wives and cl 
seem to care more foi 
their families than fo 
and, when a good opp 
do not hesitate to fors 
istry for a life 
have buik schc 
wherever they have 
selves. They distribu 
through the country 
pedlars ; and, as they 
for the services of th€ 
few of the pagan Chiij 
induced to become 
Protestant faith, wifl 
accepting it themselvj 
gentlemen are *' spr 
among the heather 
themselves are enjj 
writing either tract 
counts of their suj 
ties from which tli 
ries. It is easy 
system of proseK 
ing resembles th 
but a sorry wayj 
siuns. The fof 
taken from a ill 
lished at Shd 
1864, there ^\| 
hundred and i 
crs, 
the 



seven 
rest 
l>eans. T 
ton, Hong- 
chow, Xin 



hu 



The Church in China, 



215 



Tang-chow, Tien-tsin, Pekin^ Shang- 
hai, and one hundred and eight places 
of minor importance. One hundred 
and fortV'cight native catechists as- 
sisted them in their labors; and 
nty young Chinamen were prc- 
"^ring for the Protestant ministry. 
Xinetecn boarding-schools were at- 
tended by two hundred and forty- 
JbuF scholars^ and forty -four othur 
Dols b> seven hundred and ninety- 
scholars. Fifty -seven churches 
had been already t^rected. In one 
year, 700 copies of scientific works, 
90fO0O of the Old Testament, 446^- 
000 of the New, and 1,127,875 
tracts had been distributed among 
the people ; besides which they had 
published sixty-one periodicals. Yet 
despite this abundance of instruments 
of conversion, although millions had 
been spent on men, churches, schools, 
and books, and numerous missionary 
tlrug-siores been established where 
Protestant doctors retailed their ser- 
vices and their medicines gratis, 
Protestantism was forced to confess, 
in 1S64, that it could count but one 
thousand nine hundred and seventy- 
feur converts in the whole empire of 
China ! The document above re- 
ferrai to adds that, as some of the 
missions had not sent in their statis- 
tics at the time of publication, the 
vbolc number of converts might be 
probably i»ut down at two thousand 
t»tj hundred. Thus it appears that 
the maximum number of Protestants 
in tliis immense empire amounts to 
itlc over two thousand ! Nor must 
il lie forgotten that, as experience 
has shown, Protestant Chinese, for 
^ mast part, make very unreliable 
us, influenced as they have 
» embrace the faith by some 
latunij advantage- 

The Catholic missions in China 

prttent a striking contrast to those 

' just now considering. 

- ^. ,.,, .V, . iOWW by tlie mission- 



ary priests and members of religious 
orders yields so plentiful a return 
that the number of laborers Js almost 
inadequate to the harvest. Whence 
this difference ? Protestantism has 
no mission and no martyrs. What 
blessing can a teacher expect unless 
** he be sent " ? And then the blood 
of martyrs is the seed of Christians, 
But not only do the Protestant mis- 
sionaries not succeed in converting 
the Chinese ; they interfere with the 
efforts of Catholic missionaries by 
misrepresenting and calumniating the 
church in the tracts which they cir- 
culate throughout the country. In 
the Catholic Chinese, those libels on 
their faith excite no feeling but con- 
tempt for their calumniators — a feel- 
ing which even the heathen them- 
selves in many instances share. These 
malicious tracts are not, however, in 
some instances, without a bad effect, 
and serve to sink their readers deeper 
than ever in the mire of heathenism. 
It til us appears that the Catholic 
Church in China has, in our days, a 
difficulty to cope with which its for- 
mer missionaries were not called up- 
on to encounter. The difficulty must 
not, however, be overestimated. The 
era just now opening finds the Catho- 
lic Church and the Catholic hierar- 
chy established and organized in all 
the provinces of China. The coun- 
try is divided into twenty vicariates- 
apostolic, which pretty nearly corre- 
spond with the provinces of the em- 
pire. Each vicariatc-apDstolic is go- 
verned by a bishop, under whose gui- 
dance the missionaries and native 
priests exercise their functions. This 
po^verful organization, the firuit of 
three hundred > ears' labor in tlie 
same field — a field wliich has been 
watered with the sweat and the blood 
of so many apostles — ^gives the Ca- 
tholic religion an advantage over 
Protestantism, in China, as everywhere 
else, divided, discordant, and witliout 




■ 
■ 

I 

I 



I 
■ 



a solid basis to rest upon. The 
preaching of the Catholic faith has^ 
on the other hand, in very recent 
times, made immense progress in all 
parts of the empire. The church is 
full of activity and life; and the 
heathen cver>where manifest the 
greatest incUnation to embrace its 
tenets. 

We shall now turn our attention to 
the capital of the empire, and to the 
province of Pe-tcheli, to which it be- 
longs. 

In the last centur}% the Catholics 
had four churches in Pekin, and, ad- 
jacent to them, spacious gardens and 
residences for the clergy. What re- 
mained of this property, the ground, 
a few residences, and the old cathe- 
dral known as the South church, was 
restored to the Christians by the trea- 
ty of Pekin. The East church, for- 
merly the residence of the Portu- 
guese Jesuits, was situated in a dis- 
L-mt portion of the city, as was also 
the West church, the smallest of them 
all, which belonged to the mission- 
aries of the Propaganda and the dif- 
ferent religious orders. Both these 
churches had been razed to the 
ground. Where they stood, divine 
service is celebrated at present by 
native priests, in small and inconven- 
ient apartments. The North church, 
near the imperial palace, was built 
and presented to the Jesuits by order 
of the Emperor Kang-hi. It had 
also been destroyed; but, on the 
spot where it stood, Bishop Mooly 
has built the stately church of the 
Redeemer. The corner-stone of this 
church was laid May i, 1865, three 
high mandarins and all the resident 
European ambassadors participating 
in the ceremony. It was consecrated 
January i, 1867, with equal pomp. 

What better or stronger proof can 
there be of the progress Catholicity 
has made in China, than this magni- 
ficent cathedral standing under the 



eyes of the imperial govemmc 
When the Rev. Mr, Mouly, now I 
shop, went to Pekin, the number i 
Christians had sunk as low as ihreF 
hundred and fifty. At present, ow- 
ing to various causes, it has reach^ 
eight thousand. Three cemeteridP 
belonging respectively to the Portu- 
guese, the French, and the Pro- 
paganda, in the last century, have 
been restored to the Christians. 

The Sisters of Mercy who came 
to China a few years since number 
among their members many nativ 
of China. A hospital, a dispens 
an orphan asylum, and schools 
the education of ^rls, are under ill 
control. Their latiors are appred^ 
ed by the natives, and have contl 
butcd not a litde to the prDpa| 
tion of the faith. 

In 1856, the number of Christia 
in the province of Pe-lcheli had InT 
creased to such an extent ill at the 
Holy See divided it into three vie;! 
ates-apostoltc. There are in one i 
them, the northern vicariate, besid 
the bishop and his coadjutor, ten Eu 
ropean missionaries, twenty fiatiri 
priests, and four lay-brothen of tli^ 
order of Lazarists. The semln 
for the education of priests contain 
twenty students, and the /V/iV i/^**l 
fidtre forty. In Tien-tsin, the Sistcisl 
of Mercy have two orjihan asyluws^j 
a hospital, and a dispensar)*. 

The vicariate-apostolic of Wcstertll 
Pe-tcheli has had many 4iffi<'"l^*^ t^J 
encounter- The people of that dis-I 
trict have always been unfriendly ** 
Europeans and to Christianity* 
countr)^ has been subject to 
sions from bands of robbers who i 
not spare the property of the chuioJ^ 
But since the peace of Pekin^ wJ*^ , 
state of affairs has been imprtniogfl 
and the number of Christians ha$ *^*l 
creased from 3,800 to 8,200, Btil ^^1 
is in South-western Pe-tcheli that thel 
most surprising results have been tw*! 



The Church in China. 



2\y 



le number of Christians 
\ been relatively great in 
f the province. Yet in 
f only 4,392, In 1S59, it 
14,000. After the trea- 

and the proclamation of 
)erty, it rose still high- 
npensation for the severe 
% the church hat! under- 
lies of persecution, seven- 
ches and chapels having 
foyed, Bishop Anouilly, 
j mediation of the French 
% received the old impe- 
in Tching-ting'Su, the for- 
» This building afforded 
ieminary, an orphan asy- 
chapel. Having secured 
isbop turned his attention 
le, and fearlessly proclaim- 
pel to them. He preach- 

open air, and immense 
Dnged to hear htm. In 

adults were baptized, 
limber prepared for bap- 
Ued to f 2,000. Several 
•re turned over to the bi- 

converted into Christian 
and in addition to this, 

been, since 1S66, about 
hurches built, 
triates-apostoltc were con- 
' years ago, to the care of 
Franciscan Observantines, 

1 vicariates of Schan-tong^ 
rhen-si, Hu-pe, and Hu- 

the number of Christians 
mg was about 4.000. In 
is 10,751, and those pre- 
tiaptism numbered 4,000. 
Hbles without number, and 
\'t of the Catholic Church, 
Bslributed in the province, 
\ Protestant is to be foimd 
boundaries. It has, be- 
ha|>els, 19 large churches, 
I and 29 schools. In the 
an-si, which embraces 
\ Schaii si and Kan-fu, 



there are three European missiona- 
ries, sixteen native priests, and 13,832 
Christians. It is possessed of a semi- 
nary, 14 schools, 8 churches, and 27 
chapels. 

The vicariate of Schen-si embraces 
the province of Schen-si and that 
part of Mongolia which borders upon 
it. It numbers at present 23,000 
Christians, a bishop, six European 
missionaries, seventeen native priests, 
eighty chapels, a seminary, and five 
primar}' schools. 

In the vicariate of Hu-pe, where, • 
till quite recent times, persecution had 
not ceased, the number of Christians 
has already reached 16,063. It has 
fourteen European missionaries, in- 
cluding a bishop, fourteen native 
priests, thirty-six chapels, a seminary, 
a college, an orphan asylum, and se- 
veral preparatory schools. 

The last of these five vicariates, 
that of Hunan, numbers 2,207 Chris- 
tians, two European missionaries, a 
bishop, eleven native priests, nine 
churches and chapels, a seminar)^ 
and a few schools. 

The French Seminar)^ of Foreign 
Missions at Paris has done a good 
work for the church. In every coun- 
try from India to Corea, its missiona- 
ries have preached the faith, and seal- 
ed it with their blood. We find them 
in the southern provinces of China 
and in the icy land of Mantchooria. 
The result of their lal>ors in the pro- 
vinces of Setschucn, Yunnan, and 
K nets c hen may be seen from the fol- 
lowing statistics. In 1840, there were, 
in these three provinces, one bishop, 
eight Euroi)ean missionaries, thirty 
native priests, and forty ecclesiastical 
students. In these same three pro- 
vinces, divided into five vicariates- 
apostolic, there were, in i860, eight 
bishops, forty European missionaries, 
fifty nativ^c priests, and six seminaries, 
in which over two hundred pupils 
were educating. The practice of Chris- 



2lf^ 



The Church in China* 



lianity in these regions is not so safe 
as in other parts of China. In 1850, 
Rev. M. Bachal and three converts 
were subjected to frightful tortures, 
and finally condemned to be starved 
to death. In the eastern vicariate 
of Selschuen, vvhere^ between 1855 
and i860, the number of Christians 
had increased from iS,ooo to 21,000, 
the disposition to embrace the faith 
became yet more marked when the 
peace of Pekin had insured it hberty 
of practice. I'he number of conver- 
sions reached 15,000 in one year. 
But just at this time, a violent reac- 
tion, headed by the young savants 
and students, of whom there are a 
great number, set in. Whole villages 
which had embraced the faith were 
reduced to ashes, and the churches 
plundered and destroyed. The mis- 
sionaries were a special object of 
iitred. M. EjTand escaped his pur- 
iiers in a manner almost miraculous; 
but hiscompanionj M. Mabileau, was 
taken by them and cruelly murdered, 
August 50, 1865. 

The priests of the Foreign Mis- 
sions have had to suffer a great deal, 
also, in the province of Kuitcheu. 
Several Christian missionaries and 
others, including M. Neil, were de- 
capitated between 1858 and 1862. 
I'he arrival of a better- disposed vice- 
roy put an end to the persecution, 
and the cause of Catholicity received 
a powerful impetus from the restora- 
tion of peace. The number of con- 
verts was reckoned by thousands. 
Within the last three years, over one 
hundred large towns and a much 
greater number of smaller ones have 
embraced the Christian faith. Church- 
es, schools, and orphan asylums have 
sprung up on every stile. In several 
places, the pagodas have been turned 
over to the bishop, M. Faurie, to be 
converted into churches. Manda- 
rins of distinction have renounced 
paganism. In comjx'n.sation for its 



losses during the persecute 
court-building of the princip 
moter of the uprising agai 
Christians has been deeded 
church, by command of the 
The number of converts probl 
ceeds 200,000, and would be 
were it not for the civil war, 
rages with the greatest violent 

The history of the faith \ 
prospects of the church, in t 
vinces of Kuang pi. Kuai^ 
Mantchooria, and others, is but 
tition of the foregoing, equally 
raging and fruitful, under the 
the priests of the Societ)^ of 
Missions. Besides the two vil 
apostolic which the Lazarists 
the province of Pe-tcheli, th^ 
taken charge of three others 
provinces of Kiang-si, Tchekiai 
ilonan. The Spanish Dorai 
have had charge, amid difticu 
numerable, of the vicariate of 
for the last tw o hundred yean. 
vicariate has, at present, fourth 
ropean and ten native priests, 
order of Saint Dominic, and 
Christians. 

The Society of Jesus, the 
carry the Gospel to China, ha 
a long interruption, returned 
field. We have already 
their efforts in the vicariate-i 
of Pe-tcheli. Assuming dire 
the Pe-lcheli missions under 
rabic circumstances, they h^ 
been able to obtain there such 
as might have been desired* 
however, in the province of Kii 
including its capital Kankiny 
province, widi its 74,000,000 
habitants, where formeriy ni 
Christian communities harl 
etl, offered a very desirable 
the propagation of the fati 
1S42, the number of Christian 
whole province, living fox I 
part concealed, was about 
But with tlie accession of 



Tfie Church in China. 



219 



|new missionaries^ a 
bf affairs was inaugu- 
>arish system was inlro- 
rral places. A semina- 
eminauYy a college* two 
entary schools, and two 
ms, one for boys and 
girls, were established. 
ave inspired the Chris- 
eat enthusiasm for the 
»f abandoned heathen 
lousands of these poor 
brought to them every 
I, and many of iheni re- 
e orphan asylums esta- 
lat purpose. In 1853 
hildren were thus cared 
i me the number of Chris- 
:hed 73,000. 
civil wars which devas- 
vince, the Jesuits open- 
in which seven hundred 
:ided, without regard to 
irty, were taken care of. 
•e were in the vicariate- 
KJang-nan one bishop, 
Jesuits, eleven native 
twenty-six seminarists, 
f the faithful was 75.352. 
St year, there were 1^629 
:d and 3,019 persons re- 
:tions, I'he numt>er of 
ren baptized in the same 
)5» 4,020 of whom were 
L Christian institutions, 
of pupils In the college 
the elementary schools 
Dm 1,150 were heathen 
. iS6o, the rebels ad- 
thin a short distance of 
lie Catliolic orphan asy- 
! miles from the city, 
ebels suddeuiy entered 
at her Massa, the supe- 
iislitutiun, met them in 
1 manner and began to 
, in order to give lime to 
\ and orphans to escape, 
he rebels all tlie money 
jn, but implored them 



to spare the children. He was cruel- 
ly treated, and finally murdered. In 
the meantime, ten thousand fugitives 
rushed into Shanghai, where they 
found themselves without food or 
shelter. The Jesuits offered them a 
home, and supported them for months 
together. Can it be w^ondered that 
many of those unfortunates were won 
over by such kindness to the fatth ? 

The missionaries showed them- 
selves at this time, and during the 
prevalence oi^ contagious disease, real- 
ly heroic in the discharge of their 
sacred duties. They died by tens, 
partly from disease contracted in the 
hospitals, partly from overwork. The 
pecuniary losses of the mission of 
Kiang-nan must be put down at 
several millions. Of the three hun- 
dred and eighty- two chapels, one 
hundred and fifty were destroyed. 
On every sidt, the CJiristians saw 
their dwellings in fiames, their har- 
vests trampled upon, themselves com- 
pelled to fiee or cast into prison. To 
fill the cup of bitterness to overfiow- 
ing, a flood occurred, which devas- 
tated the farms and produccil a fa- 
mine. The cholera commenced its 
ravages at the same time, so that the 
population of the province began to 
diminish at a fearful rate. The vica- 
riate-apostolic lost, in the short sjiace 
of five months, twelve thousand Chris- 
tians, among them the excellent Bi- 
shop Bonnet, of the Society of Jesus, 
and nineteen other missionaries, be- 
longing to the same society. But 
while death was dealing such heavy 
blows among the Christians, the work 
of conversion was going on with in- 
creased activity. In the worst times, 
over two thousand adults were bap- 
tized yearly. 

As long as the capital Nankin was 
in the hands of the rebels, the labors 
of the missionaries were confined ex- 
clusively to the eastern part of the 
countrv. But after the combined 



forces of China, England^ and France 
had recovered the capital, the bishop, 
Mgr. Languillet, sailed up the Yang- 
si-klang as far as Hanken, in the 
province of Hu-pe. He visited seve- 
ral stations, and fl^undcd Jesuit houses 
in Nankin and several other places. 
ITirough the influence of the French 
consul-general, not, however, without 
reluctance on the part of the viceroy 
of the province, the old cathedral of 
Hanken, and other property formerly 
belonging to the church, were restored 
to the Christians, The present pros- 
pects of the church in Kiang-nan 
are most favorable. Several of the 
churches which had been destroyed 
have been rebuilt. Between July^ 
1865, and July, 1866, two thousand 
four hundred and t wen ty- five adults 
were baptized. Asylums for the or- 
phans, a college for higher instruc- 
tion, and numerous elementary schools 
are among the institutions of the pro- 
vince. 

Thousands of orphan children are 
cared for in Christian families. Young 
women devoted to the service of God 
are very numerous in this vicariate. 
There are also societies of men and 
women devoted to special objects of 
charity. It has an ecclesiastical sem- 
inary and ^ petti shninair^ for the edu- 
cation of a native priesthood. And 
what is of more importance than all, 
Christianity is practised no longer 
secretly, but publicly, in tlie very face 
of heathenism. 

It appears from all these fLicts that 
the prospects of the Catholic faith 
in China are very favorable — more 
so, ill fact, than ever before. It is 
true there have been times in the 
past when it was allowed to preach 
the faith without let or hindrance in 
China, But this was due to the fa- 
vor of some emperors and to the 
indifference of others. The present 
freedom of the faith rests on a differ- 
ent basis, guaranteed as it is by treaty, 



nes by 
erinly 

of fflH 

idarins I 



and supported by the Ifberty 
to the missionaries to travel thj 
the empire and to preach the Gospel 
everywhere. Mandarins are often 
found favorably disposed beforehand 
toward the Catholic missionaries by 
reason of the eulogies of former 
sionaries contained in the ann; 
their country. The contrary of 
is also sometimes found — mandarins 
of high and low degree who * 
to hate foreigners and evtr 
foreign, and who, when an opportu* 
nity offers, do not fail to manifest 
their enmity toward Christianttj. 
There are others whose livdihood 
depends on the continuance of pagan- 
ism who would willingly renew the 
persecutions. But the European 
ambassadors stand so high in the 
estimation of the government at P6 
kin, and their influence is such, that 
these attempts arc generally made 
in vain, and the instigators of thcro 
brought to punishment. 

The progress of the faith is ob* 
servable everywhere in China, Net 
churches are springing up on allsiddt 
and old ones being restored. Divine 
service is everywhere celebrated pub- 
licly. Ever)- where have the hea- 
then an opportunity to learn the 
beauties of the Catholic faith ; ^^ 
they come in crowds to embrace it 
There is not a single province fll 
which there have not been yearlf 
hundreds of adults baptized into the 
church. The average yearly nuia* 
ber of adult baptisms in the viai 
of Kiang-nan is two thousand 
the province of East Setchucru 
reached 15,000 in one year, wl 
in the province of Kuitchoo 
than 200,000 conversions took pi 
in the short space of three years. 

No one can reflect on the coi 
M hich affairs have taken in CI 
within the last thirty years, w 
being convinced that the finger 
God is there, I'he conversion 



The Church in China. 



221 



id exert an immense influ- 
those nations which have 
» civilization and its cus- 
it without reason did the 
|ay to Francis Xavier : 
Jhina. If the great and 
I of China embraces the 
kith, we wiU embrace it 

mntries adjacent to China, 
t standard of the faith is be- 
td. In Cochin China and 
irhere tiU recently it was 
cribed, and where all man- 
jcutton was resorted to for 
e of extirpating it from 
f, a change has taken 
e greatest importance for 
of Christianity in those 
t government shows itself 
f to the missionaries, whom 
ly consults on the most 
matters, and to whom it 
\d a college in the capi- 

L and Thibet, persecution 
I but it proceeds rather 
Ider-officers than from the 
t 

Japan that the circum- 
Christianity are most 
, Some centuries back, 
b Japan numbers of flour- 
jstian communities, under 
ce of European and na- 
, when the emperors issu- 
[persecution against them 
lence of suspicions cast 
'atholic faith by the Pro- 

tch through hatred of 
and Portuguese. The 
irere slaughtered by thou- 
|ie bishops and priests 
Ts and left no succes- 
communication with Ja- 
t Christian world was for- 
^pt to a few Dutch mer- 
le small island of Desima. 
ic Church wept over the 
ristian communities in 



Japan for two centuries, though it 
was diiticult to conceive how God 
could permit in Japan what he had 
never permitted elsewhere — that the 
Christian faitli should be rooted out 
by persecution. Yet how could it 
be imagined that those communities 
of Christians could continue to ex- 
ist for nearly two hundred years with- 
out priest, without sacraments, with- 
out instructions, when their religion 
was so strictly prohibited, on an is- 
land separated from all the rest of the 
world ? They did, however, continue 
to exist. The church of Japan has 
braved the tempest of time; and a 
star of hope has risen to guiiJe it 
safely to the had^or of peace. The 
commercial interests of mankind 
have here^ as in China, been the 
means of furthering God's interests 
in this world. As soon as the- right 
of Europeans to enter the country 
was guaranteed, the apostles of the 
faith did not hesitate a moment to 
set toot on the soil of Japan, although 
it was not, and is not yet, lawful to 
embrace the Christian faith. A bi- 
shop, a vicar-apostolic, and a number 
of priests, all acquainted with the 
Japanese language^ have settled in 
various parts of the country and 
begun to travel in quest of the scat- 
tered Christians. In Nang-sa-ki, a 
beautiful church has been built, known 
in the country as the French church. 
Here it was that, on the 17th of 
March, 1S65, a large number ac- 
knowledged themselves Christians to 
the missionaries; from which time 
they continued to receive visits from 
various quarters. It soon became 
evident that there were several thou- 
sand Christians in Japan. Some 
villages are exclusively Christian ; 
and in one island alone they number 
over ten thousand. The Christians 
come, for the most part, in the night 
to commune with the priests. It is 
not a little remarkable that the an* 



222 



Our Winter Evenings. 



cient missionaries, in view of future 
contingencies, warned their flocks to 
recognize those only as true mission- 
aries who should lead a life of 
celibacy, acknowledge the suprem- 
acy of the pope, and honor the 
Mother of God. These pious 
Christians have waited two hun- 
dred years. Their hopes are fulfilled 
at last. 

Considering all the events which 
have taken place within a few years 
in China and in the extreme East, 
let us ask whether all these events 
— tending, as they all do, in one di- 
rection, namely, the propagation of 
the Catholic faith — can be ascribed 
to blind chance? If they cannot, 
it must be granted that the day is 
fast approaching when the nations 



of the East will be gathered into the 
fold of Christ. 

The astonishing strides of the Ca- 
tholic faith in all pagan lands present 
a glorious contrast to the bitter at- 
tacks which it has to withstand in 
Christian Europe, and even in the 
very centre of Catholicity. It is as 
if God wished to console his faith- 
ful ones. The enemies of the faith 
may storm against Rome and dream 
of the destruction of the church, but 
its faithfulness is the surest proof that 
it has nothing to fear ; while, firom all 
we have just recounted, it is plain 
that God is preparing for her a most 
glorious future, in the contemplation | 
of which all faithful Christians shoold 
find abundant consolation and en- 
couragement. 



OUR WINTER EVENINGS. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The reader who would enter into 
the spirit of our winter evening en- 
tertainments, of which the simple an- 
nals are here recorded, must go back 
with me twenty years, and be intro- 
duced to an old-fashioned mansion in 
a quiet New England village, where, 
in a cosy boudoir, nestled one of 
New England's loveliest daughters. 
** Our Dove " we fondly called her, 
and to the home she loved so dearly 
we could give no name but the 
** Dovecote." 

She was young and exceedingly 
fair ; her countenance animated with 
a flow of spirits that never forsook 
her ; her conversation piquant and 
sparkling ; her manners childlike in 
their simple modesty and grace ; but 



the beauty of holiness which gleam- 
ed in the depths of her dark-Wne 
eyes and rested on her pale brot, 
far more irresistibly than personal 
charms or graceful manners, won aB 
who looked upon her to love the 
purity and innocence of which she 
was the very expression. 

From early childhood, an incn* 
ble disease had wasted that fair fonii 
from which she suffered intensdy* 
times, and under the pressure of which 
she might linger many years, }'Ct wH 
liable to sink at any moment tod 
pass firom our sight for ever. So wc 
guarded our treasure tendcriy, ^ 
knowing how soon the bright spi* 
might take its flight, and the pitck* 
shrine be vacated. 

Her home was a fitting* casket f 
such a priceless jewcL 



ice commanding a view of 
f rural village in its vicinity, 
lilacid waters of Lake Cham- 
the distance, and bounded 
Saks of the Adirondacks on 
and on the east by our own 
^untains, the eye, from what- 
It of \iew it glanced, rested 
lire's fairest scenes. Here 
iunny days of spring drew 
earliest treasures, more cap- 
lan any later beauties. The 
looked out upon parterres 
' the crocus, daffodils, hya- 
aquils, and tulips, when those 
ring gardens were but just 
their tender buds above the 
Here the first robin poured 
cheering song on the trel- 
liest wren warblecl its tyne- 
e to spring. Nor was it 
live within than without. 
f rare culture and intcUi- 
ciently dissimilar in their 
to season daily intercourse 
icy flavor, were gathered 
le ample mansion — men 
le aims and high intellec- 
crowned the acquirements 
Siolar and philosopher, and 
dgic and penetrating shrewd- 
ie practised lawyer. Here 
Ided a woman, thoughtful 
of sound ability, and such 
itments, such retiring mot!- 
serene dignity, as are the 
long life passed in converse 
oks that are books," in com- 
p with the cultivated and 
iid fortified under the disci- 
haried trials by the power of 
fon and resignation, 
the shelter of this hospita- 
were collected many whom 
fortunes had left homeless 
:» who were cherished with 
BTtsideration, and made to 
its comforts. Our gentle 
to have acquired, 
;ency of her own suf- 



ferings, a quick and delicate sympa- 
thy with all human woes. The af- 
flicted were sure to receive aid for 
their necessities from her ready hand, 
or comfort from her consoling coun- 
sels, while she mingled the '^ ready 
tear for others' woes" with theirs j 
and her youthful spirit was as prompt 
to rejoice with the joyful as to weep 
with the afflicted. 

The servants were characteristic 
of the household, and, contrary to 
the usual course in our countr)% had 
grown old in its service : a man 
who took charge of all out-of-door 
matters, and his wife, skilful in man- 
aging those of her department. They 
were childless; but a niece who had 
been given to them by a dying sister 
had been trained by her aunt to per- 
form perfectly the ser\'ices of dining- 
room and parlor, while a little orphan 
girl assisted both, when dismissed 
from daily lessons and attendance in 
the apartment of the young invalid, 
whose morning and evening meals 
were usually served in her own room, 
to herself and any young friends who 
might be stopping with her. I'hey 
had been so long in the family that 
all its interests were theirs, the chil- 
dren objects of pride and assiduous 
care, and our Dove a being upon 
whom they lavished a wealth of affec- 
tionate devotion. 

To all the neighbors, this home 
was a charming place of resort, where 
they were sure of a cordial welcome. 
It was our delight, in. the long winter 
evenings, to gather around the wide 
hearth which graced the little parlor 
of our favorite, where the cheerful 
wood-fire illuminated the old-fashion- 
ed fire-place, and set its glittering 
andirons and fender nil aglow with 
the ruddy light, and while away the 
hours in lively chat. On Wednesday 
evenings, some member of the party 
usually read aloud from a pleasant 
book, or recited some story or legend 



224 



Our Winter Evefdngs. 



to the circle of interested listeners, 
I was, after my first introduction, a 
constant attendant upon these re- 
unions. 

Later in life, during the years of a 
seclusion sehlom equalled even in the 
cloister, I have occupied many soli- 
tary hours from time to time in re- 
calling » arranging, and recording a 
portion of the narratives and conver- 
sations which had most impressed 
rne, with no other purpose than to 

use those houn;, and perchance 

intribute to the pleasure of children 
and grandchildren in their perusal. 
The lapse of time since 1 was a listen- 
er to the stories furced me to clothe 
my recollections of them in my own 
language wlien 1 could not recall that 
of the narrator. 

As 1 turn over the scattered leaves, 
with my new purpose in mind of 
bringing them into some systematic 
fornix what light shimmers forth from 
them, clothing in new radiance the 
joys of the years gone by — what fra- 
grant memories float from each page ! 
I am transported as if by magic from 
the silent monotonous present, in 
which the dreamless sleep of old age 
is wrapped as in a shroud, to the 
bright and beautiful past, I am no 
longer a lingering fragment of that 
beloved circle, the majority of whose 
meml>crs have passed to a better 
world, and stand in its light beckon- 
ing to the loiterers, with faces all 
glowing with celestial smiles, to lure 
them heavenward. Once again I 
find myself an inmate of that cheerful 
home where the graces clustered and 
the urbanities of Christian charity 
found sweet and constant exercise. 
Happy faces surround me ; the ringing 
laugh of merry-hearted youth is in 
my ear \ 

Nor is the illusion a sorrow when 
it passes, and leaves me again the 
lonely and way-worn pilgrim ; but 
rather a constantly recurring and per- 



petual joy. For next to tl 
enjoyment of innocent soci 
sures arc the fond recoiled 
them which come, like mi 
angels with sunlit wings, tO| 
the solitudes and light up th< 
of old age, under the deepeiii 
dows of life's evening twilight, 
bre, indeed, would they be < 
the gende illumination ! 



i 



'* And how is our Dove, thi 

ing ?" said the bachelor lawyi 
entered her apartment from 
table, on the occasion of my 
troduction to it by one of 
neighbors, for I was then a 
habitant of the place — "^ ho 
dove this evening ?" And he a 
ed and took her hand so genl 
no one who had seen the ke( 
eyes flashing under his ovei 
brow in court that day, an* 
the scathing satire with w 
demolished a lawyer who 
deavoring to obtain, for a 
client, the patrimony of a 
phan girl, would have belw 
was the same person, or ih; 
eyes could have gleamed so 
they rested upon the calm, 
of the household pet 
Well, I am glad to hear it Sec, 
brought you a new treat." 
produced Lock hart's Ufi oj 
** But you must not read too 
Here is your book-devouring 
turning to his young and 
niece who sat near hen '^S 
read aloud, and you will enjo 
gether." 

While he w^as talking* the 
had entered, and, after saluti 
invalid and making aiTcctioni 
quiries for her health, he 
his brother bachelor of soiiM 
ness which required their aitcn 
the office of the latter, mi 
withdrew. 

As they were passing oi 



Our IVintcr Evenings. 



;iate, Edward h , and 

fttie, entered, and were 
cordial surprise by our 

supposed you would be 
— 's party, this evening, 
Aa exclaimed, address- 

f 'of course,* my fair 
nquired. 

are so very fond of par- 
much depended upon to 
iirth alivct * All goes 
narriage-bell where Ned 
ssed into a proverb with 
eople, you know. They 

m sorely. Mrs. D 

pointed, too, not to men- 
I • bright particular star ' 
loubtless shine with di- 
fcre in your absence* As 
ly hope to ofTer ajiy plea- 
ill compensate for those 
am sure it will prove a 
)fl to yourself also/* 
sat privation * of course !' " 
nth a touch of asperity 
I to his natural manner, 
ration of course ! Never- 
rain from exhibiting my 
crs for the entertainment 
— 's guests on this occa- 
full assurance that my 
uld have sur|:)rised her 
y absence will» inasmuch 
cards were not extended 
: our family." 
uded to the rest of your 
tdo you mean, Edward ?*' 
dderly lady who had 
I and was laying off her 
shawl — ** what can ^ on 
rd r 

that none of our family 
were included in Mrs. 
tations for this evening ; 
iiey are quite general 
dden explained the 
jng me that several 
irillage, the wives of 
XHi. — i; 



leading lawyers, bankers, and mer- 
chants, held a consultation List week 
— before the evening parties for the 
winter should begin — upon the course 
to be .taken with the families who, 
like our own, have ventured to vio- 
late New England principles so far 
as to follow their honest convictions 
and *join the Romanists,* without 
stopping to inquire w^hat their neigh- 
bors would say about it. The deci- 
sion, it seems, was that the ' ban of 
the empire * should be passed upon 
them, and ours is the only one whose 
young people are old enough to he 

reached by it. So Mrs. D "s cards 

have been drawn, like a two-edged 
sword, to cleave through the very 
heart of a society which has hitherto 
been entirely harmonious and united 
in all social matters." 

** I am surprised to hear it, and 
think it an ill-judged step/ she re- 
marked, 

" Not being of either party in a 
religious sense,*' Edward proceeded, 
^' I cannot pretend to decide upon 
the merits of the question ; though I 
think a little grain of true Christian 
charity might perhaps so sweeten the 
wine of the good lady's virtue, and 
that of her associates, as to preserve 
it from the imminent danger it is in 
at present of turning into vinegar. 
It seems like folly to me — to call it 
by no harsher name — this attempt to 
embitter social intercourse by such 
proceedings, and I believe it will 
more effectually defeat its own pur- 
pose than any other course," 

Hobart Selden, a college friend of 
Edward, in an older class, which 
would graduate the next summer, 
now entered, to the astonishment of 
his colleague, who exclaimed : 

" Why, Selden, you here, too 1 
"What's u[), my old boy? Why are 
you not at Mrs. D 's ?" 

^' What is a fellow to do, I should 
like to know,*' he replied, " when you 



Our Winter Evenings, 



leave him in the lurch, as you did 
me? I knew I should be a mere 
dummy without you, and diey would 
expect me to hold my own, and 
make up for your absence too; which 
is more than I am altogether up to. 
So, rvs I have received a standing in- 
vitation to her Wednesday evenings 
for the winter from our gentle frit^nd" 
— bowing to the young lady — ** I 
preferred to come here, where I knew 
I should meet you/' Then, turning 
to Kate, he said in an undertone, 
and with a manner that brought the 
quick blushes to her cheek — ♦* Per- 
haps 1 thought of another I might 
possibly meet." 

Meantime one and another of the 
usual circle had dropped in, exchang- 
ing friendly salutations with the inva- 
lid and each other. After they had 
settled themselves for the evening, 
our Dove addressed the latly of the 
house : '* Now, grandmamma, w^e are 
ready for that story of life in the wil- 
derness on the St. LaN\rence long 
ago/* 

** Perhaps the subject may not be 
as interesting to others as to my 
grandchildren, and I have no high 
o[>inion of my own power to make 
it so," she replied. Tlien, addressing 
herself to us, she said : 

If any of you have ever passed 
through that part of the St. LawTcnce 
which flows between Lake Ontario 
and Ogdensburg, you will confess 
it is no fault of the route if I fiiil to 
present its pleasant features so agreea- 
bly as to claim your attention. The 
green tinge of the transparent and 
swifdy tlowing waters ; its * thousand 
islands/ of every conceivable form 
and size, set like gems in the liquid 
emerald ; the rich country^ on both 
sides of the mighty stream, dotted 
here and there with beautiful rural 
villages ; and the pleasing variety of 
vale and upland, of cultivated fields 
and rich woodlands, taken all togeth- 



er, form a picture which cat 
be excelled, and is not easilj 
ten. 

Beautiful as those scena 
the present day, they have 
wildly picturesque charms tl 
tivated my fancy wdien I be 
resident among them in tt 
part of this centur)^ ; nor ca 
lieve that the progress of 
improvement has imparted I 
tures which will compensate 
loss of those it has banished 1 

The whole country on the 
can shore of the river was 1 
almost unbroken wilderness, 
wigwams and the rude shal 
lumbermen were the only 
habitations for many miles. < 
burg was a small village ; 
town, further up the stream^ 
settlement but recently establ 

At the time of our remov 
Vermont to a place on the i 
rcnce, some twenty miles alioi 
risiown, a few scattered famil 
making the first attempts t 
'* clearings" at long intcrva 
provide themselves with ho 
those solitu<1es. Our arril 
most cordially w^elcomed b; 
and by the society of Ogd 
and Morristown, as well as 
Prescott and Brockville, on I 
nadian side of the majestic 
No roads for the use of o 
vehicles had yet been opcw 
the river formed our highni 
boats in summer ixnA sleighs 
ter, for the fre«juent intercha 
social visits. These were ofu 
longed from day to day^ and i 
ed far beyond the limits at ftl 
templatetl ; insomuch that { 
consisting uf one family only ' 
set out would gather strengt 
passed on from one neighhorl 
another, until a crowd was 9i 
lated which put the ho^ts * 
wnts' end to find places 



Our IViHier Evenings, 



227 



away, and the merry de- 
rted to on these occasions 
no small part of the fun 
Our enjoyment of these 
id easy** junketings from 
house far exceeded the 
of society in its later sta- 
r« etiquette and display have 
td frank and cordial hospi* 

fine morning in the ear- 
in of our first year in that 
we set out to visit some 
Morristovvn. It so hap- 
tat on the same morning a 
iirty of young people had 

on the banks of the St. 

at Ogdensburg for a simi- 
[>se, an arrangement having 
ide the previous day with 
Fresco Lt and Brock ville to 
m at Morristown. 
all w^ere assembled, it was 
Kl that one of the boats they 
ected to engage had been 
wother direction, and it was 

whether so large a party 
ibark safely in the only two 
jnained. One of these was 
Unsafe for a heavy load, the 
new and capacious bar^e* 

y was so fine and still that 
pie disturbed the surface of 
•, the boatman assured them 
lild be no danger, Accord- 
t larger and stronger vessel 

to its utmost capacity, and 

but lightly laden. They 

off in great glee, and the 

K>at soon passed swiftly in 

of the other, beyond the 

pre the ruins of the old fort 

to be seen, amid the shouts 
fs of the gay voyageiji. The 
was pursuing its course 
iwly, when it met an unex- 
ictil. Recent heavy rains in 
Ac regions where its tribu- 
ims take their rise had so 
the Oswegatchie that the 



flood It poured into the St. Lawrence 
caused an almost irresistible pressure 
sidewise upon the barge as it passed 
that point, which, together with the 
swift downward current of the St. 
Lawrence, made it extremely diffi- 
cult to keep the overloaded vessel 
directed up the stream. The oars- 
men pulled away with a will, and 
laid out all their strength in well- 
directed effort. They had passed 
nearly through the surging flood, 
when one of the oars broke ; the 
boat whirled suddenly, and was car- 
ried athwart the stream downwards 
with frightful velocity ! I^he occu- 
pants were warned to keep perfectly 
quiet, as the least motion to either 
side would cause it to capsize. 

At this juncture, a Canadian ba- 
teau was seen approaching rapidly 
from the opposite shore. It soon 
reached the imperilled boat, was 
brought alongside to receive a part 
of the terrified company, and, a new 
oar being furnished to replace the 
broken one, their deliverance from 
danger w as secured. They were now 
in doubt w*hether to resume their ex- 
cursion or return. If they did not 
go on, those who had preceded them 
wouki, of course, suffer great anxiety 
on their account. The stranger who 
controlled the bateau informed them 
that his purpose was to go to a place 
near Morristown to survey wild lands 
in that vicinity, and that he would 
be most hap|iy to receive a portion 
of their party into his boat if they 
wished to proceed, which they de- 
cided to do. In the course of the 
journey, they found their new ac- 
cjuaLntance so entertaining and agree- 
able that they urged him to stop with 
them at Morristown. He accepted 
the invitation for that day, but could 
not remain longer. 

He was a European who had 
evidently travelled much about the 
world, and been a close observer of 



228 



Our Winter Evenings, 



its ways. In person and manners 
he was most engaging, in conversa- 
tion intelligent and refined, betraying 
large acquaintance with literature as 
well as with men. 

After dinner, the conversation turn- 
ed upon comparisons between the 
natural scenery and the condition and 
customs of society in Europe and 
America. The young people thought 
there could not be any romance or 
poetry about a country that had no 
traditions, no ancient ruins, and no 
titled aristocracy. " Do tell us," 
one of them exclaimed, addressing 
the stranger — " do tell us some ro- 
mantic story about the nobility — the 
lords, counts, and countesses of Eu- 
rope." 

The face of the gentleman assum- 
ed an expression of deepest melan- 
choly, as he said sadly and mysteri- 
ously : " I need not go to Europe in 
quest of a romantic story. I can 
relate a singularly melancholy tale 
of events, connected with the affairs 
of a titled gentleman and lady, in 
which I was strangly involved, and 
which took place at no great distance 
from us." 

" Oh ! do let us hear it," they all 
entreated with one voice. 

So, as we sipped our wine and lin- 
gered over the fruits of the dessert, 
he related to us the history of 

THE WHITE HOUSE OX THE HILL. 

Any one who has ever braved the 
difficulties and penetrated the wilder- 
ness regions which — amidst a per- 
plexing jumble of detached hills, 
thrown together as if at random — 
surround the obscure little village of 

R in this county, will be ready 

to acknowledge, after a few days' so- 
journ in that uni(}ue place, that the 
trouble has been well repaid, though 
it may be truly said of the route, 

*' Rou;;h and forbidding are the choicest roads 
By which those rugged forests cau be crossed." 



Nor can the journey be 
without encountering perils 
apart from personal discomf 
fatigue. Not unfrequently 
ear of the traveller be greetec 
howling of hungry wolves, th 
shriek of the catamount or 
of the young bear, startled at 
approach and calling to its c 
protection ; while the soft foo 
panther is quite likely to stec 
his advancing path in search o 
venient covert fronj which t 
the fatal spring upon its unsu* 
victim. 

Escaping these dangers an 

ing at R , he will find hii 

a settlement established for t 
purpose of developing the ma: 
mineral resources and wealth 
strange vicinity, the business 
place being wholly confined 
object. It is located on both 
of the Indian River, which 
and subdivides itself, most 
ously and curiously, into nu 
streamlets as it passes throuj 
quiet valley, transforming it 
group of beautiful islets, upoi 
are scattered furnaces and n 
smelting the various ores, the 
sary store-houses, and the ho 
the inhabitants engaged in the 
rations. The dark, still water 
singular stream impart a rem. 
sombre expression, that rather 
tens than impairs the picturesq 
racter of that sequestered ham 
rounded and inclosed by its cl 
irregular hills. 

A large Indian encampmen 
ways found at no great distai 
these hills are the favorite h 
grounds of the St. Regis or Ca 
waugah Indians, furnishing g; 
inexhaustible supplies and ii 
variety, while the river aboun< 
the best of fish. They can pas 
the sluggish stream^ in thdr < 
to Black Lake, and Aenoe do 



Our Winter Evenings, 



22g 



to the St. Lawrence, 

difficulty; thus enjoying a 
t highway for transmitting 
Uncd m their hunting expe- 
id other articles of Indian 
tnarket. 

the loftiest hills, on the 
de of the valley through 

river flo\v!?» overlooking it 
illage reposing in its em- 
^dl as a large extent of the 
strict adjacent, has been 
id graded carefully, in pre- 
>r laying out spations lawns 
scape- gardens upon and 
On the summit, a large 
d house has been erected ; 
I site, and extensive pro- 
jigs with octagon fronts, in 
can mode for a gentleman's 
)un try -seat, presenting an 
Ippearance and style whob 
tliis part of the world. 
{He has been covered and 
lite, window and door cas- 
rd in their places. From 
I of the spaciovis hall which 
5 house from front to rear 
e centre springs the frame- 
\ spiral staircase reaching 
rvatory on the roof, that is 
g^aune. Partitions are out- 
r a^ to show their design 
I floors of the lower rooms 
boards fur those of upper 
g in piles, and laid out on 
work-benches in various 
idvancement toward plan- 
paralion for laying. Shav- 
jittered around, and blown 
; by ever}' breath of wind, 
workmen had been there 
lay. Yet, strange to say, 
fork hatl been brought thus 
rtdly that it seemetl like 
a people accustomed to 
ogress of such operations 
► one or two builders are 
(t was as suddenly a ban* 
could tell why! The 



mechanics were called together, paid 
and dismissed, w-ithout any reason 
being given; and the kegs of nails 
of ditTerent sizes which were left there 
attest by their accumulated rust that 
years have passed since the last one 
w^as driven into the deserted shell. 

What could have induced the pro- 
prietor to begin a house of such vast 
proportions, and apparently so out 
of keeping with all around it in that 
secluded nook, was, in the first in- 
stance, a matter of wonder to all 
This suihlcn and mysterious abandon- 
ment was more than a marvel \ Since 
his well-known and superabundant 
means for completing any whimsical 
project he might adopt tbrbnde the 
supposition that it was relinquished 
for pecuniary considerations, the im- 
agination of the peo|)le was not slow 
in furnishing conjectured reasons. 

Wild rumors were circulated of 
some dire catastrophe that had taken 
place within those precincts, but had 
been hushed up on account of the 
Wealth and respectability of the own- 
er. The house, the hill, and all 
around them became objects of un- 
definable awe to the simple inhabi- 
tants of the valley. Hunters Mould 
take a long round-about ramble, 
however fatigued with their day*s 
tramp, rather than pass over or near 
the dreaded premises. Even the sto- 
lid Indian thought it prudent to avoid 
diem, and would steal with cautious 
and stately yet rapid step past the 
place, at as wide a distance as he 
could gain. The most adventurous 
urchins of the village school would 
sometimes, of a Saturday afternoon, 
creep tiniitlly up the liill, and crowd- 
ing together, fascinated by dread, peep 
into the staring windows, listen to 
the wind moaning through the v/ide 
corridors or sighing up the witvling 
staircase, start, tremble with fear at 
the rustle of shavings put in motion by 
its draught; then, moved sudtlcnly by 



230 



Our Winter Evenings. 



an impulse of tem>r, they would rush 
in a wild scamper down the hill and 
into the highway, as if all the goblins 
of this or lower regions were in close 
pursuit* Indeed, Sandy McGregor, 
the Scotch shoemaker of the village, 
and his wife Tibby, averred that they 
had seen long processions of bogles is- 
sue from the neighboring wood, and 
dance around the deserted pile in 
great glee, ofa moonlight evening : and 
w ho should know better than they ? 
— seeing that auld ** Klspeth»" Sandy's 
mother, had the gift of the ** second 
sight,'* arid it was currently believed 
among the Scotch settlers that the 
son inherited much of his mother's 
mystic lore* 

With the scheme for the erection 
of that mansion I was made ac- 
quainted from its first conception: 
and, alast 1 was also a reluctant wit- 
ness of the tragical circumstance that 
caused its sudden relinquishment. As 
many years have elapsed since it oc- 
curred, and all the persons most near- 
ly interested in the event have long 
since been gathered to their fathers, 
1 shall betray no confidence by tell- 
ing the story. 

At the age of twenty-six, I had 
completed my university course at 
Cambridge, and my stmly of the law 
so far as to be admitted to practise 
as an attorney. I had youtn, health, 
energy, and my dii>loma, but was 
minus any other means of subsistence. 
So I dctennined to seek my fortune 
in the New World, where I should 
encounter fewer competitors in the 
strife for bread. 

On the vessel in which I embarked 
for New York, there was a party of 
Euroi)ean gentlemen of great wealth, 
some of whom were connected with 
the newly established banking-hous- 
es of the Rothschilds in France, and 
the Baring Brothers in England. 

One of these was a man of such 
rare i^ualitles, natural and acquired. 




such true nobility of chaiacter k 
gentleness of manner, coml>bccl v 
extraordinary ]>ersonal advanta 
that I was irresistibly attracted 
w^ard him. He was not displ 
with my evident admiration, an A 
his part manifested a kindly inicr/Tar 
in me. He aske<l me many qticj* 
tions as to my [last life and my plafli 
and i)ros]>ects for the future. I 
frankly confessed I had formed none* 
beyond the hope of a safe arrival ifl 
New York. 

He then infonned me that heo«m* 
ed extensive tracts of land in differ- 
ent parts of the United States 
would be glad to secure my 
as a confidential agent ami 3U< 
in the transaction of busmcss 
nccted with them, I might namf 
my own salary, or rely upon the cus- 
tomary fees and pcrijuisites ^ ^ 
should elect after becoming n 
ed with the business. Of * 
gladly accepted the otfer ; and, tror>i 
time to time during the voyage, he 
instructed me in the duties I »houi'i 
be requiretl to |jerform in my nt-»* 
position ; so that my line of lift* ^ "^ 
the future w,ts pretty clearl) 
for me before I touched A 
shores. 

Not long after our arrival, I ^^■ 
companied my employer to St U** 
fence County, for the purpose of 
surv^eying large districts of wild 1^^" 
in that and adjoining counties 

While we were thu.<» engaged, t^ 

Count dc S ^, one of the Y^^ 

nobility who had been cora|icll«i *** 
leave Europe upon the downCili<rf 
Napoleon, came, in the course ^ * 
tour through that part of the country 
to negotiate some loans with rnv cm- 
ployer in the Euroj)ean bank* o' 
whose American opcratioos he w** 
the manager, 

The count was accompaiiied OP^ 
tour by his war I ' ' nbtjv^ 

tlie lovely yoiuj- V-^^ 



Our Winter Et'cnings* 



231 



leC- 



, a matronly lady 
[jcd to act in the capacities 
ess, guardian, and compa- 
re young lady. 
Err I kamed that her beau- 
ccomplished charge was an 
nd only child, who had 
flitted by her dying mother 
of the count, with direc- 
she shouhd remain in the 
thosen for her education, 
(table marriage was provid- 
r, according to the custom 
antr>'— if she should prove 
vocation to the religious 
her mother would have 
her. 
Btical disturbances that corn- 
count to leave France 
ftecessary to jDrovicIe tor his 
he sale of a portion of her 
innected with his own, and 
Recount in tianger of being 
It was then decided 
l^hould accompany him in 

never before been out of 
Snt, since the loss of her mo- 
Irery early childhood, and, 
mdly attached to her belov- 
therein, she was like a bird 
m a cage, in this wilder* 

try, and among scenes so 

w to her. 

[he moment my patron sa\v 
so completely fascinated 

ifilliant beauty and winning 
that he could hardly breathe 
her presence. 

w phase of his character 
rfect surprise to me. That 
VX\i\ polished man of routine 
t world should be instantly 
ed, as it were, into the ar- 
icasoning lover — should so 

lose his balance, and be- 
l^bounfl by the charms of a 
1 — was a state of affairs not 
issibtlily to have been fore- 



He soon became wildly, almost 
madly, in love, and urged upon her 
guardian the acceptance of his hand 
for her, to the great grief of the ten- 
der-hearted Madame C- , who had 

nursed the infancy and watched the 
growth of her precious charge with 
all a mother's fondness, repeating 
again and again to her the last words 
of her dying mother: *' If, in the 
course of events, my poor child should 
be tempted to form an cTlhance in 
which her faith will be endangered, I 
pray God to take her out of the wodd 
before the marriage can be consum- 
mated." 

I inquired of madame if there was 
any special reason why the lady was 
so singularly emphatic in this wish. 
She replied that her anxiety had un- 
doubtedly been increased and sharp- 
ened by the unfortunate result of a 
connection between her only and 
idolized sister — a lovely, brilliant girl, 
educated in a convent, and rich in 
youthful piety— -and a stem Hugue- 
not of high rank. He had given the 
strongest assurances that he would 
never interfere with her religion; yet 
his artifices w^ere numberless, his ef- 
forts untiring, to draw her away and 
alienate her from it. By degrees, 
through his influence and her fear of 
him. she relinquished one by one her 
religious duties and her i>ractices of 
piety, lost her faith, became quite 
reckless, and, after a most disreputa- 
ble life, died in the agonies of utter 
despair! Her broken-hearted sister 
never recovered from the shock, and 
to her dying breath prayed that her 
daughter might be shieldetJ from a 
similar fate. 

Now, madame knew that this pas- 
sionate admirer of the young count- 
ess was not only a Protestant, but 
one imbued with such liitter preju- 
dices as none but those who have 
strong tendencies to entire scepticism 
indulge toward the Catholic religion. 



232 



Our Winter Evenings. 



She was deeply distressed to dis- 
cover that her charge, in a measure, 
reciprocated the regard of her impas- 
sioned lover, and, when reminded of 
her mother^s wish, would only reite- 
rate his frequent and solemn assur- 
ances that her religion should be sa- 
cred to him — that he would respect 
it for her sake. 

" A shallow pretence, my child ! Re- 
spect for your religion, which springs 
from love for your person, will soon 
change, after marriage, into contempt ; 
as you will find when it is too late 
to remedy the evil !" 

The count did not participate in 
the misgivings of the good madame. 
He regarded the whole matter from 
a temporal point of view, and, though 
a Catholic in name, wore his religion 
too loosely to be affected by it in 
deciding an affair of this kind. The 
assurance that neither Europe nor 
America would be likely to offer a 
more advantageous alliance for his 
ward than this was sufficient for 
him. 

Upon one pretence and another, 
my patron persuaded them to pro- 
long their stay. In the course of 
their various excursions through the 
wilderness (in all which he insisted 
upon my accompanying them), he 
took them to pass some days at the 
village of R . Here the coun- 
tess was wild with admiration of the 
weird place, its rugged locality and 
artless inhabitants, who looked upon 
her with feelings akin to awe, as one 
who belonged altogether to another 
and better world. Especially did the 
Indians, whose wigwams she fre- 
quented, regard her with deep vene- 
ration. 

And, indeed, the simple denizens 
of those lonely regions were not 
alone in these imjiressions. Her 
ethereal form and fiice of unearthly 
beauty, irradiated witli joyous child- 
like innocence, aflected all who saw 



her in the same way. Even I, -whc 
had seen so much of the world and 
its fair ones, could never watch her 
slight figure, always arrayed witli per- 
fect simplicity, and usually in purest 
white — gliding with the grace of a 
sylph through each scene, which her 
presence seemed to light up wiih 
new joy — but I thought of the holy 
angels, and that she would be more 
at home among them than in the 
deserts of this cold and wicked world. 

In this feeling I was confirmed, 
when I heard from " Captain Tom," 
the Indian Brave, and ** Leader of 
Prayer " at the encampment, of her 
coming regularly to kneel humbly 
with those children of the forest, and 
join in the recitation of the rosary 
and other pious exercises. 

" lliis bird of heaven," added he, 
shaking his head ominously, having 
noticed, what indeed my patron was 
at no pains to conceal, his unbound- 
ed admiration of the fair stranger— 
" this bird of heaven should n^ 
ver be linked with one of earth! 
The eagle is noble and powerful, but 
could the dove be safe and happy 
sheltered within his nest ?" 

How often had the same thought 
occurred to me ! It seemed presump- 
tion for any man to think of apprt^" 
priating to himself a prize which b^ 
longed to heaven. So I evaded a 
reply by turning to old " Margaret, 
his wife, and admired the moccasins 
she was embroidering in most elabo- 
rate patterns, with porcupine qu^ 
dyed in brilliant colors, wrought m 
with gay-colored moose hair, ana 
lining with softest snow-white fur ol 
the weasel, to wrap the tiny fc^' 
whose light steps, and the "^ 
ground they pressed, these chilJ*"^" 
of nature so worshipped. No *'^"' 
der they loved her, for she seemed 
to throw a spell of enchantment over 
all whom she approached. 

It was during this visit that »» 



Our Winter Evaiings, 



233 



[the site on the hill she 
{ghted to seek in her ram- 
be house her devoted lover 
rtioukl be erected for her 
hen she might come with 
^it these scenes in the hap- 
\ to which he looked with 
I anticipations. 
• the count and his party 
Us with the i>romise of re- 
Ihe next spring, that the 
might ins[)cct the progress 
tucture, designed solely for 
fc use and pleasure ; at the 
jrhich visit, my patron was 
\ %ith them to claim his 
) 

b as they departed, he set 
Hith an impetuosity that 
jve been less surprising in a 
ilhful lover, to hasten ar- 
Ifs for the planning and 
hf the white house on the 
), most skilful architects and 
f 10 be found in the cities 

fged for prosecuting the 
as money to any amount 
I commanded for the opera- 
puccess and rapidity of its 
(rere secured. 

(I the appointed time had 
lie count fultllled his pro- 
brought his young ward, 
companion, that she might 
tic work, and pass her opin* 
its merits. 

taonihs in their flight had 
\ a charm from my patron's 

Eld radiant aflianced. They 
ther, to have added a 
(delicate touches of woman- 
I and gentle grace to i)er- 
pidly maturing picture. He 
^ enraptured than ever^ and 
ations over all whom she 
were increased tenfold 

he good madame, her devo- 
lovely prottx^'e was even 
nd respectful than for- 



merly ; yet there was a shade of 
deefjest sadness mingled with it 
Upon the first occasion that present- 
ed, she did not hesitate to express 
freely to me, with that charming 
frankness characteristic of Europeans 
which contrasts so pleasantly with 
the wily secretiveness and reserve 
of the shrewd and cautious Yankee, 
the increasing strength of her fore- 
bodings in relation to the future hap- 
piness of her angelic child ; and to 
renew her lamentations that she was 
to wed one entirely alien to the faith 
unutterably dear to her jiious young 
heart. 

1 tried to console her, even when 
troubled sorely with serious misgivings 
myself — 1 could hardly explain why 
— certainly not because I entertained 
any respect or sympathy for what 
seemed to me the mere scruples of 
a bigoted devotee. 1 was constantly 
struggling against a painful conviction 
that, good and noble as I knew my 
friend and benefactor to be — and had 
1 not seen it proved upon innumera- 
ble occasions? — he was not fittetl to 
take this heavenly being to his heart, 
and make herha[ipy. He was wholly 
of the earth, earthy. His character, 
generous as were its impulses, and 
his conduct, in perfect accord though 
it was with them, were yet entirely 
governed by worklly maxims, wholly 
opposed to those which ruled her in 
every thought* word, and action. 

Hiat she would l)e disappointed 
when traits were revealed in the hus- 
band, which her unsuspecting inno- 
cence and inexperience had failed to 
detect in the lover, was not to be 
questioned. Would it be a mere dis- 
appointment? With her true and 
thoroughly earnest, her religiously 
sounil and healthy, nature, which 
had never even conceived of tlie 
hollovvness of worldly pretensions, 
would it not be misery — hopeless, 
protracted misery? These questions 



would recur constantly, despite my 
best efTorts to stifle them. 

The countess was wholly pleased 
with the house, and surprised at the 
rapidity with which its construction 
had been carried forward. As the 
framework of the spiral staircase 
approached completiun, she mani* 
fested an almost childisli eagerness to 
ascend it, and enjoy the view from 
the observatory. This she was as- 
sured she might do as soon as the 
workmen had completed the scaf- 
foldingr and made it sufficiently strong 
to be safe. 

The morning before the fatal ca- 
tastrophe was the most glorious one 
of the seaisbn. The little village of 
R put on its very prettiest man- 
tle of verdure to greet the budding 
glories of the yearj and the quiet 
valley, with its dark and silent wa- 
ters, seemed to bask in tranquil de- 
light beneath the glowing sunbeams, 
A warm shower during the night had 
refreshed the air and hastened the 
ipiing-time process. 

Birds were singing merrily from 
every bough ; and far above their 
chorus, touching the ear with thrill- 
ing effect, could be clearly distin- 
guished the wild trill of one, from 
the depths of the sunless forests that 
skirt the downward flow of the stream, 
which 1 never heard in any other 
locality. That strain has since been 
associated in my miiul with all that 
is glorious and beautiful in nature, 
all that is sad and bitter in the desti- 
nies of poor humanity. At once a 
jubilant song of triumph and a fune- 
real dirge! — I never desire to hear 
that mournfully tuneful note again t 

My cmjiloyer left immediately after 
breakfast, accompanied by the coun* 
less, for a long horseback excursion, 
and I was summoned to the count's 
apartment to [>repare some papers 
connected with his private aflRiirs. 

I had hardly taken my pen when 




the count's valet announced tht, 

Madame C desired an audlenc*- — _j 

with him. He directed that she h-t 
shown into his room, as he was l( 
busy for ceremony. 

As she entered and I arose to salute 
her, I noticed that her usually cal«^ JT^ 
and stately manner seemed greatlj^'j 
discomposed, as if from some viole' 
agitation. I resumed my writii 
and the count walked with her ti 
remote ];art of the room. Th< 
were some excited words, and a mi 
mur of surprise ; a moment later-_^ 
heard the broken sentence, uttei^a 
almost convulsively : *^Yes! she- 
again the victim to that malady of 
her childhood, which I had hoj 
was cured for ever. Oh I what 
be done ?" ** Prepare for immed-!^ate 
departure !" replied the count i^^-ith 
prompt decision. " My friend fsr^^ust 
be informed, the nuptials postpoir-acd, 
and she must pass a year in pen^ — lect 
quiet and seclusion. At the cr^^ose 
of that period^ we shall know !>«• 
ter how to shape her future/* 3Ia- 
dame C retired. 

In due time, my patron anc^ his 
affianced returned » exhilarated "^'^ 
exercise and in high spirits. She 

was so radiant ! yet even more ^^' 
ritual in her artless loveliness tb. ^^^ » 
had ever seen her before. 

I was very busy with my p^^P^ 
all the afternoon, while the cr=^<>«"' 
was holding a long inteniew **''fh 
my employer. My min<l ua>=^ ^P" 
pressed -with the wildest ^'^* 

sions. What could this ** i^^.^^.i^ -) '^ 
her childhood*' be? Was it. ^ 
form of epilepsy ? The though ^ ^ 
too distressing to be etitertame <^^ ^ 
a OKjment ; besides, her pcrJ'ect P^f' 
sique and blooming health wcrf^ ^ 
sufikient denial to the terrible supp^^ 
sition. 

As evening approached, I ^rctJf ^ 
the house on the hill to give ^^^ 
directions to the mcchanid. 



The 



Our Winter Evenings. 



235 



bf night were closing darkly 
was ready to leave, and as 
5sing out [ heard a work- 
was descending the scaf- 
[)und the staircase, say to 
jiradc on that part of the 
I only tacked those last 
the staging in their places, 
[loo dark to drive nails, and 
make them all fast in the 
Only remeaiber, if you 
up first, that the last steps 
Bailed at all" 

[iter\'iew of the count with 
was continued far into the 
Is I was not summoned to 
ence^ I retired early to my 
Fatigued with the labors of 
ually busy day, and weighed 
ith a sense of undefinable 
bonnectcd with the cxpres- 
bad overheard from ma dame, 
|l endeavored to attribute it 
fcerwrought condition of mind 
ly, 1 fell into an uneasy slum- 
long I had been asleep I do 
iw, when a hurried tap at my 

d the voice of Madame C , 

IS with agitadon, suddenly 

» the love of God, hurry with 
' dear sir, in search of the 
\\ She left the room after I 
bp, only a few minutes since, 
5a r she has gone to the new 
I had secured the door, hut, 
D being on the second floor, 
leglccted to fasten the win- 
I was awakened by her rais- 
isash, only in time to see her 
from the window to the 
n 

5w my clothes hastily around 

^cw, rather than ran, in the 

H indicated by madame, whom 

1 half-way up the hilL As I 

ed the house I was frozen 

to see a white form glid- 

on the uncertain scaffold- 



ing surrounding tne staircase ! My 
first impulse was to shout a warning, 
but madame seized my arm : *' Do 
not» for heaven's sake ! To waken 
her would be inevitable death !" 

Knowing what I did of those last 
steps, I was frantic with agony ! I 
rushed recklessly up the scaffold, 
without being able to discern where 
to step in the darkness, yet hoping to 
reach her before she gained the fatal 
point. Alas! alasl ray efforts were 
all in vain. I had not ascended half- 
way when there was a slight crash — 
a whizzing rustle of the falling form 
through the air — so near the place 
where I stood, dizzy with horror, 
that I felt the wind of its swift de- 
scent fan my cheek, yet too i^ from 
my outstretched arms to reach and 
grasp it. Down, down, it passed! 
We rushed to the spot where it fell, 
A quivering, lifeless figure was all 
that remained of the charming young 
Countess de V ! 

Madame w^as more composed than 
I should have thought possible under 
such excruciating grief. She knelt by 
her darling, lifted the precious form 
tenderly to her bosom, whispering 
fondest prayers for the pure spirit that 
had been so suddenly called to its 
home, and insisted on remaining thus 
until I could summon the count and 
his friend. 

While they were preparing^ I re- 
turned, and madame told me that on 
the previous night symptoms of a 
somnambulism to which the countess 
had been subject when a child—and 
especially during the agitating scenes 
of her mother's last illness and death 
— had returned ; ihat she had com- 
municated the fact to the count, who 
attributed it to the excitement which 
had recently surrounded her, and 
determined to remove her immedi- 
ately to entire seclusion and quiet. 

'* I dreaded this house and the 
staircase " — she added — ^' though I 



236 



Our Winter Evenings. 



did not know all tlie danger. My 
precious child told me in the morn- 
ing of her ' beautiful dream/ as she 
called it, of the night before. She 
said she fancied herself at the house 
on the hill, and saw her * dear mam- 
ma ' standing in the observatory, 
beckoning for her to come up ; that 
she hastily ascended, when her mo- 
ther folded her to her bosom in a 
warm embrace, and tloated off with 
her so lovingly through the air, she 
knew not whither ! * But it was such 
a sweet dieam,' she added in her 
own artless way O my child ! my 
child ! how could I have imagined 
that it was to be so soon and so fear- 
fully realized !" 

I'wo hours later, while the darkness 
of night still brooded over the scene, 
the stately travelling carriage of the 

Count de S descended that fatal 

hill, and took the direction of his 
distant home, bearing a burden of 
whch no others knew but Madame 

C , my broken -hearted friend, 

and raysdC 

The next morning, I was ortkred 
lo call together all the mechanics, 
pay and dismiss ihem. AV'e then left 
R for Ogdensburg. 

My patron addressed a letter to 
his brother in Europe, requesting him 
to come immediately, and assume 
the t harge of their American afthirs. 
He then j prepared to dej>ari himself 
without delay, leaving the most ur- 
gent business in the hands of well- 
tried and trusty agents. He would 
not consent to my remaining in 
America, but insisted on my accom- 
panying him. 

I'he ships in which the brothers 
sailed passed each other on the sea, 
and they never met again. 

From the period of the events I have 
related, my patron was wholly chang- 
ed. A deep melancholy took entire 
possession of him, and no earthly mat- 
ter ever interested him again. Yet 



in all our intercourse, the rac 
mote allusion was never made to 1 
fatal night which sealed his tarthr. 
hopes. He was never willing to pa^ 
widi me, even for a brief intcna! — 
seemed to feci a mysterious Arc^^ 
of my being absent from him. IVt 
was explained lo me, some yeac: 
later, when— after an absence oFl 
few days on some imperative bu 
ness that called me from Pa 
Hamburg — ^I was met upon 
turn by the shocking intetligea 
that the lifeless remains of my 
friend and benefactor were 
from tlie Seine on the second \ 
after my dejjarture ! 

1 came directly to his broth€ 
America, and remained with hin 
the same capacity which I had 
for my lamented patron ; but I ] 
never yet had the courage toJ 

visit R , or look again upon 

White House on the Hill. 

*' A sad story mdeed !" reroa 
one of our number, when ou«" fi 
spected friend closed the narr^i^TiW 
** I would really like to know if ai^ 
jiarc of it is true.'* 

*' That there was such a hoi 
the narrator replied with a st 
**and that the construction oi \^^ "; 
mysteriously abandoned, as dc J=^ ^ 
ed, I know lo be true, for 1 '^^ 
walked about the premises i^'»* 
times myself with the same \im^ ^^ 
table dread which affected o^^^^ 
It is an emotion incident to the^ ^ 
templation of a vacant house, wt^-J^ 
any circumstances. The ima*-^ ^ 
tion busies itself in picturin^^ ' 
scenes and events that may '^^ 
transpired under its shelter — ^if ^^^^ ^ 
been formerly occupied — and ^ 
trasting its character as a homer •*"'* 
the prc*sent loneliness of the c^'Ff? 
rooms, which seem, by iheir gh»^^ 
echo of every footfall and vp 
word, to give voice to theix ye 



Our Winiir Evenings. 



ny 



kwal of human converse and 
' within their walls, 
feelings awakened while mus- 
[ the unfinished one in ques- 
still more deep and rays- 
(One was led to conjecture 
which were knit into the 
ric of that thoroughly fitted 
♦e fond anticipations of home 
and social joys that were 
frith the plan of each room, 
btlines were dimly taking 

[was to be the library, filled 
|ce books in every tongue, 
bjoyment of which the va- 
ling and hterary taste of the 
f prepared the finest relish. 
\ picture-gallery, in which his 
(id practised eye could revel 
[ inimitable works of the old 
lid all the best productions 
El art, among which his own 
ko means inferior. Yet fiir- 
pe spacious drawing-rooms, 
furnished, "where youth and 
Irould assemble for music 
lay mirth ♦ Then the grand 

wliich was to witness 
Sties of the glorious Christ- 
>; ihe jovial banquets of 

drawn hither by the 
game on those wild hills ; 
>nore quiet enjoyments of 
( friendly and domestic fes* 
ide perfect by the voice of 
pdren. 

I and many more imaginings, 
|A fancy, were wTOUght in 
progress of the work from 

\ a sudden revulsion, tlien^ to 
I all that might have been 
lemj>lated as belonging to 
pilitics of a happy future, 
Id here the vanity of human 
B exjiectations ! A favorite 
Bslantly and unaccountably 
iL He who projected it — 
jli7n.t in wealth, yet seeking 



and failing to find in Europe, among 
the familiar scenes of his early life, 
the happiness not to be realized here 
— at length closing his life by his own 
rash act. Was it not a lesson that 
shouM lead one to lean with new re- 
liance upon religion, Avhich alone can 
satisfy the yearnings of poor huma- 
nity — w hose promises alone remain 
steadfast and never deceive ? 

"This gendeman was endowed 
with ever)^ desirable attribute, except 
that * pearl of great price !* He was 
the verv' soul of honor, the benefac- 
tor of all who needed assistance, and 
universally beloved for his kindness, 
affability, and general excellence of 
character." 

*' Madame need not have been so 
distressed about his obtaining the 
hand of the countess, then,*' said an- 
other. ** For my part, I think the 
count took the common-sense view 
of the matter, and I do not see the 
great harm in Catholics and Protes- 
tants marr) ing. They need not quar- 
rel about religion, if they do not 
think alike,** 

*' I cannot agree with you there, 
my dear young friend," replied the 
matron. ** I have seen too much 
domestic infelicity occasioned by 
members of different Protestant sects 
being united in the closest of all re- 
lations, to doubt that where the dif- 
ferences, instead of being merely a 
variance in name, measure, or degree^ 
are, as is the case between Catholic 
and Protestant, wide as infinity, and 
involve interests as vast and awful 
as the eteniity which is in question, 
the bitterness must be greatly increas- 
ed. The Protestant obstinately re- 
fuses to admit the reasoning and 
claims of the Catholic, and continu- 
ally insists upon a yielding of princi- 
ples which either tortures the con- 
science or sears it; while the Catho- 
lic, knowing that the first birthright of 
Christianity is inherited by the chil- 



Oar Winter Evenings. 



¥ 



dren of the old church in the regu- 
lar line of descent — since it was un- 
questioned for more than fifteen hun- 
dred years — cannot see the justice of 
being required to subscribe to novel- 
ties which to them are utterly false, 
or to comply with the inventions of 
men in the place of observances which 
God has imposed through his church. 
*^ A Cathohc lady^ married to one 
of my Protestant friends — with the ab- 
surd arrangement that, if they should 
have children, the boys shou!d be 
rearetl in their father's religion^ and 
the girls in their mother'}* — once said 
to me : • Although you, my dear 
friend, are a Protestant, 1 am sure 
you can imagine what a daily cruci- 
fixion of heart and soul the wife and 
mother must undergo who as sin- 
cerely believes that salvation is assur- 
ed under the Christian dispensation 
to those within the ** Ark of Peter" 
only, as that our divine Saviour so- 
lemnly declared of the ancient one 
to the woman of Samaria, " Salvation 
is of the Jews!" when she sees her 
husband and sons not only resisting 
its claims and denying its authority, 
but using every means open and co- 
vert to undermine and destroy her faith 
and that of her daughters j while she is 
compelled to listen to their merciless 
ridicule and infidel reasonings — for 
so they seem to the inheritor of the 
faith. And all this when slie knows 
that their feehng for their religion 
bears not the most remote relation to 
that tender aflfection which animates 
the Catholic soul toward the gentle 
and assiduous mother who feeds, sus- 
tains, and guides it — an affection of 
which it is impossible for them to 
form the faintest conception!' Of 






course it was easy, even for 4 
tant, to see in such a picttm 
dant causes for unhappij 
dissension, 

"But I have been dr 
my subject, of which, indeed 
little more to say than that I 
ed reluctantly with our new 4 
tance at the close of the i 
From time to time, during li 
ttiat intervened previous to I 
departure for Europe, we i 
visits from him which were o< 
of happy reunions among q 
tered associates, and of ul 
jileasure to us alU VV'hen thi 
of his second employer — d 
been impaired in early life bjj 
residence in India, managini 
fairs of the * East India Co| 
bi which he was a member-' 
our friend accompanied the 
to Europe, and at his death! 
the service of another brothef 
man baron, antl never reliJ 
America." 



e^^ 



The gentlemen of the 
ing entered, refreshments wfl 
served, during the course cjj 
1 heard our Dove cncouragiif 

B , and assuring her ihati 

agreeable prejudices and dial 
to which the converts were at 
subjected would prove harmi 
soon pass away ; though, of] 
they must be more annoying 1 
^vho enjoyed general sociei 
they would be to one who, I 
self, could not mingle with it^ 

After partaking of refreshiiJ 
the evening was well advai| 
took leave of our plea 
and departed, 





TKA.VSI*ATSI> mOU DEK KATHQLIK. 

INCE CLEMENT VON METTERNICH* 



:)N Meti'ernich was 
iz on the 1 5th of May, 
ight up in his family 
ocrat. He was early 
^rd the nobility as a 
and to entertain high 
prerogatives over the 
is natural generosity of 
him to associate with 
fid thus tempered the 
of his education. He 
Strasbourg and May- 
I travelled to England, 

Eat Vienna^ where 
iddaughter of the 
an Kaunitz. We 
It is certain regarding 
:hool-days; but enough 
he did not spend his 
vorthy cavaliers of the 
itury, in following the 
they were pleased to 
e passions/* but in se- 
id earnest preparation 
' of the distinguished 
h he afterward became. 
tc of the ardor which 
in the prosecution of 
ics, when called upon 
■complete severe and 
«iaiions. *' As long 
3 in Vienna," relates 
mont, in the sixth vol- 
emoirs, ** ex7)ecting a 
pplied himself to the 
cine, for which he al- 
led a preference. He 
tspitals of the capita!, 

f t}>(* prpp«nitioii of this arti- 
, Binder's work 

W***i^**s>nf*}H4 iiiit^ry : ibe 



and never failed to be present at the 
most important operations. Hence 
he was well instructed in medical 
science, and his acquaintances believ- 
ed that a patient could be more safe- 
ly trusted in his hands than in those 
of a professional physician.'* His ex- 
ternal bearing was from youth dis- 
tinguished by gravity and dignity ; 
yet there was something so winning 
in his a|)pcarance that even his op- 
ponents have painted in the warmest 
colors the attractiveness of his pre- 
sence, wiiich failed neither in look 
nor movement even in old age. 
Eyes and mouth were the means 
which he used to fathom and capti- 
vate all who approached him. His 
eagle eye seemed to penetrate in a 
moment the whole being with whom 
he conversed, while his sweet smile 
and affability disarmed the most cau- 
tious, and won the confidence of the 
most distrustful. • *' His look fathoms 
mysteries," a French statesman wrote 
of him, **and his amiability com- 
pels confidence. In society, the first 
place is always given to him, as it 
were, by universal suffrage." Met- 
ternich had to mingle frequently with 
ihc so-called high society of the pe- 
riod, which the Jewess Rachel has 
called " the endless depth of empti* 
ness;" and he understood this society 
so well that Rachel considered him 
** a genial insi>iration." Though he 
never lost amid the dissipations and 
frivolities of this society the higher 
and nobler impulses of his heart and 
mind J yet, as a consequence of such 

• Cemf^rhen bftwitm Emptrttr hrattcit ami 
^ffti€rti^cJky, pp. ffl, S4. Austria #iif*/ A/r State*' 
ntfit, vol. i. ft. jt5. ScKmidtf CoMttmffraKtiftii 
tiutoty^ p. 334. 




Prince Chnient von Mctterniclu 



association, he was guilty of many 
things in his private hfe which could 
not fail to give offence to the noble 
and virtuous imperial family of Aus- 
tria, 

Mettcmich began his diplomatic 
career as Westjihalian ambassador in 
the Radstadt peace congress, After- 
wartb he was imperial ambassador in 
Dresden, and went, in 1803^ to BerHn 
in the same capacity, where, in 1805, 
he had the glory of uniting Austria, 
Prussia, and Russia in a triple coali- 
tion against Napoleon's plan of a uni- 
versal monarchy. After the unfortu- 
nate result of the war, he went as 
plenipotentiary to Paris. In this, 
the most important post of the time, 
by the side of the man to whom half 
of the west of Europe was subject, 
the i»rinre formed the most skilful 
diplomatic school in Kurupe, learned 
how to apjireciate circumstances and 
persons, and to act with skill ; leanied 
also how^ a diplomatist " should buk 
his timr in patiena, untU he bccanus 
maskr of (he stttiationy It is re- 
markable that Napoleon himself was 
the one to ask this appointment from 
the Hmj>eror Francis for Meltemich ; 
and thus he, who afterward aided so 
powerfully in the dethronement of 
»Japoleon, owed his position in Aus- 
ria to the generosity of the great sol- 
'dien The prince continued in 1808, 
with singular persevemnce, what he 
had happily begun in 1S05 at Berlin* 
In 1808, Spain rose against Napoleon, 
and the French eagle lost the pres- 
tige of invincibility. Napoleon made 
the most violent declarations against 
Austria in an audience of an hour's 
duration • with Metteniich, on Au- 



•" Napoleon cast up to Melternlcl), inthcrou^h* 
eat manner^ his intriKties with Tullcyratid and 
Fouch^, Hnd (brouf^h ibcm with ihc hcsttla of iLe 
Spanisli and Pt>rtijjr;uese opposition, liis fal?*' re- 
ports to Vieiinji., etc. AIJ iremldcd , Mctlcrnlch 
mJunr rrmnf'ti-tl tmnqu'd iitid dipniticd, so th»t ihc 
co.i <-ii ai liim inastouisliincnl. Atnanff 

Xmpolcoa said : * If the Vienna 
tlie miibiliU' and aristocracy 



gust 23, and thereupon followed the 

heroic year in Austrian annals of 1 809, 
which rendered 1813, and its unex- 
pected result, possible. 

When Count Stadion rcsigt\cd his 
place in the ministry, Mettcmich 
changed the rale of ambassador for 
that of statesman, and wan appointed 
minister of foreign affairs. An ex- 
pression of his, in 1809, illustrates the 
character of a ♦* minister of the old nf- 
gime,'' as he loved to call himM^f; 
**The people must will only what 
the princes will, and I thn tc 

these free constitutional sy ,^ b 

are sjiringing up over the heads of 
princes, and will one day gi\c Uicm 
enough to do." How prophetic were 
these words for the future which 
gave the princes too much to do, 
and how well they express I' 
tred which Meltemich always 
tunately manifested toward fr^ 
emments 1 But as none arof^c 
the strong power of the coii< 
Napoleon in 1809, and as Met 
had not yet to fight with the j 
he conducted the peace negni 
with France, as minister of 1 
affairs^ in all honor and cani' 
He furthered Napoleon's m; , 
with Maria Louisa. It was a 
fice by which oppressed Austn.^ - 
ed time and rest ; and after it ^1 
nich directed all his policy i 
the preservation of peace, and 
cially the prevention of a new w 
the North. At this tmie, Baro ^ 
Stein tried to persuade him tot^^ 
rate Austria by the development i»i 
religious Wii^, political refornis, tltM* 
tion of the peasantry, and 
tion of the arts and %i:w 
Meltemich answered all argui 
with tlie words, ** Let us wait let 



4J 



of the empire, fr- 
jjets how J was 
cis Ivy the >t nrr 
ing Uuvsi;i; 
then the li 



« 



Princt Clftfuni van Mcttcrnich, 



24? 



*r limes." Vet no occasion 
letter for the use of spiritu- 
icdies than when Austria was 
ally powerless, bankrupt^ and 
ng under a thousand miseries, 
piritual means were despised, 
''ienna society sought to bury 
rfing of national dishonor in the 
t of wild licentiousness. This 
he " Vienna period," which 
describes as one of Sybaritic 
and uitoxication, which de- 
1 the manliness of the capital, 
icmich confined his eflbrts to 
la tic means, and showed in 
jse such wonderful talent that 
eon, whose ambition destroyed 
inister's peace plans, afterward 
Helena, considering the sharp 
; and mental grasp of his dip- 
c antagonist, expressed the 
St admiration for his genius* 
lost recent French historian of 
Kiiod considers the neglect of 
■n to follow Mettemich's coun- 
Pone of the emperor's most 
■ous mistakes. When the war 
Ittssia began, Marmont tells us 
* Napoleon demanded an alH- 
«fith Austria, which would put 
Uy corps under his command; 
Ictlemich was so skilful in di- 

Ethe number of the levies 
war power of Austria was 
St uninjured/' Napoleon 
If chose Prince Schwartzenberg 
nmander* and had him appoint- 
Id-marshal. Vet in the end, m 
tm of events, Schwartzenberg 
' J head of the crusade 
•leon. " Was it not sin- 
•-mont, ** that Napo- 
ild choose the instru- 
ivhich were aftenvard to work 
i ruin ?" After the Russian cam- 
whcn the war with the allies be- 
I lich, as the representative 
ma, was charged by Rus- 
l I'russia to mediate with Na- 
A fkx hours' conference 
iroL. xu. — 1 6. 



took place between them at Dresderii 
in 1S13, and it may be considered as 
the turning-point in the history of 
that period. We must dwell a mo- 
ment on this conference, which in it- 
self and its consequences was one of 
the most brilliant events in Metter- 
nich*s life. 

Napoleon received Mettcrnich on 
June 18. The minister as he passed 
through the vestibule of the Macco- 
lini palace found it full of foreign 
ministers and officers of all ranks, 
and met Berth ier, who desired peace, 
liut had not the courage to speak 10 
the emperor on the subject. When the 
ministers recognized Metternich. their 
faces wore an anxious look, and 
Prince Berthier, accompanying him 
to the door of the audience chamber,, 
said : " Now bring us peace. But 
be reasonable. Let us end this war; 
it is as necessar)^ for you as it is for 
us that it should cease/' Metternich 
understood from this that the French 
wished for peace, the soldiers no less 
than the citizens. 

When Metternich entered the cabi- 
net, he found the emperor standing 
with his sword hanging by his side, 
his hat under his arm, acting like one 
who has not much time to spend in 
conversation. ** Tell me, Metter- 
nich," said Napoleon, " how much 
money did the English give you to 
play this rdle against me ?" He then 
began to particularize his causes of 
complaint against Austria, and show- 
ed how little dependence he could 
place on that power. " I have,*' said 
he, ** three times made a present of 
his crown to the Emperor Francis ; 
1 have made the mistake of marry- 
ing his daughter with the hope of 
cementing an alliance between him 
and me ; but nothing can change his 
dispositions toward me. Last year, 
counting on his alliance, I made war, 
but after one campaign, which the 
elements alone rendered unsuccessful, 



242 



Prince Clepnc9tt von Mcttcrnich, 



he vacillates, grows cold in doing 
what he seemed to undertake with 
zeal, puts himself between me and 
my enemies, in order to make peace, 
as he says, but in reality to stop me 
in my victorious career, and save 
from my hand the enemies whom I 
can destroy. Speak out. Do you 
want war with me ? If so, we shall 
meet again in October, at Vienna." 
Napoleon's anger did not disconcert 
the minister. " Sire," he quietly re- 
plied, " we do not want to declare 
w^ar, but to bring to an end this un- 
bearable condition of things — a con- 
dition which at every moment threat- 
ens us all \vith ruin." "What, then, 
do you want of me," said Napoleon — 
" what do you demand ?" " Peace," 
answered Mcttemich — "a universal 
and necessary peace, which you need 
as much as we — a peace which will 
secure your position as well as ours ;" 
and then he began to lay before him 
the very moderate conditions of this 
peace. But Napoleon, springing up 
like a lion, would hardly allow him 
to finish, interrupted him at the men- 
tion of every condition, as if he had 
heard an insult or a blasphemy, and, 
almojit beside himself with passion, ex- 
claijned : " Nothing could anger me 
more than that Austria, as a reward of 
her treachery and violation of her pro- 
mises, should receive the chief part of 
the benefits and the glory of peace. . . . 
Your sovereigns, who arc born on the 
throne, cannot understand the feelings 
that move me. They may return 
defeated to their capitals, yet this is 
nothing for them. I am a soldier, I 
need honor and glory ; I cannot re- 
turn lessened in the eyes of my peo- 
ple ; I must remain great, glorious, 
and admired." *' ]]ut," rejoined Met- 
temich, *' when will this condition of 
things end, if defeats as well as victo- 
ries are made reasons for continuing 
these sad wars ? Wlien you are vic- 
torious, you wish to gather the fruits 



of victory ; when defeated, you wish 
to achieve new victories. . . . 
Your own brave nation needs peace. 
1 have seen your regiments: your 
soldiers are mere children. Vou 
have called out a generation that has 
not yet reached the years of man- 
hood. And, if these are destroyed 
in the present war, will you call out 
others who are younger still ?" These 
words made Napoleon white with 
rage, his face became distorted, and 
he threw his hat on the ground (Mei- 
temich did not pick it up), and, walk- 
ing toward Mettemich, said : " Sir, 
you are not a military man ; you have 
not, as I have, the soul of a soldier; 
you have not lived in camps; you have 
not learned to look on the lives of others 
and of yourself as of no account, if it 
is necessary. What* are 200,000 sol- 
diers to me ?" Mettemich, deeply 
moved by these expressions, said; 
" Let us open the doors and windows, 
so that all Europe may hear you, and 
the cause which I am pleading witli 
you will not lose." But Napoleon, un- 
disturbed, smiling ironically, continu* 
ed : "It is true, I lost in Russia 200,000 
men, of whom 100,000 were of the 
best French soldiers; I moum iSwr 
these, yes, I regret them deeply ; as 
for the others, they were Italians, 
Poles, and chiefly Germans." And at 
this word the Corsican made a gC^ 
ture which showed that the loss of 
the last troubled him very little* 
" You understand, sire," was Mcttff- 
nich's answer, " that this is no en- 
couragement for giving you more 
German soldiers." Hour after hour 
passed in this inter\'iew, Napoleon 
always insisting that Austria -should 
remain neutral, and he would gi^e 
her all she asked; but Mettemich 
would hear nothing of neutralit}\ so 
Napoleon said : " Well, then, let there 
be war, but we shall meet in Vienna. 
It was almost night when they sepa- 
rated. The anxiety on the couoir 



Prince Clement von Mvtternidu 



243 



[>f the officers was greater at 
tuie of Mettemich than at 
Hiiig, and Berthier went to 
aedialely to find out some- 
prding the result of the con- 
** Are you satisfied with the 
5r?*' asked Berthicr. "I am 
isd with him," replied the minis- 

tr he has relieved my con- 
I swear to you that your 
ider has lost his reason.*' 
, in Prague, Mettemich tried 
fdiate; but, as his efforts in the 
peace were unsuccessful up 
tnd of the 10th of August, 
spent the night of that day 
following morning in pre- 
Austria *s declaration of war 
France. On the morning 
ith, the Russo- Prussian army 
the Bohemian and Silcsian 
tfT. On the 9th of September, 
Hich signed the quadruple alli- 
Bid so arranged matters that 
H should strike the first blow 
Rpening contest. Let us not 
iok the fact that the decision was 
s of Austria ; for the Rus- 
i armies, notwithstanding 
{aiiantry of the Prussians, were 
cak that they could not take the 
siire against Napoleon ; and who 
rs what would have been the 
I of the campaign of 1S13 had 
ria remained neutral ? Napoleon 
ily made favorable offers to 
neutrality of Austria, but 
vould not compromise, " She 
IX sword into the balance in 
\ the weaker party, in order to 
sting peace for Europe, and 
tion was ^-icto^ious.'' For the 
\ hi.storical truth, we must em- 
!ic these facts, for they are fre- 
tly overlooked or undervalued 
loiiem histories. We dwell on 
for they redound to the 
Metternich, who on this 
uon showed himself far supe- 
be politicians of the Talley- 



rand school by influencing Austria 
in the cause of German honor rather 
than consulting mere self-interest. 

On the evening of the battle of 
Leipsic, the Emperor Francis con- 
ferred on Metternich for himself and 
posterity, in recognition of his great 
services, the title of |>rince. ** i am 
astonished," said Mettemich » in his 
old age» to a confident in the castle 
of Jobannisberg, ** that Austrian wri- 
ters of that time should deny that 
diplomacy guided the conduct of 
the war. It has been asked why 
Schwartzenberg, after the battle of 
Brienne, did not march on Paris ? 
He could not J the decided agree- 
ment of the allied sovereigns was 
against it; and, as he was a great 
strategist, he wished to leave nothing 
to chance. I'he plan was to be car- 
ried out safely, as it had been grad- 
ually and safely agreed upon. To 
effect this security I can say that 1 did 
ray share. At the very beginning, 
when we were in armed neutrality 
and then in armed mediation, others 
urged us to go forward in spite of all 
obstacles. But we were not then 
even allies, and this fact is frequent- 
ly forgotten. In the council of^ war, 
I proposed that we should not com- 
pute the campaigns by years, but by 
geographical boundaries. One cam- 
paign was to be to the Rhine; the 
conquest of the Vosges and Ar- 
dennes another ; and Paris the third. 
The decision in this sense was made 
first at Chaumont* In the council 
of war, we had three temperaments : 
the determined and prudent, re[ire- 
sented by the Austrians; the enthusi- 
astic and reckless, representing the 
condition of Prussia at this lime, in 
the person of Blilcher ; and the mid- 
dle, represented by the Russian em- 
peror, who, having first saved him- 
self and his empire from great dan- 
ger, joined us in all sincerity. Yet I 
must say that, if I could in honor 



Prince Clement von Metternich, 



245 



to rise to such high views. 
:ontinued to offer the specta- 
people inconsolable for the 
their nationality, a nation 
ill never cease, no matter 
y be done, to be an occasjon 
iet to her rulers. But not 

the kingdom of Poland, so 
; for the independence of Eu- 
; re-established ; it was given 
jp to Russia, which was thus 
to fortify her position on the 

From this moment, Russia, 
mi)lete base of operations on 
Icrs of Germany, obtained a 
:rating influence in the poli- 
urope. 

lief aim of Mettemich's for- 
icy, after the restoration in 
onsisted, according to A. 
, in his Contemporaneous His- 
•tforts to preserve peace, the 
' integrity of Austria, and 
inued influence as a great 
The character of his diplo- 
as essentially conservative 
nsive, yet regulated by his 
rsire not to diminish the 
of the government by yield- 
litical partitrs at home. " As 
• duty," said he, " to resist 
tori a 1 encroachments of for- 
mers abroad, so must we op- 
: eftbrts of parties at home 
ge the j)rerogatives of the 

He sought to preserve the 
form of monarchy in his own 
\ endeavored to prevent the 
f the constitutional system 
St of flurope. 

eak side of this policy soon 
nanifest. In order to attain 
:t which Metternich propos- 
:as obliged to opi)ose not 

revolutionary spirit, but to 
retly even the legitimate re- 
ffected or desired by the 
ing nations. To ])lease Aus- 

should stand still and gaze 
>n the future. It is well to 



recall these things, now that Austria 
has reaped the fruit of such erring 
statesmanship, whose cardinal princi- 
ple was that no hand be raised 
for reform, and no refonn awake 
a desire of amelioration.* Wher- 
ever Metternich's influence reached 
in Europe, a policy of reaction full 
of fearful responsibility was put in 
practice, and the state assumed, espe- 
cially in Germany, a tutelage of rights 
which was unknown even in the 
most despotic days of the old Roman 
empire. The German confederation 
seemed to have no other end than 
to preserve the dynasties ; and Met- 
ternich forgot that, while the empire 
had disappeared with the sanction 
of the electors, the nation had not 
yet attained its full growth, and that 
he should consider each as living 
agents which act and develop by ne- 
cessity. In vain did his countryman, 
the prophet of the Rhine, the great 
Coblentzer, Joseph von (Torres, warn 
Metternich, in an eloquent pamphlet 
entitled Germany and the Revolu- 
tion^ not to mislead the rulers so as 
to bring in revolution in si)ite of 
them. In vain did this great writer 
show the statesman the mene tekel 
on the wall. For his boldness, he was 
obliged to fly from Germany and live 
in exile. In vain did Baron von 
Stein persistently urge that the peo- 
ple should receive the promised 
constitution. "The whole world," 
thought Metternich, and the emperor, 
too, "is crazy in its foolish striving 
after constitutions." The mere men- 
tion of new constitutions roused his 
ire, and he scented out and rejected 
ever)'thing which threatened to aid 
the spirit of political innovation. 

Yet Metternich was not an abso- 
lutist of the common stamp. He 
wished all constitutional guarantees 
which had been once firmly establish- 

« Schmidt, p. 339. 



■ 



cd to be scrupulously observed. He 
was opposed to all violations of law 
by tlie crown, or usurpations by the 
state, or exorbitant taxation. He 
was not at all like Jules Polignac, 
who brought about the French Revo- 
lution of July by his silly *" ordinan- 
ces." Nor could he imitate the blind- 
ness with which Polignac drove the 
ship of state on to the rocks ; nor the 
levity which used the most inade- 
quate means to realize a puq>ose. 
Consequently, the Austrian statesman 
judged Polignac's absolutism as se- 
verely as the tendencies of the revo- 
lutionists. He condeuTned the viola- 
tion of the coubtitution in Hanover 
in 1S37, and in the year 1847 he was 
almost the only one to prevent, by op- 
portune and categorical interference, 
the attempted coup if Hat in Kur- 
Hesse. Metteniich was not an ordi- 
nary absolutist, for he hated the rage 
of modem absolutism for centraliza- 
tion ; and hence he often seemed to 
be in favor of free governments. 
*'If persons/' says Adolph Schmidt, 
** came to Mettemich preparcil to 
meet an absolutist, the statesman's ur- 
banity and gentleness, even towards 
those who were far inferior to him in 
station, removed all prejudices from 
their minds." " Petty despots," said 
Mettemich to Count Platen, "can 
only give a forced smile at the fall of 
Napoleon." As a strong champion 
of leginmacy, he expressea his deter- 
mination in countless writings to pre- 
serve the *' existing order of things es- 
tablished by law;" he loved to be 
called " the minister of the anckn 
rti;imey *' My system," said he, *' is a 
system of peace ;" but the attempt to 
realiiie this system prevented the very 
thing he desired. When, for instance, 
the Emperor Nicholas, of Russia, in- 
terrupted the silence of European 
peace by his attempts on the Turkish 
empire; when the July Revolution 
broke into fragments, in a few days, 



^ats 



the French monarchy, which 
been with so much diHi cully 
ed ; when Swiss radicalism folio 
in a civil war — he sacrificed his pr 
ciple of legitimacy, His peace syst. 
did not hold good ; for *' he acknc^ 
1 edged the accomplished fact o •-, 
successful revolution, and his re^^^ 
for doing so was his peace 
which bore^ written in clear 
ters on its brow, the names ot 
and weakness.'* 

The internal condition of Kwstm 
suffered most from this system. AA 
fairs m the empire became worse ^n^ 
worse from year to year. The no- 
bility, brought up in the court, slept 
in the lap of licentiousness j while 
corruption in othce continued. In- 
stead of trying to open the natunl 
resources of the countr\\ "an e: 
bitant toll system sejjarated A 
from the rest of Germany, and 
one province of the empire from 
other ; the commerce of the DanI 
was neglected, and the Russians 
mitted, without opposition, to foi 
the lowlands of the great river; 
the harbor of Venice was allownl 
fill up with sand," In the mi(k 
peace, Austria, so inexhaustible in 
ttiral resources, sank hopelessly 
debt, and the mania for stock s| 
lation increased in proportion to 
national indebtedness. •* This I 
complained Fr. Eohmer, one of 
staunchest and most disinlci 
friends of Austria, in a letter to Hi 
ter, ** is completely in the hands 
the Jews, who swarm and devour 
worms in a carcass, so that the 
tr)' has not even the power t( 
end to the corruption of the 
tration. ... A state with f^' 
a surplus of paper money is lik^ * 
man with continual fever. He «* 
always sick, and the only diffrrencC 
in his condition is whether he h» • 
paroxysm or not,'* ** Place no cofl"* 
dence/' he wrote in 1S45, *^ in yv^ 



Prince Clement van Metternich. 



247 



Austria. A nation which 
ace put an Efchhof at the 
her finances will again jJace 
it the head of her array in 
** In Vienna/' he wrote, 
I is respecteti, save the scrib- 
f office-holders and joumal- 
1 he told Gorres to send his 
lie Writer to Vienna : 

pers \ 

thing that the people of 
sire," said Bohmcr, *' is the 
of pretentious newspaper 

rch w^as asleep in Austria, 
in this condition. Only 
should wear the mitre;" 
no emidation among the 
gy; the church was dc- 
\i\ contempt fur the church 
ble from con tern [it fur the 
, and, consequently, for 
f the state." ** The state," 
e of the condition of Aus- 
:ed the church and feared 
which, however, the go- 
pro voiced by preventing a 
vclopment and seriousness 
e schools or in the press, 
people became the slaves 
upt journals.'* When on 
lion, as a participant in the 
rms us, an effort was being 
840 to establish at Vienna 
thohc newspaper, the go- 
would give permission for 
ition only on condition that 
urch news which regarded 
should be taken from the 
al of fashions and thea- 
y attack against Josephism 
led; and, as in the time of 
, the tit fern tears were per- 
undeiTnine the foundations 
I and morality. All the 
lluctions of the Freuch and 
ress found a ready market 



in Vienna, and the more godless and 
immoral were the books, the more 
gladly were they received, so that, as 
Menzel justly remarks, ** it was a sad 
si>eclaclc to behold at that time the Jew 
Saphir alone, who mocked at every- 
thing, attracting attention by his writ- 
ings/' Literature grew every day 
weaker and more corrupt in the em- 
pire, and die government seemed an- 
>iious for nothing else than to keep 
the people oi Vienna in good humor 
by comedies and luxuries. Carica- 
tures destroyed the zeal of artists; 
the arts sank into insignilicance, and 
Metternich agreed with the Emperor 
Francis, who, on a visit to the college 
at Ohiiut/, remarked " that he did not 
need learned men, but obedient sub- 
jects." Francis must have already 
felt that disobedience, *'the revolu- ^ 
tionary fever," was spreading in Aus- 
tria, and he once used the sad ex- 
pression, " I and my Metternich will 
outlive it." The spirit of revolution 
made w^onderful progress, and ** no- 
thing could bring the misled rulers to 
see and adoi>t the true means to ar- 
rest its progress. They strove to im- 
pede its march by mere external re- 
medies.'^ 

Metternich used to liken revolu- 
tionary movements to conflagrations, 
and the means for suppressing them 1 
to fire-extinguishers. ** On all sides," 
says a close observer of the poliUcal 
condition of Europe, ** w ere heard, by 
Mettemich's orders, cries of * Help T 
* Fire !* ' The monarchy — legitimacy is 
in danger ;' and then in every land rat- 
tled the hre-engines to extinguish the 
b«irning ; but the hremcn directed all 
the \\ater to places where there was 
nothing to quench, and left uncheck- 
ed the iiames which spread on every 
side, as in France and Luxemburg, 
in the year 1831. When the Revolu- 
tion broke out in Luxemburg in 
1S51, it was the duty of Austria and 
of the whole German confederation 



248 



Prince Clement von Metternkh. 




to interfere, prevent the separation 
of the duchy from Germany, and put 
out the conflagration. But, instead 
of doing this, Austria drew back, for 
fear of becoming entangled in her 
diplomacy, and the consequence was 
the glaring contradiction of Metter- 
mch*s recognition and sanction not 
only of a local revolution, but of a 
revolution against Germany. This, 
too, at a time, in November, 1831, 
when the people were told " that ad- 
dresses from them on public affairs 

uld not be tolerated by the govem- 
lent;*' at a time when Mettcrnich 
advised all govennnents to utterly 
crush, or at least to render subservi- 
ent, the already excessively trammel- 
led political Journals. A few months 
later, in May, 1832, on occasion of 
the well-known ** HamlHichcr Fcst** 
when a republican bonfire was made, 
Mettcrnich told the president of the 
society, ** This festival can be made 
the festival of the good, if it is pro- 
perly managed ; tlie evibdisposed 
have only distorted its meaning.*' 
Yet it was this very ^* festival of the 
good " which afterward caused all 
Germany to rise in arms in order to 
prevent a mere bonfire. * This, in the 
diplomatic language of the day, was 
looking after the solidarity of the 
conservative interests. 

Year after year, Mettemich prophe- 
sied the approaching destruction of 
monarchical institutions, the triumph 
of the revolution, and the complete 
disruption of social order; and we 
might pertinently ask whether he was 
really a monarchist, since he did not 
sincerely believe in the stability of the 
monarchical principle ; for without 
such belief ttie monarchical senti- 
ment is a mere chimera or self-delu- 
sion. His often -expressed dread of 
constitutions and of every manifesta- 
tion of public life, his desire to pass 

* Sctimidt, p. AU* 



coercive laws, his fear of newspapers 
and parliaments, are the clearest 
proof of the inefficiency of his sys- 
tem; and on this account a man like 
Meiiernich must have ircqueoily 
dreaded the judgment of his contem- 
poraries and of posterity. Wc tun 
say with truth, that no one has done 
more to injure the cause of monatdiy 
in Europe than Mettemich ; for he 
again and again threatened kings with 
the prophecy of their destruction j he 
deprived them of self-confidence, m 
trying to sustain them; he les.>ened 
their power and brought them into 
danger, while he pretended to be 
saving them. His anxious endea- 
vors, by means of pohct* regidaiions* 
censures, and mental estrangement^ 
to hold Austria aloof from all hberal 
and revolutionary movements, to keep 
her at a standstill, distrustful of 
all innovations, while her differ eat 
nationalities were to hold each other 
in check by mutual jealousies — such* 
policy could not preserve the empire 
from the invasion of nevolutionarj* 
ideas and influences. " The whole 
government lay torpid under this sy^ 
tern, so that, when new crises arose» 
neither the German confederation, 
which was under Metlemich's con- 
trol, nor the power of Austria, bad 
sufficient energy or unanimity to bc 
able to ward off danger.** When 
the revolution of 1848 was on the 
point of l)reaking out, Mettcrnich 
ordered Colloredo, the Austrian am- 
bassador and president of the con- 
federation, lo close the session of 
Frankfort, and to open it again after a 
few days in Potsdam. But the storm 
came too quickly ; the revolution in 
Vienna was followed by one at Ber- 
Hn, Mettemich's system was \xy,c* 
less, and the gigantic internal power 
of Austria seemed to be annihilated 
in a few days. The personal courage 
of the chancellor, however, v 
markable. He who had exi 



Prince Clement von Metternich, 



249 



so mach fear feared no tiling for him- 
self, and showed in his dismission 
&om office a magnanimity of cha- 
racter seldom seen in the statesmen 
of foodcm tunes. ** 1 o be compel- 
led to leave a posltionj" says Count 
Hartig, in his excellent work on the 
origin of the revolution in Austria, 
**ia which during thirty-nine years 
he had governed with splendor, en- 
joying the full confidence of the im- 
perial farmly, as well as of all the 
jorercigns of Europe, the recognized 
leader in the state aflHiirs of almost 
ball a century, honored and flattered 
by princes and nations j to be de- 
throned in a day by a popular insur- 
lection, his glory cast to the winds, 
and himself looked upon as a be- 
tntjer of the people; all this was 
' ic of awaking such painful feel- 
the bosom of an old man of 
■ that no one would have 
\ ^ed to see hira sink under 
weight of his troubles. Yet he 
• all quiedy and with such 
ence that on the day of 
<A he conversed with his 
Jie events of the day and 
[uences in his usual unnif- 
' i.T, as if d\ey were of no 

pnvuul importance to him. The 
uoniiuct of the old statesman on this 
oc(^sion reminded even his enemies 
tlic text of Horace : 

* Si frattus UlAb^itur orbis 
tmp^vMluna fcrtcnt ruinsc.' " ■ 

Sfjeaking of these events afterward 

« Johannisberg, he said : " Both as 

nd diplomat, I acted ac- 

my convictions. I ac- 

the inefficacy of my sys- 

. ,t has been proved; but I 

^ never been a self-seeker. I have 

i-Vi',s worked for the safety of the 

^iifiifchy, and this thought satisfies 

nir" r tly during his retire- 

n^TiC u ^ed regret that he had 

•*TkiTw^h the vi^holc wotld sAomld r«tl to picc- 
ajr strike but cannot terrify uic." 



not outstripped Prussia in the march 
of political reforms; that he had not 
properly appreciated the political im- 
portance of the commercial zollverein, 
or common customs tariff; and espe- 
cially that he had not appreciated 
the mUitary position obtained by 
Prussia in Germany ta the year 1815. 

** I was bom a conservative," said 
he once, **and I have always re- 
mained a conservative, I am there- 
fore grateful to Providence, which in 
my old age gives me such repose as 
n a tu re req uires , 1 h a ve t wel ve h o urs 
more than I used to have for reading 
and writing, and I shall not be fa- 
tigued. 1 study history^ literature, 
and the memoirs of the past half- 
century, in which I have lived and 
acted." " Men should consider," he 
exclaimed on another occasion, " the 
circumstances and persons in which 
and with whom 1 had to act/* This 
is very necessary in order to form an 
unprejudiced judgment of Metter- 
nich*s conduct. He had to deal with 
men like Gentz, for instance, on whom 
for want of nobler natures he had to 
rely; with men, indeed, like Gentz, 
who openly said : " Nothing can in- 
spire me with enthusiasm; for I am 
blase^ a scoffer, and interiorly filled with 
a fiendish joy when I stt graj/ caf/se'S 
and uleas come to a ridiculous end.'* 
And again : ** I busy myself, so soon as 
I can lay aside my pen, with nothing 
else than the arrangement of my 
rooms, and incessantly meditate on 
the means of making more money to 
procure furniture, perfumes, and eve- 
ry delicacy of so-called luxury. My 
appetite for eating is also a great 
object with me, so that I enjoy my 
breakfast with peculiar delight." 

We are sony^ not to be able to ter- 
minate this sketch with pleasant re* 
collections. But Mettcmich himself 
had none in the latter years of his 
life. The progress of events in and 
out of Austria filled him with grief; 



250 



The Invitation Heeded. 



and with peculiar pain he looked at 
Italy, where it was his sad lot to be- 
hold the destruction of his plans, 
which seemed to promise eternity 
to the work which he had so long 
and arduously striven to establish in 
that country. Baron von Stein had 
already said : " Because Mettemich 
Avishes to control all Italy, and keep 
it in absolute subjection, the whole 
nation will rise against Austria, and 
she will lose her- possessions there. 
Austria's policy in Italy is suicidal." 
And in fact, if we consider this policy in 
detail, no matter what we may think 
of Napoleon's interference in the Ita- 
lian war, we must consider the actual 
condition of Italian affairs as "the 



ripened fruit of the original 
of Austria. Immediately bcfo 
Italian war of 1859, Mcttei 
name, after many years of si 
again appeared in the i)apei 
was said that he had been conj 
and that he had advised a chai 
policy; that Austria should gi 
her system of repression on th 
lian courts, and should gran 
cessions to the Italian people, 
would have been the contrary ol 
he had counselled as statesman, 
it was too late. His voice was d 
ed in the sound of battle. He 
to hear of the bloody day of Maj 
and died shortly before the dt 
defeat of Solferino. 



THE INVITATION HEEDED.* 



We commended this book not long 
ago to the notice of our Catholic 
readers and the candid attention of 
our Protestant friends.t It has, we 
see, already reached a fifth edition, 
a proof that it has at least excited 
the curiosity of the reading public to 
an extent unusual in a work of pure 
controversy. We, who are obliged 
to keep ourselves in a manner en rap- 
port with current criticism, have been 
not a little interested in watching the 
reception which has been given to 
the volume in various quarters; and 
it has occurred to us that those of 
our readers who are spared the ne- 
cessity of looking through the " reli- 
gious " papers might be pleased to 

• The In-'itation If cede a : Reasons for a re- 
turn to rath<»lic Unity. Hy James Kent Stone, 
late l*reM«lent of Kenyon and Hobart CoUcpes. 
New York : The (^atholic Publication Society. 
1870. I'ourth Edition. 

t The Catholic World, July, 1870. 



know the result of our observ. 
and to learn how Dr. Stone's fc 
friends have taken the dose whi< 
administered to them with su< 
steady hand. At the same tinn 
shall doubtless imi)rove the opp 
nity of making such comments 
rejoinders as may seem to us ^ 
the while or hkely to do gooil. 

We are glad, to begin with, 
the Catholic press has treated 
Stone and his work in the quiet r 
ner in which it has. There has 1 
none of that parade which genei 
announces a conversion from on 
the sects to another, and invari 
heralds an apostasy from the Ca 
lie Church to any form of hei 
We are glad because we are 
sure that there have not been c 
in which the welcome extended 
Catholics to new-comers into 
church has been so demonstiativ 




to be entirely misunderstood, and to 
beget in the mind of the returned 
l*rgdjgai a disastrous notion of his 
own importance. Pride is the first 
of the deadly sins in the catechism, 
as it was in heaven. There has been 
more than one Jeshurun among Ca- 
tliottc converts who has waxed fat 
aiid kicked. Dr. Stone has, we be- 
lieve, too much good sense, and, we 
hope, too much humility, to mlsinter- 
prel the kind words which have been 
spoken to him, or to be suq>nsed 
that be has not received more. The 
Catholic Church does not need any 
TOan* The church is not a party, to 
ht strengthened or weakened by ac- 
cessions or defections. The church 
\s God*s means for saving a fallen 
mt\d ; and the means are just as 
ious whether men make use of 
r not. If Catholics are ready 
lu kill the fatted calf for a new con- 
vert, it is to rejoice with him, not to 
encgratulate themselves. They th ink 
he has done a good thing, so far as 
lui own eternal welfare is concerned ; 
^ the same time, they are quite pre- 
[^red to tell him that, if he imagines 
f^l by accepting a proffered grace 
«e has done Almighty God or his 
ttoJy Catholic Church any service 
v^ * ' -ever, he is afflicted with a most 
l)le and soul-destroying delu- 
^i^xL So, if we were to sum up and 
fi^fciy inteq)ret what Catholics have 
^id this summer to the author of 
3^ Imntatkm I/ealai, it would be 
'^i^ciething like this: ** Well, young 
*^«i» we are sincerely rejoiced that 
jTou have had the courage to take the 
Hep you have taken. We are sure 
you arc happy; and we wish you 
^Tcat joy hereafter. You have writ- 
^^txk a clever book, and we are not 
Vwry for iL Not that we needed 
your ser\ices^ but because we trust 
^hjt, by the mercy of God, what you 
have to say may reach the hearts of 
ioaic oi those whom vou have left 



behind you in the * wilderness.' And 
now remember tha't you are not saved 
yet, by a good deal. We hope that 
you will go to work at once, and do all 
you can * to make your vocation and 
election sure, for sa an entrance shall 
be ministered unto you abundantly 
iiito the everlasting kingilom of our 
Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.* " 

We do not mean tliat the effective- 
ness of the book has been under- 
estimated. We think it has received, 
to say the least, a full recognition. 
A well 'known writer in the New 
York Tablet indicates what he re* 
gards as the special value of the book, 
in the following paragraph : 

*' We regard tt as a very important 
contribution lo our polemical literature, 
which cixn hurdly fail to be a standard 
work on ihe Anglican controversy. Never 
have ihc pretensions of Anglicanism and 
EpiscopaHanisni been, in so brief a com- 
pass, so lucidly or conclusively refuted* 
or the Catholic doctrines ill at Anglicans 
war again&t been more ably or trium- 
phantly vindicated. The author is per- 
fecily master of the controvtisvi and his 
argument is in many respects original, 
and conducted throughout in a manner 
specially his own* His book throughout 
is pcn'aded by a devout and manly spirit ; 
it is never apologetic, never harsh or over- 
bearing; and is cver)'wherc fair and can- 
did. The Anglican argument is int t fairly, 
and in Hs strength, not its weakness. The 
author looks it full in the face, and mccls 
it openly and squarely, without seeking 
to evade its force, or escape by attenuat- 
ing it* As far as argument can avail 
anything against such an enemy, his 
book is the death-warrant of Anglican- 
ism." 

That Dr. Stone's arguments will 
have the slightest appreciable effect 
on Anglicanism we^ of course, do not 
expect. Error which has once grown 
up ijito a system is not eradicated by 
argument. As Moehler says, ** No 
ordinary force of external proofs, no 
conclusions of ratiocination, no elo- 
quence, are able to destroy it ; its roots 
lie mostly too deep to be pervious to 



The Inviiatian Heeded. 



mortal eye ; it can only perish of itself, 
become gradually exhausted, spend its 
rage* and disappear." Nevertheless, it 
is important that Catholic literature 
should be constantly sujiplied with 
good books which meet every form 
of untruth. The church on its hu- 
man side must keep up with the 
times, and adapt its defence to the 
everchanging mode of attack. Be- 
sides, individuals may be reached, 
though tlie system continues, and 
n;ust continue, awhile to flourish. 

The English critics — we are speak- 
ing still of the Cfitholic press — ^have 
written as favorably of the book as 
our own have done. Knowing no- 
thing of the author, their estimate of 
his vvork may be considered a fair 
one. The London Catholic Opmian 
calls it ** a very remarkable book, so 
candid and humble, so clear and con- 
vincuig.'* And the Month, which is 
always just in its praises^ says : 

" Wc cannot help thinking, tliough we 
arc not aware of the fact, tliat Mr. Kent 
Stone must have stood very liigh indeed 
among the members of the rehgious body 
to which he formerly belonged. . ♦ There 
is a matuniy. a soundness of judgment, a 
clearne5>5i of argument, and a quiet use of 
ample theological and historical reading 
tboui the present volume which make us 
hope for great services to ihe^^atholic 
Church from its earnest and accoropHshed 
writer." 

Our reason for quoting these opin- 
ions will be evident when we come 
to speak of the manner in which the 
book has been treated by those to 
whom it was most directly addressed 
Before doing so, we wish to show still 
further, by evidence which ought to 
be considered satisfactory, that the 
volume before us is one marked by a 
good deal of force, or apparent force, 
and that its arguments are such as 
cannot be quietly ignored or turned 
aside with a sneer. And we do this 
by pointing out that the conclusive- 



ness of the reasoning has been fully 
admitted by those who fancy thai it 
is not directed against themselves, 
that is, by those who do not admit, 
in controversy at least, certain of the 
principles with which the author starts. 
Now, in one aspect, Dr. Stones 
attack is directed against Protestant- 
ism in general, against every phase 
of that proud, wilful spirit which 
prompts men to rebel against divine 
authority, and to limit and interpret 
divine revelation according to their 
own predilections. And in the opin* 
ion of some Cathohcs the attack is a 
successful one, *• The book," sa)^ 
the Tahlit^ "not only demolishes An- 
glicanism, but its positive argument 
for the church is so complete and so 
conclusive that it demolishes equally 
every form of Protestantism, and 
Ijroves every form of Protestantism 
ridiculous and absurd." It is pleas- 
ing, therefore, to observe how entire- 
ly our enteqjrising neighbor, the or^ 
gan of the " New Church *' of Em- 
manuel Swedenborg in this city, agrets 
with us on this point. The author, 
says the Nnv J'i'ntsakm Messenger, 

" has the happy faculty of making ihc oM 
seem new, and givinjj freshness and inte- 
rest to what is famihar ; and thus he has 
succeeded in making the most clear and 
able statement of the Catholic claims that 
has ever been presented to American 
readers. If st^ny one wants to know the 
best that can be said for the Catholic 
Church— said, too, in the most vivid and 
entertaining style— let him read this book, 
. , . One cannot fail to see, in readinj^ 
such a book as this» ho%v unansiverable 
the Catholic claims and aig^uments are 
from a purely Protestant point of view,* 

As might be expected* however, s 
convert to the truth aims his most 
energetic thrusts at that particular 
guise of error which ojice captivated 
himself. Dr. Stone, though a Pro- 
testant, was not one who could be 
satisfied by that modem folly of aq 
invisible church with an inapercepti- 



The hwitatioti Heeded, 



253 



ble unity. The phantasm which de- 
r4nvefl him was that o{ a visible 
church catholic, which yet was some- 
thing cliHerent from what all the world 
knows as the Catholic Church. Ac- 
cxjrclingly, though he does not really 
;}s^umc, he does not directly set hira- 
self to prove, that the church which 
Christ founded was a visible organi- 
aDon« Granting as much as this, 
docs Dn Stone succeed in showing 
the defectiveness of his former belief, 
ind in carrying us on with him to 
the truth in its completeness ? We 
will Itrave it to those whom, in the 
slang of the day, we may call the 
in^isi hi lists, to decide the qy est ion. 
The New En^lander^ at the close of 
a long article about which we shall 
have a word to say by-andhy, makes 
the following adniission ; 

** The work is bcaulifully written ; and 

U there *loes scera to be a dreadful j?:up 

I whnt the author intended when 

"J and what he found uhere he 

, It must be acknowledged that he 

rom one point to the other with 

'-'.>;mtive steps alonj? an inlelligible 

Kll* f Us argument, allhoujrh tncumber- 

f j uirv, inisiakes* is, nevertheless, good 

any opponent who accepts his 

, — c— that the Chutch Universal is a 

Hiibk corjioration/* 

uriter of a ca re ftdly- prepared 
- ill the Albany yiZ/ji ami Ar^ss 
oom^ down more handsomely : 

"VV'^c admit," he says, "the closeness 
^ Ti\ Stone's logic» and the clearness 
' ikh he sets forth his views. We 
' - ihc certitude by which he takes 
■i'. iirp by step, to the Chair of St. Peter, 
'^< lii-rnent we yield the correctness of 
* primal principle. We have endcavor- 
I 10 6nd some half-way house, under 
I Ritual or other auspices, in which to 
pquiclly.Qf from which to successfully 
Siisr ihe effort to dra^ us to Rome. But 
•cc^n find no such place, Dr, Stone is 
\ gor>d a logician to have ever staid 
i him^tf, too acute a reasoner to per- 
Iftfty one else to remain there, who will 
Own quietly and talk the matter over 
with him, as he docs in his book. 



Had he but turned his steps the other 
way. he might have found other refuge* 
He might have concluded that there is no 
need of an intermediary between Christ 
and his followers, no necessity for any 
one to act as interpreter, to hold the keys, 
or direct the atlairs of the church in a cer- 
tain course. But he started with other 
predilections — he thought ihere must ne- 
cessarily be a visible channel of divine 
grace, a visible custodian of divine I'ower, 
and it was with litllc ditficuliy he found 
it/* 

We cannot stop to convince these 
gentlemen (aUhough we should be 
fileased to *' talk the matter over 
calmly " with one of them) that the 
denial of a visible church, in order 
to escape from what is logically in- 
volved in acknowledging one, is a very 
flimsy device, quite unworthy of a ro- 
bust intelligence. We will leave them 
to digest, or otherwise dispose of, what 
Bishop Butler says, in his Attahgy^ 
when he innocently proceeds to sug- 
gest a reason for what he, too, poor 
man, has assumai : ^* Had Moses and 
the prophets, Christ and his apostles, 
only taught, and by miracles j>roved, 
religion to their contem[iorarics, the 
benefit of their instructions would 
have reached but a small part of 
mankind. Christianity must have 
btfen m a great degree sunk and for- 
got in a very few ages. To prevent 
this appears to havt; been one reason 
why a visible church was instituted; 
to be like a city upon a hill, a stand- 
ing memorial to the world of die duty 
which wc owe our Maker; to call 
men continually, both by precept and 
instruction, to attend to it, antl by the 
form of religion ever before their eyes 
remind them of the reaUty ; to be the 
repository of the oracles of God ; to 
hold ttp die light of revelation in aid 
of that of nature, and propagate it 
throughout all generations to the end 
of the world." • 

Let us narrow the field once more, 

• Part ii ch* i. 



254 



The Invitation Heeded. 



Dr. Stone was a High-Churchman — 
not a Ritualist, but what is called 
nowadays an old-fashioned High- 
Churchman, a " high and dry" — and 
it is " Anglicanism," or " Anglo-Ca- 
tholicism," Avhich he is most earnestly 
bent on hunting down and holding 
up by the tail. We are by no means 
sure that all of our readers have a clear 
apprehension of what is meant by An- 
glicanism. Dr. Newman has some- 
where defined its principles very neat- 
ly, in substance, as follows : that An- 
ticjuity — or, more properly, a sup- 
posed antiquity — and not the existing 
church, is the real oracle of truth ; 
and that the apostolical succession is 
a sufficient guarantee of sacramental 
grace, without union with the Chris- 
tian church throughout the world. 
It is the error contained in these two 
propositions which is, so to speak, 
done to death in The Invitation Heed' 
ed. Now, in what Dr. Stone calls 
that very ** piebald" sect, the Pro- 
testant Episcopal Church, there is a 
large and influential party who do not 
believe in Anglican principles, inas- 
much as they deny that the church, 
either past or present, is an oracle of 
truth, and that there is any such thing 
at all as sacramental grace. What 
idea, then, have the Low-Churchmen 
as to the cogency with which Dr. 
Stone i)resses the ** dearly beloved 
brethren" wiili whom they live on 
terms of such unit^ue amity ? T/ie 
lyotestaut Cliurchman^ the real organ 
of Low-Churchism, and to our think- 
ing the most able as well as least dis- 
courteous of Ki)iscopalian journals, 
Avill help us to a decision here. Let 
us say, first, that the tone of its arti- 
cles (fur there are several) is by no 
means an exulting one — tlie editor is 
not rejoicinLC that a rival party has 
sufiered at the e\j)ense of the whole 
sect, but speaks in a tone of unfeign- 
ed sorrow. '' The principal feeling," 
he says, *' with which we have read 



the book has been one of profound 
sadness ; we are sad, we freely admit, 
that one of so many and varied tal- 
ents, and of such brilliant promise, 
should have gone out from us.'* 
There is much significance, therefore, 
in such sentences as the following : 

" Notwithstanding the ability of the 
work, there is no reason why we should 
wish to arrest its circulation. It will 
only serve to promote an investigation 
which will strengthen the truth. There 
are some reasons why we should desire 
its circulation in our own church. Train- 
ed as the author already is in the school 
of Manning and Newman, as well as of 
Kenclm Digby and Count De Maistre, 
he has learned how to wield the great ar- 
guments of the Church of Rome with pe- 
culiar force against the spurious forms of 
Anglo-Catliolicism. The more the book 
is read, the more it will be seen tliat there 
is no answer to the * Invitation * of the Su- 
preme Pontiff, except in the fundamental 
principles of the Protestant Reformation." 

Which "fundamental principles" 
doubUess are, and doubtless would 
be acknowledged by the Protestant 
Church fnan to be, unlimited private 
judgment. But if Dr. Stone has 
clearly shown that Anglican princi- 
ples are logically untenable, and that 
one who really wishes to be a Catho- 
lic must abandon the " spurious " for 
the genuine, he has shown with at 
least equal clearness that private judg- 
ment is logically destructive of any 
authority whatsoever, and terminates 
in the complete denial of a superna- 
tural revelation. 

\Ve might multiply quotations si- 
milar to those which have already 
served us ; but we think we owe it to 
the reader's patience to let him see 
plainly what we are driving at. Even 
if he has not read the book for him- 
self, he is now competent to judge 
whether tlie reasoning which it con- 
tains is weak or weighty, and 
whether tlie arguments which we 
have seen thus promptly "passed 



The Imntatian Heeded 



K 



along'' from no-churchman to low- 
churchman, and from low-churchmen 
to high, and which all thus far have 
admitted to tell hard against some- 
body^ whether or not they deser\'e at 
the hands of these somebodies notice, 
reply, refutation. And he will be 
able to draw his own inferences when 
we tell him that the Pllgh-Church 
Episcoj)al press lias with cordial ima- 
nimity abstained from noticing the 
arguments of the book at all, and in 
many instances has ignored the book 
itself altogether. There is but one 
kferencc to be drawn. 
Our Hartford neighbor, the Chunh- 
\ has had the native shrewdness 
to foresee the consequences of total 
^eace« and has made an effort to 
avert them by saying something dam- 
aging. It tells us this in so many 
irords: 

"Wc do not propose to overtook this 
iwfk. ihou^;h of course we can feel no 
pirttcutat pleasure in noticing It. But 
imcc we ;»rc very sure that it will be 
rt^ittst n^^Um voUns upon all churchmen, 
!y rhc young, who can be induc- 
»k al it» perhaps it is right to say 
1 moid ur two upon iis true character." 

And after tin's wry face follows 
—what? Argument? Refutation? 
Kot a bit of it. The good Christian 
' luine Catholic goes off at once, 
-^ins to call names and sling 
iiiniicndoes in the old, old, familiar 
«)le. He tells Dn Stone that he is 
t "stalking-horse;" that he is not 
Kbe John Henr^* Newman, or any 
Other man, who has brains; that he 
^^ aitd^hi Roman ism J as 
Ji ship-fever by encount- 
tnog a cir-ioad of emigrants just up 
from Castle Garden, quite acciden- 
tally;" that it is ** just utter nonsense " 
to say that his examination was a 
6ir one ; that there is " not much of 
Tit to reply to" (and none, de- 
]pon it, which is replied to) ; 



and that^ while Dr. Stone would 
doubtless *' never tell a lie for twelve 
and a half cents/' it is not inconcei- 
vable that he ** ivould tell eight lies 
for a dollar'' I'his last l>it of Comiec^ 
ticut wit is clinched with the most de- 
licate and urbane effectiveness. ** Wc 
do not mean," he says, ** to intimate 
that Dr. Stone is dishonest, /i^ ^hutrQ^^ 
— a Greek phrase, good reader, which 
in this connection can only signify, 
" Oh ! no, never, not by no means!" 
And then the whole fanfiironade 
doses with the despairing avowal : 

*' AVc have looked in vain for any tangi- 
ble and real point of argument in this 
volume upon which to concentrate an 
attack," 

And what is this, O gentle Chunk- 
maul but the ancient story of the 
file and the biter of the hie ? What 
is it but saying in your own especial 
inanner what we said a ^f:\\ months 
ago;* that, for those who believe in 
any historical Christianity at all, the 
argument of this book is direct and 
unanswerable ? 

We suppose that a " stalking- 
horse *' must be something bad ; for 
we notice that several irritated critics, 
besides our Hartford acquaintance, 
have told Dr, Stone that he is one, 
\Ve do not know what exasperating 
force there may be in this singular 
term, nor whether it is likely to have 
upon Dr. Stone anything of the effect 
which a not dissimilar epithet had 
upon the elder Weller. For the sake 
of the critics, we hope the doctor will 
not Indulge in any such outbursts as 
were wont to cover that dear old 
hero with glory. We warn him that 
we sliall not hold him justified for 
any ebullition, however successful, 
by any such plea as, "He called 
me a wessel, Sammy — a wessel of 
wrath !'* Seriously, these Episcopal 

^SeJ article ia Catholic Wosld. 



« 



256 



The Invitation Heeded. 



doctors have made a mistake in think- 
ing to weaken the force of Dr. Stone's 
book by charging that it is not fully 
and fairly his own production. Ai)art 
from its petty malice, such an assert 
tion is an unconscious tribute to the 
learning of a volume which the Pre- 
sident of two Episcopal colleges was 
considered incapable of writing. As 
a matter of fact, The ImUation 
Heeded is by no means a profound- 
ly learned work. Its force lies not 
in the depth of its research, but in 
the closeness and clearness of its 
reasoning.* 

All this personal abuse of an au- 
thor goes for nothing, or rather tells 
in his favor. Men take to ei)ithets 
when they are out of arguments. 
Besides, we know, and the public 
knows by this time, that a man never 
yet became a Catholic but all the 
dirt which could be hurriedly scrap- 
ed together was at once flung at his 
memory. It is a mode of treatment 
as old as the religion of Christ. 
Therefore, we think ourselves justifi- 
ed in passing by without further com- 
ment the disparaging things which 
have been said about our author's 
character and conduct. We i)refer 
the pleasure of calling attention to a 
passage which is a sufficient refuta- 
tion of them all, and at the same 
time is, alas ! a rare instance of man- 
liness and candor. The etiitor of the 
Protestant Churchman, in one of the 
articles before quoted, says : 

** With much that h.is been said about 
the book, aiul the event wliich it is tlc- 
sipned to justify, wc do not sympathize. 
We have no disposition to sit in juilj;-. 
menl upon the motives by which Dr. 
Stone was actuated. We tail to detect 
any impillinij inlluence. ot wliich he 

• Wc ha«l the luii'-v^jitv \<^ in<inirc of Dr. Stone 
pcr-ionally what a»i«i'.x:.in«.c he hml reciivoil in the 
comp:l,ii:.»n ot Ins. lu-ok. lie in!orme«l us lh;it, 
with the o\nptii«n »•! ;i ♦.in\;lc reiercnre t'> St. 
.Viij: :stnK'. he \\.\\\ reoiiveil no as.'iistame wh.itso- 
cvci. We lake the liberty ot m«kinK this an- 
swer pub.ic. 



could have been conscious, except a de- 
sire to learn and embrace the truth. We 
have no exception to take to the period 
of time embraced in the process of per- 
version. To some it has appeared too 
long to be consist»^nt with the positions 
of trust and responsibility held by Dr. 
Stone in our church ; with others, it was 
too short to be either thorouj^h or sin- 
cere. We can conceive that a man may 
be long troubled with such doubts, and 
yet, regarding them as spiritual trials and 
temptation.s, properly continue in the dis- 
charge of duties to which he is commit- 
ted ; or that there may be sudden unfold- 
ings of unanticipated results, to which 
many processes of thought have unex- 
pectedly led, and which, nevertheless, are 
so clear and cogent as to take the form 
at once of conscientious convictions. 
Neither do we see any evidence of any 
abnormal condition of mind. The book 
is characterized by unusual coherence and 
vigor." 

Is not this last particular trick, by 
the way — of pronouncing a man ipso 
facto insane who is able to apprehend 
the truth of the Catholic religion — 
about " played out " ? 

There is one journal which, we 
feel, ought in justice to be excepted 
from these remarks about personal 
abuse. The Church Weekly^ the or- 
gan in this city of the advanced Ri- 
tualists, is, indeed, abusive — in fact, 
it is fairly delirious; but we are in- 
clined to think that it has had am- 
I)le provocation. The sprcttc injuria 
Jonmi; once roused great wrath in 
even a celestial bosom. It is hard 
to take a good castigation, but it is 
harder to take a good snubbing. So, 
when our contemporar}' goes foam- 
ing on through column after column, 
and raves about "miserable dishon- 
esty/' antl " braggart insolence," and 
** shall we call it wilful ignorance ?" wc 
quietly fill out the hiatus marked by 
those three stars on the top of page 
I or, and recall the old line in the 
Andria : J fine ill^;^ lacrimee^ hac i/ld 
est misencordia. We will give the 
passage which the Chureh Wetify 



The Invitation Heeded. 



257 



— rather strangely, we think, 
it is all that Dr. Stone has to 

tut the Ritualists from the be- 
|to the end of his book: 
\ not mean that I ever had any 
y wiih the Ritualistic movement. 
er could regard the leaders of that 
mcni with any other feeling than 
\ feaf, of impalicnce. I considered 

kf egret to sny, the most illogical 
linkers. If the Riluallsls were 
e Reformers were wrong. The 
sin of schism could never have been 
ied by any such paltry dilTcrcnccs 
panuc our ' advanced ' friends from 
reat Roman Communion. The only 
stent course for men lo take who 
red in the sacrifice of the altar and 

PpiVDcation of saints was lo go back, 
Ijf and penitently, lo the ancient 
which had proved its infallibility 
m^ in the right after all." 

Bronder our neighbor lost his 
B— and felt ashamed of himself 
Hrd. At least we suppose he 
ashamed; certainly he repented 

rash promise with which he 

ave of our author: 

Irr must !%to|} somewhere, and as 

^cle is already too long, we had 

►top where we are* We have not 

fled any review of Dr. Stone's book. 

I will be attended to in ihe proper 

!\ proper ])lace has not yet been 
P Poor Ritualists ! Everybody 
5 at you ; and we, too, must have 
mirth at your expense. While 
\ fancy yourselves Catholics, you 
jL you could only see it, isolated 
Wt ridicule of all mankind. 
fnc expedient which our '* brevet- 
Iholic *' friend, the Weekly, has hit 
)n, perhaps as an afterthought, 
ncly, of promising without per- 
ming, seems to have been quite 
icrally adopted by those Episcopal 
imah, High and Low, which have 
' r best, for the sake of ap- 
, to say at least sometlilng. 



For example, the Chmtian IVitnesi^ 

of Boston, after a few tears over " tiie 
bright hopes and fond anticipations 
which have been buried in these 
depths ot satanic jugglery,'* says: 

"Of the contents of the volume we 
have said nothing. The Roman argu- 
ment is produced with all the modern 
improvements, but lo notice h in detail 
would open up the whole controversy^ 
and would demand a volume as large ot 
latgtT than the one before us. We hope, 
however, to make it the text of some rc- 
maiks in future articles, and for the pre- 
sent dismiss it with ihc prayer that It 
may do as little mischief as possible/' 

Those articles are still future. The 
prayer for ** as little mischief as pos- 
sible *' was, no doubt, followed by a 
meditation on the text, " least said, 
soonest mended.'* 

So also the Standard ef the Cross : 

** Wc do not intend reviewing. That 
will be done by other pens, and our read* 
ers shall liave the benefit thereof.*' 

It may have been through the 
fault of our own oversight — the Stan- 
dard is what is known as 'van obscure 
sheet *' — but we have missed the pro- 
mised benelit. 

The Gospd Messenger improves on 
this; indeed, we commend its strate- 
gy as something quite new and inge- 
nious in the reviewing lijie. " We have 
been reading Dr. Stone^s book," says 
the editor (we cjuote this time from 
memory t having mislaid our copy)^ — 
** if we find his * reasons' before we 
get through with it, we will give our 
readers the benefit of our ideas about 
them." Now, this is quite like one 
of those old Greek dilemmas devised 
for the *' sacking " of some luckless 
victim. In any case, Dr. Stone gets 
the worst of it, and the editor is safe. 
If the editor finds some vulnerable 
spot in his opponent's armor, he puts 
in his sharp-pointed pen. If he does 



The Invitation Heeded, 



not, he merely says notbing, as in the 
present instance ; and of course no- 
thing can be more obvious to ** our 
readers '* than that Dr. Stone has no 
armor at all, is in fact a poor defence- 
less champion, against whom it would 
be unchivalrous to lift a lance. 

Gentlemen, this sort of thing does 
you little credit. It is you who have 
been attacked ; and you have made 
but a poor defence. You have been 
on trial, and the case has gone against 
you by default. 

Wc promised to say a word before 
we finished about the article in the 
New Efi^kvider. It appeared in the 
number for July, under the signature 
of the Rev. Leonard W. Bacon, 
and with the title, '^ How the Rev, 
Dr. Stone Bettered bis Situation.*' 
Though, as we observed, the article 
is a lengthy one, it will not require 
a very long answer. 

The reverend winter does not pro- 
fess to review Dr. Stone's work, nor 
to answer any of his arguments. He 
begins with the following statement 
of his intentions : 

"This is one of the most inlereslinfi: 
specimens of a very interesting cl.iss of 
books— those written by converts to or 
from Romanism in vindication of their 
chang^e of views ; and when that good day 
comes when we all have time for every- 
thing, we shall counl it well worth while 
to criticise it in detail. At present, we 
undertake no more than rapidly to state 
the upshot of the Rev. Dr. Stone's reli- 
gious change, as it appears to us, and to 
foot up the balance of spiritual advantage 
which he seems to have gained by it." 

His object, briefly slated, is to show 
that Dr. Stone, having obeyed the in- 
vitation of Pius IX. to ** rescue him- 
self from a state in which he could 
not be assured of his own salvation,** 
probably finds himself now possessed 
of no greater interior *' assurance of 
his own salvation " than he is suppos- 
ed to have had when a Protestant. 
The article is composed in a very 



sportive vein, and is spiced 
good deal of what is meant 

quancy. 

The writer's peculiar but 
quires no special comment 
part* 

^ Sclmas inurbunum tepido scponere 

We know the difference betw 
and what passes for it. Am 
reverend gentleman thinks t 
readers of the Nnv Eftghindrr 
best diverted from the argumi 
The fmitiitwn Heeded by beinj 
tained with funny pictures of 
thor, we shall be the last to 
the correctness of his judgm( 
So far as any attack is madi 
the doctrines of the Catholic ( 
it is of a sort with which Pr 
polemics have made us, ind< 
happily fatiiiliar, but wbich 
excites in us quite as much sol 
disgust, inasmuch as it seems 
cate a very incorrigible state cJ 
It is full of that spirit which, 
delight to pounce upon the a 
we have just written^ twist it 
awry, and then have a laugh 
which seeks not to refute (ml 
convince) an adversary, but tl 
him ; which aims at brilliail 
rather than solid reasoning, OJ 
for the semblance of victoi 
than for truth. We will give 
men of what we mean, lest we 
be thought unjustly severe. 
very first thrust which our i 
critic makes : 

** r. n is [that is, Dr. Stoac's] t 
to make sure of his regeneraiioa 
trance into the true church by ' 
of the church, which is, accordi: 
new teachers, not Christ, tul ba| 

Now, we suppose, at any 
hope, that this writer has hi 
ipoments ; and we ap[»enl froi 
facetious to Philip K ' 
w^hether he means ^^^ 



The IfwitatwH Heeded, 



2S9 



If for the latter, we ask him 
it is eitlier wise or safe to jest 
I a subject and for such an end, 
ever, he really supposes that» 
^c Coundl of Florence called 
k **vitre spiritualis janua/* it 
|o affirm that Christ is rwf the 
r the church t or that baptism 
door in the same sense that 
Is the door, then we will pre- 
esty to politeness, and tell him 
^ that in our opinion he is not 
cd to wTite even for ** our 
* magazines." What, we 
^ would good Richard Hoo- 
iirc thought, or said, if Mr. 
\ had accused him of deny- 
Lt Christ is the "door of 
5>," because he had written his 
j>wn sentences on the new 
f water and the Holy Ghost : 
^ are not naturally men with- 
h, so neither are we Christian 
the eye of the church of God 
new birth, nor according to 
kifest ordinary course of divine 
Ition new-born, but by that 
i which both declareth and 
[us Christians. In which re- 
t jusdy hold it to be the door 
actual entrance into God*s 
he first apparent beginning of 
leal perhaps to the grace of 
\ before received, but to otir 
iation here a step that hath not 
C>reit/'» 

lave not the time — even if we 
; it w^ould be of any profit — to 

re Catholic doctrine of ** in- 
in the administration of the 
ts» If Mr. Uacon has an 
lifficulty in accepting that doc- 
have no doubt it will be re- 
hy consulting the Catholic 
ns, not with an eye to his 
icle in the A^tw Bn<;Iamkr^ 
a desire of learning the truth. 
we ask him whether at 

r f iNi*}\ mt-^k V cbnp, U, sec. 3* 



first sight be finds the teaching of the 
church on this matter inconsistent 
either with itself or with sound rea- 
son. If I only pretend to do a thing, 
I certainly do not do it. Supposing, 
therefore— and the case must be prac- 
tically so rare as to remain a su[>po- 
sition — that a priest should only pre- 
tend to administer a sacrament, by 
what canon, we do not say of theo- 
logy, but of common sense, could he 
be held to have administered diat 
sacrament ? The Catholic Church 
teaches that a sufficient intention on 
the part of the administrator is re- 
quisite to the valiflity of a sacrament, 
The inference which Mn Bacon draws 
from this, that a person who in good 
faith makes application to a priest of 
the church, and who, though he has 
on his part fulfilled all the necessary 
conditions, receives from the priest 
only the pretended form of a sacra- 
ment^ is in consequence cut off abso- 
lutely from grace and from salvation 
— is an inference entirely of his own 
drawing, and one which reminds us 
of the extempore sermons about which 
South used to complain that they 
might well be said to be drawn from 
their texts, for they certainly did not 
flow from them. It is quite of apiece 
with the reasoning which concludes 
that, because it is said that baptism is 
the door, therefore it is denied that 
Christ is the door. 

Let us come to the main point — ut 
sic fiixerim — of the writer's article. 
We have stated it already ; we will 
state it again in Mr. Bacon's own 
words, choosing one of the many 
forms in which he expresses the same 
sentiment at each new stage of his 
(^misi argument : 

" Ij beg'ms to look extremely doubtful 
whether we shall be able to get the Rev, 
James Kent Stone to heaven at all on 
this course, notwithstanding he has come 
so far out of bis way to make absolutely 
sure of it." 



Now, SLipposing that Dr. Stone 
was indeed so very foolish as to enter 
the Catholic Church with the notion 
that he would thereby "make abso- 
lutely sure of heaven ;" supposing, 
moreover, that that is a fact which 
this Mr, Bacon ''undertakes" to show 
h a probabihty, namely, that Dr, 
Stone tloes not feci in his heart any 
more sure of his final salvation now^ 
than he did before — what would this 
prove against the truth of the Catho- 
lic reh'gion ? Mr. Bacon begins, on 
his very first page, by admitting that 
the church condemns all vain confi- 
dence and rash presumptuousncss, 
teaching that *' no one^ so long as he 
is in this mortal life, ought so for to 
presume as regards the secret mysier)^ 
of divine predestination as to deter- 
mine for certain that he is assuredly 
in the number of the predestinate ;" * 

* IVe quote, not Mr. Barton, but the Council of 
Trent. A L curding to the fortncr, lljc Roman Ca- 
tholiL Cliurt li " icachci tlial, us soon as a mtin be- 
come** ' assured of his own salvftUon,' it is a dead 
ceruinty that he will be tUmned " — another 
choice example of Uie new Baconian method, nei- 
ther inductive nor dcfJuctivc, but /tr^jdnclJve. As 
Mr, lUcon refers to three of the chapters of the 
sixth icssion of Trent, we wiM give theiu entire ; 
they wiU do more tf> clear up tiit^conception in 
the mind, it ni4»y be, of some candid Protcstatit 
render, than pages of our own: 

CJIAPTSR IX. 

> Rut, all hough it is nccc«ary tobcUcvc that sins 
'^Lhcr&re remitted nor ever were remitted, save 
'"'ifnituitously by the mercy of God for Christ's 
uke, yet h it not to be said ttint sins Are for- 
f^iven, or have been forjfiven, to any one who 
boasts of his contidence and certainly of the 
rctnJNsiiin of his sins, Jind rcsls on that alone ; 
seeing that U may cjiist, yea, does in our day 
exist, among here lies ami schism a ticfl ; and 
with great vehemence is this vain confidence, 
and one alien from all godlinc&s, iircached up in 
opposiilion to the Caiholic Church, But neither 
la this to be aaerted— that they who are truly 
justified roust needs, without any doubting wluit* 
ever, sclllc within themselves that tbey arc justi* 
lied, and that no one is absolved from sins and 
justified but he that believes for certain that he is 
■bsolved and justilied^ and that absolution and 
juUifiication are effected by thb faith alone ; as 
though whoso has not this belief doubts of the 
prcmi'^c*; of God, and of the ellicacy of the death 
aiv I ! iniofChriit. For even a^ no pious 

pc I - doubt of the mercy of God, of the 

nw ---U and of the virtue and efficacy of 

the $acramirnLi« even so each one, when he re- 
gards hknself and his own weakness and indispo* 
Bition, may have fear aiid apprehension touching 



and tlien proceeds to [>rove, 
utmost elaborateness, that in \ 
dealings with a penitent the i 
is thoroughly consistent with \ 
That is to say, because a 
of doctrine is perfectly cohc| 
is therefore />/ A'A; false. If j 
not what Mr, Bacon means, wli 
he mean ? It looks to «s ver)* m 
if die gentleman's educvition t 
him to assume as an axiom Tt^ 
no proof, that a Christian o^ 
have an invvard assurance thdi 
of the number of the elect, 
he expects Catholics to argii 
him» he must learn to distingu 
txveen what is a subjective ^ 
ance " and what is an objecdt 
tainty. Because the reverend | 

his own grace ; seeing tkat no one can kj 
a certainty id faith, which cannot be it 
error, that he bus obtained the grace of^ 

cuArrKjE XII. I 

No one, iiii>reover, so loijg^ at be Is ial 
tal life, ought so fur to presume as ref 
secret mysterj^ of divine predesttnatiocij 
tcrmine for certain that he is assured! 
number of the prede^iinaic; as if it « 
that he that is justitttrd either canool std || 
or, if he do sin, tlmt be ought to prtimta 
an a^ured repentance ; for, except 
revelation^ it cannot be lictiowQ whom i 
chosen unto himself. 

CHAtTKlt XI ti. 

So also as regards the gift of perser 
which it is written, //# Ma/ ika// ^trrw^ 
rtt*/, Ac shtili fif ntvfdt : w hich gilt caniM 
rived from any other but him who is tlM 
tablish him who standcth, ihnt he ?tnnd ^ 
IngJv, and to rt l Id 

hcrc:in piomise 1 rti 

an iib^olute cer! < _ t 

and repose a most tirui hu|>« in UimJ » bil 
God^ unless men be ihemseJves w«ntlq| 
gmce^ a* k* has tf^ttn thi i;»ed ti^^rk^ Ji 
j^fr/tct ii^ tvarkirtf: (in theiu; tr wrM niji 
C0tffptuh. Kevcrthrlfss. let thaw wt| 

VJt'tk /t-iir and . .' fii#i 

tiifHy in labors, : : .^Ims^a 

prayers and oblaikou!», ui {MsUupjs and fl 
for, knowing that thty nr* i>«rm <•/)•/« 
ha/^t 0/ £hry^ but not as yet unto gta| 
ought to fear for the combat whii h yet I 
with the flesh, with the tvorM, with tl| 
wherein they cwM I vt 

with God's ^\& ^ 

suys: W'r art tit * 

tk9 fte$h^y&ujikalt dit i k^t "i 

merti/f the dtids f/^kefi€$k , j • w #^ 



Our Lady of Loiirdcs. 



man has a placid idea that he is pre- 
destined to eternal glory, it docs not 
f(j|lovvthat he is so predestined. We 
have no doubt his confidence is a 
very comfortable one ; the only ques- 
tion is whether it is well grounded. 
A man may think that he is on the 
right road, and have the most unntf- 
ficti conviction that he will get to the 
end of it as well, and yet be on a 
wrong road all the while; again, a 
fljan may know that he is on the 
right road, and yet be without a me- 
taphysical certainty that he will ever 
BKlftch its termination. Mn liacon 
iaiist really try to rise to the concep- 
lioQ of a spirit which is in quest, not 
of *' assurance/' but of truth. The 
disciple of Gamaliel, when he set out 
irith his letters for Damascus, was 
able, we doubt not, to read without 
a qua] no his tide clear to mansions in 
the skies ; on the other hand, the 
apostle of Christ to the Gentiles wrote 
^th anatious solicitude to his Fhilip- 
pian converts to work out their sal- 
^vaiion with fear and trembling — nay, 
more, he chastised his own body, and 
tifought it into subjection, lest, per- 
Haps, when he had preached to oth- 
CTK he himself should become rep- 
xobate. What shall we say, then ? 
That Judaism is true, and Christianity 



false ? Or that Saul of Tarsus was 
actually in a fairer way of winning 
heaven than Paul the aged? Or that 
advancing years had brought less of 
i\'isdom and of the peace which passes 
vmderstanding ? 

When Pius IX. called upon Pro* 
testants to ** rescue themselves from 
a state in which they cannot be assur- 
ed of their salvation/* he was not 
speaking of that kind of assurance 
which has become familiar to the 
Rev. Mr. Bacon. Moreover, from 
the truth that there is no assurance 
of salvation to heretics, it docs not 
follow that there is an infallible assur- 
ance of salvation to all Catholics. 
This is the same marvellous fallacy 
over again which led Mr. Bacon to 
the conclusion that, if Christ can be 
called the door of anything in any 
sense, baptism can be called a door 
in no sense and of nothing. 

As for Dr. Stone, we have a notion 
that he came into the Catholic Church, 
not to ** get assurance," but because 
he had made up his mind to submit 
to the authority which God has es- 
tablished upon earth, and because he 
longed for a hope which is grounded 
upon a certain faith, and for the peace 
of those whose feet rest in die blessed 
home of all saints, the Citv of God. 



■ 



TRANSLATttD FROM THE mEHCH. 

OUR LADY OF LOURDES. 

BY HENRI LASSERRE* 



viir. 



Although powerless against the 

ttotanents of Bemadette, simple and 

pfenV as they were and free from 

un, nevertheless M. 



struggle one important advantage. 
He had thoroughly frightened Sou- 
birous, and become aware that in 
that direction he was master. 

Franf;ois Soubirous was an up- 
right man, but not a hero. Before 



gained in this long official authority he quailed, as is 



Onr Lady af Lourdes, 



usual with persons of his class, who 
feel their helplessness against arbi- 
trary persecution. 

IVue, he believed in the reality of 
the apparitions; but not knowing 
exactly what they were, nor consid- 
ering their importance, he felt even 
a sort of terror at these extraordi- 
nary things, and saw nothing wrong 
in forbid Jiiig Bernadette to return lo' 
the grotto. 

He had, perhaps, a vague dislike 
of oflcnding the invisible " Lady " 
who had manifested herself to his 
daughter ; but the fear of irritating a 
man of llesh and of blood, and of 
engaging in a personal conilict with 
such an important personage as the 
commissary of police, was a much 
more unpleasant reality. 

** Vou see, Bernadette, that all the 
gentlemen of the town are against 
us, anil, if you return to the grotto, 
M, Jacomet will put us all in prison. 
So you must not go there hence- 
forth/* 

** Father," said Bernadette, " when 
I go there, it is no longer of my own 
accord. At a certain time, there is 
something within me that calls and 
forces me to go,*' 

** Whatever that may be," answer- 
ed her father. ** I formally prohibit 
your going there in future, Vou 
certainly will not disobey me now 
for the hrst time in your life ?" 

The poor child, embarrassed by her 
promise to the apparition, on the one 
hand, and her father's prohibition un 
the other, answered : 

"I will flo my best not to go, and 
to resist the feeling that attracts me." 

Thus passed the gloomy evening 
of that Sunday which had dawned in 
the splendor of blessed ecstasy. 

The next morning (^^onday, Feb- 
ruary 2z) at the usual hour for the ap- 



parition, the crowd which waited for 
the little seer on the banks of the 
Gave saw no one approach. 

Her parents had sent her early to 
school, and Bernadette, who knew 
not how to disobey, had gone wiili a 
sorrow ful fieart. 

The Sisters, wliom duties of cha- 
rity and teaching confined to their 
hospital and school, had never seen 
the ecstasies of Bernadette, and gave 
no credit to the accounts of the ap- 
paritions. If it be true that the peo- 
ple arc sometimes too credulous, the 
surprising but incontestable fact re- 
mains that ecclesiastics and religious 
are sometimes ver}^ sceptical and 
very hard to convince, and that* 
while they admit the possibility of 
such divine manifestations, they de- 
mand, with a degree of caution which 
is certainly excessive, that they shall 
be proved ten times over. The Sis— i 
ters added their formal prohibition t 
that of her parents, telling Bcmailet 
that these visions were not real \ 
either her brain was out of order 
else she had been lying. One 
them, suspecting that she was pra< 
tising imposture in a matter wiiic 
w^as very sacred and important, ai 
dressed her with great severity 
manner, and, treating the whole 
i'AXi as a cheat, said : '^ You wicki 
child, you have done in the holy scs: ^5 
son of Lent st^mething that would t^ 
imworihy of the CarnivaL" 

Odiers who saw her in recrealio 
accused her of trying to pass for 
saint, and of playing a sacrilegiouP^ 
joke. 

The mockery of some of ' 
mates added to the hi 
which were heaped upon her. 

God wished to try Bcmadcti' 
Having filled her with consolation. 
he intended in his wisdon; " -! 

don her for a time to the i ^ 

suits, anci hostility of those who 
rounded her. 




A 



Our Lady of LourJes, 



263 



lie child suffered cru- 
>m these exterior con- 
sul also, perhaps, ffora in- 
fth and abandonment of 

(9 had hitherto experi- 
^sical sufferings, en- 
on higher ways, and 
tl more terrible trials and 
She did not wish to dis- 
tliority of her father nor 
religious; still she could 
the thought of failing in 
10 the divine apparition 
:o. In this young soul, 
peaceful, a cruel strife 
go to the grotto was 
St her ilither ; not to go 
against the sweet and 
sioni In either case, it 
against God. And yet 
nd to choose one or the 
re was no middle term 
i dilemma. It is true, 
Ik the Gospel says, that 
Bble to man is possible 

ing passed in this state 
doubt, all the more keen 
hat was still pure and 
ive to every impression, 
mffermgs of life had not 
callous the delicate fibres 

the children returned for 
to their homes In order 
iinners. 

», crushed between the 
tUable terms of her un- 
adon, walked sadly to< 
me. The bell-towers of 
(f Lourdes were about to 
idday Angelus. 
loment a strange force 
eqjowered her. It act- 
^p her soul, but on her 
^pried her irresistibly 
IH which would have 
home into a i>ath which 
ide. It seemed to drive 
nous wind sweeps the 



withered leaf. She could no more 
help advancing than if she had been 
started down an abrupt precipice. 
All her physical being was powerful- 
ly dragged toward the grotto. She 
was forced to walk; she was forced 
to run. 

Nevertheless, this movement was 
not violent and irregular. It w as ir- 
resisdble, but not painful i on the 
contrary, it was the supreme jjower 
III its sovereign sweetness. The hand 
of the Almighty became like that of 
a mother, and as gentle as if it had 
feared to hurt this tender child. 

Providence, who governs all things, 
had solved the in solvable problem. 
The child, obedient to her father, 
would not go where her heart im- 
pelled her ; but, carried by God's holy 
angels, she arrived according to her 
promise to the Blesse^ Virgin, with- 
out violating her duty to parental 
authority. 

Such phenomena are often met 
with in the history of certain souls 
whose extraordinary purity has been 
especially pleasing to God. St. Philip 
Neri, St. Ida of Lou vain, St. Joseph 
of Cupertino, St. Rose of Lima, ex- 
perienced similar things. 

This humble heart, w^ounded and 
desolate, was already filled with glad- 
ness as it approached the grotto. 

^* There," said the child to herself, 
*^ I shall see the blessed apparition ; 
there I shall be consoled for all I 
have suffered ; there I shall see that 
lovely face which fills me with hap- 
piness; these cruel pangs will give 
place to boundless joy, for the Lady 
will not abandon me." 

She did not know, in her inexpe- 
rience, that the Spirit of God breath- 
eth where it listeth. 



Shortly before reaching the grotto, 
the mysterious force which had carried 




Our Lady of Lourd^s. 



the child thus far seemed, if not to 
cease altogether, at any rate to grow 
less. Bernadette walked at a slower 
pace and with a fatigue which she 
did not usually experience; for it 
was at this place that she generally 
felt an invisible force drawing her to 
the grotto and sustaining her as she 
advanced. To-day she felt neither 
this secret attraction nor this myste- 
rious support. She had been in- 
deed pushed alofi^^ as it were, toward 
the grotto, but she had not been at- 
tracted. The force which had seized 
her had marked out the path of duty, 
and taught her that, above all things, 
she must obey the apparition; but 
the child had not heard, as usual, 
the voice within her soul, nor experi- 
enced, the powerful interior impulse. 
One who b in the habit of analyzing 
these shades of feeling will know 
how much easier they are to under- 
sUnd than to express. 

Although the great multitude was 
now dispersed which had vainly 
waited all the morning for the ap- 
pearance of Bemadette, nevertheless 
quite a number of people still remain- 
ed around the cliflTs of Massabielle. 
Some had come to pray, others out 
of mere curiosity. Many who had 
seen Bemadette on her way had has- 
tened after her, and arrived at the 
same time that she did. 

The child knelt humbly, and, as 
usual, began to recite her beads, look- 
ing up at the opening, hung with 
moss and wild branches, where the 
celestial vision had six times deigned 
to appear. 

The attentive crowd waited in 
breathless curiosity or recollection to 
see the face of the child glow and shine, 
and by its radiance show that the su- 
perhuman being was before her, A 
long time passed in this manner. 

Bemadette prayed with fen'or, but 
nothing in her features indicated the 
reflection of heaven. 




Tlie vision did not manifest itself, 

although the poor child prayed 
implored the fulfilment of her hopi 
Heaven and earth seemed to remain 
as unmoved by her prayers and her 
tears as the marble rocks before which 
she knelt, 

Of all the trials to which she had 
been submitted since the day bc^ r, 
this seemed the most cruel : it v . . 
the very gall of bitterness* 

" Why have you disappeared — why 
have you abandoned me ?" thought 
Bemadette, 

The wonderful being herself seem* 
ed to repel her, and, by ceasing to 
manifest herself, to give room for 
doubt, and leave the field open to her 
enemies. 

The disappointed throng inlcrro- 
gated Bemadette. A thousand ques- 
tions were pressed upon her by those -=^ 
who surrounded her 

*^ To-day," replied the child, he 
eyes red with tears — " to-flay, th( 
Lady has not appeared. 1 have 
nothing," 

**You ought to understand no^-^ 
my poor little girl, that it was onl^ 
an illusion, and that you never really 
saw anything. It was only a fane 
after all." So said some of the b' 
slanders. 

" Why," asked others—" why. if 
Lady appeared yesterday, does 
not appear to-day T^ 

" On the other days, I saw her 
jilainly as 1 see you j and we sf>ol 
together, she and L But to-day si 
is not here, and I do nut kno»^ 
why." 

" Bah !" said one of the sccpl 
" the commissary of police has 
his w^ork thoroughly. You will 
see the end of the whole thing : 



' De par 1« roi, d^feaie i Dleu 
Dc fftire mirmde en ce lieu.* ^ 



• " In the name of the kinjf, God is licre^T i 
bidden to work a mir&cle in Uiis fitftioe.'* 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



265 



(eveR who were present 
ed and knew not what to 

te, certain of what had 
lappeaed, was not disturb- 
l, but felt deeply grieved ; 
* re-entered her father's 
UTst into tears and prayed. 
buted the absence of the 
to displeasure, *' Have 1 
ling wrong?'* she asked 
tit her conscience did not 
jr. Her love for the di- 
, which she longed to see 

I nevertheless increased in 
^ tried to think how she 
g it back again, but she 
\ way in which this could 
Stic felt herself powerless 
iie spotless beauty which 
'ed to her, and wept with 
umed on high» not know- 

weep is to pray, 
all her anguish » tfiere was 
St hope, and some rays of 
Qg the clouds confirmed 
% the heavenly apparition, 
loved, and in which she 
^e believed although she 
' to see it again. And yet 
ind ignorant little girl tlid 
Hand the meaning of the 
ch were even then being 
, the Epistle of the Mass : 

II greatly rejoice in the 
5od» if now you must be 

while made sorrowful in 
stations: that the trial of 
[made more precious than 
I is tried by the fire) may 
into praise, and glory, and 

the a}y(iearing of Jesus 
lom, not having seen, you 
bom also now, though you 
t, you believe, and, believ- 
kjoice with joy unspeaka- 

bflifto Mi«»l, Feast of St. Peter's 
irii, Epltll« of tUe Ma&«, from i Pet. 



She had no presentiment of the 
events which were to ensue, and she 
could neither have known nor applied 
to the rocks of Massabielle the words 
which the priests were pronouncing 
throughout the world in the Gospel 
of the Mass : Supra haitc Pctnxm ttdi- 
Jicakt eccksiam meam — ** Upon thi.s 
rock I will I>uild my church/' She 
did not know that in a short time, 
that is to say, on the very day which 
succeeded those tearful hours, she her- 
self would prophetically announce and 
demand, in the name of the appari- 
tion, the erection of a temple on these 
desert cliffs. 

AU this was hid in the impenetra- 
ble future, 

** \Vhere have you been ? ** asked 
her father, as soon as she entered. 

She related all that had taken place, 

'* And you say," her parents again 
asked, ** that a force carried you there 
in s])ite of yourself?'* 

•^^ Yes," replied Bemadette. 

" It must be true," they thought. 
'* The child has never told a lie/" 

Soul)irous reflected fur some mo* 
ments. He appeared to be engaged 
in a struggle with himself. Finally, 
he raised his head, and seemed to 
come to a decision. 

** Very well,** said he, *' tiiiice a su- 
perior force has drawn you, I no 
longer forbid you to go to the grotto. 
I leave you free to do so." 

Joy, pure, unmixed joy, lighted up 
the features of Bema^lette. 

Neither the miller nor his wife had 
brought forward as an objection the 
non-appearance of the vision. Per- 
hai>s in their hearts they recognized 
as the reason — the resistance which 
they themselves had made under fear 
of official authority to supernatural 
orders. 

What we have just narrated took 
place in the afternoon, and the rumor 



266 



Our Lady of Lourdts, 



of it was soon spread throughout the 
town. The sudden cessation of the 
visions gave room for most con- 
tran* explanations. Some pretended 
to make it an unanswerable argument 
against all the preceding apparitions ; 
others, again^ adduced it as a proof 
of the sincerity of the child. 

Philosophic shoulders were shru|^- 
ged at mention of the irresistible 
force which had carried Bemadctte 
in s|>ite of heriielf to the grotto. It 
furnished the subject of various learn- 
ed theses, explaining the whole afiair 
bv perturbation of the nervous system. 

The commissary, seeing that his or- 
ders had been violated, and learning, 
moreover, that Francois Soubirous 
had withdrawn the prohibition which 
he had laid upon his child, had all 
threei father, mother, and daughter, 
brought before him, and renewed his 
menaces. He tried again to frighten 
them ; but, in spite of the terror which 
he caused — much to his surprise — he 
did not find the same docility and 
weakness in Francjoi:* Soubirous which 
he had remarked live day before. 

** Monsieur J acomet," said the poor 
man, ** liernadetie has never told a 
lie; and if the good Ciod, the Blessed 
Virgin, or some saint calls her, we 
cannot oppose him. Put yourself 
in our place. The good God would 
punish us/' 

*' Moreover, you say yourself the 
vision no longer appears," argued Ja- 
comety addressing the child. " You 
have nothing more to do with it." 

** I promised to go to the grotto 
every day of a fortnight/* replied 
Bernadette. 

** What you say is all a fable,*' 
cried the exasperated commissary ; 
'' and I will have you put in prison^ 
if this child continues to excite the 
people by her grimaces/' 

** But, sir/' said Bemadette, " I go 
to pray all by myself. I have never 
called anybody to the place ; and, if 



everybody comes before and aft< 

it is not my fault. They say sh< 
the Blessed Virgin; but I do not 
know who she is." 

Accustomed to the deceitful p| 
of the world of villains, the coi 
sary of police was entirely di 
certed by this perfect simplicity. AH 
his tricks, his shrewdness, his leading 
questions, his threats, and the subtle 
thrusts which he had made against 
this supposed fraud, which seei 
feebleness itself— all had eom< 
naught. Never for an instant ai 
ting that he might be in the wTong, 
could not understand h is utterly poi 
less condition. Far from renouni 
his design, he detennined to ca 
the assistance of other powers, 
ly," said he, as he stamped upon the 
floor, ** this has been a stupid piece 
of business/* 

Then, dismissing the Soubirous to 
their own homes, he riLshcd o^io 
consult \y\^ pmcurcur imperial 

M. Dutour, despite his horror of 
superstition, could find no tcxtof lii^ 
w^hich would justify treating Bcma- 
dette as a criminal She tlid iyot»U 
anyi)ody to witness her ecstasies : she 
did not derive any pecuniary prfJ^tt 
from them. She went to prnyontbc 
common land w here ever)'body mig^* 
come to see her, if evcrybod)* wishw 
to do so, and where no law tould 
prevent her from kneeling down. She 
did not hold any conversation «^^ 
the apparition that was subversive « 
the government; the people *<** 
guilty of no disorder. There "^^^ 
evidently no grounds of pnoceectog 
against her under these heads. 

As to prosecuting Bemadctte fef 
circulating *' false news," it wjs^^ 
ready certain that no con trad icti^^ 
could be detected in her sialcmcnU. 
It would be difficult to prove t^'** 
she had been lying without ixt^^ 
ing the very principle of - 
appearances — a iTincij)!. } 



i 



Our Lady of Lourcies. 



267 



y the Catholic Cluirch. 
It an agreement with the 
istracy of the state, a mere 
mperial could not com- 
: a conflict. 

to start proceedings, Ber- 
ist contradict herself at 
t day, or her parents must 
\ profit from her ecstasies, 
^d must make some dis- 

Mf these things might 

^lypothesis and the de- 
lining it, from this clear 
matter on the part of the 
jjopular fanaticism, to the 
ying snares for the child 
sititude, would have been 
\ for the vulgar natures 
tind in the lower regions 
ial world. But M. Jaco- 
lublic otlicer, and the high 
ding of the police must 
all such suspicions. They 
ised folk who believe in 
p of templing agents. 



XII. 

iiwing morning, a large 
tr«d at the grotto before 
isen, Bemadette arrived, 
Btlm simplicity which did 

under threats or enthu- 
ption. The sadness and 

fhe day before had left 
>n her countenance. She 
she should never more 
irition, and yet she could 

\ humbly, holding in one 
E»iiary and in the other a 
T, which some one had 
t-which she had herself 

still, and yet the 

I tlie taper went no 

iven than did the 



prayer of this little heart to the in- 
visible realms whence the blessed ap- 
parition was wont to descend. For 
scarcely had the child prostrated her- 
self in prayer when the ineffable 
beauty, whose return she so ardently 
invoked, appeared before her and 
rapt her out of herself. The august 
Queen of Paradise cast on the child 
a look of inexpressible tenderness, 
as if she loved her still more for the 
suffering that she had endured. The 
greatest, the most sublime, the most 
powerful of creatures, sheathe Daugh- 
ter, the Spouse, the Mother of God, 
seemed to wish to bind more closely 
and familiarly to herself this ignorant 
and unknown little shepherdess. She 
called her by nnme with that melo- 
dious voice which charms the listen- 
ing choirs of angels. 

** Bemadette!" said the divine Mo- 
ther. 

** Here I am/' replied the child. 

** 1 have something to tell you 
alone — a secret concerning yourself. 
Will you promise me not to rej>eat it 
to anybody else in the wodd ?*' 

" I promise," said Bemadette. 

The dialogue then continued, and 
entered on some profound mystery 
which it is not lawful or possible for 
us to solve. 

Whatever it may have been, after 
this intimacy had been established, 
it pleased the Queen of Heaven to 
select this little one, who had suffer- 
ed so much for her the day l>efore, as 
an ambassadress on a special mission 
to men. 

*' And now, my child/* said she to 
Bemadette, " go and tell the priests 
that I wish a chapel built on this 
spot.*' And, as she pronounced 
these words, her face and her gesture 
seemed to promise that she would 
bestow graces without number. 

.Vfter this she disappeared, and the 
countenance of Bemadette resumed 
its former appearance, as evening 



268 



Our Lady of Lourdes, 



steals over the landscape when the 

sun has sunk below the horizon. 

The crowd preijsed around the late- 
ly transfigured chikL All hearts were 
stirred. Ever}' body questioned her. 
Bui no one asked if she had seen the 
vision ; for, at the moment of ecsta- 
sy, everybody was sure that the ap- 
parition was before her. They wish* 
cd to learn what had been said. 
Each one endeavored to draw near 
enough to catch the child's own words. 

**What did she say to you ? What 
did the vision tell you ?'* This was 
the question on every liji. 

** She told me two things — one for 
myself, and the other for the priests, 
and I am going straight to them/' re- 
plied Bemadctte, who had meanwhile 
begun to hasten toward Lourdes \Xi 
order to deliver her message. 

She was astonished that no one 
had heard the conversation or seen 
the " Lady/' '' The vision spoke 
loud enough to be heard, and I my* 
self used an ordiiiar)^ tone of voice," 
she said. 

During the ecstasy, it had been no- 
ticed that the lips of the chihl mov- 
ed, but this was all ; not a word could 
Ijc distinguished. In this mystic state, 
the senses are in some wMy spiritu- 
alized^ and the realities which strike 
them are absolutcl)" imperceptible to 
the gross organs of our nature, fallen 
from its supernatural state. Berna- 
dette saw and heard; she herself 
spoke ; and yet nobody around could 
distinguish the sound of her voice 
or the form of the apparition. Was 
Bernadette in error? No; she alone 
was right. She alone, spiritually aid- 
ed by the grace of ecstasy, perceived 
for a time that which escaped all 
others; even as the astronomer by 
the aid of his telescope is able to 
contemplate some great and beatni- 
ful star whieh is invisihle lo ordinary 
eyes. When not in ecstasy, she saw 
nothing; just as the astronomer with- 



out his powerful imstrument 
able to discover the hiddenl 
anybody else. 

Xlfl, 

What was the strange S( 
which Bernadette spoke, but 
ture of whith she was unwill 
reveal ? What secret could ejti 
tween the Mother of ih^ C: 
heaven and earth and the 
daughter of the miller Soubirc 
tween that radiant Majesty 
next to God, between the Qi 
the eternal kingdom and tl 
shepherdess of the hills of Bai 

Assuredly we should not atl 
pr)' into it. Stilly it is perroi 
to admire the profound and 
knowledge of the human heai 
was shown by her who spo 
Bernadette, in prefacing 
nouncement of the public 
with which she was going to 
the child with words to be kepi 
ly secret. Favored in the eyi 
by marvellous visions, sent ta 
own priests with a message 6* 
other world, this young soi 
ly so calm, so solitary and p( 
was to be thrown suddenly 
midst of crowds and counties 
of agitation. She was to be 
for the contradiction of some, 
threats of others, for the rail 
many, and for the venerati 
still greater numl>er. The di 
to come when multitudes woi 
jnite for shreds of her clot! 
holy relics; when eminent 
lustrious persons would kneel 
her for her blessing; when A 
did church would be built, and 
less throngs come in ceasel 
grimages and processions ' 
of their belief in her word, 
this poor girl was to be e: 
terrible trial of her humilil 
she might lose all her si 



the sweet and modest 
\ had flourished in lier 
he very graces which 
ived were to become a 
mgcr, before which more 
iii]$ highly honored by 
succumbed. St. Paul 
his visions, was tempt- 
,nd needed an angel of 
!t him to keep his heart 

;d Virgin wished to se- 
de girl, whom she so 
'ed, without permitting 
Satan to approach this 

encircled by her favor, 
t a mother does when 
Itens her child. She 
terly to her heart, and 
rsterious sentence softly 
mks ear, *»t>o not be 
Ipere/' And, if she is 
eave it for an instant 
is, "I am not going far: 
ear you, and you need 
ut your hand to catch 
ur sweet Mother did to 
At the moment when 
nptations of the world 
es of the devil sought 
pay, she caught her up 
ipped her arms about 
ised her more lovingly 
her heart. Think of it, 
in of Heaven, communis 
: to this child of earth 1 
aLse her up, to bring her 
ips, to speak to her in a 
; to give her a secure 
ige, where none couhl 
uinoy or harass. 
iven and received, cre- 

two souls the closest 
[>jnmunicate a secret is 
wred pledge of affection 
cc It is to establish 
■|Ctuary,a sacred tryst- 
Bben some important 
i imparted to us a secret, 
►nger tloubt his esteem. 



His friendship* by this act of confi- 
dence, takes up its abode within us, 
and becomes a constant guest, I 
might say, a permanent dweller. To 
think of tills secret is ahiiost to grasp 
his hand and feel his presence. 

A secret confided by the Blessed 
Virgin to the miller's daughter would, 
therefore, become the strongest safe- 
guard for the latter. This is not the- 
ology; the evidence of what we say 
is the testimony of every human 
heart. 

PART 111, 



A GREAT many people accompa- 
nied Beniadette to the town to see 
what she would do. 

The little gid followed the road 
which goes through Lourdes, and to 
its principal street ; then, stopping, at 
the further end of the town, before 
the wall of a rustic garden, she open- 
ed its green-blind door, and approach- 
ed the house within. The crowd, 
from a feeling of respect and propri- 
ety, remained outside in the street. 

Humble and simple, with her patch- 
ed clothes, and a little white capukt of 
coarse stuff on her head and shoul- 
ders, with no exterior sign of a mis- 
sion from above^ except perhaps the 
garb of poverty which our Lord has 
ennobled, the messenger of the hea- 
venly Virgin who had appeared at 
the grotto was about to come before 
the venerable man who represented 
in this little place the indefectible au- 
thority of the Catholic Church. 

Though it was still c|uite early, the 
cure of Lourdes had already said 
his office. As he listened for the 6rst 
time to the poor shepherdess, so in- 
significant in the eyes of the world, 
so great probably in the sight of God, 
t^ie words which he had read in the 
Introit and Gradual of the Mass that 



270 



Oitr Lady of Lourdes, 



day, /// fHedi& tcck$m apeniit as rjtis 
— Lin^tm ejus loquitur jihUdum — Ltx 
Dd in corde ipdus^ may perhajjis have 
occurred to hiiu. 

The Alibe Peyraitiale, though fol- 
\y bcHeving in the possibility oi ap- 
paritions, siiic^ he was a faithful thild 
of the cliurch, nevertheless had some 
doubts as to the reahty of the extra- 
ordinary vision which, according to 
the story of this little girl, was ap- 
pearing on the banks of tlie Gave, 
in the grotto » until recently almost 
unknown, of the Massabielle rocks. 
The sight of one of her ecstasies 
w^ould no doubt have convinced him; 
but he had only seen them through 
the eyes of others, and felt i|uite un- 
certain, first, as to the fact of the ap- 
paritions, and, this being granted, as 
to their divine character. The angel 
of darkness sometimes takes the form 
of an angel of light, and some hesi- 
tation is proper in regard to such 
matters. He also thought it best to 
test for himself the sincerity of the 
little seer ; so that he received Ber* 
nadette with a very marked air of 
distrust, even amounting to severity. 

Although he had, as w^e have said, 
kept aloof from the course of events, 
and had never in his life spoken to 
Bemadette, who wxs, besides, a recent 
accession to his flock, still he knew 
her by sight, some persons having 
shown her to him in the street a day 
or two before. 

*' Are not you Bernadette, the daugh- 
ter of Soubirous the miller?" said 
he %vhen she appeared before him. 
His tone was somewhat severe. 

" Yes, your reverence," answered 
the humb!e messenger of the Holy 
Virgin. 

" Well, Bemadette, what do you 
w^ant of me ? What have you come 
for ?" answered be somewhat mdely, 
and fixing upon her a look the cold 
reserve and penetration of which 
were well calculated to disconcert a 



person who bad not good groti 

for confidence. 

" Vour reverence, I have been s- 
Ijy the Lady who appears to ine 
the Massabielle grotto." 

** Oh ! yes,'* said the priest, intcn- 
ting her; "you pretend to have 
sions, and excite the whole cour* n 
with your stories. What has L*<?ei 
the matter with you, these last fcv 
days ? What are all these extraor 
dinar>^ things which you telJ atxHij, 
but do not prove?" 

Bernadette was pained by the se- 
vere and almost harsh manntr in 
which the Abb^ Peyramale, usually 
so good, fatherly, and kind to his 
parishioners, and especially to the 
children, had received her: and some- 
w^hat grieved at heart, but uncoirftj** 
ed and with the (juict confidence <>f 
truth, she related simply what rhc 
reader already* knows. 

The cure was not blinded by fe 
previous opinions. Accustoracfi 1^ 
long experience to read the scttcti 
of the heart, he admired the astiw- 
ishing sincerity of this litde peu^fl^ 
girl, telling in her simple Ungiwg^ 
of such wonderful events, Jii lh€«C 
clear eyes and that open face te 
saw the perfect innocence of a jrf- 
vileged soul It was impossible ^ 
his noble and honest mind lo hcaf 
such a truthful voice and sec 
pure features, where all spoke of g< 
ness, without being inwardly intli 
to believe the word of the child 
whom they belonged. 

Even the sceptics, as %ve havcsw 
no longer accused her of insincenty* 
In her ecstasies, the truth of God 
seemed to illuminate and till her ^ 
tirely; and in her accounts of thcWi 
it seemed to radiate from her, !»**'•' 
ing the hearts of her hearer ^^ 
scattering like mist the confuseJ d>- 
jections of their minds. In shoiti 
this extraordinary child h ' ^* 

about her head a halo )' 



Our Lady of Lourdes, 



zyi 



pure eyes, and even to oth- 

her word had the power of 
ig doubt at once. 

ite of the firm and decided 
of M, Peyramale, and the 

of his previous distrust, his 
Pas strangely moved by the 
this Bemadette of whom 

eard so much^ but to w^hose 
now listened for the first 

evertheless, he had too mucli 
?e and self-control to let him- 
. carried away by an impres- 
Ich after all might be illusory. 
\ he wa-s not merely a private 

as such he miglit have said, 
ieve you ;** but he was the 
a a numerous flock, and the 
PL of truth for them ; and as 
^had resolved to yield only to 
ionable proof. Accordingly, 
fully concealed his feelings, 
intained his cold and sevt^re 
or toward the child. 
1 do not know, then, the name 

.ady ?" 
said Bemadette; "she has 

it to me." 

who believe your stories/* 

priest^ " imagine that it is 
Bed Virgin Mary, But arc 
^re,** added he in a threat- 
jnc^ *' that, if you falsely pre- 
! see our Lady at this grotto, 

taking the sure means not to 
X in the next world ? You 
if that she appears to you 
but, if you are lying, others 
eafcer really enjoy her pre- 
Jifle you will be sent for your 
\ far away from her, to hell 
^mity.** 

\ not know, your reverence," 
d the child, "if it is the 
fVirgin ; but I see the vision 
as I see you now, and she 
me as distinctly as you 
\n. And the message wh ich 

bring you is that she wishes 
iUt to her at the Massa- 



bieUe rocks, on the spot where she 
appears." 

The cur^ looked at this little girl, 
communicating to him with such per- 
fect confidence this formal request, 
and, notwithstanding his previous 
feelings, he could not help smiling a 
little at the humble and insignificant 
appearance of the supposed mcssen* 
ger of heaven. I'he idea that she 
might be deluded succeeded his 
former impression, and doubt again 
got the upper hand. 

He asked Bemadette to repeat ex- 
actly the words which the Lady at 
the grotto had used, 

"After having confided to me a 
secret which concerns me only, and 
which I cannot tell, she added, * Now^, 
go and tell the priests that I want 
them to build me a chapel here/ " 

The cur6 was silent for a rhoment. 
" After all/* he thought, "it is possi- 
ble !" And the idea that the Mother 
of God might have sent a divine 
message to him, a poor unknown 
priest, filled him with deep emotion. 
Then, looking again at the child, he 
asked himself: " What guarantee can 
this little girl give me to prove that 
she is not deceived ?" 

Accordingly, he ansvvered : '* If the 
Lady of whom you speak is really 
the Queen of Heaven, I tihail be 
most happy to do what 1 can toward 
building her a chapel ; but your v.ord 
gives me no assurance of this. 1 
am not bound to believe you. I do 
not know who this Lady is, am!, be- 
fore taking any trouble about her 
request, I must know^ w'hat right she 
has to make it. You must, therefore, 
ask her to give me some proof of her 
power," 

Happening to look out of the win- 
dow at the moment, he saw the 
shrubs in his garden stripped of their 
leaves in the temporary death of w-in- 
ter. 

" The apparition, you tell me," 



272 



Our Lady of Lourda, 



said he, ** stands upon a wild rose- 
bush. It is now February* Tell her 
from me that, if she wants the cha- 
pel, the rose-bush must bloom," 

With this, he dismissed the child. 

People very soon knew all the de- 
tails of the dialogue which had oc- 
curred between Bemadctte and the 
of Lourdes. 
X^* He has given her the cold shouh 
Jer," said the philosophers and sa- 
vants triumphantly, ** He has too 
much sense to believe in the reveries 
of a \isionary, and he has got out 
of his difficult position very skilfully. 
On the one hand, to sanction such 
absurdities was out of the question 
for a man of his intelligence; on the 
other, to have simply <lenied them 
would have brought all this fanatical 
crowd down ujjon hbu. Instead, 
however, of falling into either of 
these snares, he quietly slips out of 
the diflicuky, and, without directly 
contradicting the popular belief, he 
adroitly asks for a visible, palpable, 
and certain proof of the apparition ; 
in short, for a miracle — that is, for an 
impossibility. He forces the delusion 
to refute itself, and pricks this enor- 
mous balloon with the thorn of a rose- 
bush. A capital idea !" 

Jacomet, M Dutour, and their 
friends chuckled over the injunction 
thus served upon the invisible being 
at the grotto, *' The apparition has 
lieen required to show its passport/^ 
was the favorite joke in official circles. 

*'The rose-bush will bloom,*' said 
the firm believers who were still 
under the impression produced by 
the sight of Beniadette's ecstasies. 
But a great many, though believing 
in the apparition, feared such a test. 
Such is the human heart; and the 
centurion in the Gospel represented 
most of us when he said, " I beUeve * 
O Lord I help thou my unbelief/' 

Both parties awaited eagerly the 
events of the next day. 



Some of those who had htth 
refrained, through a supreme dis 
for superstition, trom joining the 
titude to examine the affair for tl 
selves, now determined to go foi 
future to the grotto to witness 
popular delusion. Among these 
M. Estrade, the receiver of l 
whom we have mentioned, and 
was present at the examination 
Bcmadette by Jacomet. It wil 
remembered that he had the 
much impressed with her ren 
appearance of sincerity, and, 
ing able to doubt her good fa ill 
attributed her story to hallucifl 
Sometimes, however, this llrsi ii: 
si on was less vivid, so that he ra 
inclined to Jacomet*s solution of 
question, namely, that it w^as onl 
very well-acted farce or a sort 
miracle of trickery. His phUosoj 
which rested on what he thoi; 
well-established principles, allem* 
between these two explanations, 
only possible ones in his opini 
and his contempt for these extri 
gances and impostures was Jl 
that so far, in spite of his secrtj 
riosity, he had made it a point 
honor not to go to the Massabi 
rocks. Nevertheless, he decided 
go on this day, pardy to be ] 
sent at an unusual spectacle^ pa 
to make his observations upon 
partly also out of politeness and 
accompany his sister, who had 
come much interested in the miU 
and some ladies in the vicinity. 
received from his own mouth 
account of his impressions, wt 
certainly is not o|>en to sijs 

" I arrived at the grottfv 
'* very well disposed to ex 

matter, and» to tell llie l , 

tending to enjoy a hearty Ln -ii ^ 
the expected comedy. An mini*.. 
crowd was gradually asiumi*' 



Our Lady af Lourdes, 



VI 



It wild rocks. I won- 
ic simplicity of all these 
aughed in my sleeve at 
a number of pious 
jfcre devoutly on their 
tie grotto. We got 
1-ly, and by good el- 
jvas able, without very 
ulty, to secure a place in 
5w. At the usual hour, 
Sc, Bernadette appeared, 

near her, and remarked 
lish features the charac- 
ncss^ calmness, and inno- 
:h had struck me some 

at the commissary's of- 
kneeled down, naturally 
unembarrassed^ and not 
p notice the surrounding 
tly as if she had been in a 
\ a lonely grove » far from 
gaze. She took out her 
)egan to pray. Soon her 
I to receive and reflect a 
light; her eyes became 
ider, rapture, and radiant 
le niche in the rock, I 
lately looked there, and 

except the bare branches 
bush. Notwithstanding, 
t of the transfiguration 
Id all my philosophical 
lisappeared immediately^ 
lace to an extraordinary 
li took possession of me 

jnyselt I was certain 
^^sterious being was 
HEs did not see it, but 
^n as the souls of the 
iPlctators at this solemn 
IS fully convinced of its 
Ves, I bear witness to 
it a celestial being was 
Idenly and entirely trans- 
madette ^^as no longer 

seemed like an angel 
D. She had no longer 
)unienance : a new intel- 
^ew life, I was about to 
bull appeared in it, She 
I* xii. — 1 8 



seemed to have lost her identity. 
Her attitude, her least gestures, the 
w^ay, for example, in which she made 
the sign of the cross^ had a super- 
human nobleness, dignity, and gran- 
deur. Her eyes w^ere wide open, as 
if they could not see enough ; it 
seemed as if she was afraid even to 
wink, and so lose, even for an instant, 
the view of the wonderful vision be- 
fore her. She smiled at the invisible 
being; and this heightened the idea 
of ecstasy which w^as given by her 
other actions. I was as much mov- 
ed as the rest of the people present^ 
and like them held my breath, to 
try and hear the conversation which 
was passing between the vision and 
the child. The latter was listening 
with an expression of the most pro- 
found respect, or, rather, with the 
most devout reverence combined with 
boundless love. Sometimes, how- 
ever, a shade of sadness passed over 
her face, the usual expression of 
which was one of great joy. I no- 
ticed that occasionally for moments 
together she ceased to breathe. All 
the while she held her rosary in 
her hand, now motionless (for some- 
times she seemed to forget it in con- 
templating the exalted being before 
her), now moving in her fingers. 
Every movement she made corre- 
sponded perfecdy to the expression 
of her face, which was successively 
of prayer, wonder, and joy. Occa- 
sionally she made those pious, noble», 
and majestic signs of the cross of 
which I just now spoke. If signs of 
the cross are made in heaven, they 
must be like those of Bernadette in 
ecstasy. That gesture of the child| 
notwithstanding its real limitation,, 
seemed in a certain sense to include 
the infinite. 

" At one time, Bernadette advanced 
on her knees from the spot where 
she was praying, that is, from the 
bank of the Gave to the interior of 



274 



Our Lady of Lcurdes, 



the grotto. While she was climbing 
this rather steep slope, those who 
were near heard her pronounce very 
distinctly the words, * Penaivce I Pen- 
ance ! Penance!' 

** A few moments afterward she 
rose, and retnrned to the town, ac- 
companied by the crowd. She was 
now only a poor girl in rags, who 
did not seem to have had any raore 
part than the rest in this wonderful 
scene." 

Meanwhile the rose-bush had not 
bloomed* Its branches trailed along 
the rock as bare as before, and the 
multitude expected in vain the beau- 
tiful miracle for which their spiritual 
head had asked. 

The belief of the faithful was, how- 
ever, little disturbed; and, in spite 
of such an apparent protest of inani- 
mate nature against supernatural in- 
terference, several distinguished men, 
among them the one whose account 
we have just given, were convinced 
by seeing the w^onderfyl transfigura- 
tion of the Htlle seer* 

The crowd, as usual, examined the 
grotto thoroughly after the end of 
tlie vision and the departure of the 
child. Every one tried to find some- 
thing extraordinary, but without suc- 
cess. It seemed to be nothing but a 
cave in the hard rock, and with a 
floor dry in all parts except at the 
entrance and also on the west side, 
where in stormy weather there was 
a temporary moisture. 

IIL 

" Well, you saw her again to-day, 
did you^ and w^hat did she say?** 
asked the cur^, when Bcrnadette came 
to his house on the way home from 
the grotto. 

"Yes," said the child; *' I saw the 
vision, and said, * The curd wants you 
to give some proof, such as to make 
the rose-bush bloom which h under 



your feet, because 
enough for the prie 
unwilling to trust me a] 
she smiled, but did m 
and then cried to me, 
ance ! penance I' w 
going on my knees 
of the grotto. Th< 
another secret, whii 
only, and disappear 

** And what did yoi 
of the grotto ?'* 

*' I looked round afte 
appeared (for while s 
can look at nothing t 
see anything, except 
few little weeds whic 
in the earth/' 

The cure was puzzl 
wait,'* said he to him 

That evening, he | 
of this interview to 
some priests of the 
They twitted him s< 
failure of his plans. 

** If it is the Ble! 
dear sir," said they,, 
the presentation of y* 
a little awkward for 
such a high quarter ij 
fortable," 

The cure, however, 1 
difficulty with his usua 
mind. 

** The smile is in 
plied. "The Blessed 
make fun of people. 
tion was a bad one, 
have smiled. Her 
approval." 

IV. 

The Abbe Peyraraj 
tee certainly had so 
but perhaps not quiti 
thought. If he had th 
ed the words which 
followed this smile, f 
gacity would have su] 



Our Lady of Lourdcs. 



275 



tte meauing which the poor lit lie 
^rl, though favored witli such visions, 
I X3V'as unable to give. 
L - ** Pray fur sinners ; do penance ; 
p ^tecend on your knees the steep and 
cii0icult slope whidi rises from the 
I Tupid and tumultuous waves of the 
. t^orrcnt to the immovable rock, on 
I w^hich one of the sanctuaries of the 
[ <jhurch must be built '* — these had 
been ihe orders of the apparition in 
answer to the request of the child; 
such had been her reply to the de- 
mand that the wild rose-bush should 
bloom, and was, in fact, a very plain 
explanation of the smile. Who does 
Bot see, upon reflection, the admira- 
ble meaning of this symbolic answer ? 
*♦ What then ? Have you nothmg 
to ask of me, the Mother of God 
your Saviour, who went about doing 
good and comforting the afflicted, for 
a pnx)f of my power, than such a 
Irifting and temporary miracle as this, 
which the rays of my servant the sun 
WiU themselves accomplish in a few 
days ? When the world Is covered 
with umumerable sinners, indiflferent 
Of hostile to the law of God, when 
the Tricked or deluded nations are 
drinking of the poisoned streams of 
ibis world which flow to the abyss; 
vhcn, above all things, they need to 
dimb on their knees the rough road 
*hich leads from the transitory and 
irouhled life of the flesh to the eternal 
ful life of the soul; when 
(•n of so many tliat are 
straying, and tlie cure of so many 
iJiat are sick, constantly occupy my 
i^ateraal heart, can 1 give no better 
proof of my power and goodness than 
^^•11 of making roses bloom in mid- 
^^i'H^r ? Is it for such a vain sport as 
'! I have been appearing to this 
'1 ! I of earth, and opening to her my 
''iiiils so full of graces and favors ?** 

Such, it seems to us, as far as weak 
^.,.. r resume to fathom and inter- 

J mysterious things, was the 



hidden meaning of the smile and of 
the commancis by which the Mother 
of the human race answered tlie re- 
quest of the pastor of Lourdes, God 
does not think it worth while, espe- 
cially in such needy and disastrous 
times, to use his omnipotence for fri- 
volous prodigies which only strike the 
eye; for ephemeral miracles, which 
would pass away before night and be 
destroyed by the first rude breath uf 
wind. He wishes to do things which 
are useful and good ; his miracles are 
always benefits. When he wishes to 
establish something for ever, he rests 
it upon a perpetual foundation which 
ages cannot wear away. 

But what was the meaning of the 
order given to Bemadette to go on 
her kntes up the grotto till the rock 
met the ground ? No one could ima- 
gine ; and before this dry rock no one 
remembered that, since the synagogue 
slew itself in trying to slay Jesus, the 
Rod of Moses had passed into the 
hands of the Christian people. 

The cur<^ of Lourdes, in spite of 
his great intelligence, did not imme- 
diately see the explanation of these 
things which the future was to make 
so clear. The decided doubt which 
he still entertained of the reality of 
the apparition prevented him from 
revolving with suflicient attention the 
various circumstances of this last scene 
at the grotto, and from having for 
them that clear insight which he usu- 
ally had for the things of God. 

Meanwhile, the freethinkers of the 
place, though somewhat disconcerted 
by the conversions which had occurred 
that very day at the cliflfs of Massa- 
bielle on account of the remarkable 
brifliancy of the transfiguration of Ber- 
nadettCt nevertheless exulted extreme* 
ly over the disaj^p ointment of the faith- 
ful regarding the pretty proof which 
the Abb^* Peyramale had asked. 
They praised hira more than ever for 
having required a miracle. "Jaco- 



met," said they, " awkwardly under- 
took to kill the apparition; the i^mc 
has much more skilfully forced it to 
kill itself." llnable to understand 
the loyal simplicity of an impartial 
wisdom which asked for evidence be- 
fore either believing or denying^ they 
called his prudence cunning, and ima- 
gined a snare in the simple and natu- 
ral request of an honest nMnd in search 
of truth. They evidently came very 
near conferring upon ihe venerable 
j>astor of Lourdes the honor, very dis- 
tinguished, perhaps, but certainly quite 
undeserved, of being reckoned as one 
of their number. 



b 



The honorable M, J a comet seem- 
ed, meanwhile, to be disgusted with 
himself that he had not yet exposed 
the imposture, and destroyed, single- 
handed, this rising superstition* He 
racked his brains to discover the key 
to the enigma, for he began to see 
clearly, from the very demand of the 
cure, that the clergy had nothing to 
do with the aflfain He had to deal, 
then, only with the little girl and her 
parents. He had no doubt that, 
somehow or other, he would yet be 
able to arrive at the truth in the mat- 
ter 

Wlienever Bernadette went out into 
the street, a crowd gatheretl around 
her J they stopped her at every step» 
every one wanting to hear from her 
own mouth all the particulars relat- 
ing to the apparition. Some, among 
whom was the eminent lawyer M, 
Dufo, sent for and questioned her. 
They could not resist the secret pow- 
er which living truth gave to her 
words. 

Many people called every day on 
the Soubirous to hear Bernadette 's 
own account of the visions. She 
siUTendered herself obediently and 



on 



pleasantly to this incessant question 

ingy and evidently understood ihac^^ 
to testify what she had seen an 
heard was for the present her specii 
oAice and duty. 

In a comer of the room where tli< 
visitors were received, there was 
little chapel, adorned with flowi 
medals, and religious pictures, ai 
crowned by a statue of the liii 
Virgin ; the whole presenting qui 
an elegant appearance, and showir 
the piety of the family. The rest c 
the apartment presented a spet : fg 

of most grievous destitution ; a j^ 

a few broken chairs, a rickety tab 
were all the furniture of this nx 
where people came for in format! 
about the magnificent hidden ihir 
of heaven. Most of the visitors w 
struck and moved to pity by ^^tht 
sight of such extreme [joverty, rsa. nd 
could not resist the temptation lo 
offer an alms or at least some sow ^^ 
nirs to these poor people. But U^*3th 
the child and her parents uniforms "wiy 
refused, and in such a way th^t « i^ 
was impossible to urge the matter^ — 

Among these visitors were scenic 
strangers stopping in the town a CH^nc 
of these came, one evening, after the 
crowd of the day had left, and tt"^f^« 
AV3S only a neighbor or a rela- *^'* 
seated at the hearth. He quest. ^^"" 
ed Bernadette carefully, going int^::^^^ 
the details, and seeming to tak^- 3" 
extraordinary interest in her sC ^'^'' 
His enthusiasm and faith shc^ ^^^^ 
themselves continually by excl^ ^* 
tions of sympathy. He congrat*-*^*^*^ 
ed the little girl on haviDg recri^^''' 
so great a favor from heaven, ^^^^ 
pitied the want which was so cvici^*' 

** I am rich/' said he; "let me t^^f 
you/' 

As he said this, he laid on \h€^ ^^' 
Lie a purse which w^as seen to be '^ 
of gold. 

A blush of indignation rose to ^0^' 
nadette*s cheek. 



Our Lady of Lourdes, 



177 



Dt no money," said she sharp- 

jTake it back/' And so say- 

>ushed the purse toward the 

\ not for you, my child," said 
for your parents, who are 
land whom you cannot wish 
ji me to aid/* 

pier we nor Bemadette want 
|/' said the father and mo- 

\ are poor," insisted the visi- 
[ have incommoded you, and 
pially interested in you. It 
\ through pride that you re- 

1^, it is not ; but we really 

receive nothing — nothing 

Take back your money." 

anger had to do so, and 

eing able to conceal an ex- 

lof extreme disappointment. 

did this man come from, 
I was he ? Was he really a 
■zing bt-nefactor, or a cunning 
r We cannot say, Tht jio- 
\ however, so well organized 
ics that AI» Jacomet may, 
Have known more about the 

,nd if, by one of those strange 
ces which are sometimes 
in the iJolice deiiartmcnt, 
d commissary learned that 
tening the particulars of this 
r between Bernadette and the 
^s stranger, he must have 
A that snares and temp ta- 
re as useless against this ex- 
Uy child as captious words 
ent threats. The difficulty 



of the situation continually increased 
for this man, though he was so able 
and expert in purely human matters 
If the impossibility of involving Ber- 
nadette in the least contradiction in 
her story had surprised him, her ab- 
solute disiJUerestedness and the firm- 
ness of her refusal of the gold purse 
must have surprised him beyond mea- 
sure. 

Such conduct might, indeed, have 
been explained on police principles, 
if the demand for a visible, miracu- 
lous proof, the impossible blooming 
of a rose-buirih, made by the cure, 
had not shown unquestionably that 
the clergy had no concealed intluence 
in the affair. But on the part of Ber- 
nadette and her parents, standing 
alone, in want even of the necessaries 
of life, and deriving no advantage 
from the popular enthusiasm and cre- 
dulity, it was quite unaccountable. 

Had the little girl invented the im- 
posture to secure an idle reputation ? 
It could hardly be so ; for, besides such 
ambition seeming very nnprobahle in 
a mere shepherdess, how could the 
absolute consistency of her story be 
explained^ and also the fiict that her 
disinterestedness was shared by the , 
members of her family, all so poorJ 
and therefore so naturally inclined to^ 
profit by the blind faith of the muUi- 
tude ? 

M. Jacomet, however, was not a 
man to recoil before a few insur- 
mountable objections ; and he there- 
fore confidendy waited the course of 
Invents, not doubting that a triumph,^ 
all the more glorious for the previous 
difficulties, was in store for him. 



TO DB COKtlNUEtJ. 




THE INVASION OF ROME. 



Since our last numljcT was issued, 
Rome has been cajuured by the 
troops of Victor Emmanuel ; and the 
Pope, although treated with a certain 
external respect, has become virtu- 
ally as much a prisoner in his palace 
as is Louis Napoleon in the castle of 
Wilhelmshohe, or as Pius VI L was 
at Savona. We cannot, m consis- 
tency with our duty as Catholic 
publicists, refrain from itiaking our 
solemn protest against this most un- 
just and wicked violation of all pub- 
lic law and right, this intolerable 
outrage upon the Catholic people of 
the whole world It is the duty of 
every good and true Catholic^ and 
of the Catholic people collectively in 
every country, to make this protest 
in the most distinct and efiTicacious 
manner possible, and to make use of 
all lawful means to restore the So- 
vereign PontilT to the possession and 
peaceful exercise of that royalty which 
belongs to him by the most legitimate 
titles, and which is neccssar)^ to the 
free and unimpeded jurisdiction of 
his spiritual supremacy over the Ca- 
tholic Church, as well as to the politi- 
cal tranquillity of Christendom, 

\*ictQr Emmanuel has taken this 
final step in his career of crime, wc 
believe, unwillingly, against his own 
personal wnshes and those of several 
members of his f^imily. The most 
eager and determined promoter of 
the movement among those nearest 
to his throne has all along been 
Prince Humbert ; and, had it not 
been for this circumstance, it is pro- 
bable that llie old king would have 
resigned the crown to his son before 
this time. The unfortunate monarch 
appears to have made a sincere effort 
to repent at Uie time of his late dan- 



geroiis ilhiess, and no doubt has been 
ever since that time shuddering 
the thought of incurring again 
terrible censures which weighed 
heavily on his soul during all tfi 
time of his greatest apparent coi 
quests and successes ; but the pov 
which he himself had evoked hi 
been still behind him pressing hiti^ 
forward to an act that is only the_ 
legitimate completion of the ncfariou 
enterprise in which his entire reig 
has been occupied. He was oblige 
to move on at the head of the rcvoWl 
tion, or be crushed by its advance! 
and, like all those who are coward 
both toward God and the devil, I 
does the bidding of the one n:\ui 
tantly and apologizes timidly to tl 
other. The occasion of seizing up 
Rome has been the aljscncc of an 
power ready and able to prevent it, 
tlie pretext the necessity of keeping 
order in the Pontifical St^tes» thc_ 
determining motive of the king 
his ministers fear of a revolution 
Italy; and the cause of the whc 
movement from beginning to en 
the wild enthusiasm of the party i 
Mazzini and Caribaldii and all the 
adepts or dupes of" Ma^lre Natura" 
for a revival of the old Roman 
public. Victor Emmanuel and 
Italian kingdom are merely 
used for the purpose of preparing ill 
way for the Roman republic, 
the principle of the revolution whic 
Victor Emmanuel has headed, he ] 
no right to the throne, exoeptii 
that which he receives from the 
of the Italian people. The** ha^ 
never really had the chan^ 
pressing their will. The / 
is a farcical scciie in 
comic drama. We \ 



The Invasion of Rome. 



279 



bow what show of consistency Vic- 
tor Emmanuel or any of the kings 
who countenance his farcical pklns- 
ilium can present to the world ? Let 
Victor Emmanuel grant a free vote 
to all Italians on the form of govern- 
tnent and the persons who are to 
administer it, Victoria gram another 
to Ireland, Spain to the Cubans, 
Pnissia to Schleswig- Holstein, Al- 
satia, and Lorraine, Russia and Prus- 
sia to Poland, Baden to the two-thirds 
of her population oppressed in the 
freedom of their religion by the Pro- 
t^jtant and infidel one-third, and the 
pwple everywhere be authorized to 
regulate their own interests by direct 
SMlihige* and there will be some show 
of consistency in the pretension that 
ik question of the Papal Sovereignty 
ihould be decided by a vote of the 
I>eopleof the Pontifical States. Mean- 
while, we know what value there is 
Bi the high-sounding worth which 
usc<l to cover up usurpation, mili- 
tey conquest, the law of the bayonet, 
and the riglit which is made by 
■ the only one which at present 

cted in Europe, 
We do not believe that Victor 
Emmanuel has saved himself from a 
Maxrinian outbreak by his seizure of 
Rome, and we look to see his throne 
rery shortly swept away by a tide of 
revolution which is likely to rise 
throughout Europe. It will be im- 
possible to suppress this revolution 
without a combination of all the 
Bionarchs for mutual support and 
|>iotcclion* And tliis coalition will 
have no force or cohesion unless they 
lace, which they are sure to do, 
keystone of the political arch, the 
fin'ereignly of the Pope, in its place, 
with much stronger guarantees of 
being respected than it has hitherto 
had. We do not w^ish to be undcr- 
%tood, however, as placing the cause 
of 1 in juxtaposition with that 

of tpcan monarchs and in 



opposition to the revolution in such 
a sense as to identify the sovereign 
rights of the Holy Father in his legiti- 
mate kingdom with the oppression 
and tyranny exercised by kings and 
their ministers, or to represent them 
as hostile to any just demands of the 
people in any state for a redress of 
wrongs and grievances. We sustain 
the rights of authority and legitimate 
government against the revolution, 
but not the wrongs inflicted by an 
abuse of authority and niisgovern- 
nient upon the j^eople, who are op- 
pressed in their daily life, and tlrag- 
ged to slaughter on the battle-field 
for the sake of the selfish, ambitious 
projects of their rulers. We hope 
to see, as the result of the settle- 
ment of the political order of Europe 
which will follow the epoch of war 
and revolution lately commenced antl 
now m jirogress^ the rectification of 
the wrongs of Ireland, Poland, and 
every other portion of Christendom 
which has wrongs to be redressed. 
We trust, moreovefj that all legiti- 
mate national aspirations may have 
free scope to realize themselves in 
the order of national prosperity and 
glory. In particular, we desire to 
see these aspirations in the bosom of 
the noble Italian people reconciled 
with their Catholic principles and 
sentiments, and complete harmony 
established between the temporal and 
political order in Italy and the Holy 
See, so that improvement and de- 
velopment in arts, commerce, and 
e\ery branch of social and civil well- 
being may go hand in hand with the 
renovation of that religion which 
alone can give Italy in any respect 
that primacy among the nations 
which is claimed by her proud and 
ambitious champions. We rejoice in 
the fact that the period of Austrian 
domination in Italy has ceased. We 
tmst that in future the Holy Father 
will not be exposed to those unjust 



The Invasion af Rom^. 



*. 



and violent aggressions made upon 
his states by marauding hordes or 
regular troops^ tacitly or avowedly 
sent by an Italian government, which 
will make it necessary for him to call 
oft other nations for military defence. 
In so far as the solution of the gen- 
eral European problem, how to pro- 
vkle a safeguard for the rights of the 
people without overthrowing estab- 
lished governments, is concerned, we 
are inclined to approve of the policy 
which favors a more extensive grant 
of direct suffrage to the people llieni- 
selves. This is the policy of the Ca* 
iholic leaders in Belgium and Baden, 
and has l>een recently advocated by 
the Rnme Gincrak of Brussels, and 
the IVestmitutcr Gazette of Lonflon, 
It is known to have the approbation 
of Mgr, Von Ketteler, of Main^, and 
other prelates of distinction. The 
abuse of power by cabinets, bureau- 
cracies, and legislatures represent- 
ing only certain classes often the 
most corrupt in the community^ and 
the tyranny exercised over the church 
and the religious liberty of the people 
by these absolute* irresponsible au- 
thorities, appear to make this measure 
necessary. So far as the church is 
concerned, it is a movement toward 
casting her cause and the protection 
of her rights in Catholic countries 
upon the Catholic sentiments of the 
people, relying upon the influence of 
the clerg>' and the laity who are in 
leading positions to instruct, animate, 
and guide these sentiments in the 
right direction. In non- Catholic 
countries, Catholics cannot determine 
questions of this sort ; and where this 
general right of suffrage gives the 
people a decisive voice on all great 
interests of the nation, the church 
can only appeal, as she does in our 
own countr)', to the common sense 
of Justice and equity, a safer reli- 
ance, oftentimes, than the justice of 
a Russian emperor or an Austrian 
premier 



But, to return to the imtl 
question of Rome, we deny alt4 
that the subjects of the sof 
pontiff have had any grievaij 
be redressed, or any need of \ 
tcrference of any power or * 
guarantee for their civil aiid^ 
rights. The paternal sovcreig 
the Pope is a far better guaraH 
them than suffrage or clectivij 
latures can be for any other J 
It is, moreover, just as incoitl 
with the necessary independcj 
the Vicar of Christ that he sho 
controlled by a legislative asi 
as that he should be subjeC 
king. We do not admit the H 
of any pUMscitum agauist his 
reign rights, even if freely an< 
taken, much less as taken un^ 
existing circumstances. The I 
able rhodomontade of the i 
aljout the oppression of the \ 
people is not worthy of a mfl 
serious attention; and the v 
alive language which has bee 
concerning the gallant littli 
of Pontifical Zouaves is sinijll 
graceful It was a necessity i 
to be regrettetl that the Poj 
obliged to recruit his army ♦ 
of his own dominions. But ihl 
blame of the necessity lies at tl 
of Victor Emmanuel and the»| 
tionary leaders. These foreign if 
of the pontifical army were to \ 
extent noblemen and gen tlcD 
the l»cst families in Europe. 1 
malnder were young men of ( 
table character and positioii 
tliere has never yet been secnj 
tary corps which could compad 
them for high morality and exc 
piety, or surpass them in y^ 
qualities. They have servi 
Holy Father at great personal 
venience and sacrifice, many t 
at the cost of their blood anil 
lives. The expenses of this* 
little army have been contrihii 
the faithful and loyal Catholic 



The Invasion of Rome. 



from a pure religious zeal, 
the writers for the press, 
llcate sense of honor, vera- 
l disinterestedness the workl 
^cciate, are justified in call- 
t m^Vk mercenaries^ we leave 
id persons to judge. They 
idy and anxious to lay down 
fes in defence q^ the ctty and 
essor of St. Peter. The Holy 
irery rightly, would not per- 
to do more than make a 
^rnial resistance to the over- 
force of the Italian army. 
OUgh God has not pennittcd 
be successful, and has ap- 
all owed the generous oflcr- 
l^asure and personal service 
lu his cause by the loyal 
iOf the Holy Roman Church 
pasted, they are not really 
^way. In some other way, 
ihcT instruments, God will 
lid restore the centre and 

r Christendom. And the 
services of LamoricierCj 
Alcantara, Waits Ru.ssell, 
. vant/ier, l.a Charrette, and 
ompaniotis in arms who have 
3bly or fought bravely for the 
ee, will ever be held in grale- 
lor and remembrance by Ca- 
for all time. 

anti-Catholic press, both re- 
and secuJar, follows its natu- 
inct by seizing on a moment 
' {iresent to pour forth its re- 
and utter its cries of triumph 
Kne and the Catholic religion. 
mxng sect, calling itself by the 
UHnomer of *^ the Evangelical 
," tries to console itself for the 
f its great ^* Alliance," which 
t failed to assemble in New 
>y a delusive vision of great 
Ihey are to do in Rome and 
Have they forgotten what 
caicst man of the century has 
? ** We now lament over the 
1 of the Evangelical Chun h, 
id over iJie ChaJdaic desola- 



tions. But who of us would continue 
this complaint, if the Lord had made 
all new, and abolished all outward 
churches ? Who would, indeed, be- 
wail the loss of the corpse from which 
the spirit had departed?"* These 
words were, perhaps, spoken of the 
Evangelical Church of Germany, but 
they are applicable everywhere. The 
Pseudo- Evangel of Luther and Cal- 
vin is a dead letter, held in no ac- 
count either by the one or the other 
of the two great parties contending 
for the master>* of the world — Catho- 
hciiy and infidelitf% The Italians 
do not care a rush for this counter- 
feit gospel. Their choice lies be- 
tween Pius JX. and Mazzini — the 
open following of Christ, or the open 
following ot Satan. Utter your feeble 
threats ami outcries, then, in lieu of 
argument, reason, manly and honor- 
able discussion of great principles, of 
which you are afraid, but you will 
remaiu unheeded either by the church 
or the world. These outcries have 
been heard before, and you will again 
have to submit to that ** sickness of 
hope deferred " to which you are so 
well accustOFued. Again you will 
have to wait for that which will nev- 
er come, the fulfilment of your long 
prayer that the Lord will destroy tliat 
church which he himself established 
to last through time and eternity. 

As for the purely secular press, it 
is in vain to attempt to discuss j^rinci* 
pies, doctrines, or maxims which are 
derived from su])ernatural faith with 
its conductors. They recognize noth- 
ing except temporal and material 
facts and interests. They have noth* 
ing to say to us when we announce 
the unchangeable principles of the 
Catholic Church, except to re|feat 
certain datmlith like this, that we live 
in a world of ideas which has passed 
away with the Middle Ages. ^V'hether 
the secular ideas or the Catholic ideas 

• Hcnffsienbt^fg, ChrhuL rot ii. p. ^95. Kng. 
Transl by K. Keith, D,D. Waithiuglon, 1839, 



282 



New Publications. 



are true and real, we will not dispute 
at present. We simply affirm that 
they are irreconcilable. Mazzini has 
well said that a Catholic who at- 
tempts to reconcile what is called 
the liberalism of the age— by which 
is meant that series of maxims con- 
demned by Pius IX. in the Encycli- 
cal of i86.^ — with Catholic principles, 
attempts to reconcile two irreconcil- 
ables. He is perfectly right. It is 
well that both those who believe and 
those who do not believe in the Ca- 
tholic Church, should understand 
clearly on what ground Catholics do 
and must take their stand. It is a 
ground far above that of changing 
human opinions, parties, and inter- 
ests. It is faith in the word of Christ, 
the Son of Ciod. He has established 
his church on the Rock of Peter, and 
promised it perpetuity. Rome is the 
See of Peter, which it is certain no 
power but that of the Pope can trans- 
fer to another place, and almost cer- 
tain that even his supreme power 
cannot transfer. There is not the 
slightest probability that he ever will 
transfer it willingly, and surely Ca- 
tholic Christendom has not become 
so utterly degenerate as to permit 
him to be driven from it by force. 
The Pope and the Catholic Episco- 
pate have declared the civil sove- 
reignly of the Holy Father necessa- 
rv to the due exercise of his ri^^httul 



spiritual supremacy. It is, therefore, 
because of the promise of Jesus 
Christ, the King over all kings and 
nations, that we rely on his super- 
natural providence to restore the 
Sovereign Pontiff to his throne. We 
are willing to risk ever>thing upon our 
faith, and to leave Almighty God to 
justify this confidence by taking care 
of his own cause in his own time and 
manner. If our faith and confidence 
are baseless, then Catholics are, as 
St. Paul says, of all men most miser- 
able, and, we venture to add, most 
foolish. But, if they are well founded, 
we leave all those who choose to 
make the attempt of prevailing against 
the Rock of Peter to consider 
what they are, out of what gates 
they have come, and into what gates 
they will in the end be driven 
back. 

To our Holy Father, Pius IX., the 
Vicar of Jesus Christ, we offer most 
humbly and affectionately our filial 
sympathy in his grievous trials, and 
pledge to him anew our unresen*ed 
devotion, fidelity, and spiritual alle- 
giance. We trust that we may count 
on the universal concurrence of the 
Catholics of the United States in this 
protestation, and that our glorious 
Pontiff will find all the consolation 
which his august soul can desire from 
the filial piety and obedience of his 
American children. 



NEW PCBLICATIOXS. 



\\\x liirsiKVU ;^ Cmumic Famii v Ai- 

M\NA«. In !i:r. rMlF:> SlAIKS. FOR 
I UK Yr\K y'V «.»•. R L-.^KP 1S7I. NcW 



c:t:^,o \V..: 

W:.\t"s i- 
speak ::ij;. i; 



\ii-v^'.i." rai*'.:x\itiv^n So- 



.1 :m:!:o ? i»or.o:a..v 



S'^niethinc ; but with special rcfer- 
onoo to the little work now befo^ 
us t" • r c \ a in i n at i o n an d re view, ^"CT 
muoli iiulccd. Considered as an 
.;!r:M::.:v\ pi:!o .ir.d simple, we ha^*^j 
. : v" i::<-. v,.lv.':;.*.ars. meieoroIogi<^aI 
i..':v.s. ci.\— ;:; <h >rt.all iheastrono- 
:v.um: loaiurcs oi the year 1871. A* 



Ne70 Publications. 



283 



^Imanac, it is. ill that could 
ed. Its table of contents 
t the compiler had an eye 
feds of the reading public. 
even' one may not be 
Mtslied with the Almanac 
yet we venture to assert 
is no one who can say 
th. after its perusal, that 
g^ has not been met with 
adapted to his taste. 
t is eminently Catholic ; 
s, original and selected, 
HI the earliest ages of the 
to the present day» and 
anecdote, historical inci- 
pcrsoaal reminiscence of 
Is. 

illustrations, over thirty 
X, we would especially call 
The very fine and ap- 
hcadings to each month 
iendar — a new feature — de- 
icial commendation* Of 
*s at Rome, now perhaps 
I ever an object of tender 
to every Catliolic heart, 
three views, two exterior 
interior; the great ca- 
i Milan furnishes two il- 
ls, and both churches are 
Tibed in the letterpress, 
set picture of what it is in- 
ic new St. Patrick's Ca- 
Jew York, shall be when 
furnishes the text for 
pccimen of descriptive con- 
I, exhaustive and concise, 
new IJf^ of St. Patrick, 
ig published by** The Ca- 
blication Society/* we have 
res. •*Thc Synod of Cle- 
•* St. Patrick before King 
/' We have also lifehke 
>f Bishop England ; of Dr. 
; of Father Isaac Jogues, 
irst priest known t(^ have 
[ew S'ork Island ; and of 
pibricl Richard, who, in ad- 
thc ** Rev." he was en* 
Write before liis name as a 
►uhl also prefix "Honor- 
being a delegate to Con- 
III I he then Territory of 
i. Besides these, the more 
illustrations, there are 



several others, all faith fuUy illustra- 
tive of the text. 

The reading matter is a judicious 
admixture of the useful and the 
agreeable, the pleasant and the edi- 
fying. Of useful information, we 
hav^e rates of " Postage," '* Stamp 
Duties," "The Value of Foreign 
Money," " A Table of Distances from 
New York to principal Cities in the 
United States," as well as many 
other important statistics. We 
have biographical sketches of Mes- 
danies de la Pel trie and Cham plain, 
of Bishop England. Fathers Jogucs 
and Richard, which deserve special 
mention, as filling, in some measure, 
a want lung felt, the familiariz- 
ing the youth of our country w^ith 
the liv^cs of the pioneers of Catholi- 
city on this continent. Many of our 
people arc yet comparatively un- 
acquainted with the fact that the 
Catholic Church in America, though 
young in years, has a glorious record 
— a history and a tradition of its 
own. 

The articles entitled '* The Catho- 
lic Church throughout the World/* 
** Nationality of the Members of the 
Council of the Vatican," " Statistics 
of Emigration'*and '^Religions Popu- 
lation of Ireland," are tables no less 
valuable than interesting. One pe- 
culiar feature of this Almanac is 
the article on ** Higher Education- 
al Institutions." From the 160 in- 
stitutions of which returns are pub- 
h'shed, the following statistics are 
given : 

" COLLKCBS, KTC. 

'*Qrthe49 colTcj^cii, ^^^ statistics of which w« 
hare before us, there are 555 professori; 348 
priests; 7^)67 pupils; a»d 305,000 i*olun}es of 
books in their libmrks. The oldest college in 
the IJiiitetl States i» that nt Georgetown, D. C,^ 
founded in 1793, and there tmve been two new 
colleges cKtubli&bed in iS^a, Tbc larfir^<.^L number 
of books in anv library is in that r^f Genr^'t^town 
College, being' 33.ci» volume*, 1 .1 1 lest 

number is aon volumes. The It r of 

pupils in any coilegc is 500, and i]' uum* 

ber ai. 

*' ACADEMIES rOR VOUXC LADIES* 

" We have received returns from m of these 
institutions^ from which wc deduce the follow in£r 
statistics: Number of teachers, 1,111 \ number uf 
siikters, 9,407 ; number of pupils j 9*037, find num- 
ber of viiluutes iu their lihruries, £4,587. The 
largest number of pupib in any institution is 433, 



iS4 



New Publications. 



and the «m4i11eft, 17. The largest library in anj 
une ifistit-4tion con turns i j^cou volumes— (but of 
the Sacred Heart Academy, St. Chftrles, Mo., tind 
ttie stuallest contains only icn volumes, Muny 
uf the institutions, tx-'ing Utcly established, huw 
not had time to get llbriirics. The oldest institu- 
tion is St, Joseph's Academy, Emmittsburg^ Md,, 
esUil>]ished in iEog,and wc ijad two or ihrcc new 
oacs e&labtishcd in 1870. 

*' From these returns^ imperfect as tb«y are. It 
will be seen there are engaji^ed in teaching the 
higher branches of education in 160 esUbli»b- 
nients, 1,746 professors and InstTuctom; «,76o 
priest*, anil sisters ; with about 30,000 ptipils. In 
alt these institutiuni* wc Und ovoiT 270,000 volumes 
of boolcs. Had we received complete returns, we 
should h^vc been able to show that we are educa- 
ting over 30,000 young men and woraen in the 
higher branchct every year, wlUi a proponion^ 
ite increase of professors and tcachcr^/^ 

The article on "Catholic Tracts " 
gives us an insiji^ht into the working 
of that quiet, unobtrusive, yet most 
etficient aid to lire spread of Catho- 
licity known as **Thc Catholic Pub- 
lication Society." That our readers 
may get some idea of the immense 
amount of good that must result 
from the dissemination of these 
tracts, we make the following ex- 
tract : 

♦' The 6rst Catholic tract of ' Tho Catholic Pub^ 
licalion Society" wa!) issued in May, 1S66, and 
was contributed by Archbishop Spaldlnf^, of Ual- 
limore. Since that lime the Society has issued, 
at intervals raorc or less apart, forty-five tracts. 

*' Of these tracts, there have been ttoa and ouf' 
fHartrr mtllitntt (3,350,000) printed by the So- 
tlety, and tens of thousands have been distribut- 
ed gratis in the city prisons, in the penitentiary* 
woikhous««, hospitals, and other places in this 
city ; and in the State prisioas at Sing Sinfr and 
Clinton, In this State. Besides these, the St>cicty 
supplies tracts to the Brooklyn Navy Yard, for 
the school-ships, and all tho Govcrnmcot vessels 
departing for the various squadrons. A large 
number of tracts have been sent to stations of the 
army in South Carolina, Texas, New Mexico, and 
to some of the * soldiers' homes,' where wounded 
and disabled or infirm soldiers aro taken care of, 
many of whom, in fact the majority, are Catho- 
lics/* 

" The Society scUs these tracts at 50 cents per 
hundtc^l ; and hai^ packages of the assorted tracts 
containing 100 always done up ready for deliveryH. 
For cvcr]>' hundred tracts sold by the Society for 
50 cents, there is a loss of about 4 cents, as these 
tracts cost, on an average, over 54 cents for every 
hunrlred published. Therefore, when the So- 
ciety receives an order to send 100 tracts bjr mail 
—and k gets several such orders every day— it 
actually loses feurtttH ctnts^ as the postage (ten 
cents) must be paid by the So'dety, and in no 
case so far has the person ordering tracts added 
Lhe cost of po&tage to the price of them. Taking 
this loss into account, with the actual Ios.s in 
manufacturing them, and thousands that are 
distributed gratis to the inftiitutions mentioned 
above, it amountu to several thou^nd duUars 
per year. The Society Is, therefore, in the full 
sense of the word, doing a missionary work, and 



it appeals to all Catholics, clcrg^v and 
this ifreat work by liberal coiitrlbuUoi 

The last article, **ratholj 
nology of the United StaU 
Sept,, iS^9. to Sept., 1870," 1 
six pages. It is a record of in 
events in the hislor^'^ of \\m 
\\\ this country, and, if kept 
year to year, will prove in 
for future reference. Froi 
learn that 

" One archbishop and ti(ly-four prl( 
four bishops were consecrtted, attd 
priests were ordained ; twenty^five 
were begiin, and forty-one were dcdi< 
srrvice of Almighty God.** 

An almanac nffiLHtdays i$ a , 
Ev^ery family must have one, 
manacs available for English 
ing Catholics, there were hei 
but two kinds — ^onc. dist 
broadcast over the land 
charge, yet highly object! 
being merely an iidvortising 
for quack medicines; the 
the political almanac, by w 
tutc politicians sought to 
nate their peculiar views, 
the want of an almanac sucl 
one before us has been Id 
sensibly felt, and hence, a 
almost unexampled success. 

That ThelliusiratedCathoh 
ly Aimanac requires but to be 
to be appreciated, and that 
be eventually found fn the 
hold of every Catholic in the 
States, is evident from the fa 
facts furnished us by thi 
lisher: Of the Almanac foi 
the lirst issued, but 5,000 wei 
that for 1870, 25,000 were soli 
for 1871, an edition of 50,000, 
is being printed — orders ha 
ready been received from cm 
prominent Catholic bookscll 
25,000 copies, while the balai 
not more than supply the hi| 
of small dealers throughoi 
countr)- and the thousands w 
individually order single 

We have written thus 
n a c fu r 1871 beca u sc sil mi 
unequalled vehicle for cfi 
information ; ai^i 



Ntw Ptiblicatians, 



28s 



macs heretofore and at pre- 

^se were and are, if not ob- 

bte in point of faith, highly so 

core of morality. We regard 

\X medium for the dissemina- 

padin^ matter, which will at 

Iruct and elevate, as too ini- 

f^ol to be used in the service 

>ly religion. To accomplish 

liscworthy end, we know of 

tts so efficient as a widespread 

■on of The Catholic Famih 

r for 1871. 

(tjie Irish Saints, from St. Piit- 
irti to St. Lawrence OToole. By 
KConyngham. With an intro- 
yby Rc%% Thos. S. Preston. New 
[J. Sadlicr & Co, 



contribution to the Ca- 
rature of the day has many 
lities, which will doubtless 
an extensive and hearty rc- 
Ifrom the public. It contains 
[licnl sketches of sixty-four 
rsl known and most revered 
if Irish birth, in addition to 
the great .Apostle, written^ 
Beral rule, with much judg- 
^ clearness of style. These 
Bare chronologically arrang- 
fular order, from the fifth to 
tec nth centuries, by which 
the unity of the whole series 
irved^ and an epitome of the 
of the Irish Church during 
rjod is presented to the read- 
t of the information contain- 
le book can be found elsc- 
tn sonie instances in more 
le and dcLuled form, but so 
d as to be beyond the reach 
encral class of readers. The 
Btates that he has endea\*or- 
iminate from the former bio- 
I of the holy men whose 
kd zeal in the service of the 
have given to their nativ^e 
^r proudest of titles. Insula 
iriw» all mere matters of fablu 
ilionai exaggeration, and he 
ilished his purpose with 
icccss ; still we occasion- 
his pages some state- 
|y xoadc> as if founded 



on historical facts* which » when cje- 
amined closely, are found to be based 
on very unreliable authority. The 
discovery of America by the cele- 
brated voyager, St Brendan, mayor 
may not be a fact ; but, as it does not 
seem at all probable, w*e must require 
more than the authority of Northern 
ballads and local traditions before 
believing it. The sketch of St. Pat- 
rick is well written, but of course 
contains nothing new; and that of 
the greatest missionary of native 
birth, St. Columba, is remarkably 
well conceived, and delineated with 
a heartiness and spirit that show the 
author to have been fully in earnest 
at his w*ork. Mr, Conyngham, ap- 
parently, does not aim at great orig- 
inality, and seldom allows his ima- 
gination to lead him away from the 
dry facts of the matter in hand ; but 
each biography is written in a 
plain, straightforward style, with 
just enough variety of diction to 
render the whole work pleasing with- 
out lessening its historical value. 

The Princes of Art : Painters, Sculp- 
tors. AND Enoravers, Tf anslated from 
the French by Mrs. S. R, Urbino. Bos- 
ton : Lee & Shepard. 1870, 

These really charming sketches of 
the princes of art, so-called, have 
that graceful excellence in which the 
French, through an instinct of cour- 
tesy, certainly excel. Without the 
slightest air of condescension, it is 
taken for granted by the author that 
not only children and young people, 
but many well-read people^ and cer- 
tainly many intelligent and apprecia- 
tive people^ who have a wish to knpw 
something more of pictures^ and 
statues, and artists than is gener- 
ally within their reach, may be a 
little uncertain as to the exact differ- 
ence between cartoons and sketches, 
frescoes and easel pictures, oil and 
distefnper. The introduction gives 
satisfactory explanations of such im- 
portant differences; important not 
only in themselves, but for an inteU 
iigent enjoyment of this and of every 
other work upon art. This amiable 



286 



N^cu' Piiblications, 



and courteous spirit of the intro- 
duction goes through the book. The 
biographical records arc enlivened 
by incidents happily chose n» and re- 
lated with so much vivacity that no 
one can help being pleased^ especi- 
ally as all exaggerations have been 
avoided. One instance, howev^cr, 
must be named as an exception 
to this prevailing intuition. We 
do remember reading, when very 
young, that Corrcggio was paid for 
his masterpieces at Parma in cop- 
per money, and that the carrying 
of this coarse coin overtasking his 
strength » enfeebled by want and 
anxiety, he died of a fever brought 
on by fatigue. But for many years 
w^e have regarded this as one of the 
distorted anecdotes of the painters, 
Kuglcr docs not hesitate to call it *'a 
fable ;" and he also refutes the as- 
sertion that Corrcggio was self- 
taught. The st'»ry of his death 
might pass without any special com- 
ment \ but to call such a master as 
Correggio *^ self-taught," when he 
lived in the very paradise of artists, 
and after Italy had produced her 
marvels in fresco and oil, is to give 
an impression unfavorable to the 
real object of the book ; which, if 
we do not mistake, is to show^ forth 
the excellence of genius, assisted by 
good instruction, and under influen- 
ces fav^orablc to its development, 
together with those dispositions 
which adorn it, and without which 
even genius itself will be unsuc- 
cessful. It is admitted that Correg- 
gio never went to Rome; but the 
artist who received his first instruc- 
tions in the school of Mantegna 
(Francesco), and had for his teacher 
Francisco Bianchi Ferrari, of the old 
Lombard school, and who *'was in- 
fluenced by the w^orks of Leonardo 
da Vinci," cannot be called a self- 
taught artist- An artist, at the pres- 
ent day, would be considered any- 
thing but self-taught after enjoying 
such instructions and coming under 
such sublime influences. This in- 
stance of adopting a popular ex- 
aggeration is noticeable in The 
Princes of Art from its singular iso- 



lation. In all the other 
we remarked with pleasuc 
treme care taken to 5tat« 
which w^ould throw unr 
odium on the impcrfcctic 
genius. This delicacy of trc 
can hardly be too much pria 
pccially in a book adapted t^ 
taste. I 

VVc missed from the tnblel 
tents many names which \vi 
been accustomed to think ci 
to any enumeration of great ni 
o r to an y w*o rk t reat i ng of J 
tory and progress of art. 
remembered that these artis 
we had learned to reverend 
as admire, were not firimk 
priests of art, and perhaps ih 
no place among the brilliant 
ites of emperors, kings, and « 
Giotto, Andrea Orcagna, Frtj 
CO, Fra Bartolommeo, Iiuq| 
John von Eyck, Mascaccio, 
gino, Bellini, Holbein, in pa 
and Nicola Pisano in sculptu 
Sislo and Fra Ristoro in ac 
ture — what triumphs in thid 
of art do not their very nanfl 
to mind ; and how incomplct 
supcrlicial. is that view of art 
leaves utterly out of sight 
noble and consecrated spirit 
stood at the pure fountain-h 
celestial inspiration ! True 
title of The Princes a/ Art, it 1 
the priests of art to oblivi^ 
they were not all membcrj 
one grand hierarchy. BuP 
singular and uncalled for an 
sion, w^e should have no hi 
in recommending this plea: 
as a text-book to Catholic 
C)ne can scarcely forgive 
oversight, inasmuch as ilc< 
reverses the philosophy a 
leaving the reader to draw 
ence, from the silence of th| 
O'T^ainst those artists w*ho 
served, in their highest pU 
Christian traditions. Tbi 
cannot be excused by 
** French ideas,** so \o(\{ 
burning protests of Mani 
against modern abusci 
of Rio*s studious re^; 



Nciv Publications. 



acred retreats of devotional 
and forth to contradict the 
Bcial* mannered judgment of 
lany French writers. Very 
unfortunately, do the elo- 
sentences, hghted up by the 
►lest religious enthusiasm, of 
titalembert and Rio come un- 
[lerated before the American 

P. Mrs. Jameson acknowledges 
debtedness to them for some 
very best of her good things ; 
ijnstead of a good translation of 
fcchoice works» we see, in the 
B of ^very youth and girl who 
Ics to know something about this 
iaus subject, those diabolical 
tises issued from the French 
jS^ under specious titles and bril- 
I»rtt5tic prestige^ which make 
■bl that art is— not from God, 
Bpm the devil ; not tire hand- 
Rr the church, of religion, of 
iotism. and of all the sweet 
itipns of an innocent society. 
B Satan. The btxik before us 
PInded to strike the •* golden 
n ** between esthetic and ma- 
iltslic an. It has succeeded 
irding to its own standard : but 
Jiis standard art is deprived of 
:rown-jcwcls and its royal seal, 
re is no longer any certitude of 
le judgment, any tribunal of 
iemnation. any guiding-star of a 
^eme exceUence. It Is not en- 

Kknow there were great mas- 
this age or that, or to know 
itures they painted, or which 
hcse pictures were most richly 
irded by their princely patrons ; 
every child should know, and 
7 one who reads a book upon 
should know, what was the in- 
^tJon of those artists, whence 
e the motives of their pictures. 
in what their essential, inde- 
ctibtc glory consists; not only 
nable them to have some judg- 
it as to the relative excellence 
frealncss of the *' old masters,/' 
to have a rule by which to judge 
he genuine excellence or great- 
I of ihc works of to-day. It is the 
brluoe of the present time that 
I mental standard by which 



the excellences or charms of a work 
of art, produced under our own eyes, 
can be judged. Therefore a great 
and noble work of modern art— great 
and noble in motive— is very likely 
to be utterly misunderstood, where- 
as works of an inferior range are 
easily understood and eagerly ap- 
plauded. The only •* ounce of pre- 
vention " to this growing ev il is to 
be administered through just such 
entertaining books as T/ie Princes 
of Art, which, not as an addition or 
appendage to other excellences, but 
as a permeating and inseparable 
quality, shall possess the key of all 
true criticism — which is the reii^wn 
of art. 

T/f£ Princes of Art, very properly, 
brings forw'ard Michael Angelo as a 
sculptor rather than as a painter 
Sculpture was his predilection, paint- 
ing was forced upon him; and this 
explains all the charges brought 
against his pictures. Raphael was. 
by predilection, a painter; and 
Michael Angelo and Raphael can 
no more be compared than the 
granite peak or snow-clad summit 
of a mountain range can be com- 
pared with the shifting. Hushing 
clouds of sunrise or sunset floating 
above it in celestial beauty. There 
is no surer protjf of an utter mis- 
understanding of both artists than a 
comparison of their merits. 

If it is hard to furgive an author 
for suppressing certain grand names 
on the list of masters, it is equally 
hard to excuse a publisher of the 
present day for imposing inferior 
engravings upun a work treating di- 
rectly of artists and of art. If there 
is one class of books which, above 
all others, should be well and even 
beautifully illustrated, it is that class 
bearing, in anyway^ upon the attof 
representation. There is something 
pointedly ungrateful in putting in- 
to such a book as T/tc Princes of 
Art crude or indiflTerent pictures- 
blotted caricatures of heads worthy 
of the choicest skill of the graver. In 
these days, however, any edition of 
Mother Goose is supposed to pay for 
new and daintily executed illustra- 



288 



New PuhHcaihns* 



tions, better than the lives of ihe 
greatest saints, the incidents of 
which have inspired some of the 
nohlest pictures in the world, or 
the lives of those artists who have 
brought pictorial culture to the 
door of the hymblest dwelJing in 
the land. 

Elements of Astron'OMY. By J. Nor- 
man Lockycr, Fellow of the Royal 
Astronomical Socieiy. American edi- 
tion. Nuw York : D. Appleton & Co. 
1870. 

Mr. Lockyer's reputation and ser- 
vices to science would of themselves 
he a sufficient guarantee for the sub- 
stantial value of a work by him on 
this subject. It contains a great 
amount of information in a small 
compass, and the arrangement, 
though somewhat new; is good. The 
principal results of the recent won- 
derful physical discoveries regard- 
ing the sun. fixed stars, and nebula:: 
arc, of course, given ; but it is per- 
haps to be regretted that a little 
more space was not given to those 
discoveries in which the author has 
had so considerable a share, ev^en at 
Ihc expense of the more technical 
and exact portions of the science, 
which, though explained as clearly 
as possible in the necessary limits, 
may be loo diflicult and uninterest- 
ing for most students. The style is, 
however, popular, and the numerous 
illustrations are the best we remem- 
ber ever to have seen in a book of 
this kind. 

Elm Island Stories. The Hard Scrab- 
WLE OF Elm Island. By Rev. Elijah 
Kellogg, author of '* Lion Ben of Llm 
Island," *• Charlie Bell of Elm Island/* 
** The Afk of Elm Island,*' ** The Boy 
Farmers of Elm Island," **The Young 
Shipbuilders of Elm Island,** etc. Il- 
lustrated. Boston : Lee & Shepard. 
1871. 

The Young Shipbuilders of Elm Is- 
land. By Rev, Elijah Kellogg. Bos- 
ton : Lcc & Shepard. 1870. 

These books have a peculiar charm 
for hoys, in consisting for the most 
part of undertakings accomplished 



in the face of great difficuiti 
life they depict is quite p 
homely, and the interests < 
Island are simple, such as 1 
boats, clearing and improvjl 
etc. ; but, as boys are gencn 
practical turn of mind, they' 
suit them less on these ai 
They are nicely illustrated. ( 

Mist NDr.iSToon, By FlorenI 
gomen', author of " A Veij 
Story/* »ind *' Peggy, and olh^ 
New York : Anson D. F. Rai 
Co. 1S70. 

This is a charming little sti 
yet a sad one. The authoi 
attempted to make childrci 
known and appreciated, or 
" to make the lives of chili 
known to themselves and frc 
own little point of view, betj 
ized,*' She has succeeded 
ably, and no one can read tl 
story without resolving to ii 
more patient, more loving, ai 
just to the little ones around 

LKrrLRS Addresseh to a Pro 
FtuKNU tiv A Catholic PRiit9| 
a Preface, by the Rt, Rev. 11) 
Becker, D.D,. Bishop of Will 
Del. Philadelphia: P. F. C 
hnm. 1870. 

These letters^ on some of tl 
topics of the Catholic contf 
have the merit of being short 
and very full in Scriptural 1 
Although they make but \ 
volume, and arc not at all pret 
in regard to a display of lean 
rhetoric, yet they are evidel 
work of a thorough thcologl 
could not hav^e been written 
other Their author has ail 
^\x^ Instruction, and to m| 
Catholic doctrines clear to' 
w^ho have a candid dispositij 
the average amount of intcl 
and education, and he has sufl 
admirably. His work is lill 
prove acceptable and useful; 
fore, to a very large class of I 
and we give it our hearty ' 
mendation, ' 



THE 



HOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. XII.. No. 



^'A. 



6q.— DECEMBER,, i^f 6. r^/'/^X 



<^,i""u 



STEPS OF BELIEF.* 



ppREEMAN Clarke, a grand- 
igh his mother, of the hrst 
Utiitarian minister in the 
States, is, if not the most 
ind gifted, at least among 
earnest, industrious, ener- 
id influential of contempo- 
Sirian ministers. He has a 
ingular comprehensiveness, 
pen to the reception of er- 
the reception of truth. He 
ictic, or, rather, a syncretist, 
» it his duty to accept all 
whether true or false, as 
spcctable. As a Unitarian, 
•ehemls both wings of the 
ition, accepts both extremes^ 
oubling himself al>out the 
trra that unites them. He 
impresseil with the impor- 
igical consistency, and feels 
llty in maintaining that, of 
idictory propositions, both 
r both are false. 



By Jmrics Krcctnan CUrkc. Hos- 
lerican Uaitarbti Associftlion. tSjo. 



The work before us is a fair expres- 
sion of the author's mind, alike of its 
qualities and its defects. It is an ex- 
cellent summar)' of his intellectual life 
and experience. We see in it what the 
anthor has thought and endeavored 
to work out. It also, besides his 
own active life, expresses ihe views 
and sentiments of the better class of 
Unitarians, without rejecting the prin- 
ciples and utterances of those he tle- 
nounces as radicals, and from whom 
he differs only at the ex]>ense of his 
logic. He has a more conservative 
air, but no more conservative thought 
than he had when he founded the 
Church of the Disciples in Boston on 
the principle of the union of incom- 
patibles, or, Hke Anglicanism, on the 
jirinciple of comprehensiveness. We 
cannot discover that, though jirofess- 
ing a progressive religion — a religion 
which is not only progressive itself, 
but the promoter of progress in its 
adherents — he has made any progress 
himself, either forward or backward, 
since as a young man he edited the 
IV^stern Mfssatger^ at Louisville, Ken- 



f to Act of Conirrcss, \n the year 1870, by Rkv. T. T. Heckek, in the Office o» 
Uie LibrarUn of Congress, »l Wasihingtun, D. C. 



290 



Steps of Belief. 



tucky. He has in his views remain- 
eti stationary. Yet his insensibility 
to his own defects to his own igno- 
rance of philosophy, and of theology 
as a science; his lack of de[ith, his 
bliiisful confidence in himself, and 
indifl'erence to logical consistency, 
coui>led with an easy-flowing and 
not ungraceful style^ have rendered 
hirn |K>piilar with his denoniination, 
and secured him a high reputation 
among even the Protestants of more 
orthodox pretensions^ In the king- 
dom of the blinth the one-eyed is king. 

As llic world goes, in this age of 
shnllowncss, of frh'olezzit, as the 
Italians say, Dr, Clarke is no doubt» 
both as a preacher anfl writer, above 
the average; and, if he had started 
with a larger stock of truth than his ra- 
tional or Unitarian Christianity couUl 
siij)ply, he would have been one of 
ihe most eminent m^n of New Eng- 
land. Nature has not been niggard to 
him in iier gifts, nor has he failed in 
giving them a high degree of culture ; 
Ijut he has had the nnsfortune to be 
bred in a bad school — a school that 
opt-ns only a low and narrow vista 
to the mind, represses free thought^ 
and dwarfs the intellect. He has 
never been able to cast 0IT its shac- 
kles, or to think and act as a free 
man. It is easy to see^ while reading 
his Steps of Belief ^ that he has lacked 
room to expand; that he feels, witn 
all his comprehensiveness, that his 
system of thought is too strait for 
him; that his better nature is re- 
stramed, and the nobler aspirations 
of his soul repressed, by the hide- 
bound rationalism in which he is 
com] Killed to gyrate. One sees that 
he feels that he is *'cabin'd, cribbM, 
con tin M," that he has no room to 
move or to breathe, and that he now 
.and then struggles to break his pri- 
.son-bars. 

It is not easy to conceive the sense 
^oi freedom and relief one experiences 



in passing from rationalism or an^ 
other fonn of Protestantism to Ca- 
thohcity. The convert to the churdi 
is the prisoner liberated trum die 
Ba stile, a weight is thrown from his 
shoulders, the manacles fall from his 
liands, and the fetters from his f«t; 
he feels as light and as free as the 
air, and he would chiqi and sing as 
the bird. This world changes its 
hue to his eyes; and he runs and 
leaps under the blue sky of a bound- 
less universe. His thought, his mind* 
his very^ souf, is lighted up, and re- 
vels in the freedom of universal 
truth. He feels that he has some- 
thing whereon to stand, that he has 
no longer to bear up the church, but 
that the chureh can bear up him. 
He is conscious of an unfaihng sup- 
port, and no longer fears that he is 
in danger every step he takes of hav- 
ing his footing give way and of fall- 
ing through. His heart bounds with 
a sense of unlimited freedom, and 
with a joy unspeakable. He cxpe 
riences in his soul and through ^ 
his frame the truth of our Lord'* 
words to the Jews : "If the Son make 
you free, yc shall l>e free indeed," 
Of the joy of this freedom, mui 
friend, whom we knew and lovtil ifl 
his young years* knows toothing. H^ 
craves it, but finds it nek. At ty^ 
move he beats his head again^' '^^ 
walls of his dark and damp di 
and is forced to call it freedom. "'^ 
system holds him in its bond?t atjd 
com[jels him in spite of bi^ 
tjons to grind fo rever in his 1 
house. 

The only portions of Dn Clar*^'* 
book that show freedom and strcniftti 
are those in which he attacks m*^^'' 
rial ism and atheism, and of routs? 
those in which he has ir 
the church to back him» . 
Catholic argumer.ts, and follow t»yi 
the logic of common sense. But the 
moment he attempts to bring m ^^ 



\ 



Steps of Belief , 



291 



Christianity rational- 
ilained, he becomes con- 
eak, illogical, sdfcontra- 
absurtL His thought is 

free, his mind no longer 
or his reasoning conclu- 
res not carry out his logic 
mate conclusion^ but is 
op midway, and say two 
two and two make three, 
e, for his whole sjsteni 
incd if he should have 

ity to say two antl two 
He is deprived by the 

his system of his natural 
and intellectual activity, 

les untruthful and unjust, 

tep from *' Romanism to 

tc discusses four steps of 

The step from atheism to 

The step from theism to 
3. The step from Ro- 
Protestantism ; and 4. The 

the letter to the spirit. 

to maintain the spirit, or 
tc something or nothing 
alls Rational Christianity, 
)eism. free religion, and 
pa," or Catholicity. If any 
ous to know what the au- 
% by the spirit, or rational 
y, this book will hardly 

the desired information, 
le book tells us what it is 
by no means tells us what 
I not any objective truth 
t that can be intelligibly 
rorUs, for '* the letter kill- 
the moment you eml>udy 

a doctrine in a form of 
\ kill it. ** Religion,*' he 

287, " wherever you find 
I it goes* Is always one and 
flying. It is always rcve- 
th, obedience, gratitude, 
^ Brave words, but mean 
ing but certain subjective 

acts, states, or aflections 
Kcverence, of what or 



of whom ? Faith, in whom or in 
what? Obedience, to whom or to 
what ? Gratitude, to whom or for 
what ? Love, of whom or o( what ? 
The learnctl author has no answer 
to these questions, ;ind he would not 
be free to answer them, even if he 
could ; for the answers to them per- 
tain to theology, and he expressly 
separates theology, or the science of 
divine things, from religion, and dis- 
cards it as unnecessary and the cause 
of all religious dissensions. His ra- 
tional Christianity is purely subjec- 
tive, and consequently is resolved 
into a vague sentiment, as true and 
as worthy when felt by a Buddhist, 
or when manifested toward a graven 
image, a stock, or a stone, a seqjcnt, 
a calf, a crocodile, or a tortoise, as 
when manifested toward the Father 
Almighty, Creator of heaven and 
earth, or his only-begotten Son, Jesus 
Christ our Lord, King of kings, and 
Lord of lords. He himself says as 
much on the very page we have cited. 
What, then, is the distinction between 
religion and superstition, or between 
the worship of God and idolatry ? 
and wherein is Dr. Clarke's '* ration- 
al Christianity " any better than the 
free religion of Frothingham, Htg- 
gin son, Abbot, Johnson, and others, 
which he wars against and demolish- 
es with weapons t sorrowed from the 
armory of the church ? To our 
thinking, it is not so good, because 
less honest and outspoken, and equal- 
ly foreign from the Christianity of 
Christ. 

But passing over this for the pre- 
sent, we must remark that the author 
begins at the wrong end, and writes 
as if he held that unbelief preceded 
belief, and that the human race be- 
gan in the lowest form of atheism, 
ami has gradually proceeded sic]) by 
step to what he considers the highest 
and most advanced form of Christian 
belief. This h neither historically 



29fl 



Steps of Belief. 



nor philosophically correct. Truth 
is older than error, and belief always 
precedes unbelief^ or the denial of 
belief. Men beUeved in tiod before 
they denied him, and in the print i- 
ples of Christianity before they doul>t- 
ed or (itiestionetl them. Hence die 
burden of proof is on the unbeliever, 
not an the believer. Men were die- 
ists before they were atheists, and 
therefore it is for the atheist to defend 
his atheism, not for the theist to prove 
his theism. Theism, or beliet* in God, 
being normal and prior to atheism, 
is in possession ; all the ]jresumptions 
are in its favor, and the atheist must 
overcome these presumptions, turn 
them in his favo?, antl show valid 
reasons why the belief in God should 
be ousted from its possession, before 
the theist can be called upon to 
plead. So of revelation. It is old- 
er than rationalism, as the superna- 
tural is logically and historically prior 
to naturalism. Catholicity, again, is 
both logically and chronolojj;ically 
prior to Protestantism, and Trotes- 
lantism would be unintelligible with- 
out it; in the controversy, therefore, 
the Protestant is the plaintiif, and 
must make out his case. We are 
ready to defend the church when the 
Protestant shows some good ami va- 
lid reasons against her for his Pro- 
testantism, but until then the laboring 
oar is in his hands, and we are un- 
der no obligation to protluce her ti- 
tles. 

Not taktng note of this fact, but 
arguing as if unbelief were normal 
and prior to belief, and mistaking 
both the facts and the law of the 
case, the author's arguments for imma- 
terialism and the existence of God, 
though conclusive as refutations of 
the objections of the materialist and 
the atheist, are yet insuffiricnt to ori- 
ginate and establish the behef either 
in the existence of God or the im- 
materiality of the soul, when the 



presumption is against sui) 

The author gives the matcri 
the atheist an advantage { 
neither is entitled, and ai 
burden w^hich no belicverJ 
to shoulder. The law^ and] 
of the case are not met bj 
on '^ The Steps of Belief/* ^ 
be met only by a work on "1 
of Unbelief;" Man began 
plane of belief, and the stc| 
ways downward, or away 
The author is misled by hi 
of progress, which all philoaj 
the whole history of the raccf 
The perfect always preceded 
ty as in thought or conce|| 
imperfect. The history of i 
abandoned to its own guidai 
history of a constant thoug) 
or less rapid deterioration, 
was the most perfect of his t 
ohlcst of the sacred book! 
Hindus are the most pcii 
purest in doctrine, and the ftt 
superstition. 'I'he earliest mO 
of art wliich time has sparei 
most perfect, and the highq 
cends the stream of antiqj 
wiser, truer, and juster are 1 
ims. The progress of the i| 
the nations that apostatized^ 
primitive or |)atriarchal rclU 
in all the nations that havq 
their example and apostati 
the church founded by ourj 
Peter, has been a progress I 
or in rejecting things previ 
lieved. Progress ts effecteei 
der and by the aid of the 8| 
ral ortlen 

U, as Dr. Clarke, at lei| 
argument, assumes, the hu 
began in materialism and 
and had no supematu 
lion, they never ^vould 
could have risen to be&^ 
in God or in an immatid 
The existence of G\yd and Q 
teriality of the soul can 



Steps of Belief, 



293 



1th certainty by natural rea- 
hence no man is excusable 
ftying either; but proof does 
tiate the proposition proved* 
asoning could ever origmate 
at God, because, without the 
be first principle of reason, 
aing would be possible. Vet 
, beginning the race has be- 
God and the immateriality 
Drtaitty of the soul. How 
belief? It came not from 
rom intuition, or logical de- 
'or induction, but must have 
irom the Creator himself, who 
to the first man, or infused 
mind along with language, 
ef is normal, though super- 
its origin, as is man him- 
\ when once the idea is i>re- 
ihe mind, reason suffices to 
against whoever denies it, 
\ certainty. 

arguments the author uses 
[iateriahsm and atheism are 
re usually urged by theoio- 
nd philosoi)hers, akhough 
mes evidently without his un- 
iting iheir full reason or force, 
aing is frequendy at fault. 
[lakes the universal, or near- 
sil, belief in ghosts, or in the 
of ghosts* a proof that the 
[ always and everjwliere be- 
klhe soul or spirit as distinct 
\ body. But the ghost \\\\\\ 
nit classic nations was not 
abodicd spirit, which it was 
reabsorbed in God from 
emanated, but the umbra^ or 
[)ale reflex of the body, com- 
of thin air, and therefore mate* 
ie says Leibnitz and Spinoza, 
I>escartes and others, ap- 
St. Anselm's argument in 
pgiup/t for the existence of 
the idea of the most per- 
eing in our minds. Spinoza 
•idcd and unmitigated pan- 
Hd Leibnitz approved the 



argument only on condition that it 
be first proved that God is possible. 
Leibnitz held that the /i>ss^r precedes 
the ^sstf, and seems never to have 
reflected that there is no possible 
without the real; for the possible is 
only the creative ability of the real, 
God is real, actual, most pure act, as 
say the schoolmen, and without him, 
or save in his creative power, nothing 
is possible, there is and can be no 
possibility of anything. It is absurd 
to suppose that a possible God is 
provable without God as actual, since 
it is God in (iciti that makes anydiing 
possible. Hegel only followed and 
developed Leibnitz when he placed 
his das nine Seyft, or purely possible 
lieing, before his das Ideen and das 
\Ves€fu the possible before the actual, 
thus making God and the universe 
spring out of nothing, or the infinite 
void of the Gnostics and Buddhists ; 
tor the ]>ossible as abstracted from 
the actual is simply a nullity — simply 
nothing, 

Dr, Clarke, furthermore, though he 
uses the ordinary arguments of the 
theologians to prove that God is, 
dues not seem to understand what it 
is that the theist is required to prove 
against the atheist. We have not, 
indeed, intuition of God, but we have 
intuition of that which really is God. 
What is called necessary or absolute 
ideas, the necessary', the universal, the 
unchangeable, the eternal, etc., are af- 
firmed to us intuitively, and we could 
not be intelligent or rational exist- 
ences if they were not. But these 
ideas are not abstractions ; for abstrac- 
tions are nullities, and no objects of in- 
tuition or of intelligence. These ideas, 
since they are intelligible, are intui- 
tive, real, and are and must be neces- 
sary being — ens ntassarium ef reak. 
Real and necessary, universal, eter- 
nal, and immutable being is intuitive- 
ly affirmed in every act of our intelli- 
gence, as its basis and necessary con- 




dition. But what is not inluidvcly 
aftiniied, and what needs to be prov- 
ed or demonstrated against the athe- 
ist, is that being, ens nrcessarium /*/ 
reale^ is GcKb the creator of heaven 
and earth, and all things therein, visi- 
ble and invisible. What needs to be 
proved is only a single point, and a 
point so easily proved that he may 
well i)e called a fool who says in his 
heart, (iod is not, mm est Dtus, 

Then, again, Dr. Clarke does not 
in reality, as he supposes, take his 
first step of belief, and rise from athe- 
ism to theism. The arguments he 
adduces from the theologians are 
conclusive as used by the theologians 
themselves, but he vitiates them by 
his misapprehension of the divine 
creative act. He admits only one 
substance in which spirit and matter 
are identical, and makes the God he 
recognizes ihe substance, therefore 
the reality, of the universe. This is 
pantheism, not theism, and pan the- 
ism is not, as he contends, imjjerfect 
theism, but the more rcJined m\A dan- 
gerous fonn of atheism. The essence 
of pantheism is the assertion of one 
only substance, or the denial that 
God creates substances capable of 
acting from their own centre as se- 
cond causes. He is misled by the 
philosophy of Cousin, and unwitting- 
ly sinks the universe in God, which is 
to deny him, as really as to sink 
him in the universe, since either ahke 
identifk^ God and the universe, and 
admits no distinction between them. 
He says, " God is the immanent, not 
the transient, cause of the universe/' 
This is not true in his or Spinoza's 
sense, God as creator is, no doubt, 
immanent in all his works, but as the 
cause creating and sustaining them, 
not as the subject acting in their acts. 
He is immanent by his creative act 
as the causa causarum. He is not the 
transient or, rather, transitory cause, 
in the sense of producing and dien 



passing on, or leaving the 
or effect to itself; for that wo 
the effect to expire as soon 
ed. The creative act and tS 
servaiive act are, on the jiart < 
one and the same identical a< 
is, the act of creation is a co] 
or an ever-present act, and 
ser\'ation of the universe is 
tinuous creation; for the su! 
of the creative act producingi 
nothing would be its instant 
lation. So explained, it may 
that God is the immanent, 
transient or transitory, cause 
universe. But in Ur. Clarke^ 
which is that of Spinoza, or i| 
remains in it as its substance 
subjet t of its acts, he is not imi 
for this would assert the id( 
God and the universe, and 
second causes, as they do 
God is the author of .sin. 

No doubt Dr. Clarke talks of 
tion, and proves conclusively 
the develoiimeniists Uiai ilw 
which is developed must be 
but he holds not that God 
from nothing, but from hii 
his own substance or fulnc 
maintained by Cousin and t 
Boston school some thirty 
years ago. J he Boston sch^ 
chiefs were Dr. Walker, 
Ripley, George Bancroft, a: 
Brownson, intended to escape 
theism, and thought they 
unhaj^pily they could not 
creation must be creation by 
er of God from nothing, or ht 
creation at all, and hence lb( 
tained that God made the 
of iiis own fulness., or, so to 
out of his own stuff, 
hnnlis. This assun<. 
stance of the universe is 
the substance of God, which 
ally to assert, not to escape, 
ism* That Dr. Clarke says 
bis book that is incomj 



Steps of Beiitf. 



293 



^ we willingly admit ; but 
Wways consistent with liim- 
las ihe happy faculty of ac- 
Ifhen necessary or conveni- 
Sides of a question, or doc- 
I mutually contradict one 

ihor, assuming that he has 
to the step from atheism to 
oceeds to take the stt*p from 
Christianity. He tells us 
t\' is an advance on theism 
IS theism itself is an advance 
b ; but wherein Christianity, 
it forth, is an advance on 
Itmple natural belief in God 
nmaleriality of the soul, he 
my where show or enable us 
pr. His Christianity is, of 
lat he calls *' rational Chris- 
ind contains nothing and 
>thing» as far as we can dis- 
I exceeds the normal pow- 
aan nature. He calls him- 
pdmit, a supernaturalist, but, 
ne time, he would seem to 
lat he holds no views which 
B simple naturalism. He 
rhat he calls the " historic 
fainst the mythists and free- 
(, and professes to accept 
pal events recorded in the 
\ historical facts; but he sees 
)rd only a man conceived 
like other men, and in his 
only the normal perfections 
nan nature. He says ; 

ltd Id Jesus rhrisi himself, wc 
%\mt\ and seemingly oppoii^itc 
liling at I he present limc. The 
tr*iditional and general opin- 
was not like oihcr men in his 
endowments, Ui's work, or bis 
that his person was superliu- 
fidowments siipcrnaiiiral, his 
pulous, and his character intel- 
lAlUble and morally iiitpecca- 
N; was a miraculous creation. 
ks divinely inspired and scnt» 
no! sin, did not err, will never 
lied, and is ilic Master. Loid, 
\ human race for ever* Hence 



it ijt assumed that he was not a man onfy 
and purely, but something more, 

" The other view is ihat which has been 
becoming more and more popular since 
the days of Theodore Parker, not only in 
this countr)% but also in Enjtl and, France, 
and Germany. It is. that Jesus was a 
man like all other men, born like other 
men, formed by circumstances as other 
men arc formed^ partaking of the errors 
of liis age, not supernatural, but wholly 
natural ; working no miracles, nor infal- 
lible, but falling into errors; not perfect 
morally ; capable of b^ng superseded and 
outgrowrt ; and, in short, purely a man, 
like other men. 

*' It will be observed that these two 
theories, so utterly opposite, nevertheless 
ajjrec in one assumption. Both assume 
that perfection is unnatural to man \ that 
man is necessarily imperfect, mentally 
and morally ; that to be sinless is unna- 
tural ; that to see truth so clearly as to 
be crrtairi of it and not liable to be mis. 
taken, is unnatural : in other words, that 
it is not natural for man to be good* and 
that a perfectly good man is necessarily 
a supernatural, or (what is thought the 
same thing) an unnatural being, 

** The one class of thinkers say, * Jcpus 
was sinless and infallible, and worked 
miracles, therefore he was superhuman.' 
The others say, * He was human, and 
ihercfure he could not work miracles or 
be perfect.' The first class, wishing 10 
believe in ihc superiority of Jesus, think 
it necessary to believe him superhuman ; 
the other class, not wishing to bejievc 
him superhuman, think it necessary to 
deny his superiority. Hoth classes agree 
that any such inward superiority as is 
ascribed to Jesus in die New Testament 
implies a superhuman element. That is, 
again, both classes assume the essential 
poverty of human nature." (Pp, tiS-t2o.) 

The Catholic reader will not fail 
to perceive that Dr (Tarkc by no 
means gives a fair or adequate state- 
ment of what he is pleased to term 
the traditional and general opinion 
of our Lord, but only what was the 
general opinion of Arians and the 
earlier Unitarians. Our reading is 
not very extensive, and our know- 
ledge of the views and reicsonrngs of 
others is very limited, but wc doubt 



296 



SU/s of Belief. 



if any Christian or professed Chris- 
tian has ever been fuiiml who say^i, 
** Jesus was sinless and infallible, and 
worked miracles, therefore he was 
superhuman/' No one, as far as we 
know, ever appealerl to the miracles 
of our Lord as proofs of his super- 
human nature or superhuman cha- 
racter The miracles of our Lord 
do not of themselves prove him super- 
human^ any more than the miracles 
of St. Vincent Herrer prove him to 
have been superhuman ■ but they 
prove that God was with him, tor 
only God can work a miracle, " Rab- 
bi, we know diat thou art come a 
teacher from God; for no man can 
do these miracles which thou doest, 
unless God was with him " (St, John 
rii. 2). The miracles are the divine 
credentials or divine endorsement of 
the teacher* They attest the pre- 
sence and assistance of Ciod, and are 
God*s own vouchers for the truth- 
fulness and trustworthiness of the 
teacher, and therefore of whatever 
he leaches in the name of God. If 
our Lord taught that he was himself 
perfect God as well as perfect man, 
then he was so; for God can no more 
vouch for a lie than he can himself 
lie. Dr. Clarke» also, does injustice 
to Christians when he represents 
them as holding that perfection is 
unnatural. There is no class of men 
who call themselves Christians, not 
even Calvinists, that so hold. Chris- 
tianity leaches us thnt God is our 
origin and end; and since God is ne- 
cessarily supernatural, therefore that 
our beginning and our end are su- 
pernatural. The natural cannot rise 
above itself^ and hence the fulfilment 
or perfection of our nature is and 
must lie impossible without superna- 
tural ai<l or assistance. But this su- 
pernatural aid or assistance is not 
against nature, does not repress or 
su|>ersedc it» but carries it on and 
completes, fulfils, or perfects it. But 



1 



here follows a passage which provc^ 

that the author's supa^matural doei 
not rise above the natural. He h;^ 
presented the views of the two pj^ 
ties whiih we have just t[uoteil, 
adds : 

*' But why may wc not suppose t 
man's nature is higher than eilher p3 
believes? What if man was made lo 
all jesus was ; what if human naturt 
rioe necessarily sinful, but othenvisc* 
v%'hat rf sin and error are uimatunt, nof 
natural ?— iheu it may follow that Jesusdii/ 
all that he is claimed to have done in tA^* 
Gn?;pel5 , that he is ail thnt he is descr/fr- 
ed to have been, and yet, instead of beiii|f 
at all unnatural, is a truer and more 
fcctly natural man than any other 
been. Perhaps the greatness of /( 
may have been just here — diat he 
the man of men, the truest man.fulfiHi 
the type of htmianity. Perhaps the grcji 
lesson of his life is. that human nature i* 
nut essentially evil, but good. Pcrhaj^s 
his missiow was to show us one \itik<\ 
specimen of the human race; one itlcJil 
pattern ; one such as all arc hcrc:iftcr >o 
become/' (P. 120,) 

He may well conclude ; 

*' If this view be correct, then *l '^'"^ 
reconcile the war between ihc naturiH*'* 
a ad fupernatura lists. 

" The naturalists ran then aceept t^ 
leading facts in the life of Jesus, nnd y^ 
bchcvc in him as a purely human btJSNf* 
The supernaturalists can believe in *^'* 
perfect holiness, uisdom, and power, fl"" 
yet not deny his simple humanity. I T'"' 
pose, ihcrefore, to adduce somf ^^* 
which show that there is nothing 
in the (iospcis for Christ which 
sistcnt with the assumption of t 
made in all respects like his 1 
(P. 120.) 

It is evident rioiii tms uku ^ ■ 
Clarke sees nothing really supcro^t** 
ral in Christianity. He resohcs "^^ 
supernatural into a higher it>mt *^[ 
the natural, and sees no necessity "^ 
the supernatural to perfect the n^^^. 
ral, or lo place man on the pl^c ^ 
his destiny, and to t * V ' " ' 
tain it. He rejects 



Steps of Belief 



29; 



t our Lord as legendary 
and regards him as 
\ son of Joseph and Mary, 
and born as other men, with 
uman nature and a human 
f like Peter or John. He 
Jtend that there is more in 
y than there is in Christ, 
he sees in Christ only a 
an see in Christianity noth- 
uman. He says Christianity 
:ioctrine, not something to 
i, but the life of Christ to be 
I Jesus Christ was simply a 
other men, only a truer 
>re perfect man than his 
t is evident that in living 
live only a simple, natural, 
*. Such being the case, 
thank him to tell ys vvhere- 
nity, as he understands it, 
m advance of theism or 
lis Christianity at best is 
,w of nature, and affords us 
tyond our natural strength 
5, that is, no aid beyond 
\ deism itself aftbrds. 
:hor's third step in the pro- 
leli e f is * * from R om a n i i>m 
intism/' There is evident- 
break in the continuity of 
is the author assumes* To 
jnt with himself, he should 
itify Romanism with Chris- 
d then give, as his third 
step from Christianity lu 
ism ; or distinguish '• Ro- 
lom Christianity, and then 
itep would be from Chris- 
* Romanism," which on his 
progress would imply that 
ID '* is a step in advance 
^nity. As it is, " Roman- 
5s in abruptly, witliout any 
l^pf the reader for it. 
^■0 Christianity, or to 
Be has gone before it, as 
origin, is left wholly unex- 
I'lvidently, *^ Romanism " is 
& titc author, an anomaly 



in the theory oi progress he would 
maintain, and he is unable to ac- 
count for it- However, he stumbles 
at no difRi uhies. He says, in his 
opening chapter on " Romanism :** 

'* Wc now l)cj[jin a new series of qucf^ 
lions. We have compared iitlieism wjih 
theism ^ and find ourseives (hcisrs. This 
was our tirsl slcp upwartl, Wc hav'c next 
compared ibtUm outside of Cinisiianily 
wiUi Chrisiian theism, and lind the bsl 
an advance on the other ; so that, in the 
interest of human progress, wc have ac- 
cepted CThristian theism as an advance 
on deism. But now we sec before us 
i^vo forms of Christianity. One is called 
Romanism, the other Protestantism, The 
Jirst places supreme authority in the 
church, in the outward or^jfani/^ation ; the 
other, in the human soul. Which of the^e 
i$ an advance on ilic othtfr ?" (P. 197.) 

The learned and philosophical au- 
thor evidently holds that, as a form 
of Christianity, Protestanti?>m, though 
not the final step, is in advance of 
what it pleases him to call ** Roman- 
ii»m/' meaning thereby the Catholic 
religion held by the immense majori- 
ty uf all those who, since the disci- 
ples were first called Christians at 
Antioch, have lajmc the Christian 
name* Of course, we do not accept 
his statement that Catholicity places 
su(jreme authority in the outward or- 
ganization alone, and he himself, be- 
fore he gets through, corrects the 
statement, and owns that Catholics 
assert die internal as well as the ex- 
ternal — the spirit as well as the let- 
ter, Caiholic-s hold that the autho- 
rity of the church is derived from 
God, anil is that of the Holy Ghost 
who dwells in her, and without his 
dwelling and operating in the out- 
ward organization she would have 
no more authority than a Protestant 
sect* 

But waive this for the moment 
and let us see wherein Protestant- 
ism is an advance on Catholici- 



ty. Say the Catholic idea or rule of 
faith is the authority of the church 
as afn external visible hofly* and the 
Protestant idea or rule of faith is the 
authority of** the human soul/' Pro- 
testantism, then, has at best only a 
human authority, rests solely on the 
human soul, and its Christianity is 
purely human. This, instead of being 
a ste|> in advance of *' Romanism/' 
Ls a step even below theii*m or deism; 
for there is no form of theism that 
does not assert an authority superior 
to that nf the ** human soul," namely, 
the authority of God. At the very 
lowest, the authority of the church is 
a5 liigh as the authority of the hu- 
man soul, and Protestantism is no 
advance on the church at most; and 
Catholics have human souls as well 
as Protestants, and the human soul 
is no more in a Protestant th.in in 
a Catholic. We are men as well as 
Protestants, and man to man arc 
their etjuals. Have they reason ? So 
have we. Have they the Bible ? So 
have we. Can they read ? So can we, 
and as well as they. Suppose, then, 
that the church has no authority from 
GchJ, that she has only a human au- 
thority, she has as much and as high 
authority as the author even claims 
for Protestantism. How, then, can 
Protestantism be a step in advance 
of *' Romanism " ? 

It would be difficult to conceive 
a more untenable position than this, 
that Protestantism is a step in advance 
of the Catholic Church. Progress 
is in gaining, not in losing, truth; 
and what single truth can it be pre- 
tended even that Protestantism teach- 
es that the church does not also leach, 
and with at least ecjual distinctness 
and emphasis ? What means of jus- 
tification, virtue, holiness, perfection, 
has the Protestant that the Catholic 
has not in his soul or in his church ? 
What the Protestant holds of religion 
in common with the Catholic belongs, 



^ 



of course, to the church, for she hdd 
and taught it hfteen hundred vrjtrvl 
be fore Prc»tcst a n t i sm was cu n i 

thcmorl*id brain oftheaposi *i 

of Wittenberg ; and the aclvanceti 
Catholicity can be only in what Pi 
testantism has that the church or ti 
Catholic has not, therefore in wh; 
is peculiar to Protestantism and 
tinguishes it from the church ani 
her teachings. What truth h*'is 
testantism in any or all of its mi 
titudinous forms that the church h; 
not always taught ? Analy/:c Prolv.^. 
tantism, and you will llnd that ii 
has nothing peculiar, nodiing tha|| 
distinguishes it, nothing that it cii 
call its own, but its negarions or 
denials of what the church affimisj 
It differs from the church only in 
what of the church it denies, and 
therefore is and can be no progresi 
on Catholicity. 

Take Dr. Clarke's own driinitTOti 
of Protestantism, »* the supreme au*, 
thority of the human soul :" it is orUf; 
the denial of the supreme authorK 
ty of God asserted by the fhunhi 
for the soul has no mure real a 
rity under Protestantism than uiK 
Cathohcit>^ It denies a truth th\ 
church teaches, and aliirms only 
falsehood in iu ]>lace. To fibi 
the supreme authority in the hui 
soul is to assert the very error 
author so earnestly combats in 
arguments against atheism and 
religion. It is the denial of 
and therefore is really athciHii ; 
if God the creator is, he is 
prenie, the sovereign Lonl t\m] 
prietor of all things, and no crej 
has or can have any authority 
own right. In trying to provr I 
tantism an advance on Cath( : 
author only succeeds in pno\: . 
rightly defines it^ that it is not 
vance even on atheism. It 
to place the supreme author 
human sou), for that wouhi 



either that the human soul is God, 
or that God is the human soul. 

But cake Protestantism according 
to another statement of the author 
(p, f 98)^ namely. Protestantism places 
the supreme authority **in the Bi- 
ble," This, again, makes Protestant- 
ism consist in the denial of Catho- 
lic doctrine, that is, the supreme au- 
thority of the church and unwritten 
tradition; for ihe church actually 
holds the Bible to be even more au- 
thoritative than does the Protestant. 
The Reformers asserted justifica- 
tion by faith alone. Here, again, 
the distinctive Protestantism is the 
denial of the necessity of good works, 
CUT the concurrence of the will in 
^regeneration and justification, for the 
^:^urch always taught that a man 
'is justified by faiths though a faith 
^Derfccted by charity, or in which 
*iian is active and lovingly co-ope- 
*"'ales. The church teaches that 
C^hrist has instituted sacraments, and 
that the Holy Ghost uses the out- 
'^irartl visible sacraments as media of 
1^14 operation in regeneration and 
s^nctification. Protestants deny the 
s^acrainenis, and all visible media of 
the union of the soul with Christ, the 
"^fholc mediatorial system, and leave 
t:l\c soul as naked, as destitute, as 
l^clplcss as it is under pure deism, 
3^ has already been frequently shown 
in this magazine. W'e might go on 
tluough all the doctrines of Protes- 
tantism and arrive at the same re- 
^^k. What is affirmative in them is 
5^Atholir, and only what is negative 
^^ them is Protestant. So true is 
*«i$ that Protestantism woulil have 
J|o meaning* be absolutely uninleb 
*Jgiblc, were it not for the Catholic 
^trines tt arraigns, distorts, or de- 

Our learned friend has been able 
,1^ make out a seeming case against 
church in a few instances, but 
«y by mistaking and misrepresent- 



ing her teachings, placing the human 
soul above Got!, the interests of 
time above those of eternity, and ci- 
vilization above religion. His blun- 
ders and self-contradictions in stat- 
ing the teachings of the church would 
be exceedingly amusing^ ilid they 
not concern so grave a matter. He 
insists that the church |)laces all her 
confidence in the outward visible 
sacrament, and grows merry over 
her carefulness in ba[>tism, for in- 
stance, as to the matter and form, 
and yet confesses that she regards 
the outward visible sacrament only 
as the medium of an inward grace. 
He asserts that she places the su- 
preme authority in an outward visi- 
ble orgii nidation, and forgets to in- 
form his readers that she teaches 
that her authority is from God, and 
is limited in teaching and governing 
all men and nations to things which 
her Lord has commanded her He 
forgets also that she professes to be 
able to do it only because he has 
promised to be with her all tlays to 
the consummation of the world, and 
that she has the simpHi ity to believe 
that the i>romises of God cannot 
fail. 

Dr. Clarke seems to be animated 
by a bitter hostility to the church, 
and when speaking of her loses his 
usual placidity of temper- He loses 
command of hiinself, and becomes 
almost as enraged against her as the 
Jews w^ere against our Lord when 
they gnashed their teeth at him. 
We do not compreheml his hostility 
and rage, which make him forego all 
respect for truth and decencvt and 
to sully his pages by repeating the 
foulest slanders ever uttered against 
the churchy unless we suppose that 
he holds the bo^ly superior to the 
soul, while she requires him to subor- 
ill 11 ate the body to the soul, the flesh 
to the spirit. He cannot pretend 
chat she is dangerous to men's souls, 



30O 



S/fps of Bdkf. 



I 



for he expressly denies the endless 

puniblimcnt of the wickud, and holds 
ihai all men will finally be saved- 
h is unly in Uiis life and only in rela- 
tion tu lhii» life that he can believe that 
the church or anything else can in- 
jure either soul or body- The suflTer- 
ings, the sorrows^ and tlie injuries of 
this lilv, which can be but momentary, 
and tu be succeeded by an eternity of 
bliss, whether wc have done good or 
have done evil, are hardly wortli get- 
ting angry at or troubhng one's self 
about. 

We have no intention of following 
the author, and correcting his misre- 
presentations of Catholic teaching, 
and refuting his charges against the 
church, especially as he says express- 
ly that he objects to Catholicity not 
as religion, but as a political organi- 
sation or conspiracy against freedom 
and for the establishment of universal 
despotism. Religion is the kx supre- 
fmt^ the supreme law for all men and 
nations alike for individuals and gov- 
ernuTents; and he who can see in the 
unwearied efforts of the church to 
bring all men and nations into sub- 
jection to religion or the law of Gotl, 
which it is, only the \ ulgar ambition 
for political ascendency or efforts to 
estabhsh a universal despotism, is past 
being rcasonetl with, especially if 
he calls himself a Christian. Such a 
man has not taken as yet even the 
first step of belief — that from atheism 
to dieism. But he repeats a state- 
ment often repeated against one of 
our collaljorators, which it may not 
be amiss to correct. He says, after 
having cjuoied the Syllabus and the 
i*aris Uf livers m support of some of 
his charges against the church : 

" U it be thought that f uch doctrines 
cannot be held by Catholics in Afuet ica, 
wc refcf to the following passage, extract- 
ed from Mr. Orestes A. Brown son *s AV* 
Tfir«% to show the contra it. Mr. Brown- 
i is an American, educated a Pfotest- 



ant» for many years the advocate of ilie 
broadest religious liberty, U such a man 
as this, on tjccoining a Catholic, dcfeudf 
persecution, it is evident that notliirjjr t« 
modern civilization or modern tfducaiioa 
can neutralise the logic which ciirn«« 
every consislcnl Catholic to that conclu* 
sion. Thus spoke Mr. Brown son » Mime 
years ago itideed ; but he has nc'\-ci ic- 
iracted his declaration : 

•'* The church is a kingdom and a {>ow- 
er. and as such tniist havcasupicmc chief; 
and his authcaity is to be exercised oi^cr 
states, an well as individuals. If the Hope 
directed the Roman Catholics of ihtt 
count II* to overthrow the constitti lion, sell 
its tcrritor>% and annex it as a dependent 
province to the dominions of Napolcoru 
they would be bound to obey. It is ihe 
intention of the Pope to possess this coun* 
ir>-/ *• ( Pp, 265, 266.) 

The passage wa5 never extracted 
from Brtftvtistnfs Htvieu^ and was 
nevi^r written by Dr. Brawnsoti, l»tit 
is an unblushing forgeii'. Mr Hep* 
worth* Dr. Clarke's brother Unitorian 
minister in this city, quoted the s;inie 
passage from an infamous book en* 
titled I^)pt (tr firsHiatt^ and asserted 
it was from Brmtmsvns Qiuirtrrh Uf- 
view, but when called upon by a Ca- 
tholic through the New Vork l^mcs 
to prove his assertion, he t.onfcssed, 
after sfjme shuffling and c|uibbhiij;» 
that he could not do it, and tluil it 
was probably a mistake. \N'e do not 
accuse either l>n Clarke or Mr. liep* 
worth of forging the pas!iage, or of 
being capable of such baseness; lii^ 
neither is excusable for not ha^il 
ascertained the facts in the case 
fore making the charge. 

Even on the low ground of civili- 
sation, Protestantism is no step in ad- 
vance of Catholicity, as it were can* 
to show, and, indceii, as ]t has been 
shown over and over again even in 
this magazine, especially in the arti- 
cles reviewing the great work of ihr 
Abbe Martin. Protestant civHiMliiNi 
has only a material basis or aI bm 
rests or i idrtiM 

off into : vst hW' 



1 



manitananism which tramples down 
more good by the way llian it effects 
even in gaining its enrl, as we may 
see in both England and the United 
States. The author^s '* step from Ro- 
manism to Protestantism " is, under 
e\ery point of view, a step backward 
and not forward ; and if, as be says, 
Protestantism places the supreme au- 
thority *Mn the human soul," it is a 
step downward from theism to athe- 
ism, A more severe condemnation 
of Protestantism cannot be pronounc- 
ed than to say that the highest au- 
thority it recognizes is the human 
soul, that is, man himself. 

The fourth step the author takes is 
that "from the letter to the spirit.*' 
We have already shown that this is a 
step in the descending, not in the as- 
cending, scale ; for it is the rejection 
of all objective Christianity^ all dog- 
matic or doctrinal belief, all that can 
be drawn out in distinct propositions 
and formally stated, and the reduc- 
tion of religion to purely subjective 
states, affections, sentiments, or emo- 
tions of the human soul. This is 
what the author must mean when he 
rejects theology, all creeds and dog- 
mas, and tells us Christianity is not a 
doctrine^ but a life, and a life lived 
aot by communion with Go(i, but by 
mmunion of men with one another 
-^the communion of humanity or the 
socialism of Pierre Leroux, or, at 
t^e highest, simple humanitarianism, 
''^hich is only a clumsy form of athc- 
^^ni, and amply refuted by the author 
'himself 

Ferhaps, in justice to the intentions 
^^ the author, we ought to say that, 
'^hcn he rejects all external authority 
•itTrl places the supreme authority in 
^Hi^soyj^he does not mean absolutely 
**^ Avny the authority of God to com- 
''^^nd us, but that God teaches and 
^^iimands in the human soul, not 
^^'^ugh any external media or organs. 
*^^c .luthority is God in the human 






soul, something like the ** inner light" 
of the Quakers. But in this sense 
God must be in all souls alike, and 
teach all alike, whether Jews, pagans, 
Mohammedans, Catholics, or Protest- 
ants. The teachings of God are al- 
ways cam] everywhere absolutely true, 
and Iree from all error and all liabili- 
ty to error, for it is impossible for God 
to lie. Then all religions, however 
they contradict one another, are true 
and good. Why, then, declaim against 
the Catholic religion, and seek its de- 
struction ? God is in the souls of 
Catholics as well as in the souls of 
Protestants, if in the souls of all men, 
and is equal to himself in all, and 
must be infallil^le in all. How, then, 
is it possible for any human soul to 
err ? Yet, if the author is to be be- 
lieved, the materialist, the atheist errs, 
the theist outside of Christianity errs, 
the ** Romanist *' errs, and the greater 
part of Protestants err; indeed, all 
the world are in error or fall short of 
the truth, except Dr. Clarke and his 
church of the dtsci|>les, who have got 
rid of the letter that killeth, and pass- 
ed over to the spirit that quickeneth. 
Very extraordinary, since every man 
has in his soul God, the infallible 
teacher ! 

But all do not listen to the voice 
of God in the soul. Most men 
close their ears *to it, shut their 
eyes to the light, foUow their own 
lawless desires or vain imaginings, 
lose the truth and fall into error. 
Very good. But who shall deter- 
mine who those are who close their 
ears and shut their eyes, and who 
are they who keep them open ? 
What is the criterion of truth and 
error ? Dr. Clarke, however infalli- 
ble the inner light, has none, and 
therefore, in order to lose no truth, 
bis rule is to accept all errors. The 
inward teacher may be infallible, but 
it guarantees no soul from erring as 
to what he teaches, as the author 



4 



Stffis of Belief. 



must himself confess. Then of what 
avail to him or to any other one is 
the inward teacher? 

The Catholic doctrine on this 
point* we think, has some advan- 
tages over Dr. darkens, and none of 
its disadvantages. He sujiposes that 
the Catholic has only an outward 
authority, the authority of an external 
organization, which may indeed com- 
mand the will, but cannot convince 
the understanding. Even this is 
more than he has, for the authority 
on which he rehes can do neither; 
and, moreover, he contends that by 
i\o\x\^ what the truth commands, 
though a^^Minst our bchef, we may 
come to understand and beheve the 
truth. But this is not all the Catho* 
lie has. The Catholic has reason 
as well as other men, and he asserts 
the inner light or the inspirations of 
the Spirit as earnestly, as fully » as 
confidently, as did George Fox, Wil- 
liam Fenn, or Robert Uarclay, as the 
author would have known if he had 
ever rea<l any of the writings of Ca- 
tholic mystics, or any of the spiritual 
or ascetic works in which Catholic 
literature abounds. The Catholic 
directors and masters of spiritual life 
assert all of the spirit that he can, 
and infinitely more than he does, 
'i'he Catholic does in no case stop 
with the outward or cxtcrnab He 
relies on the internal, the spirit, not 
less, but more than others do \ no 
one is or can be more persuaded 
than he that the letter alone cannot 
sufhcQ, and that it is the spirit that 
giveth life ; but he tries the spirit, 
for there arc many false prophets 
gone out into the world, and he has 
in the infallible authority of the church 
the standard or criterion by which to 
try them. If they gather not and 
agree not with the church, he knows 
they are lying spirits, and he refuses 
to follow or even to hear them ; if the 
spirit gathers with the church and 




teaches in accordance with the cat- 

tenial, he knows it is the Spirit 
Viod^ and he follows it, knowing ili 
leadedi not to error, but to all tru 
It is not that we have less than 
rationalistic friend, but more, 
has nothing that wc have not 
larger measure than he, but we l)a 
much that he has not, and withq 
which what he has is of no avail. 

The great difliculty with our 
thor, we may say in conclusion, ] 
that he has no proper concej)tion t 
the supernatural Even at the vc 
best, his Christianity does not 
above the deism of Lonl Chcrbu 
or of Tom Paine. He never on 
hints that man's destiny, his end, i 
supreme good, is and cannot but 
in the supernatural He does not j 
fleet, even if he knows, that man ; 
created for God as well as by Go 
and that C»od, whether as first cauf 
or as final cause, is supematun 
above nature, since he creates it, k 
its author, sovereign, and projmc-, 
tor. The evil of any creatun; 
in not attaining the end for wliich i 
is made. This is the hell of thej 
damned. They, through their m% 
i^iult, miss their end, and remain fwr 
ever below their destiny, with theifj 
existence unfulfdled, craving forever j 
a good which they have not and cao [ 
never reach. \s the evil, the miscrjf \ 
of a creature is in not attaining, so its 
good, its heaven or beatitude, is in 
attaining its end. As we are crc« . 
ated and exist for God, as he is ^^ 
end, he is our supreme good, a«<l *^ ' 
can find our heaven, our beaiitJi^^^* ! 
only in attaining to him and l>ccoffi- 
ing one with him without l>eing ^ 
sorbed in him, as Brahmiaism afld 
Buddhism falsely teach. 'Ib's ^\ 
what the soul craves, what it hun- 
gers anfl thirsts for, and must Iw^'j 
or be for ever miserable. 

Now, as God is supemalunil, it ^ 
evident that our end or our ^* 



Step a/ Belief. 



303 



our beatitude, is and 
pernatural, and conse- 
e and beyond the reach 
d powers. We ran not 
, without the hdp of 
ural, any more attain to 
ulfil our existence dian 
ive created ourselves. 
is not and cannot be on 

the supernaturaK and, 
n, with his natural pow- 
s nut adequate to his 
ny* Even a revelation 
i teach us what is our 
at it is necessary to do 
ittain it, would not suf- 
e us to attain it, for our 
rstanding and the natu- 

our will are not even 
*lation equal to it We 
at be supernal ural ized, 
regenerated, elevatetl to 
f our destiny, and su- 

sustained and assist- 
s. Dr. Clarke and all 
>verlook this fact, and 
ne that man has no 
liny, and must remain 

inchoate or unfulfdled 

else that his beatitude 
jral order, that is, in the 
ch is impossible, for the 
lite, and the soul craves 
:hirsts, as Dr. Channing 

unboumled good.'* No- 
an satisfy it. 

is it possible for finite 
placed on the ]>lanc of 
iod ? This would not be 
would it be possible for 
n to beaiiiude, to union 
\ his final cause or su- 
, if (iod did not himself 
jan, and take his nature 
if in hypostatic union 
rd. The possibility is in 
ion, the mystery of the 

flesh. Born anew of 
iramate W'orrl, in whom 

gtl the divine natures. 



though for ever distinct, are united 
in the unity of one divine person, 
we are born of (iod^ are united to 
him l)y nature, and have him for our 
father in the teleological order, as we 
have him for our Creator in the ini* 
lial order, or the order of generation. 
This supematuralization, through the 
Incarnation, of all who are bom 
anew, by the election of grace, of 
Jesus Christ our Lord, is not con* 
ceived of by our author, and is de- 
nied by what he calls ** rational Chris- 
tianity.*' The author has never pen- 
etrated in the slightest degree into 
this profound mystery of the Incar- 
nation, or refiected that, by rejecting 
or ex|>laining it away, he reduces 
Christianity to the natural order, and 
leaves man as helpless as he would 
be under naked deism. By rejecting 
it or failing to recognize it, he [:«roves 
that he has in his concei>tion never 
gcjt beyond the initial order, and is 
wholly unaware of the telcological 
order, which is created or constituted 
by the Incarnation. He appears not 
to have learned diat Christianity is 
purely teleological, and, therefore, ne- 
cessarily su[>ernatural, founded by 
our Creator to enal»le us to attain 
the fulfilment of our existence, our 
end, our bciititude, and, therefore, 
must have been incluiiedin his eternal 
decree to create, and without whith 
die creative act could never be more 
than inchoate. It is only when Chris- 
tianity is so understood that it is ra- 
tional, that it does or can satisfy the 
demands of human reason or meet 
the wants and satisfy the cravings ot 
the human soul. 

Catholicity seems to our author 
irrational, shallow, absurd even, but 
it is only because it lies deeper than 
he has soumled. The shallowness 
and absurdities are with him, in his 
own thought, not in the Catholic 
faith. It is supremely rational, be- 
cause it is supremely divine. Man 



'§Ci^ The Three Rules af Rustic Grammar, 



if he had not sinned, would by ration, or palingenesis. Dr. 



even 

nature have stood below the |>lane 
of his destiny, and never could have 
ful filled it without the supernatural 
elevation of his nature. The very 
state from which he fell by original 
sin, the origmal righteousness in 
which he was constituted, was a su- 
pematural righteousness, a superna- 
tural state, to which he was elevated 
by supernatural grace* With the 
supernatural grace itself he lost by 
sin the integrity ui his nature, but 
even with the integrity of his nature 
unimpaired he could not attain to his 
beatitude, his true beatitude, antl fulfil 
the i>urpose of his existence, without 
the supernatural elevation !)y grace 
which we call the new birth ^ regene- 



4 



laughs at all this, nay, blaupr 
it ; yet how is a man to live a \ 
logical life unless born into it ? 4 
is he to be either hotn int^ 
persevere in it without the a< 
CJod or supernatural grace? 
doctor is learned in many 
but the Catholic child that has 
taught his catechism knows i 
than he does, and stands on a | 
that is infinitely above his n 
imless he be converted himself 
become as a little child. Here k 
error. He forgets thai his end i 
the supernatural, and that he cir 
attain it without the light of rev 
tion, nor without the assistance 
supernatural grace. 



THE THREE RULES OF RUSTIC GRAMMAR. 



FROU Tlffi SI'AKISIU 



CHARACTERS. 

Di^n ybs/j a rich landed proprie- 
tor. 

Dfffia A //ansa, his wife. 

Dtvla Conclm^ a rich widow, sister 
to Dona Alfonsa. 

Qj/ixio^ the son of Don Jose and 
Dona Alfonsa. 

Ufick Mafias^ the capataic • of the 
estate. 

Mafia, an old servant 

SCENE I. 

UficU Ma Has (efttering). 

The Lord be praised! (Lfwks ail 
arvumf, anJ^ senng that the room is 
empty, atiJs) — for ever! But what 

* Getierml ov«n$eer« In-doors and ouL 



are we coming to ? The mason! 
built this house wouldn't know 
The master is not in his office ; the D 
tress is not in the store-room ; in 1 
rootn there is nobody* Ycstenb] 
told the master, ** Schor, the viney 
must be dug over, for the year ooi 
in an ill-humor; ami, if tlic 
don't get what theyVe as^king \ 
vintage will be so bad tJiat Xh 
father's blessing itself rouUln't 
any good,'* For answer 1 g< 
growl. The mistress, when jthc m 
me, doesn't say even so muds 
** Clood'by, jackass I '' The hod 
been upside down and insid^ 
ever since young Master Cal 
came home from the capital with 
aunt — one of your fur))clowol g 
ladies, with more ains than a paJ 
bellows, more trimraitigs aoi^o 



rk than the top of a house, 

^re vapo rings than those new 

liat paddle themselves.* la- 

ere comes the young mas- 

rhat a fine fellow he has 

and bearded and broad, too, 

sole heir to a property that 

of your dog-aml-gun entails, 

of the right sort. The lad 

ihing but th-^ itch, that he 

ivc tlie pleasure of scratch- 



SCEKE n. 

Enter Calixto^fmntically. 

xia, I've a mind to hang my- 

k Mafias, God keep you, young 

■ how exasperated your wor- 

w What vexes you so ? Your 

f seems to have got up» this 

ig, with your hackle ruffled, 

xtif, I could not get my eye- 

IClher the whole night. 

V Mafias. How should you, 

fcur nose was between them ? 

xfiJ (to himsfi/). What course 

>w — what to iXo ! 

k Mifitts, Young master, your 

p frightens me. What is it 

IS you so beside yourself ? 

xf(t. It is because I am the 

infonunate of men ! 

/*• Mafias, Oh ! that. By the 

the w andering Jew ! } 

A'f^. My perverse destiny as- 

la me an avaricious father, an 

ghtcned, selfish mother, and a 

ind tyrannic aunt. What an 

f»y lot I What a fatal star is 



k Mafias, Oh leave oflf this 
own talk, your worship, and tell 
mt is the matter. Uncle Ma- 



no «r»tna que rascar 
most unfortunRlc. 



tias has pulled you through more than 
one scrape. 

Cahxfo. That is true j but the pre- 
sent one is not like those of *' past and 
gone/' as you would say. It isn't a 
matter of hiding some piece of child's 
mischief, r.or of gaining for a boy the 
indulgence of his caprice. It is an 
affair of moment and affects my des- 
tiny — the felicity of my Ufe. 

Utuie Mafias. All the better rea- 
son why your worship should take 
counsel. Because you see me here 
with my old s]>atterdashes and my 
furrowed face, and because I haven*t 
book learning, it appears to you that 
I don't understajid things. But let 
me tell you, young master, that it 
isn't from books one learns how to 
manage onc*s self in this unworthy 
world. It is by experience. There- 
fore, let him that wants to know much 
get an old fellow like me. 

Calixio, I know that you people 
who don't read have fur your guid- 
anc;e a rustic grammar, of which you, 
Uncle Matias, are a professor of the 
highest grade. 

Vtuie Mafias. Call its what you 
please, your worship, Init remember 
that length of days gives knowledge 
along with experience; and that the 
devil, even, don't know by hocus-po- 
tus, but by reason of his years ; and 
I, who am older than Dupon,* should 
know something. So, unbutton your 
waistcoat, and let us see the trou- 
ble. 

Calixto. Well, you must know that 
my father wants to send me to Ha* 
bana to recover an inheritance to 
which they are contesting his rights 
As if he had not enough property al- 
ready I 



• Gen- Dtipont, who cotnnianded one of tho 
nnnies sent by Napoleon \, lula the peninsula. 
Tilt Spa^nurtlsi cousidcred hull tlie moM ctinniag 
of iheir enemies, IIcncc« " *JA»j viejo qut Dur 
/ffm''— older than Dupoot— nld of persona «rh«. 
are very astuio. 



VOU XU.^ — 20 



Uncle Matias (asida). Father, I ac- 
cuse myself of being a carpenter, and 
of having many lioards'* [Ahitiil) 
Young master, because we have much 
is no reason why we shouldn*t take 
what our lot portions to us, Tve al- 
ways heard say that it*s good to have 
a loaf and a piece besides. 

CdUxto, Let somebody that wants 
the piece go after it; I will not My 
aunt is determined that I shall return 
(with her) to Se villa to marry her 
niece Diana — ^an empty bottle, all 
ruffles and flounces, with the face of 
one dug from the grave — and estab- 
lish myself there in the capital. She 
will make me her heir on these con- 
ditions, hut, if 1 do not comply with 
them* will disinherit me. Let her ! 

Undf Ma/ias. This ought to be 
taken into consideration, sehorito ! t 
It is true that the empty buttle, with 
more ruftlings than the sea, and more 
wrigglings and squ innings than a 
rabbit under raffle, displeases and 
shocks one; but the inheritance is 
another thing, and deserves to be 
well weighed before it is let go. We 
sometimes make up our mind in haste 
to repent at leisure. 

CalLxtcK I shall not repent of this. 
She may keep her niece and her mo- 
ney ; let the loss go for the gain. 
Then my mother will not consent on 
any terms to the West India project, 
or to let me live in Sevilla, or that I 
shaJl leave home at all after my stu- 
dies are concluded. 

Ufuie Afatias, And where coulti 
you go, senorito, and find yourself 
better o(T than in your own native 
plate, in your own house, at the 
head of your estate ? Your worship 
surely doesn't want to go as agent to 
Madrid, like a notary*s son ?f 



L* A sarcastic wying frequently used by Sp«* 
llfds when ft person Rbsiinlly comi>lAinsof hay- 
{ too miiny jifootl things, 
t Vouun or little master. 
% Tlic Sp&at&li laodeJ proprietors, or kida^ 



Caiixia, My worship proposes no- 
thing of the kind, 1 want to travd 
in distant parts ; go to Madrid, or 
wherever 1 please. My superiors are 
three, and each on<i is set in his own 
way, and determined to have it. FU 
be h:aiged if tliis does not beat tbc 
family of the god Baco,* 

UncU Mafias, Don't talk so, seno- 
rito. The family of the god Baco 
are the father, the son^ and the devil. 
But your worship appears to be like 
the cricket, bound lo jump some^ 
where, 

Cahxfa, Is it just that my parents 
and aunt, who have no heir but tnc, 
should be my t>Tants ? 'I'hey arc , 
very unfeeling! 

t^fu/f Matias. Young master, il"^ 
the more because yours is the onl** 
tongue to speak, it should nev^ 
speak ill of your parents. To ^ 
that is like giving a blow lo Go^ 
on Good- Friday. How can you ear* 
pect that they will be willing u> la 
you go like a discontented binf, 
and live away from home, and cav/i- 
try, and father, and mother^ in their 
old age? If my son were of 
such mind, I should have to teach 
him his duty out of a wild-olive 
primer, f 

Calixh. I have no such intention; 
I mean to e^^tablish myself here— io 
this place; for, though it 
sant, it is my own, and i 
family, in which the property tli^ 
will one day be mine is Icxzate^l. li^^^ 
since my circumstances pemiit ^ 
what T want, before I settle do^^^ 
here for life, is to travel, become S*^ 
qua in ted with the world, form opi^^ 
ions, acquire knowledge, in onler 
make myself an intelligent and cul ^ 
vated gentleman. 



{ht'M tt/ifio, son of somebody'^ ckss, look iti^ 
great contempt on notArlc« ftnit deria. 

♦ Kaccbu't, 

t ^ViM oUyie senses Itke Sptnlsfa pftrtot kaitari 
of birch. - w- 



Tlu Tfine Rules of Rustic Grammar, 



¥»T 



Mafias, Well, if your wor- 
IS determined to see the world, 
e young blades in stories of 
tment, there's nothing to do 
the master to agree to it, give 
lance, the best horse in the 
and hts blessing. Tve nolh- 
ay against it, so long as your 
► don't mean, when you get 
rona strange parts, to go to 
lenting with the plough and 
they use oflf there, 
7i?. Set your mind at rest, 
going for the purpose of stti- 
ploughs and harrows. But, 
of consenting to my reason- 
jsire, they all dispose of me 

Staking my ideas upon the 
llo account. Ought one to 
o such oppression ? And 
^y they'll begin to tell me how 
aey love me ! What they all 
rule me ! 

Mafias, It is plain, sen on to, 

re the poor rablnt at which 

all shooting, Hut a dutiful 

the bad with tlie good. 

cir honors told you their in- 

t? 

EK No, my mae ^ Maria has 
ed me. They talk freely 
her. But I am going right 
low, to tell them that 1 am 
i not to go to Habana; not 

Kmy ill-brought up eie^anto- 
cousin ; and not to bury 
in my twenty-third year, in a 
itry-town 1 [Goes tcm^at^d the 

^atias (tiefainirig him). Stop, 
What are you going to 
ing the bell at the wrong 
ft'ait, senor. All the watrh- 
Bic world won't hurry the 
ItCt's talk the matter over. 

C want to go to Habana; 
io you want to offend your 



', fttlJ of nun* or foster -raoLbcr. 
:wilh e^lretne RfTccUiioa. 



father and lose your allowance ; isn't 
that it ? 

Ca/LxtiK Hiatus exactly It. 

Utu/tr Matias, And the aunt's' in- 
heritance and goods w^ouldn't come 
amiss, if you came by them fairly, 
and widiout the cm[)ty buttle in 
starched frills, with name wrong end 
first?* 

Ciiiixto, You comprehend the case, 

Uriels? Matias. And, if it could be 
brought about so, you would like to 
have your mother consent to let you 
see foreign parts, and furnish your 
saddle-bags well besides ? 

Calixto. This is the very summit 
of my desires, 

Umk Matias. Well, to see if they 
can be accomplished, will your wor- 
ship follow my advice ? 

Ca/ixto, That depends upon what 
it is ; tell me. 

Uftiit Afatias. If it is not going to 
be folio wetJ, your worship must ex- 
cuse me. I join this to this [pnssing 
his tips to*:^rthfr with his Jif timers). Pro- 
mise to do as I tell you, and, if it 
don't turn out well, you can still do 
what you were going to, 

Cd/iA/{f. I promise. Let me hear 
how 1 am to act 

(7uc/tf Matias. Keep easy and dark 
inside your jacket, without taking 
their honors beforehand. In such 
causes, the way is to wait amt see, 

CalixttJ (rejecting). Not attack, but 
be on the defensive to ward off with 
adv antage. Very good tactics, Uncle 
Matias, 

U/nie Matias, The best, senorito — 
the very best. In this world, if you 
wouhln't go wTong, there's nothing 
like them. Don't get into a fret, but 
wait and see. 

Caiixto, I bear my father and mo- 
ther and my aunt approaching, dis- 
puting as they come. 

Umie Matias. All the better ; but, 

^Snid of unusu&l or utipronouncemblc oameK. 



308 



The Three Ruics of Rustle Grammar. 



^ 



I make free with ihe way, your wor- 
ship, and get out of sight, 

Calixta runs out of the ra^nu 

Unck Mafias (alorte). The mas- 
'ter is a good man, but a bad tai- 
; lor The mistress hasn*t quite as 
many lights as the iigCj and don't 
understand piquet. Tiie aunt is as 
crazy as a bean -field. People of this 
kind take more turns than a key. 
There's nothing to do now but leave 
them alone, and let one ball push tlie 
other. As for the lad, he only wants 
his wits sharjjened. 



SCENK in. 



¥ 



Enier^ in h^t dispute^ Ihna Ai/onsa, 
Dona Concha, ami Danyose, 

Dona Concha. Send an only son 
to Habana, to incur the peril of the 
black-vomit, for the sake of a proble- 
matic inheritance! It's an unheard- 
of atrocity I It's unnatural ! and noth- 
ing less ! 

D&na A If ansa. Embark the son of 
my life on the deep seas, to be Iwo 
Jong months at the mercy of the 
winds and waves; and all to get 
property that — God be thanked — he 
does not need t I will not consent! 
No! 

Don JosL He will go without your 
consent. 

Dona Concha, He will refuse to 
go ; and he will do right. 

Don yosL How ! will refuse if 
his father commantls him to go? 

Dona Aijonsa. Vou are not going 
to command him ! To lake such re- 
sponsibility would be to act as a bad 
father. 

Don JvsL I shall have no occa- 
sion to do it. Calixto is not a child 
that does not understand what is fur 
its own good. You ought to know 
that to recover an iuheritance one 



goes further than Habana- 
itself — and leaves on the 
if he is a grandee of Spain, 

Dona Alfonsa, Only thu 
who have nothing. 

Dona Concha, Those wh 
money to pay an agent 

Don ynsi. Pay an ageot !^ 

charge of both the saint am 
ahiis ?• The ideas of wc 
They do not have to ac 
ther xs agents or principals ii 
management of business matter 
so never understand anything 
them. 

Dofhj Concha, Nevertheless, ] 
you to understand that, if he gi 
search of an inheritance that 
dissolve into salt water, a& 
American properties are '^oxy a] 
he will lose mine, which is cciti 
he marries my niece, and tak4 
his residence in Sevilla. ^1 

Dona Ai/onsa, Take upVH 
dcnce in SeviUa! Leave hil 
father and mother] Abandoi 
bouse and lands of his forefaj 
The Habana project is bad eiK 
but this is too much ! And r 
for interest besides I He will i 
do it, sister, never! and he 
right! 

Dona Concha, He will 
the capital of a province to a di 
ble country village ? will noUj 
the fortune I offer him, withfl 
elegant wife, who is my niece 
his relative ? We shall see ] 
not ! 

Dona A/fonsa, He wnll not,1 
he does not love your niece, aix 
cause it is his duty to live wit 
parents in his ow^n house, andj 
own estate, as all his ancc 
before him. And is this, sisli 
son why you should disinherit ft 

Don jxisr. For this reason I 
him to secure the property in 

* To approprtnte botli tht « 



» a Di 
niec< 

>t,n 

Cf am 
,.^ wit 
^ and < 
ccs^jH 
sist^P 



Three Rules of Rns/ie Grammar. 



bana, which I, whom you are pleased 
ta caJI a bad father, will yield up to 
him at once, in order that he may 
live independently, and not be oblig- 
ed to enslave himself by accepting 
an inheritance with conditions at- 
Uchcd. 

DrSa Concha, He will enslave him- 
self more if he exposes himself to be- 
come food for the fishes of the sea, 
the caimans and the crocodiles — may 
Gcxj defend us ! — to obtain the one in 
Habana. 

Ihn yosi. Foolish terrors of wo- 
men t We will leave it to him to 
■iecide* 

' Dona Alfonsn, Blessed ^^ ord I 
Bona Concha. Immediately 1 This 
kill me. 

Hin^y/tf A/fottsa. For it is clear tliat 
o young man in his five senses w ill 
edde to go to sea, decide to marry 
womaii that another has chosen for 
im, and to establish himself away 
im his own native place. 
Dona Couchti. Sister, you live in 
bia * and are more than a century 
Mimd ihe age. 

Don Joii, There is nobody in any 
£c that refuses to go after an inheri- 

Drnid Concha. What is said is said ; 

decide. 

n yosi. Agreed. {Goes out mni* 

X-) I'll talk to him. 

ma Aljofisa {ttparty as she ^aes 

How you are going to be unde- 

ed \ To think that they know a 

n better than the mother who bore 

i ( To Maria ^ wha has km in the 

mtui during this scene . ) M a ri a, 

Calixto« I wish to speak with 

Da^^t Concha {apart, as she leaves 

^^ rcvm). To suppose that a stylish 

rouns^ fellow like Calixto is going to 

Qtir: r in this forlorn hamlet! 

, ^ fu ss! And to imagine that 



a man, already rich^ is going out to 
America to defend a lawsuit ! Pal- 
try idea of a country-bred proprie- 
tor! It wmII, however, be well to 
give Calixto a hint of what is going 
on. 

SCENE IV. 

Calixto, 

You hear what Maria says; all 
three are looking for me to pro- 
pose their plans, each one in the 
belief that I shall be found com- 
pliant. This is the time, Uncle Ma- 
tias, for me to speak out ; now they 
will listen to me, and each one will 
carry away a well-inculcated no! 

Uncle Maiias, N othin g of the kind ! 
You'll spoil all, senorito. 

Co a. \ to. Why, would you have me 
concede to each one what is asked ? 

Uncle Afatias. Neither this nor the 
other. 

Calixto, What then, old boy ? 

Uncie Ma Has, Neither Hat nor 
high nosed. ^ Don't commit your- 
self. Say neither yes nor no. But 
here comes the master, and Fm off. 
Keep your jacket buttoned tight, 
senorito, and don't commit yourself; 
don't drop a word that he can hold 
you l>y- 

CaH,xto, Perhaps the old fox is 
right. At any rate, we will try the 
rule of his grammar by being non-com- 
mittal— neither exasperating them 
nor consenting to them. 

SCEXE y. 
Enter Don yose\ 

Son, 1 have already spoken to you 
on one occasion of the fat inheritance 
I have to contest in Ha!)ana. 

Calixto, I recollect it, sin 



* The Und of timplc drtamerB. 



^ N*i chftto nj narigon. 



Ruks of Rustic Grammar. 



Zkm yosi. They write me that, in 
order to have my claim properly re- 
presented, it will be necessary to send 
a confideiUial person out there with 
the documents which are yet want- 
ing. He must understand law, and 
be prepared to make the matter his 
business. 

Ca/ix/tf, It will be very proper to 
send such a person, father. 

I}£'rt y^fsci But it would not be 
easy to find a person as trust wordiy 
as this a flair requires^ and, as you have 
just finished a course of law, does it 
not strike you that you are better 
qualified and more suitable than any 
one else can possibly be ? One old 
Spanish saying is, ** Jvr ytmr own^ 
yaur 

Caitxto. Thank you, senor, for the 
proof you give me of your confi- 
dence. 

Den yose, I intentl diat ihe whole 
of this property shall be )ours for 
your allowance and to reward your 
2eal. 

Caiixio. For this generosity on 
your part, I am — as I ought to be — 
truly grateful. 

Dan jfose. You are convinced, then, 
of the i)ropriety of my decision ? 

Ca/ix/iK Your having made it, se- 
nor, is proof to me of its propriety. 

SCENE VL 

TAe same and D&na Comha, 

Dana Concha, Here, brother ! For 
more than an hour» the overseer, the 
workman, the wheelwright, the guard, 
the foreman, and the chief shepherd 
have been waiting for you, 

Dan yosi {hastening). Vm going, 
V\\ be there. Ill see you again pre- 
sently, senora sister; in the meantime, 
convince yourself, to your disgust, that 
men understand affairs and one an- 
other better than women can under- 
stand them, however much Lycurgus- 



like diey 
to be. 



SCENE viu 



Dofla Concha a fid Calh 

Dona Cancha. What is thj 
your father has just told me ? 
possible, you foolish boy, I 
have pledged yourself to go 
focus of the yellow -fever to disj 
estate that you do not want ? 

Citiixto, An increase of fait 
never to be despised, aunt. 

Dana Concha. No ; but yo 
have the increase without ma 
painful, fruitless, and dangerou 
age* Know that I have i 
loved you and continue to lo' 
as a son, and that 1 projK>se 
diately to declare you my 
if you promise to give up tl 
undertaking, 

Calixto. Aunt, so much gi 
overpowers me. 

Dona Concha. You will 
yourself in Sevilla, and marry 
who will bring you (for her w 
portion) my grange of Los Ai 
which yields sixty thousand 
annually. With as much moi 
your father ought to give, you 
alTord to wait with patience 
estates* What do you think 
plan ? 

Caiixto, It exceeds my 
aunt. 

SCENE VIII. 

Zhfla Ai/ansa enters hash 

Doha Aifonsa, Caiixto, m^ 
where do you keep yourself ? | 
been looking for you for the last 

Doha Concha. He is attend 
matters of sufficient important 
ter; discussing means by wht 
avoid exposing his life to 



77/^ Three Rules af Rustic Grammar. 



3ft 



rice, and to escape also the death 
in life to which selfish affection would 
condcni ii h i m . ( Goes out. ) 

Dona Ai/ansa, I'hat is it! That 
is it! So, then, ray sister has been 
putting into your head the unnatural 
idea of abandoning your native place 
and your old parents ? 

Ctj/ixfi/. But, dear lady, at twenty- 
three a man cannot always remain 
shut up in one place, although it may 
be a \cry good place. You can be 
quite sure that the famous rat that 
^ lumed hermit and lived in a cheese 

■ tas nn old rat. 

■ Ikma Aijonsa. I wish tliat those 
fifc-shii)s and steam-carriages had 
never been thought of I They are 
what has turned the world upside 
dow^n ! they are what has brought 
\Xi this wicked propensity to keep 
moving and to move all tilings, as if 
evcrytliing was not best in the place 
that God designed it for. My child, 
where can you be happier than with 
your father and mother; in your own 
house, where all love you ; in your 
native town, where all know and re- 
spect you ? 

OtlLxio. If I went, it would be only 
to lake a journey, see what is going 
oa in the world, and return. 

Ihna AifoHsa. Changed and dis- 
oontcntcd, and a renegade to your 
^zountr>- i Well — and your father, too, 
_^anis to send you off upon the rag- 
«^g ocean in one of those ships that 
« swajlows at a gulp. 

Calixie, But, mother, many people 
So to America and come back with- 
out any mischance. 

Dona Alfonsa {^not aUcndhtgy Your 

k-unt wants you to live in Se villa, 

^'"^y from your old father and mo- 

^■^icr, who must remain alone with no 

^3ic to care for them. 

dlixto. She makes me her heir on 
liat condition. 
^^ Ddtla Aijonsa, Yes, if you marry 
^^cr niece, who knows how to talk 



French, and don't know how to say 

the Rosar)% Of course you said no ? 

Calixto. I said neither yes nor no 

SCENE IX. 

Enter Don yose^ Dona Concha^ and 
Unck Matias^ udw sfatioNs himself at 
one end of the stage, behind CalLxto. 

Don ybse {nMing his hands). 
Come, now, we are ready to hear 
how^ Calixto has decided. 

Dttfta Concha. And his decision is 
not that it will suit him better to be- 
come an adventurer, searching the 
world for inheritances, or to remain 
in your supper-without-Iights • style 
here, in this paltry village, rather than 
live, as a gentleman ought, in the 
capital of his province. What do 
you say, Calixto ? 

Calixto (with decision). Well, se- 
ll ores, I say — 

Uncle Matias (pulling at Calixto's 
sleeve). Stop where you arc. For word 
escaped from the mouth or stone 
from the hand there's no reiurn.t 

Calixto [somewhat confused^ lower- 
ing his voice), I have not made uj) my 
mind. (Apart.) He is right. En- 
trench yourself, and don't open a 
postern. 

Uncle Matias, Just so; bless your 
little bill, senorito ! 

Don yosL How is this, son ? Did 
we not settle it that — 

Calixto, We left it unsettled, senor. 

Uncle Alatiqs, ^\'cll answered ! 

Dona Concha. Calixto was talking 
with me afterward, and concluded, 
very judiciously, to gratify an aunt 
who proposes nothing but what is for 
his happiness, and most suitable in 
itself, Is it not so ? 

Calixto. I will do all that you de- 
sire, except — 



* L*H etna d <*jrMr«r— plenty wUhotit p1«*sami* 
t PaiAbrtk y j^itdra MUfifA up tUnen vtttiiA. 



■ 



Unde Mafias {puliing his sien^e). 
Stop where you are ! 

j}ima Concha. What do you say ? 

Caiixto, That perhaps I may com- 
ply with your wishes when I return 
from Habaiia, if I go, though I have 
not decitk'd to make the voyage. 

Unck Mafias, Good 1 you under- 
stand it 

Dona Cane ha. And wil! not decide 
to go running after a fortune like 
some Don Nobody of a beggar's son. 
O scnor brother-in-law, not all men 
have that ** mutual imderstanding." 

Don ybs^ (iiparf). The sly thing 
has circumvented inc ; but 1 would 
rather my son lost her estate than 
that she should have the disposal of 
his future. {To Cafixfo in an under- 
tone!) I will excuse you from the 
voyage to Habana, and double your 
allowance, if you will promise not to 
have that spoiled niece of your aunt. 
{Aiomi.) Caiixto does not think of 
changing his state at present. The 
gentlemen of our house have never 
married for interest. 

Dona Concha (asitft). He'll send 
the boy off to America yet. I have 
never seen a more obstinate man 
than this brother-in-law of mine, {fn 
a whisper to Caiixto,) My dear, I 
promise to secure my estate to you 
without conditions, if you will not go 
to Habana. 

Dona Al/ansa, Both of them dis- 
jKJsing of my son, and despatching 
him whither it suits them, as if the 
niodier that bore him hud nothing to 
say about it 3 It would not be sur- 
prising if the one with her tongue, 
and the other with his saws and sen- 
tences, should succeed ; she in mak- 
ing him marry her shallow-pated 
niece, he in persuading him to go to 
America. May God forbid it ! {Afi- 
proaches Cafixfo hasfifx^ and says in 



his ear) Caiixto, my son, if you will 
not sail for Habana nor go to live in 
Sevilla, I will not only permit you to 
travel on ferra firma^ but will also 
provide you with all the money you 
need for your expenses. 

Qifixto (apart to his mother\ I 
shall conform to your wishes, mother. 

Dona Al/onsa [triumphanfly), Ca- 
iixto will neither go to sea nor estab- 
lish himself in Sevilla 1 As if 1 did 
not know the son of my heart I 

Don yose (to his wi/e). Rib of 
my side, my son is not going to stay 
pinned to your petticoats like a pock- 
et. He shall visit Madrid to sec 
that the Cortes indemntfy me for the 
privileges of which they have despoil- 
ed my house. 

Dona Concha, I rejoice, brothcr-iii- 
law, that you have desisted from your 
mad project, and that my sister has 
given up her childish, old-limes no- 
tion of condemning Caiixto to lhc~-3 
existence of an oyster. 

C'ncfe Mafias (aparf to Catixto) , 

Does your worship sec» my senorito \ 
You have obtained all you wanted, 
and have your three superiors und 
your thumb, and grateful, into th^sl 
bargain. 

Caiixto. So it appears; for I anr-J 
not going to Habana ; not going tc 
marry ; not going to establish rnvself 
anywhere at present ; and I am goin 
to travel, I owe this good result 
you, Uncle Matias. 

Don ybsi. To Uncle Matias, diiE^ 
you say ? 

Dona Concha, The capaia2? 
what way ? 

Cafixfo. The way of his Threr Ruier^ 
of Rustic Grammar 

Dona Concha, And what arc hb 
three rules ? 

Caiixto, Wait and see^ Doftt <wih - 
mit yourself^ and St^whtfieypu art. 




THE IRISH BRIGADES IN THE SERVICE OF FRANCE.* 



That a people like the Irish, who 
bve long since lost their position 31s 
X distinctive member of the family 
of nations, and who are fast losing, 
with their language and peculiar cus- 
toms, the national identity of their 
most gifted public men, should chng 
with special tenacity to the fading 
glories of the past, is only in conso- 
nance with all we read in history 
of other weaker nationalities which, 
ftoro inherent defects or by the op- 
eration of superior hostile force, have 
jgndually become merged into that 
^Sf more compact or more powerful 
^leighbors. Ihc successive w ars that 
devastated Ireland from the time of 
^?ie Anglo-Norman invasion in 1169 
till the close of the seventeenth cen- 
t^urj'jleft the original inhabitants of 
XhsLt country and the descendants of 
tiie earlier invaders literally nothing 
but their faith, and that remarkable 
l^hysical and mental courage which, 
being inherent in the race, could only 
lavc been destroyed by the exlermi- 
iation of the whole people. The 
lith planted by St, Patrick no hu- 
3Ban power could eradicate, or even 
"iress its manifestations for any 
It length of time, as may be seen 
y tracing its gradual but steady re- 
ival during tlie penal years, and in 
splenditl and substantial victories 
^ned over all the enemies that Pro- 
^^Stantism arrayed against it in more 
odtrn days. Its triumphs, how- 
"^'er, are not in the strictest sense na- 
^nal, but belong more properly to 
'c general history of the church, ex- 



'•rji^v,^ 



' ^ i^ Urtjgatffs in the Service 

RctbOluCiun in GrcAt Bri- 

' r Jame* n. to the Revolu- 

luiJvf Louis XVI, By J»jliri Cor* 

: ,i^tian. GUipow: Cameron & 

lio»ioo : P, Don«hoc. 



hibiting, as they do, another of the 
many instances to be found in the 
annals of Christendom of a people, 
crushed and persecuted for religion*s 
sake, successfully opposing patience 
and fordtude to the most ingenious 
machinations of a dominant civil 
power. 

But the loyalty, keen sense of ho- 
nor, and undaunted heroism which 
distinguished the Irish exiles on the 
continent of Europe during die great- 
er portion of the last century, shed a 
halo round the departing days of 
Irish nationality, and constituted an 
inheritance at once the boast and 
exclusive property of their kindred. 
Conquest as often imjvlies degenera- 
cy and corruption on the part of the 
vanquished as the possession of over- 
whelming power on that of the con- 
querors; but certainly in perusing the 
pages of the author before us, filled 
as they are with authentic records of 
a thousand deeds of noble daring in 
the field, and the display of high 
mental tiualities in the study and the 
cabinet, we cannot help arriving at 
the conviction that the success of the 
English arms in Ireland was due to 
other causes than to the absence of 
manly vigor or the want of that com- 
prehensive skill considered necessary 
to plan campaigns and fight success- 
fill battles. Strangers in a strange 
land, placed in constant contrast with 
the soldiers of the most warlike na- 
tion of the period, and necessarily 
brought in contact with many of 
the ablest statesmen of the day, we 
find that the Irish contingent in the 
service of France not only occupied 
no secondary place among the brav- 
est of her troops, but that they were 
everywhere received with marked 



T!i£ Irish Brigades in the Sendee of France^ 



distinction, and that their leaders in- 
variably won their way to important 
commands, and wore gracefully the 
attendant honors. Their devotion 
to the ajiparcntly hopeless cause of 
their dethroned sovereign, a feeling 
scarcely subordinate to their fidelity 
to his great ally, constantly exhibited 
on so many hard -fought battle-fields 
where his enemies were to be defeat- 
ed or his friends succored, was a per- 
petual protest against the pretensions 
of William of Orange and the House 
of Hanover, and a complete refuta- 
tation of the anti-Irish slanders which 
were sought to be circulated against 
the intelligence and bravery of a 
people who had imperilled and lost 
everything in defence of religion and 
freedom, and who only, after a series 
of struggles extending from genera- 
tion to generation, finally relinquish- 
cd the contest at home to renew it 
u n der more fa \' o ra bl e a usp i c es ab road . 
One of the first duties of a citizen is 
to defend his country, native or 
adopted, against external and inter- 
nal foes, and he who has the capa- 
city to do this bravely and skilfully, 
with proper regard for the restrictions 
of religion ami the dictates of hu- 
manity, ought to occupy an exalted 
place in the esteem qI his compa- 
triots. Hence, in all wisely govern- 
ed countries, military science and 
martial prowess have been fostered 
and extolled; and hence also we finti 
in the orations and songs of modern 
Ireland constant and fond reference 
made to the gallantry of the exiles 
in the various Continental countries 
under whose flags they found free- 
dom of conscience, employment, and 
distinction. 

Long anterior to the disaster at 
the Boyne and the capitulation of 
Limerick, Irish soldiers were engag- 
ed in the service of Catholic nations ; 
for, as each recurring insurrection was 
suppressed at home, numerous Irish 



chiefs and their followers, tOi 
to remain in a land where tn 
gion was oudawed and the id 
given to strangers, crossed J 
Continent, and were eve( 
gladly welcomed into tlie ri 
their co religionists. They J 
in particular the armies ol 
France, Austria, Italy, Polandj 
countries of Southern Gcrma 
not having had distinctive Q 
tions, their exploits are \a\q\ 
merely through passing allti 
their names in contemporancoi 
ry or by the meagre l)iogra| 
some ill-informed chroniclers q 
ry as[)irations. France, from | 
and intimate intercourse with] 
and from the fact of the fricnf 
her monarch Louis XIV, for tl 
of Stuart, was destined lo j 
theatre of Irish military gcnl 
more ample scale, and thus 1 
by the misfortunes of her 
and less fortunate ally. Duj 
reign of the second Charles, tb 
two regiments of foreign ti 
the French service: one c<i 
of Irish, English, and Scotch 
the tkndarma Afighis et i 
and the other composed exj 
of Irish raised by royal perm 
1671. This latter, commaj 
Count George Hamilton, disi 
ed itself in the wars of ll 
Turenne and under the E 
Luxembourg, having, as the 
historians relate, ** done w< 
and, though recruited in i\ 
the addition of six hundw 
grants, it became so reduced j 
bers by reason of losses ii 
that it ceased to exist as a 
and was incorporated into 
rnent of Greder soon after lb 
of its colonel, which occurredj 
not xnany months after the cf 
been commissioned major-ge! 
the French army, , 

Affairs on the Continent * 



The Irish Brigades in ike Ser%>ice of France, 



i^S 



this time singularly favorable for the 
advent of a large organized and im- 
petuous body of men such as the 
Irish troops afterward firoved them- 
selves to be. Toward the close of 
ihe seventeenth century, the position 
rf France was such as to appall a 
inod less firm and less fruitful in 
tciources than that of the politic, 
able, and unscrupulous monarch who 
then swayed her destiny. He was 
literally surrounded by enemies, open 
or secret, England alone excepted, 
and even her friendshtpi laboring as 
^le was in the incipient throes of 
revolution, was almost valueless. 1 he 
League of Augsburg, formed, in 1688, 
ostensibly against the lurks, was ac- 
tually directed against the growing 
erof France, whose territorial ag- 
paiidlzemcnts and extravagant prc- 
Ictisions had arrayed against her the 
Imperor of Germany, the Electors 
of Saxony, Bavaria, Brandenburg, 
and tlie Palatinate, as well as Sua- 
ble, Franconia, Spain, Sweden, the 
Dutch Republic, and Savoy, Even 
the Pope, Innocent XL, if he did not 
lake an active part with the league, 
had good reasons to disa|>provc of 
the general conduct of the PVench 
img. 'I'he Protestant members of 
the league were opposed to Louis 
tiecause he was, nominally at least, 
s Catholic, while their Catholic ab 
Ijci, being near neighbors of France^ 
Scared her lust of contjuest or dis- 
tmicd her almost equally dangerous 
^Ddship. The leading spirit of 
^his formidable coalition was prc-emi- 
'»emly William of Orange, who from 
personal motives as well as from rea- 
*^nv of wise and far-seeing states- 
manship w*as the avowed enemy of 
^nuice. One of his chief designs 
^•3^ \r> detach England from that 
^Untry^ and array her with her army 
^<1 fleet on the side of the leaguers. 
^0 effect this purpose and at the 
^c time to gratify his ill-concealed 



ambition, he plotted with a number 
of English refugees at the Hague 
the dethronement of his fatherindaw 
James IL, and successfully accom- 
plished his scheme by the aid of his 
Continental allies. This was the 
much vaunted Revolution of 1688, 
by which the English people, blind- 
ed by their sectarian prejudices, con- 
fidently believed that they had con- 
firmed their liberties and placed their 
country on a prouder eminence am* 
ong surrounding nations, but which 
in reality drew her helplessly into the 
vortex of Continental politics, entaile<l 
upon her a succession of destructive 
and expensive wars, and laid deep 
the foundation of her national debt— 
an incubus which ever since has 
weighed so heavily on the energies 
of her industrial population. 

At the near approach of danger, 
James, deserted and betrayed, aban- 
doned crown and kingdom, and 
sought refuge at the court of Louis 
XIV. That sovereign was undis- 
aiayed by the new accession to the 
ranks of bis enemies. His subjects 
entertained for him the most pro- 
found loyalty, his treasury was in rea- 
sonably good condition, his armies in 
a high state of efficiency^ and he 
counted among his general officers 
some of the aljlest captains in Eu- 
rope. He forthwith despatched James 
to Ireland, where the jieople, the de- 
scendants of the ** Undertakers " and 
the CromwcUian soldiery excepted, 
were unanimously in his favor, pro- 
mising to send after him ships, arms, 
and men to aid him, if not in recov- 
ering the crown of England, at least 
in holding possession of the govern- 
ment of Ireland, of which he still was 
the lawful sovereign. James landed 
in Ireland from Brest in March, 
1689, and was followed in April of 
the next year by a fieet of forty ships^ 
and transports bearing arms, supplies, 
and about six thousand Frencli 



* 



3'6 



The Irish Brigades in the Service of France. 



troops, under the command of 
Comte de Lauzun arid several subor- 
dinate engineer and artillery officers 
of distinction. 

The histor}^ of the Williamite cam- 
paigns of 1689-90-91 is but the coun- 
tcqjart of that of so many previous 
struggles in that country — a succession 
of hard-contested battles resulting in 
disaster to the patriots, and a series 
of brilliant skirmishes which but de- 
layed, not averted, the final consum- 
mation, and that consummation was 
confiscation, death, or perpetual expa- 
triation. Hie wisdom and policy of the 
Irish people in adhering so tenacious- 
ly to the fortunes of the fallen Stuarts 
have been questioned, but, we think, 
without sufficient consideration of the 
true situation of public affairs at that 
time. The Stuarts when in power were 
but indifferent friends of Ireland, it is 
true, still they were of the Irish race; 
and James IL, with all his faults, 
was not only a Catholic, but an ear- 
nest and practical advocate of reli- 
gious toleration for all sects. While 
yet on the throne, he had relieved 
tlie Catholic and dissenting classes 
of the three kingdoms from many of 
the disabilities under which they had 
so long labored, he had replaced in 
his armies and navy many distin- 
guished officers who heretofore had 
been excluded from their proper po- 
sition for conscience' sake, and had 
called to his councils men whom the 
Irish people recognized as of their 
blood and faith ; and, finally, for these 
very acts, at least such was the alle- 
gation of his enemies, he was driven 
from the throne of his immediate 
ancestors, and stripped of all kingly 
power. What ulterior views, looking 
to complete national independence^ 
might have been entertained by the 
chiefs of the old Irish race, we know 
not with certainty, though we have 
reason to suppose that such existed ; 
but we cannot see how the Catholics 



of Ireland, with a full knowl 
the antecedents of William of 
and the character of those viH 
spired to place him in power, 
have done otherwise than rally 
the standard of James; and, 
concluded to take sitles in thi 
family quarrel, true policy d 
that their help should be rd 
promptly and with the most 
ing display of numbers. AccC 
ly, the king's arrival was the 
for the rising of the entire ad 
tionnl population of the island^ 
numlicr of at least one hundrec 
sand, ever}' one of whom was 
to lay down his life in the cai 
his religion and country ; but 
tunately James's treasury was I 
wretched condition that he W] 
able to supply a tithe of the 
ments required, and, even w! 
supplies furnished by France, 
obliged to send more than hall 
followers to their homes, there 
main inactive spectators of a < 
in which the question of ihei^ 
ties and national existence waal 
decided. 

While James was arraying hi 
subjects and French allies agaii 
head of the League of Auj 
Louis was combating with hi« 
persistency and ubiquity the i 
of its members on his frontiers 
do this eflectively, he had ever 
but a sufficiency of men. H< 
as we have seen, sent to Inrlaj 
thousand of his regular troope 
arms for many thousand moi 
he could ill spare so many mci 
the trying circumstances in whi 
was placed. He acconiingly 
lated with James that, in retu 
Lauzun*s men, be should h«3 
equivalent number of Irish I 
which he agreed to fully arra, 
and rewaril with extra pay, ! 
tue <y{ this cartel, there saile< 
Cork, on the 1 8th day of Aj 



The Irish Brigadis in the Service of France. 



317 



on the returning Frenth fleet, five 
regiments of Irish tn>o[)s, ynder the 
command of General Justin iVtacCar- 
thy, Lord Mountcashel, the hrst Irish 
brigade, for the service of France, 
and the initial wave of that vast tide 
t^f military emigration which was des- 
Miaed to set toward the shores of 
France from that time till lung after 
the causes whicli j^ut it in motion 
had ceased to exist. These live regi- 
ments, on their landing, numbered in 
officers and men five thousand three 
hundred and seventy-one ; but, being 
obliged to conform to the system 
then prevalent in France, they were 
consolidated into three, each of fif- 
teen companies, the supernumerary 
colonels, Richard Butler and Robert 
bidding, with their fichbstaff and line 
olBcers, accepting lesser grades of 
^ank rather than abandon the cause 
in wiiich ihey took so vital an inter- 
^, The brigade thus organized was 
|jl;iced imdcr the command of Mac- 
Carthy, who was commissioned in 
the French service as martchai dt- 
^amp^ and was known during his life- 
time and long afterward as Mount- 
^ajhcl*s Brigade, MacCarthy, save 
in point of the slight physical defect 
«f having been near-sigh tc J, seems 
^ have possessed all the requisites 
^r a good commanding ofticer. The 
t descendant of one of the most 
lent families in Ireland, which, if 
lot always remarkable for consistent 
l^kstriotism, was certainly never found 
^ficicDt in soldiedy qualities, he 
*^itci| to a temperament naturally 
^^ve and enthusiastic all the social 
*«»1 menial culture wliich the limes 
^^orded to persons of his rank and 
'^tivity, heightened by his intimate 
"^^Jationship by consanguinity or iiiar- 
'^^ge with many of the noblest fami- 
'■^ in Ireland and England. In the 
^c&uitory warfare that preceded the 
^^' i the two royal armies at 

^*' % he commanded King 



k|dtfec 
Vpftcie 



James's forces in tlie north, and, 
though desperately wounded and ta- 
ken prisoner by theWilliamite troops, 
he proved himself a vigilant and skil- 
ful officer; and, though not always 
successful, he invariably came out of 
each engagement with honor and in- 
creased reputation. The cuk>RcI of 
the second regiment of the brigade 
was the Hon. Daniel O'Brien, atter- 
ward Lord Clare, who, as his name 
indicates, was of the royal house of 
Munster. He also w-as an accom- 
plished soldier, thoroughly acquaint- 
ed with the art of warfare as under- 
stood in that day, and remarkable 
alike for the grace of his person and 
the soundness of his judgment. The 
third regiment was in charge of the 
Hon, Arthur Dillon, afterward Count 
Dillon, who, though a stripling not 
yet twenty years of age, exhibited 
such an aptitude for military matters 
that he was not only allowed to re- 
tain his command in preference to 
officers of much greater practical ex- 
perience, but subseijuently rose to a 
very high rank in the French service, 
and died in 1733 at the age of sixty- 
three years, being then lieutenant-gen- 
eral. 

The first brigade had scarcely set 
foot in France when it was ordered 
into active service. Mountcashel, 
having been confirmed in his rank as 
lieutenant-general and put in com- 
mand of all the Irish troops in the 
service of Louis XIV., took the field 
in the summer of 1690, under St 
Ruth, then operating in Savoy ; in 
the following year, we find him at 
the head of his command ^ forming 
part of the army of Rousillon, un- 
der the Due de Noailles, and taking 
part in the capture of several fortified 
places in Catalonia; in 1695, he was 
with the army of Germany, and in 
the following year his deadi is an- 
nounced as having occurred from 
wounds received in various actions, 



* 



3*8 



The Irish Brigades in (he Service of France, 



in which, says the French chronicler, 
he was ** always extremely distin- 
guished/' He was succeeded by 
Colonel Andrew Lee and other 
gallant officers, and his regiment, 
constantly engaged in the French 
wars, and as persistently supplying 
its losses in battle w ith recruits from 
Ireland, at length ceased to exist as 
an organization in 1775, about eigh- 
ty- five years after its landing tn 
France. The regiment of 0*Brien, 
or Clare, as it ^vas subsequently call- 
ed, was likewise engaged in Savoy in 
1690, and with the army of Pied- 
mont in the following years under 
Catinat. O'Brien, who took an ac- 
tive part in the batde of Marsaglia, 
October 4, 1693, and is said to 
have contributed materially to the 
success of the French arms on that 
occasion, was there mortally wound- 
ed, and died soon after at PigneroL 
This regiment, like that of Moimtca- 
shel, continued to take an active part 
in all the military operations of the 
P>erjch, led by and recruited from 
the ranks of its own countrymen, 
and finally ceased to exist at the 
same time. The regiment of Dillon 
for the first few years was principally 
engaged under Noailles in his opera- 
tions against Spain, it afterward shar- 
ed the dangers and suffered the same 
losses incident lo the other regiments 
of the brigade, and was the last to 
be disbanded, having existed fur over 
one hundred years on French soi!, 
always recruited from home, and to 
the last retaining as its commandant 
a scion of the house of its original 
colonel. 

Meanwhile the war in Ireland had 
closed with tlie surrender of Limerick 
in 1691, By the terms of capitula- 
tion, the Irish garrison w*as allowed 
to march out of the city \nth all the 
honors of war. Those who chose 
to remain in the country were guar- 
anteed the possession of their lands 



and the free exercise oi the| 
and were even promised posij 
the service of William ecjuiva} 
those h el d u n f I er J a m es. l*h dl 
preferred to leave the countij 
to be provided with a free pass 
any country they might selei 
were at liberty to enter the l| 
of any sovereign at peace wid 
land, but were prohibited fit 
turning to their native land, 
by special royal authority, und 
nalty of death. Those who tl 
km tartly preferred exile to Wi 
service forfeited their lands ai 
nors, and by this latter claua 
one million of acres were conft 
The great bulk of James's arm 
trusting the sjiecious promisegj 
English, in which subsc<iuentl 
but too fully justified them,cmq 
some to Spain and other KtM 
countries, but the majcmty, m 
ing over nineteen thousand Q 
all amis, followed the fortuij 
their king and went to France, 
force, together with the fim Iri 
gade and the recruits which froi 
to time had come over to ] 
during the civil war in IrelaiK 
stituted, according to King J 
memoirs and the account | 
Chevaher W ogan, a total of ol 
thirty thousand Irishmen in d 
vice of France at the beginni 
the year 1692 — a contingent ^ 
when we recall the paucity of^ 
mies of that provincfe, must bai 
stituted a very imi>ortant elei» 
the entire militar)^ force of the \ 
nation, as it most assuredly con 
cd to the success of that cxjtil 
all of her subsequent wars, | 
her eventual supremacy on till 
tinent. In fact, look at it hi 
may, it is almost impossible tfl 
estimate the importance to ] 
and her rulers of this new addil 
strength. Those thirty ihousa^ 
were all in the prime of life, < 



The Irish Brigades in the Service of France, 



VIIJII I 



Cfful physique, inured from infiincy 
to hardship, soldiers who had mea- 
sured swords with the choicest of 
Wi]hani*s veterans, ofhccrs who had 
outmanccuvTed his .most skihul gen- 
erals, all fully organized, armed, and 
equipped, united together and to 
tbcir leaders by die strongest of all 
bonds, those of family, country, and 
religion. Their voluntary presence 
on French soil was not only a guar- 
aiee of their loyalty to King James 
ami their determination to uphold all 
vho sustained their religion » but it 
^15 an earnest that, as death, disease, 
Of the natuml decay of men tnight 
thin their ranks, plenty more of their 
ilrytnen would be found willing 
ready to take their places. As 
^ng IS the ** Protestant ascendency '* 
^sirty ill England continued to per- 
utc the Catholics, there was no 
%ar that France would lack Irish 
^^ops to fight her batdes. America 
^^ad not then become a refuge for 
Ic oppressed of Europe, and we 
nust not be astonished to hnd, m- 
-ledible as it may appear, that Irish 
Emigration which has directed its 
ch westward since our Revolu- 
ioo, previously found its chief outlet 
the armies of continental Europe 
the preceding centur}-, as we have 
best authority for staling that near- 
thrce-quarters of a million of able- 
M)died men, natives of Ireland, sought 
fervice in the French armies alone, 
'Wiing the hundred years that followed 
^*c surrender of Limerick- * In an- 
aspect, the introduction of this 
reign element into the land forces 



rnade in L^s Archk'ts dn 

' A Paris, by M. dt Ia 

^il . t bctwcea the years 1650 

i>fe liUan 750/500 Irishmen **Ht*aifmt 

k^f /litr It /tr ou Ir b^nltt tttr iet dt- 

tte hAtatilt feut f/ciai dn notn 

The number of Irish sotdkr^ killed 

i^lftvnch service from \6q\ lo 1745 is act 

lie hbtoriflo McGec^hegftn, i^ho wais 

diapUin to the Iti&h liri^de, «t 



of France had a marked effect on 
the esprit de iorps of the entire army. 
It is a welbrect»gni2ed fact in milita- 
ry science that every nation has its 
peculiar excellence in w arfare, and it 
is by the combination of these differ- 
ent national qualities under one su- 
preme head, and the judicious adap- 
lation of them to meet special exi- 
gencies, that the most eflicient armies 
are created and the most decisive 
results accomplished* I'he British 
forces under that great master of the 
art of wMr, Wellington, would afford 
a forcible illustration of the truth ful- 
ness of this proposition, did we not 
see Us efficacy in our own late in- 
ternecine war, where the children of 
diverse origin vied with each other 
in their antagonism to the common 
enemy. Ambition is said to be the 
virtue of a solLlicr, and generous ri- 
valry is but its outward manifesta- 
tion. The Irish soldier in the pre- 
sence of his Gallic comrade felt call- 
ed upon to exceed even his natural 
daring, and the Frenchman, with the 
military pride of his country, could 
hardly allow himself to be eclipsed 
by the su[)erior merits of a foreigner. 
Thus it was that during the wars of 
Louis XIV. and his successor, though 
often outnumbered and sometimes 
defeated, the French armies invaria- 
bly displayed the greatest heroism. 

It is a common mistake to suppose 
that the Irish truo[)s in the service of 
France were mere mercenaries. The 
contrary is the fact. They w^cre sim- 
ply expatriated soldiers, a portion of 
whom were sent by their lawful sov- 
ereign lo assist his nlly, and the bal- 
ance allowed voluntarily to leave their 
country by the most solemn of all 
contracts, a treaty, duly ratified and 
expressed in terms broad enough to 
satisfy the scruples of the greatest 
advocate of tlie doctrine of perpetual 
allegiance. The moral ligament that 
is supposed to for ever bind the sub- 



jcct to the government was severed 
by the only authorily that might 
have laid claim to their obedience, 
and henceforth they were at liberty 
to choose their own country and pass 
under the protecttan of whatever 
government they j»leased to select. 
That this was well understood at the 
time by both parties to tlie contract 
cannot be doubted ; for, while as pri- 
soners of war ihey were treated by 
their kite countrymen with all the 
honors due French-born prisoners, 
they themselves refused the extra 
pay allowed to other foreign troops, 
preferring to be consiflcred as natu- 
ralized Frenchmen. ** Louis XIV./' 
says Count Dillon, ** wrote with his 
own hand to the civil lieutenant, Le 
Camus, *that he had always treated 
the Irish Catholics who had passed 
into his kingdom as his own subjects ; 
and tliat it was his wish that they 
should enjoy the same rights as na- 
tural-born Frenchmen, without being 
on that account obliged to take out 
letters of naturali/ation.' " 

When the troops which had volun- 
teered for France after the treaty of 
Limerick had arrived in that country 
early in 1692, they were received by 
James and the French king with 
marked cordiality, and were reorga- 
nized into two troops of horse guards, 
two regiments of horse, two regiments 
of dragoons, dismounted, and eight re* 
giments and three independent com- 
panies of intantry. Tliey were to be 
under the orders of James 11. , all the 
commissions were to be signed by 
him, and for the purpose of their pro- 
per government he was to be allow- 
ed a secretary of war, a judge* advo- 
cate-general, a provost-marshal-gen- 
eral, a chaplain-general, chaplains, 
physicians, surgeons, etc. As an evi- 
dence of the pcrsonud of these new 
allies of France, it may be mentioned 
that the two troops of guards were 
composed exclusively of gendemen 



of birth and education, and 
w^as commanded by the L 
Berwick, James's son, and tl 
by Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of 
The two regiments of mouj 
valry were made up of the r 
of those of Tyrconnell, Gain 
can, Sutheriand, Luttrell, Al 
VVestmeaih, Purcell, and 0*B] 
first commanded by Colonel 
Sheldon and the second b 
Galmoy. The first rcgirneni 
mounted dragoons was com 
by William Dongan, Earl 
merick, and the second by 
Francis O'Carroll, the infant 
ments and independent coi 
retaining the old ofhcen^ aa 
possible. By this new arranj 
many deserving officers, it 
were presented the alterna 
abandoning the service or 
grades much inferior to tbeii 
rank ; but so intense was th< 
to serve against their ancient 
and his allies that they, aim* 
out exception, accepted any 
offered them, and even son 
tlemen were found willing 
places among the common sai 
a circumstance which, though 
to the parties interested, rai 
had a salutary effect on the 
of die rank and file. 

Thus reorganized, the year 
arrival in France was allowed 
in a chimerical attempt to 
descent on some part of the 
coast in order to reinstate J 
his lost throne. For this p 
an army of thirty thousand 
which the Irish troops formd 
one- half, was assembled bctwc^ 
bourg and La Hogue in No) 
under the command of the ! 
de Bellcfonds and Lord Luc 
the naval engagement off La 
in which the French fleet 1 
to convoy this expedition waj 
destroyed, put an end to tha 




The Irish Bngadis in the Service of France. 



321 



tions of James and the designs of 
Louis XtV. The battle of Landen, 
io Flanders, fought July 29 by the 
French and Irish forces, under Mar- 
shal the Duke of Luxembourg and 
the allies under William IIL, was the 
principal event of the following year, 
and resulted in a decisive victory for 
the fonner. The first royal Iri.sh 
regiment of infantr)% under Colonel 
6arrelt» had the honor of oi>cning the 
engagement, and greatly distinguish- 
ed itself during the entire day, its 
gallant commandant, in the quaint 
hllguagc of a contemporary histo- 
mn^ **by his bould leading of the 
Slid Irish regiment, signalized himself, 
and slept in the bed of honor." Fieffe, 
10 his IJtstoire ties Irmtprs EtraPi- 
4^lres, also says of Barrett's regiment in 
this action that it '* gloriously reveng- 
ed the insult of the Boyne and Lim- 
TOck/* Other portions of the Irish 
contingent, under Berwick and Sars- 
feld, formed the left of the French 
line, and were conspicuous during the 
btttle for iheir constant and detennin- 
efibrts to break the ranks of their 
fnent*^. Sarsfiekl in particular was 
ft: for the impetuosity of 

hit , in one of which, in the 

^riUage of Neer-Windcn toward ihe 
dose of the batUe, he fell severely 
bounded, and died soon after of fever 
*t Uuy. It was while lying on the 
6dd hiii valor had so materially con- 
Wiutcd to win, and while the cry of 
victory was filling the air around 
Nm, that he is said to have put his 
handover his wound, and, immediate- 
ly irithdravving it covered with his life- 
Mood, mournfully exclaimed, "Ohl 
^11 tliis was shed for Ireland." The 
^ss of Sar^field was keenly felt by 
^e Irish soldiers abroad. He was 
^keir most txustetl and, after the Duke 
^ Berwick, their ablest chief As a 
Popular favorite, he had no rival, and 
■i lume even in our time continues 
^ be iDOf e intimately associated with 

VOU XIL — 21 



the fame of the Irish brigades than 
that of any other officer connected 
with them- In stature, he was re- 
markably tall and proportionately 
muscular^ in disposition, mild and 
humane; he was passionately fond 
of the profession pf arms, and his 
disregard of danger sometimes as- 
sumed the character of recklessness, 
tiis military career is thus epitomized 
by the author: 

" Patrick first served in France as en- 
sign in the regiiuetu of Moninoiitli ; then 
as lieutenant in the guards in England ; 
whence, on the success of llic revolu- 
tionists supported by the Dutch invasion, 
he folloivcd Kinjj James U, into France. 
In March, 1689, lie accompanied the king 
lo Ireland ; was created a mtmhcr of ihe 
privaic council : made a colonel of 
horse, and brigadier; and appointed to 
command the royal force for the protec- 
tion of Connaught against the northern 
ruvohitionists, whose headquarters were 
ai Iniskilling, or Enntskillen. With 
that force, he remained in North Con- 
naught until the effects of the unlucky 
a Hair at Ncwiov^n-Butler, and tlie rais- 
ing of tlic blockade of D€m% in Au- 
i^ust, by the l.iriding of Major-Gcncral 
ICirkc's rtlicf from England and Scotland* 
compelled him lo leiire to AthJone. That 
autumn, however, he retook Sligo, and 
entirely expelled the revolutionists from 
Connaught. In July. 1690, he was pre- 
sent at the affair of the Boyne ; and, after 
the king's departure to France, he, by 
his vigorous exhortations to his countri-- 
men to continue the war, and by his sur- 
prise of the Williamitc battering-artillery, 
ammunition, etc.. in August, only scvcni or 
eight miles from the enemy's camp, main- 
ly contributed to the successful defence 
of Limerick against William III. In De- 
cember and Januar)% 1690-91, be foiled 
the military' efforts of the Williamitcs, 
though aided by treachery, to cross the 
Sh^innon into Connaught ; and was. at 
the next promotion, made a major-gene- 
ral, and ennobled by King lames as 
* Earl of Lucati, Viscount of TuUy. and 
Baron of Rosberry.* In June and July, 
he was at the defence of A th lone, and the 
battle of Auglirim, or Ktlconncll. Soon 
after, he detected, denounced, and arrest- 
ed, for corresponding with the enemy, 
his intimate friend and neighbor Briga- 



322 



The Irish Brigades in the Service of France. 



dier Henry LuttrclU of Luiirellsiown, in 
the county of Dublin, ihovigh that officer 
was cither loo wary or too powerful to 
be condemned. After the Treaty o( Li mc- 
rick, in October, l6gi, lo which his lord- 
ship wasn chief contracting party » he used 
all his influence lo make as in;\ny as pos- 
sible of Iiis countrymen adhere to the 
cause of King James atid accompany 
lire national arrny to France, thus sac- 
rificing to ids loyalty ins tine estate .ind 
good prospects of advancement from Wil- 
liam in. In 1692, he was appointed by 
Jaroes to the command of his second troop 
of Irish horse guard s» after the grant of 
the first troop lo the Duiie of Berwick. 
On the defeat at Sleenkirk. in July, 1692, 
of the allies, under William III., by the 
French, under I he Marshal dc Luxem- 
bourg, the marsh.il complimented Lord 
Lucan as having acted at the engage- 
ment in a manner worthy of his previ- 
ous military reputation in Ireland. In 
March. 1693, in addition to his rank of 
major-general in the service of James 
IL, his lordship was created man'ihal 
de CiVtip, or major-general, in that of 
France, by Louis XIV\; :uid, nl the great 
overthrow, in July, of the allies, under 
William 111., by Luxembourg at the bat- 
tle of Landcn (otherwise Necr*Wjndcn, 
or Neer-Iitjspcn), he received his death- 
wound." 

In Italy^ this year, the Irish troops 
tinder the immediate command of 
some French generals who Iiad sen - 
ed in Ireland^ like De b Hougerte 
and D*Usson, and of their own 
c o un try m en Max vv ell, W a uc h o p , a nd 
O'Carrol), fully sustained the national 
reputaiion. They performed impor- 
tant partsinall the batdes and attacks, 
particularly in that of Marsaglia, 
ami Marshal de Catinat, the com- 
mander-in-chief, in witting to the 
king, refiorts that, being placed in 
the centre cjf the line, *• they had done 
surprising things in the way of valor 
and good order during the combat." 
** They have," he adds, '* overthrown 
squadrons, sword in hand, charging 
Ihem face to face and overthrowing 
them." Evidence such as this of 
the invincible daring of the Franco- 
Irish troops in all tlie armies of 



France might be presented ad , 
titm up to the Peace of Ryswic 
1797, when Europe was allowed to 
enjoy a short respite from the horron 
of warfare. The losses in tlie vari- 
ous Irish brigades had been so great 
during the previous four or five 
years that it became necessary to, 
again reorganize them and lessen 
t h e n u m ber of re gi men ts, Th ey wer^eg 
accordingly reduced to seven regi-^ 
ments of infantry and one of cavalry 1 
the former being increased one req 
giment toward the close of the yea^ 
1698. This nutnerical distinction 
w^as maintained till 17 14, when thc^ 
w^ere again consolidated into five r^ 
giments of infantry, again increa»i^ 
to six in 1744, reduced ^igain to fL d 
in 1762, and ending with only rhtt^ 
in 1791, the date of the final cxtiv^ 
tion of the Irish auxiliaries as x 
parate part of the French army. 
The repose of Europe wa5 of -^ 
duration. The war of the Spanwi 
succession, as it is called, ushered in 
the eighteenth century, and found rhc 
armies of France again in f 
combating their enemies on . 
Spain and Italy were the r ' 

tie-fields. In the former, i 

with the choice of the French troop*, 
including a large proportion of ihe 
Irish contingent, carried evcnthiiV 
before him. I'his Duke of Rerwicki 
the illegitimate son of King Inmc^^nH 
the ne[)hew of Marlboro 
only one of the greatest u.... ., . 
time, but, whh the exception of UBj* 
tlie most remarkable man clw '"' 
with the Irish brigack-s in 
service. In his early y 
served with Austria again 
after the svirrendct of Ltmi 
crossed to the Continent, and * - 
signed command of a troop rf WJp , 
Irish horse guards, and was uW 
prisoner by his uncle at the 
of Landen. His troop ha^i 
consolidated in 1698, he wi 



\ to the colonelcy of an Irish in- 
tr)-^ regiment, which ihtTcupon took 
mame. In Spain, lie commanded 
the French force sent to the suj>port 
of Philip v., when he covered his 
Dame with glory. He afterwards 
w3Ji killed by a cannon-shot at the 
siege of Philipsburg in 1734, in the 
sixty-fourth year of his age, having 
arrived at the dignity of marshal of 
Fnince and been decorated with the 
highest orders. Notwithstanding his 
doubtful origin* he is represented as 
iicing a strictly moral and conscien- 
tious man in all his domestic and 
public relations, and " he left behind 
him/' says Lord Mahon, *'a niost 
brilliant miUtarv' reputation," His 
victory at Almanza was the crowning 
glory of his Wic as well as one of the 
xmhl decisive of modern times. In 
Italy, where the illustrious Eugene 
oomiiianded the troops opposed to 
France, the bravery of the Irish sol- 
diers was equally conspicuous* and 
the surprise of Cremona, anfl its gal- 
lant defence and recapture by a hand- 
ful of Irislimen then forming part of 
the garrison^ is too well known and 
too frequently celebrated in story and 
song to need a special description. 
They were a portion of the regiments 
of Bourke and Dillon, and, out of 
iix hundred men, lost in killed and 
voundcd more than onc-half. ** The 
Irish/' writes Brigadier Count de 
Vauilry, " who attacked in the night 
on the side of the river Po» perform- 
ed incredible acts." Major O'Ma- 
Itofiy^ who commanded his country - 
inen on this occasion, was, according 
to the Abbe de FairaCt ** appointed 
to cArry to his most Christian majes- 
ty an account of that memorable 
tnnsaclion, and performed that com- 
Qnsston so much to his majesty^s sat- 
bfactjon that he granted him a bre- 
vet for colonel, and gave him a pen- 
lion of one thousand livres, besides 
rors to defray 



the expenses of his journey to the 
court.'* The limits of a review will 
not allow us to recount the many 
w^ell -authenticated instances of the 
unswerving fidelity and desperate 
bravery which characterized the Irish 
troops in the wars which grew out of 
the Spanish succession, and which 
almost without intermission devastat- 
ed the face of Europe for nearly fifty 
years. Such heroic deeds become 
the subjects not only of honest {>ride 
to their countrymen even- where, but 
are extolled and enlarged upon by 
native French historians with an im- 
j>artiality and absence of jealousy 
highly honorable to the writers of 
that nation. The culminating point 
of Irish vafor on the Continent occur- 
red at the battle of Fontenoy in 1645, 
and, though often described, deserves 
sijecial mention. 

Hie force op[HJsed to the French 
on this occasion is set down by all 
impartial historians at from fifty 
to lifty-six thousand men, including 
twenty-one thousand British and thir- 
ty-two thousand Dutch, Hanoveri- 
ans, and Attstrians. The whole was 
under the command of the Duke 01 
Cumberland, whose object was to 
save Tourney and drive the French 
out of Flanders. The French army, 
exclusive of those besieging Tourney 
and detached to protect the bridges 
over the Scheldt, numbered about 
forty thousand, including the Swiss 
guard and all the Irish troops then 
in the French ser\'ice, namely, the in- 
fantry regiments of Clare, Dillon, 
rUilkcley (Mountcashel's), Koth, Bei- 
w i ck , an d La 1 1 y . a n d the ca v al ry regi - 
mentof Fitz-james. laeutenant-Ge- 
neral Charles O'Brien, sixth Viscount 
Clare and Binth Earl of Thomond, 
commanded the Irish brigade, and 
Marshal Count Saxe the whole army 
— Louis XL and the Dauphin being 
present on the field, On the morn- 



324 



The Irish Brigades in the Seri*iee of France, 



heav)' cannonade, the allies attacked 
the French position at Fontcn ny in 
three ( olumns. Their right, led by 
Brigadier Richard logoldsby, who 
was onlcrcd to assault the redoubt at 
the edge of the wood of Du Barry, 
failed to perform this duty successful- 
ly, and remainetl comparatively inac- 
tive during die remainder of the en- 
gagement. The left, under Prince de 
VV'aldeck, though more fortunate, did 
not altogether succeed in breaking 
through from Fontenoy to St, Amoine ; 
but the centre, a column of some 
fifteen or sixteen thousand men and 
twenty field-pieces, led by Cumber- 
land in person, penetrated the French 
lines, and for a while seemed to bear 
down all opposition. Marching in a 
solid column, firing with the steadi- 
ness and precision of trained veterans, 
and thinked liy well-served artillery, 
they successfully routed all the French 
cavalry and infitntry that essayed in 
vain to'oppose their progress. Even 
the enfilading fire of the enemy*s guns 
seemed to make little impression on 
their comjiact masses as they moved 
solemnly on to assured victory. At 
this juncture, when the fate of nations 
hung suspended in tfie balance, the 
Irish brigade, who had formed the 
reserve, was ordered as a tkmkr res- 
sort to attack Cumberland*s column, 
which had momentarily halted on the 
crest of a hill, jireparatory to the 
grand amp de ,^'iue. Promptly as 
the word was given. Lord Clare form- 
ed his men in line, having ordered 
ihem not to fire before charging, and, 
at the word of command, with 
the impetuosity of a whirlwind, the 
Irish troops swept up the hill, and 
in a very few moments the victorious 
legion that but lately was so certain 
of victory went down before the 
avenging steel of the exiles, or were 
fleeing over the adjacent hills a scat- 
tered and disorganized rabble. Fif- 
teen guns and two colors remained 



in the hands of the brigade, lis \cm 
was, however, heavy in proportion to 
the hi ry o f i ts on slau gh L 1 1 a m oun I* 
ed in ofiPicers kilicd or wounded la 
ninety-eight, with a proj>orlignate 
number of common soldiers and non- 
commissioned ofticers. This victory 
of the Irish, so dearly purchased but 
so nobly won, was the subject of 
warm congratulation by their coun* 
trymen and co-religionists throughout 
Europe, and created the greatest cha- 
grin among their enemies, particular- 
ly in England. Louis XV\ and the 
Dauphin, who had been spectator of 
the scene, went in person to thimk 
each of the successful regiments, and 
the historians and chroniclers of the 
day were unceasing in their praise of 
the brave Ireiamiois. Lally and oth- 
er field-officers were promoteil, pen- 
sions were hljcrally distributed to the 
wounded, and decorations to the de- 
serving, while all that the second 
George of England could exclaim on 
hearing tlie news oi the defeat of bis 
son w^as, " Cursed be the laws which 
deprive me of such subjects," a senii- 
ment which afterwards found an echo 
in the hearts of British statesmen, 
and doubtless materially luotlidett 
their views of the wisdom of penil 
law and Catholic persecution. 

Among the men of Irish lineage 
who distinguished themselves on ihft 
eventful day. Count Thomas Arthur 
Lally, sometimes ciilled Lally Tolltn- 
dal, was decidedly the most rcrow^' 
able, whether we consider hira «s * 
soldier and a statesman, follow up his 
most eventful career, or sigh over his 
ill-deserved and most tr, ' "^ 
1 .ally was the son of Sir t . 
one of the original coIoik-- i l--^ 
Jameses army, and was burn m 1'*^" 
phine, France, in 1 702, At a vtiy 
early age, he acquired a strong t^ 
for military life, and developed * 
wonderful aptitude for \\\ '^^ 

most difficult studies ci ^^ 



Irish Brigaths in (he Scnncc of France, 



32s 



bile yet a child, he was 
Slight into the trenches 
er, a circumstance so far 
iraging the youth that it 
^^dmiration tor the life 
B/^t the age of twenty* 
Wmmissioned captain in 
iment, and promoted aitl- 
years afterward. In the 
le travelled through ^.^g* 
id, ami Scotland with a 
irtain the real strength of 
party in those countries, 
fd full of zeal for the Stu- 
and plans for a descent 
.h or Scotch coast. In 
IS entrusted with an im- 
I delicate mission to Rus- 
tial de Fleur)% and, though 
xessful on account of in- 
^ond his control, he re- 
X praise at the French 
deposited in the national 
very valuable reports. 
Statistics of Russia, and 
her gigantic designs and 
fvelopment. On the re- 
^ hostilities, we find him 
\i Dillon's and aid-major 
de Noailles, a position 
him control of the or- 
>f the troops under that 
d nobleman. He was 
Fontenoy with his regi- 
>y his suggestions [previous 
s, and his bravery during 
part of it, contributed so 
3 the defeat of the alhes 
promoted brigadier- gene- 

tby Louis XV. in per- 
usiastic adherent of 
he devoted all his re- 
)wers of organization and 
to originate and perfect 
ion to Scotland in 1745 
many of his brother-offi- 
krigade were engaged, and 
naainly beca u se h is i n s tr uc - 
properly carried out. 



For his services in the royal cause he 
was created, by Prince Charles, Earl 
of Moenmoye. Viscount of Ballymote 
and Baron of rollcndal. As ijuar- 
termaster- general to Comte de Low- 
endhall, in 1747, he signaliited him- 
self at the defence of Antwerp, and 
in the battle of LatTeldt. at which 
latter place he was severely wound- 
ed, \i\ 1756, at the special request 
and urgent entreaty of the French 
East India Companyj he was ap- 
pointed by the king commander-in- 
chief of the French forces in the 
East, and sailed the following May 
from Brest with a force of about two 
thousand men, including his own 
Irish regiment, two men-of-war, and 
two millions in money, having previ- 
ously been created lieutenant-gene- 
ral, commission for the king, syndic 
of the company, commander of the 
Order of Si. Louis, and grand cross 
of that order He landed with his 
force at Fondicherry, the company's 
principal strong holt i on the Coro- 
mandel coast, in i758» only to find 
its aflairs in a hopeless state of bank- 
rupky, its officials lazy, ignorant, and 
utterly corrupt, its litUe army muti- 
nous and ilemoral ijted, its scanty navy 
insuliordinate, and, to crown all, the 
native princes, instigated and assisted 
by the F,nglish, everywhere hostile 
to French interests. With his usual 
energy and fertility of resources, he 
at once set to work to reform the 
abuses of the colony, and bring to 
terms by force or di[ilomacy the 
neighboring chiefs, but the evils had 
become so chronic that even his great 
genius could not eradicate them. In 
vain he punished peculation and re- 
proved neglect, in vain he performed 
prodigies of valor with his little army 
against Indians and English; he could 
not save a selfish and corrupt corpo- 
ration foredoomed to destruction, and, 
in less than five years after his arri- 
val, Fondicherry and its surroundings 



■ 



were in the hands of the British* 
Lally himself surrendered as a pri- 
soner of war at the capture of Pon- 
dicherryy after having defended the 
place for several months with the te- 
nacity and skill of a thorough sol- 
dien He was sent to England, and 
thence to France, where new trou- 
bles a waited him. His severe and 
thoroughly honest administration in 
Imha had raised up against him a 
host of enemies among the compa- 
ny's officials and their friends at home, 
the most powerful of whom was the 
Due de Choiseul, minister of war and 
of foreign afl'airs. Through the in- 
trigues of that unscrupulous minister, 
he was arrested, imprisoned, :ind tried 
on a series of absurd charges, in- 
cluding that of treason, and, having 
been found guilty after a mock trial, 
w^as beheaded on the gth of May, 1 766 
— twenty -one years after the battle 
of Fonlenoy — in the sixty-fifth year 
of his age. This glaring act of in- 
justice horrified Lnjlh French and 
English, in fact, people of all nations, 
who had long admired him as a gal- 
lant soldier, a subtle and comprehen- 
sive statesman, and a gentleman of 
varied accomplishments and the high- 
est honor. 

With the death of Lally, the Irish 
brigade gradually declined in num- 
bers and importance, until eventually 
swallowed up in the chaos of the 
French Revolution. America was 
becoming each year more and more 
the haven of the persecuted Irish, the 
severity of the penal law s at home was 
being gradually relaxed^ and the en- 
thusiasm which carried so many Irish- 
men into the armies of France grew 
cold in the service of a countr}' 
which couki supinely tolerate the le- 
gal murder of one of her best de* 
fenders. ♦ 

• '* Mr. St. John, In bli Ittffft frvm Frmnce 
to (t Cent/ftUitH $H (he South of IrtUxnd, pub- 
lished In Dublin in t7S9, rclnlcs the following aa- 



We therefore close Mr, O'Callag- 
ban's book with a feeling of high appre- 
ciation of the distinguished bra\ery 
and devotion of those tens of thousands 
of expatriated soldiers who so long and 
so nobly batded for their adupted 
country and for their faith, and with 
much thankfulness to the author who 
has devoted a quarter of a century 
to search out and put in endurmg 
form the exploits of his countrv- 
men. But, while we admire his xiv 
dustry and commend his patrioiisai, 
we must be allowed to say that, if he 
had exhil)iteti more artistic taste ami 
a greater degree of continuity in his 
history, he would have been entidcd 
to a much greater meed of |»niisc. 
and woukl have removed that pain- 
ful impression which every reader 
feels after perusing a work that firotn 
its want of arrangement only confti- 
ses his memory. As it is, time, pljw^c, 
and circumstance are as nothing 10 
the author. He rushes with e<jU»il 
facility from the seventeenth to the 
first century^ and from Ireland to 
the " furthest Ind," without any re- 
gard for the comfort of his reader, 
who are supposed to accompn 1 
in all his ]>eregrinations. Ev 
style of the book partakes to jm>ioc 
extent of the anthor's erratic dispi> 
sition, and some timers, when we iin4|- 
ine ourselves in the subhme mofli«ni 
of battle and victory, we are abnipi- 



ecclolc, to thAt rffert, r*f tin Iri^ih ofRcer f»f •*** 
corps, whoic fa I 
the IcUcrji and 
them, would cr ^ 

Und^ith liutttr und K^aktr : C «■ 

who, on the demise uf hkbrotbrr 

ceeded to ihc tfslalc and lillc o( 

wji« so niiiL'h GLfTvited at liic injustice K» ^'^ ' 

IdRl counuynniiin lli«t, (i|ipciinng »t ilir l****' 

his regime nl* he took I he cockBdc hvW *»•* ' 

and spurned il upon ihc enrth ; iukI jw^I^^'J 

swore he ncvcrnuire wouid fcctvc a li^t , 

people who, with such iit^ralitude, >«« n'*'*^ 

rously sucrificcd his Iriend and etjunirvfti*'*- \ 

bruvc Count T.ally, 

family estate was em 

yet wiUi a nohlc and 

&oul, be matntalneU hi'i « 

the gervlcc of France.' 





On a Pitiurv of St, Agnes, 



ly brought down to earth by the 
stmins of a street ballad, or the 
scarcely more elevating rhymes of 
some forgotten village poet. With 
these defects excepted, the book is a 



valuable contribution to historical Ht- 
erattire, and, from the mass of facts 
and original references it contains, 
will be found exceedingly valuable 
to the student and die genealogist 



ON A PICTURE OF ST. AGNES. 

It is but a simple picture, just above my table resting, 

Childlike face upturned in longing to the promise of the skies, 
Widi a something near to sadness the sweet lips and forehead cresting, 

And a look of heaven dwelling in the beautiful dark eyes ; 
It is but a simple picture, yet it tells a hallowed story, 

Brighter ever for the record sin's revolving cycles show, 
Speaking to my thoughts — all human — with its own unshadow*ed glory 

Of a heart that loved and suffered fifteen hundred years ago. 

Not as we love, weakly stretching forth our hands in blind endeavor 

To hold fast what God has branded with the britde stamp of clay ; 
Not as we, unwilling, suffer, moaning childishly for ever 

The defeat of an ambition born and buried in a day. 
But as they love whom his brightness has encompassed with its shining, 

Who have waited through the noontitle in the shadow of the cross, 
Sharing in his crucilixion, with prophetic gilt divining 

In earth's short-lived com[^ensations heav'n's irreparable loss. 

Daughter of a race of heroes, stranger to the touch of sorrow, 

Free as snow-flakes in their falling from the tainted breath of sin, 
Her young life had reached its fulness, each day promise of to-morrow. 

If the golden gates of heaven had not yearned to take her in. 
If the dove had not desrended where the haughty eagle flauntetl 

His black wings above the threshold of her proud patrician home, 
Her pjdc lips had never spoken, clear, defiant, and undaunted, 

Their own doom of death and torture in the halls of pagan Rome. 

** Tear the robe from off her shoulders!" Tyrant mandates know no pity ; 
She droops clothed in her own blushes — could the garment be more 
fair ? 
Lo! down falling from its fastenings, before all that mighty city, 

She stands mantled and enshrouded in the glory of her hair ; 
Then, as swift beneath the swordflash streams the life-blood hotly gushing, 

The red current overflowing bathes her whiteness in its sea — 
Maidea«(, cease your tender weeping, all your anguished sobs be hushing. 



I 



328 



Ansuffr to Difficulties, 



Fifteen hundred years have followed one by one in sad procession 

Since the sun set over Tiber on that barbVous hoh^day ; 
Fifteen hundred waves of passage in the tide of retrogression 

Flowing to the shore eternal from the worUl it wears away. 
Creatures of our own poor moulding, seeking ever an ideal, 

Weaving al! a soul's endeavor into dull and senseless rhymes^ 
Could our thoughts but seek the treasure, could our hands but clasp * 
real, 

What were death, and pain, and torture, fifteen hundred thousand i 

O my beautiful St. Agnes ! when my heart grows sick and weary, 

Tiring of the toil and struggle, throbbing at the touch of pain, 
There is never hour so hopeless, there is never day so dreary, 

But the face upturned to heaven can enliven it again ; 
For mine eyes are not so blinded that they cannot see the shining 

Of illimitable brightness in the pathway of the cross, 
And my soul is not so narrow that its faith is past divining 

In earth's shortdived compensations heaven's irreparable loss. 



ANSWER TO DIFFICULTIES. 



The following letter, suggesting 
certain difficulties which many well- 
disposed and earnest-minded per- 
sons find in the way of accepting 
the Catholic faith speaks for itself, 
and deserves a respectful consider- 
ation: 

Kbw Yomc, Oct 6, 1870, 
•• Mv Dear Sir: Paidon mc for inirad- 
ing upon you, whom I have never seen. I 
do so in obedience to an impulse whicli 
urges me to comraunicatc with you, by 
lellcr or otherwise. Without further pre- 
face* allow mc to state a case. 

*" My parents and nearly all my friends 
arc FrotestanlSt and I never had a suspi- 
cion that I was not one until rcccnlly. 
Of course, I have always taken ii for grant- 
ed that the Roman Catholic Chtirch was 
an imposition. I have often felt uneasy 
about nny religious slate* but have failed 
to be convened according to the Protes- 
tant formula. About two years ago. 
more or less, I began to feci unusual 
interest in these things, and, after due 



deliberation, I concluded to jolnachufi 
which 1 thought would be a certain 
mcdy for my mental inquietude. I ac^ 
upon this resolution, and, though t 
disappointed al the result, still I hop 
that all would come tight in limc, 
views were so * nberal' that I thuugtttj 
did not make anydifTcrcncc which churt 
t joined, provided only that the intcntN 
was right. I did not beJicirc ihat ati?»p' 
cial church was the true church roO^ 
than anofhcr, and I was careful only 1 
select one as tree as possible from 1 
siriciions of all kinds* I knew there* 
much diversity of opinion among Pw<* 
tants, but I had always thought it ^ 
on 'minor points/ I have hx^ niui 
surprised, however, to fjnd myscU 1 
taken in this respect, I have notice 
that no one sect seems to cooipfcl**'* 
atl \\\M is taught by the blessed Fouft* 
of Christianitv ; one sect Living i<[^ 
on a particular doctrine, while a n^ 
sect insists on some other. 

" Without going into tciHou< iTrnH'.* 
mav say al once that I ' 

consicrnaiion that a su 1 ^ 



Answer ta Difficulties, 



329 



nd that I might be in error. 

I suspect thill the Roman Ca- 

irch mighl be what it claims, 

be true church/ for it seims 

and explain all. But this 

much distress^ for I h:id al- 

upon this church 'as thtf 

iin of error and supcrstiiion. 

JBn looking into the subject 

Rlly of late, and I find my 

instead of being removed, is 

i and more confirmed. It docs 

1 that the arguments are unan- 

tid yet I am Loth to lake the 

and try to convince myself 

pt necessary for me to become 

I ha/c been hesitating thus 

[months, 'almost persuaded/ 

Iways been in favor of ' pro- 
wled, and it seems to me that 
ics of your ciiurch are incom- 
it» I ask myself: * Suppose 
d was Catholic, what would 
nations and governmcnls? 
the pope become temporal 
if all men were really Chris- 
tng to the Catholic siandard 
inally, but actually — what 
e of science and art?' Science 
the way to benefit mankind is 
something new.' Christianity 
the most important thing to 
lenial : * If thou wilt be perfect, 
thou wilt possess a blessed 
this present life/ Self den i- 
, and high culture — civiliia- 
r words — seem to be incom* 
civilis^ation multiplies our 
gives us the means of gratify- 
rhile the highest form of Chris- 
lcc« our wants to a minimum 
bscd 10 all superfluities. It is 
►cell, clothed in baircloih. So 
Bamming and art^ I know that 
% flourished before Prolcstant- 
lliose who excelled in these 
ininenl as saints or even Chris- 

fns I am informed, 
looks forwaid, then, to the 
and tuttiai christianization 
according to the highest Ca- 
idard of Christianjly. it would 
he must also contemplate the 
|f science, literature, and art, 
ihe extinction of all nationaK 
bg only the Catholic Church. 
be an extreme view, but it ap- 
re impossible than illoji^ical. 
•I said, ' If any one will follow 



me, 1 et him deny hirasel f/ etc. Now, why 
should it be proper for some persons 
to practise self-denial, and impruper for 
others? If there is greater virtue in en- 
tire devotion to religion, why should not 
<j// devote themselves entirely to ielijiion ? 
The only reason that I can sec uhy they 
should not do so is that it vvpuld firo> 
ducc just the result I have spoken of. 
Would this be *a consummation dcvouti) 
to be wished?' 

** There are doctrines of the Roman 
Catholic Church which are by no means 
clear to me, of the truth of which, to 
speak candidly, I am not convinced ; 
the doctrine of ' Iransubstarvtiation' being 
one. But I feci that, where I liave found 
s<f much thf^t is tnte^ I may safely trust in 
regard to those matters that 1 cannot 
comprehend. 

'* In conclusion, I will only say that 
my present condition is most iinsaiisfac- 
10 ry. As I intimated, I have found that 
I am not a Protesiam. In fact, I am no- 
thing:, unless Catholic, but t am outside 
of any chirtch. Please tell me, at your 
earliest convenience, what I had better 
do. I am like a certain timid man who 
went to Jesus by night to seek instruction, 
and I beg you to excuse me for wishing 
to remain inci^^nito for the present. 
I am, dear sir, 

Ver)' respectfully yours. 

Nothing is more important in set- 
tling any, question than to define 
one's terms, and indeed little more 
than the definition of the terms in 
which it is expressed is needed to 
settle any question that reason can 
settle. Most disputes originate in the 
habit most people have of using words 
in a vague, loose, and indeterminate 
sense. There are few >vords used 
in a looser or more indeterminate 
sense than the word "progress." In 
one sense, which we hold to be 
the true sense, the Catholic Church 
not only does not oppose progress, 
but favors it and demands it, and is 
that without which no real progress 
is possible. In another sense, and a 
sense in which certain theorists and 
dreamers use it^ the church not only 
does not favor it, but undoubtedly 
condemns it, anathematizes it, not 



indeed because it is progress, but 
bcuause it is not progress. It is 
necessar>% then, in order to settle 
the question raised by our corre- 
spondent, to agree on the meaning 
we are to attach to the word '* pro- 
gress." , 

Progress means literally a step 
forward ; that is, toward tlie jour- 
ney's end ; or the goal it is proposed 
to reach ; figuratively, or in a mo- 
ral sense, it means improvement, 
melioration, or an advance from the 
im[jertect toward the perfect. It is 
a step forward toward the end to be 
gained. It implies change, but al- 
ways change for the better. Three 
things are essential to ail progress: 
prim iple, medium, and end, or a 
starting-point, the point of arrival, 
or point to be gained, and the means 
or agencies by which it is to be 
gained. The denial of any one of 
these is the denial of progress and 
of the possibility of progress. Pro- 
gress is always from a point to a 
point by the proper medium or 
means. 

Our correspondent imdoobtedly 
uses the word jirugress not in its 
literal sense, but in its figurative or 
moral sense» as expressing not sim- 
ple locomotion, but the advance of 
man or society toward perfection, 
or from the less perfect to the more 
perfect. Society is for man» not man 
for society. Progress, then, must 
be taken as the progress of man to- 
ward fierfection. The perfection of 
man is in fulfilling his destiny, in 
attaining the end for which he ex- 
ists. Society is more or less perfect 
in proportion as it more or less aids 
man in attaining that end. Then, 
to be able to determine what is or is 
not progress, or what does or not fa- 
vor it, we must know the principle, 
medium, and end of man, or, more 
simply, man*s origin, whence he be- 
gins, the end for which he exists, 



and the means by which that csid 
is or can be attained. Without this 
threefold knowledge, it is impossible 
to say what church or institution 
does or does not favor progress, or 
what are the proper means of effect- 
ing it. 

The Catholic Church professes to 
supply by divine authority this three- 
fold knowledge. She te.aches what 
is the origin and end of man, w hence 
he starts, and whither lie should ar* 
rive; and not only teaches, but sup- 
plies, the means of arriving there* 
That is, she tells us what is true pro- 
gress, and supplies to her faithful and 
obedient children the means of ef- 
fee ting it. How, then» can she be 
said to deny progress, or to require 
her children to deny that man. wttb 
the divine help, is progressive ? She 
teaches that man not only is |>rogTC§- 
sive, but that it is his duty to be con- 
stantly progressive till by the help 
of grace he fulfils his destiny ^ or at- 
tains the end for which he cxhta^ 
She claims to have been instituted 
solely for the purj>ose of conductinf 
and assisting him in this progress, 
the only real progress of niaii ihit 
can be maintained or even vott* 
ceived. How, then, can she denjr 
progress, or anything that can really 
contribute to it ? 

It is no proof that the chunli is 
hostile to progress that she condcowi 
or anathematizes certain theories of 
progress put forth by scir«!ts!^ ^n*^ 
dreamers, and which ma> 
be just now in vogue. Oi 
theories, at present ver)' widdy r^ 
ceived, is that man is natumlly T^ 
gressive, or that by his own noH^ 
powers alone he is able to attJifl ^ 
his end. But this theory, ^hctHti 
put forth under the name of \)C\^' 
anism or semipelagianism, ntiio"^' 
ism or naturalism, the church ufl 
not acce]it, because it is not tni^ 
Man's origin and end are both sxipcf* 



Anstvvr to DifficnUies. 



331 



mce God, who is above 
ates him» and creates him 
iJf ; and nature is inaderiuate 
^ium of a supernatural end, 
llend above itself, aniJ there- 
3nd its reach. Man is pro- 
hy grace obtained for him 
bcarnation, but not without 
Wnce in the Gentile wo rid, 
i alike of creation and the 
bn, we never find even the 
pnception of progress. 
Ipr theory of progress, that 
^s Ann Lee, foundress of 
|p, is that we keep travel- 
ion for ever, without ever 
wX home or reaching our 
I end. This theory is gene- 
I and taught, we believe, by 
fists; but it is absurd, for it 
ffogress itself. Progress is 
rd an end, and, where there 
to be obtained, there is 
»e no progress. Man may 
ive to the infinite, and the 
iches that he is, that through 
Irnation he can be united to 
Ifce God, and possess htm as 
d; but he cannot be infi- 
even indefinitely progres- 
>rae pretend^ for that im- 
ess without an end, which 
.diction in terms. 

fl theory of progress, the Top- 
iDr}% much fLivored by mo- 
hitists, is that of progress, or 
liy self-evolution or develop- 
psy, when asked who made 
ence she came, answered, 
come; I grow'd." This 
k accepted as eminendy sci- 
Ithe Comtists, Herbert S|jcn- 
Irin, Sir John Lubbock, Pro- 
jbtley, and many other lights 
>; but the church, as well as 
nse, rejects it, liecause it 
Ingress by denying it a start- 
One gets by simple evo- 
developmenl only what is 
irm evolved or developed. 



and, if we have not the germ to start 
with, or if we are to obtain the germ 
by evolution or development, no evo- 
lution or development can take place. 
What does not exist cannot grow, 
evolve, or develop, and where there 
is no growth there is no progress. 
The church, in condemning the Pop- 
syist theory anci asserting the origin 
of man and the world in the creative 
act of God, does not deny progress, 
but asserts its possibility and the con- 
ditions of its possibility. She asserts 
a starting-point, nnmely, what man 
is as he comes from the hands of his 
creator; and a point of arrival, or 
what he is when he has attained the 
full perfection or complement of his 
nature in attaining his end or final 
cause. According to the teaching 
of the church, progress is possible, 
and even necessary, if man is not to 
remain for ever a simply initial, in- 
choate, or unfulfilled existence. 

'Phe Topsyists or evolutionists are 
like the poor wretch in a treadmill. 
J'hey step, step unceasingly, but nev- 
er get a step forward. 'Phey seek ef- 
fects without causes, and, while de- 
nying that God by his own power 
creates all things from nothing, they 
are trying with might and main to 
prove that nothing can make itself 
something, which by evolution and 
development grows into this varied 
and beautiful universe, into man its 
lord, with the feeling heart and reason* 
ing heatL even into an Eir^ Supreme^ 
whom all should love and adore. 
That is, nothing cannot only make 
itself something, but it can even make 
itself tiod, which they who will may 
find asserted or implied in Comte's 
Rtiigwn A^sitivt. But nothing is 
more absurd than to suppose that 
nothing can make itself something, 
or that anything can make itself more 
or other than it is. Even God can- 
not make himself, or make himself 
more or other than he is, and there- 



Answer to Difficulties. 



fore theologians call him necessary, 
self-existent, eternal^ and immutable 
being. The acorn is neither self- pro* 
duced, nor sell^developed into the oak. 
It must be given to start with, and 
then must be given also soil, light, 
heat, and moisture^ in relation witli 
which it is placed, or it will not ger- 
minate and grow. Professor Huxley 
derives ail thought, feeling, will, and 
understanding from protoplasm, for- 
med by the chemical and electrical 
combination of dead matter. But 
one cannot get from a thing, how- 
ever it is manipulated, what is not it. 
From dead matter, even supposing 
you have it, >'X)u can get only dead 
matter. How from it, then, get living 
protoplasm ? We cannot do it now, we 
are told, the professor says, and orga- 
nic life can now be evolved only from 
organic life; but in some remote and 
unknown period, long ages before 
history began, when the world was 
young aJid its juices were fresher 
than at present, dead matter could 
and did evolve living protoplasm. 
And this is science! 'J1ie church 
can hardly be censured for rejecting 
it, and we do not think the world 
would suffer an irreparable loss were 
such science as this to become ex- 
tinct. 

Our correspondent thinks that, if 
all the world should become Catho- 
lic, christianized according to the 
highest standard^ nationalities would 
be extinguished, only the Catholic 
Church would be left us, and the 
pope would become the temporal 
ruler; we must bid adieu to science, 
literature, and art, and devote our 
entire life to religion and spiritual 
exercises. The Christian maxim, De- 
ny thyself, would reduce our wants 
to the minimum, and leave us neither 
room nor motive for anything else. 
We do not share his a[>jirehensions. 
National hostititifs^ we doubt not, 
woul I be extinguishedj and the na- 



tions learn war no more; but we am 
see no reason why distinct nations, 
each with its own territorial limits 
and its own distinctive civil gov- 
ernment, should not continue to ex- 
ist, and with far greater security 
and far surer guarantees than now. 
As far as we can see, the reasons 
for national distinctions, separate gov- 
ernmcnts, and different forms of gov- 
ernment would remain unaffected; 
only there would then be no good 
reasons for the huge centralized states 
and empires which now^ exist, and 
which have been created by absorb- 
ing their weaker neighbors. Were 
it not for the sake of protection 
against wars from European nations 
or with one another, that is, if all llic 
world were Cathohc5, and there was 
a spiritual authority recognized by 
all competent to make the rights of 
nations or international law respected 
without a resort to arms, it would be 
far better that each one of the states 
of this Union should be an inde|)en- 
dent sovereign state by itself ihao 
that they should all be united under 
one general government. Diversit^ei 
of soil, climate, geographical position, 
create a diversity of local intcnrstt 
which are better looked after and 
promoted by small states than bf 
large* United Italy will never he so 
prolific in great men, dislingtJi^3lo^ 
for art, science, literature, and <« '<'"^ 
manship, nor will she stand ':. 
for her industry and commcr 
her people be individually asfar >rifl 
as manly, as when she was di^'^-*^^ 
as prior to the Reformation, iolo 
dozen or more independent statcfc 
German unity, if effected, will ^^ 
likely retard instead of advancing *^^ 
progress of German literature, ^'' 
ence, and art, by suppressing the li^' 
erty of the German people, and o^ 
stroying the emulation and acti'^ 
created by the large number of dp' 
tals she has hitherto had. 



Answer to Difficulties. 



There is no danger of the pope's 
becoming the temporal ruler of man- 
kind, for his office by its very consti- 
tution is spiritual » not temporal The 
papacy is instituted for the spiritual 
government of mankind on earth, 
not for tJieir temporal government. 
All that would follow, if all the world 
were Catholic, would be that the pope 
as the Vicar of Christ would be able 
to use, and would use effectively, his 
6]HrituaJ authority to induce all civil 
governments to respect the rights 
and independence of each other, and 
tach to govern its own subjects ac- 
earding lo the law of Gud ; that is, 
be would use his supreme pastoral 
authority to maintain, what now is 
twjwhere done, Christian morals in 
politics ! This was partially the case 
in Christian Europe after the down- 
fall of Rome and the conversion of 
the Barbarian ronquerors, aniHs what 
many see and feel the need of now, 
and which is poorly substituted by 
Biftogerical conferences, world's con- 
hnlkfens, peace congresses, or con- 
- of dijjlomats, sovereigns, or 
The sects may preach 
even preach the law of (iod, 
. :he necessity of maintaining 
Christian morals in politics, but they 
Iwve no authority to enforce them by 
ipintual pains or ecclesiastical disci- 
phne, either on sovereigns or on sub- 
jixts. They are themselves carried 
itay.or, if not, their admonitions are 
tmhccded by the political passions and 
temlencies of the age or nation. We 
^(1 them with ourselves impotent 
^ presen'e the Christian family, the 
"'riL.sary basis of Christian society* 
^Umage is becoming a farce, and 
l«nds nobody. 

\\'e see nothing in the doctrines 

^iafiucnce of the church that tends 

*9 Tcbx efforts by science, literature, 

*rtanrl industry lo benefit mankind, 

r them less effective. The 

Qf civilization. 



and the material well-being of nations 
and individuals, are desirable or law- 
ful only as they contribute to man's 
progress toward the end for which 
he is created. 1 he earth with what 
p^frtains to it is never to be sought as 
the ultimate end, or as in itself a 
good; but, as the medium of the ^w^l^ 
it is neither to be despised nor reject- 
ed. \Vc are only to reject it as the 
end fur ^hich we arc to live and 
labor. Our correspondent fails to 
recognize the distinction which the 
Gospel makes between what is of 
precept and what is of counsel, or 
what is necessary in order to inherit 
eternal life and w hat is necessary in 
order to be perfect* The young man 
of large possessions asked our Lord, 
** Master, what shall I do to inherit 
eternal life?" He was answered, 
** Keep the commandments." ** But 
all these have I kept from my youth 
up; what lack I yet?" ** If thou 
tvouiiist be perfect, go sell what thou 
hast, give it to the poor, and come 
and follow me/' For eternal life, it 
sufiices to keep the commandments, 
that is, to <lo what law prescribes; but 
for perfection, it is necessary to go 
further, and keep the evangelical 
counsels. But only those who freely 
and voluntarily accept the counsels 
as their rule of life are obliged to 
keep them. No one is obliged or 
permitted to lake them as the rule 
of life unless he choose, nor unless 
he has a special vocation thereto, 
which is not the case with the gene- 
rality of mankind. The monastic 
slate is a more perfect state, and im- 
poses greater sacrifices and more ar- 
duous duties than the ordinary Chris- 
tian state; but it is a state only (or 
the elite of the race, and is not ad- 
apted to nor intended for all men. 
Only those who have no duties of 
family or society which they are 
bound to discharge are free to enter 
religion or the monastic s| 



one, so long as he has any duties to 
his family or to the world that arc 
incompatible with his nionaslic vows, 
is free to retire from the world and 
its interests, and seek perfection in 
the monastery or the coenobitical 
life. The church does not permit it, 
and always takes care that the duties 
to our neighl>or and the real interests 
of society shall not be neglected. 
No one who has any one dependent 
on his care or labor for support, a 
parent, a child, a brother, or a sister, 
can, so long as the dependence re* 
mains, enter religion or take ihe vows 
rcfiuired by the more fierfect state. 
That state for such a one would not 
be a more perfect state. 

But even those who are free to en- 
ter this more perfect state, to retire 
from the world, and are vowed to the 
practice of Christianity according to 
the highest standard, do not cease 
from labors beneficial to mankind. 
Men, because they love God more, do 
not love their neighbor less. Even 
Adam, before he sinned, was not per- 
mitted to live in idleness, but was re- 
quired to keep and dress the garden 
in which he was placed. The Fa- 
thers of the Desert made mats. The 
old monks themselves adopted as 
their motto, *' Laborare est orare," 
and made their labor a prayer. Ne- 
ver was there a class of meu less idle 
or la/y, or more industrious or thriv- 
ing, than those same old monks who 
retiretl from the world and lived for 
God alone. We see it in the rich 
and costly monuments they dedicat- 
ed to religion, in their finely cultivat- 
ed fields, and the hountiful harvests 
they gathered. With the labor of their 
own hanHs, they cleared away forests, 
reclaimed barren wastes, subdued the 
most ungrateful soil, turned the wdl- 
derness into fruitful fields, and made 
the desert blossom as the rose. Not 
in the whole history of the race will 
ou find a class of men who have 



done more to serve man, ami advance 
society in agriculture, industry, the 
useful arts, literalure, the fine arts* 
theology, philosophy, science, civili- 
zation, than those old religious who 
were vowed to Christian perfection. 
The greatest theologians, [>htloso- 
phers, artists, popes, bishops, j>rcach- 
ers, statesmen, and refonncrs the 
world lias ever known lived and were 
trained in monasteries, and were emi- 
nent as religious. This should satisfy 
our correspondent that men neeil not 
be and are not lost to mankind be- 
cause they live for God, and devote 
their lives to self-denial, praj-^^, and 
CO mem plat ion. 

Our age forgets that earthly goods, 
social reform, or progress, even civili- 
zation, are never to be sought for 
their own sake, and that when so 
sought they are not gaine<i. Whfn 
wc act on the principle — the old i*tfh 
tile principle — that man is for socir 
ty, not society for man, our dfom 
are fruidess or worse than fniitlcss. 
The would-be religious and cbufdi 
reformers of tlie sixteenth centorjr, 
the authors of die so-called gloriom 
Reformation, matle a great noise, cw- 
ated a great commotion, but thcf 
have only reduced the nations ihit 
followed them to the condition of tb© 
Grrcco- Roman world before the lo* 
carnation, Inlhe Ph>testant and i^aQ- 
Catholic world, you find the «"»<* 
order of thought obtain, tht ■ 
questions come up to agitate .^i^ 
lure men's souls, the same oM i • 
lems to be solved; and in 
same darkness behind, 
within them. There is t: 
obscurity gathering over i; 
and end, and men ask now av ' 
in agony of soul, Whence couu ^^ ' ^ 
whither go we? why are wchtrtl 
and find no answer. *n 
are wept over as lost, :\ 
sung by the poets as an t 
CreatiotOiitaaied, and ' 



oiy^«Mied^ 




Ansitfer to Difficnides. 



denied outright or is resolved into an 
irresistible, impersonal force* or iden- 
lified with the universe ; tire scientists 
in vogue do little else than reprodut:e 
the long-since-exp>loded theories of 
Leucippus, Democritus, Epicuru!;; 
and the more advanced philosophers 
Cfnly reproduce the dreams of the 
Buddhists or the fancies of the old 
Gnostics. The church is gone^ and 
the slate is going. 

The political and social reformers, 
children of the same parentage, have 
gained no more for society and gov- 
ernment than the Protestant Reform- 
ers have gained for religion anti the 
church* What has France gained hy 
her ccntur)^ of infidel and anti-Catho- 
lic revolutions, her violent changes 
of dynasties and institutions, but to 
He prostrate under the iron heel of 
tlie Prussian, and to struggle in con- 
fusion and despair, and perhaps in 
vain, for her very existence ? Where 
goes her boasted civilization^ her re- 
finement, her arts, her science, her 
wcaldi and material well-being ? And 
Pt\jssia, what has she gained in free- 
dom for her people, in moral pro- 
gress, or social well-being by her vic- 
tory of Sadowa ? What has Germa- 
ny gained, but the privilege of being 
used by Divine Providence to crush 
France, and, when France is crushed, 
of being in turn cnished herself? 
Even in this country, with our savage 
bvc of liberty and zeal for political 
s»d social reform of every kind and 
Joft, wc are fast losing the freedom 
tnd manliness, the purity of heart 
tnd'^trenL'th of mind and body, which 
* 1 from our fathers. We 

^i icral govenmient enacting 

^(n three to five hundred, and thir- 
lym states, each enacting from a 
fcttndfcd lo a thousand, new laws eve- 
" r, with vice, crime, and corrupt 
:1v increasing, while it is be- 
i^ ',L-r and harder every year 

fcr i naan and people of small 

lo live. 



Things good and useful in their 
origin or at the time they are adopt- 
ed become abuses, evil and hurtful, 
by the changes which time and events 
bring with them, to individual virtue 
or to public liberty and social pros- 
perity. Refomis in all things human 
thus, from time to lime, become ur- 
gent and necessary; but, if attempted 
to be obtained by noise and agita- 
tion, by violence and revolution, they 
either are not obtained at all, or are 
obtained only by the introduction of 
other abuses or evils worse than those 
warred against. In general, if not 
always, the remedy so sought proves 
to be worse than the disease. All 
real reforms needed in political or 
social arrangements are quietly effect- 
ed, if effected at all, by the regular 
dcvelopmeni and application of the 
great princi[>les essential to the exist- 
ence and order of society, and the 
stability and efficiency of govem- 
ment. It is a free pe^iple that makes 
a free government, not the free gov- 
ernment that makes a free people. 
You can get no more freedom in the 
state than you have in the people as 
individuals, A so-called popular gov- 
ernment secures no more Ireedom 
than absolute monarchy for a peo- 
ple enslaved by their lusts, bent only 
on earthly goods, or not thoroughly 
imbued with the lilierty wherewith 
the Son niakes us free. There is no 
security for liberty, poltrical or per- 
sonal, in the heathen republic, based 
on the principle J ** I am as good as 
you, and therefore 111 cut your throat 
if you attempt to rule over me ;'* the 
only security is in a republic based 
on this Christian principle, ^* You are 
my brother, as good as I, and I will die 
sooner than tyrannize over or wrong 
you," The foundation and security 
of all liberty that is not license or an- 
archy are in the development and 
application to private and public life 
of the principles taught in the Child's 
Catechism, 



I 



■ 



All the reforms or changes bene- 
ficial to mankind or useful to man 
and society have been effected by 
earnest individuals intent only on the 
glory of God and the salvation of 
their own souls — earnest, self-deny- 
ing men, working in secrecy and ob- 
scurity, unknown or unheeded, who 
have nothing of their own to carry 
out, who are moved by no splendid 
ilream of world -re form, who sound 
no trumpet before them, but in their 
ardent charity devote themselves to 
the work nearest at hand, who re- 
ceive Christ our Lord in the stranger^ 
give him drink in the thirsty, feed 
him in the hungry, clothe him in the 
naked, nurse him in the sick, and visit 
and minister to him in the prisoner, 
and silendy cover the land over with 
hospitals for the infirm, and founda- 
tions for the poor and needy. Slavery 
was struck a mortal blow when the 
solitary monk, in imitation of his Lord, 
ransomed the slave by making him- 
self a slave in his place for the love 
of God. The priest, the Sisters of 
Charity, and Brothers of Mercy were 
on the battle-field to care for the 
wounded and dying, long before the 
International Committee were heard 
of. 

It is a law of Divine Providence that 
we live for man only in living for God, 
and serve mankind only in seeking to 
serve God, Our Lord says, ** Be not 
solicitous, saying : What shall we eat : 
or what shall we drink, or wherewith 
shall we be clothed ? For after all 
these things do the heathen seek. 
For your heavenly Father knoweth 
that ye have need of these things. 
Seek ye therefore first the kingdom 
of God and his justice, and all these 
things shall be added unto you." 
St. Matt. vi. 31-33. 

The heathen make these things 
the aiijkkmiiU the primary object of 
their pursuits, the end and aim of 
Llieir life, and miss them, or gain 



them to their own hurt; ihc Chris- 
tian seeks, as first and last, the king- 
dom of God and his justice, and alt 
these things are added unto hitn, 
Wt secure the good things of this 
life not by seeking them or living far 
them, but by turning our back on 
them, and living only for God and 
heaven. He that will save his life 
shall lose it, and he that will lose his 
life for Christ^s sake shall find it 
They who give up all for Christ are 
rewarded a hundred-fold even in this 
world, and with life everlasting in ihc 
world to come. The principle that 
underlies these assertions is as true 
in the material order as in the spirit- 
ual If all the world were Catho- 
lics and obeyed the Christian law 
to live for God and for man only 10 
God, there would not be less> but 
more, well-being in the world; for all 
would then live a normal life, aad 
the gains of toil and indusiry^ would 
not be squandered or swept away by 
the evil passions of men, never by 
the wars and fightings which origi* 
nate in men's lusts, and waste in a sio- 
gle day the accumulations of years of 
peaceful labor. The world has jA 
to learn that the true principle of 
political as well as domestic economy 
is self-denial — precisely the rcveise 
of what our correspondent woulrl 
seem to hold. 

The apprehension of our roTc- 
spondent that, if all the worl 
Catholic, there would be no ; 
for the cultivation of science, we do 
not regard as well-founded, T^ 
love of God does not dimimsh, hut 
increases, our love of man ami ' ' 
Creator's works. There Ls 1 
in the Catholic faith that 1 
indifference to anything th.i? 
has made or that is really for ii« 
benefit of the individual or of v ^-^^ 
The assumption that science I 
mankind by " finding out somcitutig 
new " can be taken only with into 



Answer to Difficulties, 



337 



IS. Science docs not bcne- 
itl by teaching new truths 
irinciples, but by enabling 
Iter to understand and ap- 
ractical hfe here and now 

or principles asserted by 
id revelation from the first, 
lofic faith does not super- 
ion, the principle and mc- 
1.11 human science, nor ren- 
jjtercise imnecessary. Re- 
lives tis the principles and 
the universe — principles 
Bs which lie above reason, 
ture» and which must guide 

us in oursWidy of nature — 
ires the whole field of nature 
lervationand scientific inves- 

There is» to say the least, 

ork for reason under reve- 
there would be if no rcve- 
d been given. Revelation 

that which reason cannot 

hich is beyond the reach 

. What would be within 
of science if there were no 

is equally within its reach 
'elation. The field of sci- 
ot restricted by revelation, 
gcd rather; for revelation 
i mind of the Christian in a 

n attitude, that enables it 
^ clearly and comprehend 
1^ rational or scientific prin- 
d things as they really are 

own world. As is often 
ation is to reason what the 
is to tlie eye. We see not^ 

faith can extinguish sri- 
linder us from benefiting 
by finding out all the new 

our f)ower, or that would 
>e in our power without the 
kith. 

Urch has never discouraged 
the sciences. She approves 
ides for the cultivation to 
extent of the science of 

ihe queen of science, and 

phy, the science of the 

VOL. Xll.— 2 2, 



sciences ; and nowhere has philosophy 
been so successfully cultivated as in 
the schools foundetl by churchmen 
and religious, with her approval and 
authorization, Neariy all the cele- 
brated universities of Europe were 
founded by Catholics before Protest- 
antism was born, and their most emi- 
nent jirofcbsors, far more eminent 
than are to be found in non- Catholic 
colleges and imiversities, were monks, 
religious men vowed to Christian per- 
fection. The church has only en- 
couragement for the physical scien- 
ces, for mat hematics; astronomy, geo- 
graphy, history^ geology, philology, 
jjaleontology, zoology, botany^ che- 
mistry, electricity, etc. She dues not 
indeed teach that proficiency in these 
sciences is the end of man, or that 
they are worth anything without pro- 
ficiency in the practice of the mural 
and Christian virtues. She teaches 
us to value them only as they re- 
dound to the glor}^ of God in a bet* 
ter knowledge of his works, and in 
honoring him serve his creature man 
eidier for time or eternity ; but so far 
as they are true— are really science, 
not merely theories of science— and 
aid the real ])rogress of man, she 
approves and encourages their culti- 
vation, and presents the strongest 
motives for cultivating them. 

But the sciences are never to be 
cultivatetl for their own sake. Their 
cultivation is desirable or lawful only 
for the sake of the true end of man. 
To cultivate them for the sake of 
gratifying an idle or a morbid curi- 
osity is not by any means a virtue or 
a good. They should be subordi- 
naied and made subservient to the 
divine pur|>ose in our existence and 
in the existence of the universe. And 
so far as so subordinate and made 
subservient, their cultivation cannot 
be carried too far ; for it is a religious, 
a spiritual exercise, a prayer. But 
in our day the importance of tliese 



Answer to Difficulties. 



■ 



sciences is exaggerated, and men 
look to their cultivation for the dis- 
covery of new solutions of the mys- 
tery of the universe, nnd a new life- 
plan wliirh will superse<le that given 
us in the Christian revelation. In 
these respects, science has and can 
have nothing new to offer; and* so 
far as the scientists pretend to be 
able to supersede or set aside revela- 
tion, they give us not science* but 
their theories* hypotheses, conjectures, 
guesses, which are warranted by no 
scientific induction from any real facts 
they do or can discover. Scientists 
may explode the theories of scien- 
tists, or disprove much which has 
j>assed for science; but they cannot 
disprove revelation or explode faith, 
for faith cannot be false. Faith is 
the gift of God, not possible without 
supernatural grace; and liod, who is 
true, truth itself, can no more be- 
stow his grcLce to accredit a falsehood 
than he can work a miracle to accre- 
dit a false prophet or a false teacher. 
Heliefs, opinions, theories, hypothe- 
ses, though put forth as science, may 
be fidse, and often are false; but 
faith, either objectively or subjective- 
ly, never* 

But the applications of the sciences 
in our day lo the mechanic and pro- 
ductive arts, or the scientific inven- 
tions which our age so loudly boasts, 
are far from being an unmixed good. 
They tend to materialise the mind, 
to fix it on second causes to the for- 
getfulness of the first and final Cause, 
the Cause of all causes ; and to fasten 
the affections on things earthly and 
perishable instead of things spiritual 
andetemah The introduction of steam 
as a moiive-power, the invention of 
labor-saving machinery, by whirh the 
prothictive power of the race is inrrcas- 
<?d a mill ion -fold or more, have their 
attendant evils. They diminish the 
real value in the same degree of 
human Ubor. You lessen the value 



of the working man or woman in the 
economy of life just in proportion as 
you supersede him or her by machi- 
nery. Machinery on an exteusi\'c 
scale can be set up and worked only 
by large capital, which reduces men 
of no means, of small means, or of 
Uight credit to abject dependence oii 
capital, or those who are able to ctora- 
mand it. How is the small culti%^a- 
tur to compete proportionally with 
the large cultivator who is able to 
introduce the steam-plough, the in- 
tent reaper and mower, the horse- 
rake, and the steam threshing and 
winnowing machine, which demand 
an outlay which the other is unable 
to make? How are individuals of 
small means to compete for travxJ 
or freight with the railroad, which 
can be constructed and worked only 
by an individual or a corpciration 
that commands millions ? These in- 
stances are enough to illustrate our 
meaning. The full effects of steam 
and machinery are not yet manifest 
except to those who aic able to fore- 
see effects in their causes ; but to the 
careful observer they prove that *^afl 
is not gold that glisters." The na- 
tions do not grow any richer undcf 
the new system than Uiey did under 
the old. Hard times are of none the 
less frequent occurreoce, the indc» 
pendence of the laboring classes is 
not increased, nor the number or the 
wretchedness of the poor :d* 

Evidently the utility to n of 

the achievements of modem science 
has been greatly exaggerated by our 
age. Whatever diminishes the value 
of hand-labor or supersedes its ne- 
cessity Is a grave evil. Man's phv5ical, 
intellectual, and moral he irc 

that he should earn his br \hx, 

sweat of his face. It tras tlic f>enal* 
ty imposed on man for original sm, 
and, like all the penalties imposed by 
our heavenly Father, really a bleseh 
ing. 



Insuur io 

There Is also a knowledge which 
can neither benefit him who possess- 
es it nor others, and is very properly 
forbidden, such as the knowledge of 
necromancy, spiritism, magic, and the 
various real or pretended arts of for- 
tune-tclhng; for such knowledge is 
laianic, and can be used to no good 
purpose whatever. There are other 
kinds of knowledge, too, not satanic, 
but useful and good for those whose 
duty it is to teach, which are not de- 
sirable or suitable for the generality, 
because the generality can only par- 
tially acquire it, and a little smatter- 
ing of it only serves to mislead and 
bewilder, to unsettle faith, to make 
fcKilisb men and women wise in their 
own conceit, to puff them up with 
Uride and vanity, and render them 
unbelieving and disobedient. Such 
ire the mass of those who deny reve- 
lation, sneer at Christianit}-, make 
war on the church, eulogize science, 
denounce time-honored customs and 
institutions, and spout infidelity and 
nonsense. As these cannot know 
more, it wouUl be much better for 
tfvcra if they knew less, and never 
aspired to a knowledge beyond their 
' 'v or their state. But the 
ic faith approves all science 
wiedge that is or can be 
i to the great purposes of 
'JUT earthly existence. There is room 
fljough for the activity of tlie subli- 
Hkst intellect to learn the great mys- 
tnic^ of faith in their relation to one 
another, and to umJerstand their va- 
1 'plications to man ond society 
k ideal and practical life. 
Wc are surprised that our corre- 
spondent should fear that, if all the 
*orld were Catholic, art would be- 
come extinct The world would in- 
deed lose profane art, all that which, 
if it tends to refine, tends also to cor- 
ropi, and marks the moral decline 
<ad effeminacy of an age or nation ; 
iiui no other. Art is not religion, nor 



is the worship of the beautiful riie 
worship 'of God; but the church 
makes use of art in her services. She 
uses the highest art she can get in 
the constructing and adorning of her 
temples, her convents and abbeys, 
and in teaching the mysteries of her 
faith. The grandest architecture and 
the rarest sculpture, painting, music, 
poetry, and eloquence have been in- 
spired by the church and pressed into 
her service. Most of the j^reat artists 
she has emplo) ed were, like l-ra An- 
gelico and Fra Bartolomeo, samtiy 
men, and those who were not, yet held 
the faith and lived in a Catholic atmo- 
sphere. On this point, we differ from 
our correspondent. Protestantism 
and modem infidelity have nothing 
to boast of in the way of art, and 
cannot have, for neither is either logi- 
cal or Lutelleciual, or has any great 
idea for art to embody. Wliat of art 
either has is a pale and feeble imita 
tlon of ancient pagan art, or a still 
paler and feebler imitation of Catho- 
lic art. Nothing seems to us more 
strange or unfounded than our corre 
spondent*s opinion that, ** if we look 
forward to the conversion and actual 
christianization of all men according 
to the highest standard, we must also 
contemplate the downf^dl of science, 
literature, and art, as well as the ex- 
tinction of all nationalities, leaving 
only the Catholic Church." Even '^ 
this were so, it would be no proof 
that the' church is not true; and, if 
she is true, it could be no damage, 
since nothing not true or in accord- 
ance with the church of God can re- 
ally benefit mankind here or hereafter. 
But it is not true, as we have seen ; 
and all that would follow were all 
men Catholic according to the high- 
est standard would be not the down- 
fall, but the christianizing of all na- 
tional governments, and making sci- 
ence, literature, art, all that is includ- 
ed in the word civilization^ subsidiary 



< 



Answer fa Difficulties, 



10 the service of God, and of man in 
God. 

Diir correspondent says there are 
doctrines of the church which be 
cannot believe, but where he has 
fannd so much that is true he feels 
he may safely trust for the rest. We 
assure him he may ; but we beg him 
to pardon us if we remind him that 
faith is the gift of God, and to be 
able to grasp Catholic truth firmly, 
and hohl it without doubt or waver- 
ing, we need the grace of God to 
incline the will and to illuminate the 
understanding. Without that grace 
we have and can have only simple 
human tK'hcf, which is never strong 
enough to exclude all doubt or ditH- 
culty. That grace may always be 
obtained by prayer, and the grace 
of j>raycr is given to all men. ** Ask, 
and ye shall receive ; knock, and it 
shall be opened unto you." What 
scenes obscure and doubtful to him 
now will then be clear and certain, 
and grow clearer and more certain 
OS he advances toward the perfect 
day. 

We think our correspondent ex- 
aggerates the difficulties he experien- 
ces, Kvery Catholic^ \i he lives 
according to the standard of his 
faith, denies himself, and devotes 
himself, and devotes himself exclu- 



sively* to religion; but the denial 
of self is not the annihilation of 
self. It is the moral not the ph>^- 
cal denial of self, and means living 
for God, and for himself only in God. 
Being exclusively devoted to rcU- 
gion does not, however, mean that 
we must stand on our knees from 
morning till night, and from night 
till monnng, in prayer and medita- 
tion, witliout eating, drinking, or 
sleeping, or attending to our bodily 
wants or the wants of others. Wc 
are taught that he who provides not 
for his own household is worse than 
an infidel, and hath denied the faith. 
Religion covers all the duties of our 
state in life, and requires a strict per- 
formance of them for God*s sake, whe- 
ther they are the duties of husband 
or wife, of parent or child, of priest 
or religious, a lawyer or a doctor, 
a statesman or an artist. What God 
requires of us is that we give him 
our hearts, and, in whatever we do 
or refrain from doing, that we act 
from the intention of serving zxA 
glorifying him. Undoubtedly, Chris- 
tianity diminishes our maUrial wants 
to the minimum, which is a good, 
not an evil; but it multiplies intinirc- 
ly our moral and spiritual wants, 
and furnishes the means of salis^* 
ing them. 




MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF 
^HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



CHAPTER VL 



While time rang a monotone at 
Circelloj an incident occurred at For- 
mi a;. 

Velleius Paterculus^ who occupied 
rooms near those of Tibenus in the 
Mamurra palace, was alone in hi« 
bedchamber, writing. It was close 
upon midnight when he heard a 
timid knock at his door. He ex- 
pected nobody, and the hour was 
one when he might have been sup- 
posed asleep. He waited a moment, 
in a half-belief that his imagination 
had deceived him; but presendy he 
again heard the knocking. He call- 
ed to whoever was there to enter; 
and Claudius, the slave, obeyed, clos- 
ing the door again cautiously behind 
him. 

" Sir/* said Claudius, after coming 

dose to Velleius on tiptoe, ** being 

'tleased from duty for the whole of 

ftis day, I spent it at Crisp us's inn, 

*here my intended wife is living. 

Among the lodgers or customers is a 

young knight Marcus, a grandson of 

Lepidus the triumvir^ — he that has 

^hc palace at Circiei. Do not ask 

^t how I have learnt what I have 

«^mt: but in the common room a 

licd seafaring- man, who drinks 

Iters, seems to have had some 

rading order to execute, the 

- L of which was that my master, 

]|iberius Caesar^ was deceived; in 

:, adopted a false conclusion re- 



■ Tiber 



specting the movements of certain 
ladies," 

Here Claudius paused, in apparent 
alarm. 

** Ay ?" interposed Paterculus. 
- Well ?" 

** Well, sir," continued Claudius, 
with a sort of gasp, ** it was inevita- 
ble for me to be cognizant— to know, 
to guess—or, if I may so say, to be at 
least almost aware — " 

**Go on," said the Praetorian offi- 
cer, smiling ; *' to be almost aware — " 

** Of the plot, the arrangement for 
the safety of those ladies; and to 
know^, or to guess, who contrived the 
scheme. The young knight whom 1 
Iiave mentioned — the knight Marcus 
— seems to have some spite against 
those ladies, whose safety is very dear 
to me." 

'* Why do you come to me upon 
this subject, my good youth ?*' said 
Paterculys. 

'' Because I think — and, if I be 
wrong, I pray you to pardon me — 
that you also, illustrious sir, feel kind- 
ly tciward the heroic youth who sav- 
ed my life, and toward his mother 
and sister." 

" You think what is true," said 
Paterculus. 

** Besides, the knight Marcus," re- 
sumed Claudius, ** has conceived the 
idea that he can pay his court and 
make his way by telling Tiberius 
both where the ladies are and what 
an elaborate imposture has been 



342 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



played upon liberius. 'Iliis last in- 
formation will be almost Piore prized 
than the first, liberius is proud of 
showing men that none can either 
deceive him with impunity or deceive 
him long/' 

** Very true," said Velleius. 

" And this Marcus further imagines 
that he can trace the plot about the 
ship to its author.*' 

" How r 

*' The seafaring-man — " 

" The seafaring -man will be of no 
avail in tracing the author. Can you 
trace him ?'* 

** I ♦ ilUistrious tribune ?" 

** Yes, you — for Tiberius ?" 

** For Tiberius? No/* 

"Then the author can never be 
traced/* observed the tribune. 

** I could swear I am glad,'* said 
Claudius. 

*' Swear, then, by vti and /<«, as you 
are a scholar," replieil the scholarly 
soldier, ** you have meant this report 
to mc in kindness. But why arc you 
afraid ?" 

*' Well, lor this reason/' rephed 
Claudius : '* A female servant at the 
inn, who heard you pleading with. 
Crispus, tlie night when the ladies 
lirst arriveti, and who has watched all 
your sulis<N:iucnl visits, and especially 
the last, although she could not over- 
hear what you said in the ladies* room, 
has come to the conclusion that you 
arc in love with one of them, she 
knows not which, ai^d has told the 
young knight Marcus as much. He 
considetB you the contriver of the 
ship stratagem ; and hopes great 
things from the favor of Tiberius by 
being the means of detecting a trai- 
tor so nigh his jxrson, and of so im- 
portant a rank.*' ^ 

•* Leave that to me/' said Patercu- 
Ins. And, patting Claudius on the 
shoulder, the student ilismissetl him, 
imishe\t a paragraph of his IfMrncmi 
Aini^mtMi^ and wxm to bed. 



IS PatcE 
ofhigi 
pon *rH 



Two days later, Sejanus^ 
Piso, Lucius, his brother* Gov 
of Rome, with VcUeius Pate 
and some other ofhcers < 
were in attendance upon 
Caesar, while various subordi 
lounged in an ante-room. M 

** Gennanvcus demands/' ofll 
Tiberius, ** that the Pneiorians si 
be in readiness to repel the b 
nans from Rome itself. Doc 
this look ugly ?** 

** Public alarm before the s 
gle/' muttered Sejanus, **cn 
public delight at the victory.*" 

** He lays also/* continued) 
rius, " great stress on the ne 
of supplying him largely with 
ney. We know the condition o 
tirarium sane turn. He desji.at 
the youth Paulus to Rome, di 
not, on money business for, 
army ?" 

As no one replied, Tiberi 
sumed : 

" Well, Lucius Piso, 1 have 5 
ing but approval to express con< 
ing your measures for the protei 
of Rome. Vou can go. Wc al 
turn to town to-night Our 
lie business is over for this 
ing." 

Lucius Piso, ^nth his brothc 
ius, and all the officers, cxc 
janus and Paterculus, now] 
Ic^ve, after whicJi, at a sig 
Tiberius, young Marcus Leptda 
admitted. He showed much 
cial firmness in that terrible pr 
But he was obliged to intJtxltl 
forming part of merely domestic I 
the information whidi the cu 
that often attends baseness had \ 
vinced him would be secretly 
by Tiberius* He was obhgcd I 
tliis because he instant^Ti 
that Tiberius would ai 
interest whatever oi' li iJ 

movements of the ladies wm i 
mt Monte CirceQo; and 



le s 
enU 

^1 
nea 

rith 
m o 
sji.at 
, di 



Dian and the Sibyls, 



343 



be youth detailed the strata- 
the two boys attired as fe- 
the l>oat, he was aiitonished 
iterculus glance with a mean- 
He at Tibcnus, antl the latter 
ivc assent, 
the only person, you may 
er, my Cxsar/* said Paler- 
1* who argued that all these 
|a:nc:es might be a blind. And 
flie residence, meantime, of 
Bant and noble youth Paulus 
ttus*s kinswoman, you will also 
nber my remark/' 
^u thought it was Circello/' said 
k •* and I could not believe 
■t seems they are at Circello 

TOt last point/" quoth Velleius, 
the only one which admits 

tubt They have since had 
sail for Spain in good ear- 
of no consequence," observ- 
ib^ius. And he then* with a 
missed young Marcus. 
alter, rejoining Herod Agri[j- 
some other youthful cour- 
llo would have rejoiced in the 
of a man of letters Hke 
s, astounded them by an 
of the short interview, the 
jrtness of which was itself, 
ilso a subject of surprise to 

luore alone, Tiberius looked 
thought from Sejanus to 
tjs, and was at length on 
of speaking w^hen the latter 
Ited him, 
ermit me to mention, my Cse- 
sail! he, ** that I have formed 
an admiration for the magnih- 
rousin of the self-sufficient lad 
has ]\xsi retired, and I feel also 
interest in his mother and sis- 

il coultl wish by every means 
, benefit, and please that 
r. In addition to these acci- 
sentiments* I am naturally 



so soft and so weak, if prett/ and 
helpless women appeal to me, that 
1 shall greatly rejoice either never 
again to see the ladies to whom al- 
lusion has been made, or to be able to 
piromote their welfare if I ever do be- 
hold them again. I owe it to my 
master to throw whatever light I 
can upon the nature of the various 
instruments under his hand, in order 
that he may choose each fur the work 
which it is best suited to perform 
with efficiency." 

As regards both the future and the 
past^ there was a masterly cliplomatic 
skill mixed whh the audacity of his 
speech, or rather in its audacity itself 
— a skill far beyond the cleverness 
of such a youth as Marcus Lepidus. 
He who had just helped victims to 
escape a pursuing tyrant, and was 
trembling lest his interest in them 
should be discovered by the tyrant 
in cjuestion, was not likely ^t that 
very moment to call the attention of 
the latter to the aftectionate or kindly 
feelings which he cherished for those 
very victims. Here, then, safely wms 
obtained for the past. Nor was one 
who entertained such sentiments a 
suitable or eligible agent for further- 
ing the designs of Tiberius in the 
present case. And here, therefore, 
immunity was at the same time se- 
cured for the future. 

** You are bold," said I'iberius, in 
a low voice. 

•* Better, my master/* replied Pa- 
terculus, with an air of humility, " that 
you should be displeased by a mo- 
mentary boldness in words, dictated 
by tiilelity. than that you should be 
really wrathful at unfaithful silence 
after it shoulil have perhaps frustrat- 
ed some design.^' 

** You say what is reasonable/' re- 
plied the prince. " I will speak with 
Sejanus," 

Velieius no sooner heard the words 
than he respectfully took his leave. 



344 



Dion and ike Sibyls 



CHAPTER VII, 



The available force of the empire ♦ 

bad been hastily collected at Ferrara 
{Fontm Aiikni)\ and Germanic us 
Caesar had been busy from daybreak 
in a boat among the Libuniian gal- 
leys which he had collected in the 
port from the opposite seaboard of 
the Adriatic, the shore of Illyricum 
(now Daiinatia), The commander- 
in-chief had both a precautionar)' and 
an aggressive design, in the execu- 
tion of which these galleys, which 
had once liefore played a memorable 
part at the sea-battle of ActLmn, were 
to be used. After stationing, freight- 
ing, antl manning the galleys, and 
giving orders for the employment of 
them in a certain contingency, he 
re turned to the shore, mounted his 
horse, and held a review of the le- 
gions. I'he review over, he address- 
ed the troops in a* spirit-stirring 
speech, Germanicus was rather an 
eloquent man, and, above all, he was 
facile and ready. He was just clos- 
ing his short improvisation, when he 
noticed in the distance, coming to- 
ward the camp at a trot along the 
Bologna Roiid, a dust-covered rider 
There was no mistaking either the 
horse or the horseman. Germanicus 
recognized his newly- appointed staflT- 
ofliccT, Paul us Lepidus ^Emilius; and 
com luding that he had hastened for- 
ward to report the safe arrival of the ex- 
pected treasure, he turned again to the 
trooi)S, and told them that he would 
distribute a bounty within a very few 
days, the value of a fortnight's pay, 
but not deducted from nor interfer- 
ing with the regular pay ; and this to 
all 

At so pleasant an aniiouncemeut, 



* Although GenuRnicus obUlaed mgmiDSt the 
Germana ^jtxX success (ind his surname), tlic 
miUlsiry incidenU which follow arc iraftginary 
(ft thch purticulaj^^ contrivances, and sequence, 
■nd B.re not offered to students, or submitted to 
ciriUcs, as hiistory. 



an immense shout arose an 

legions ; and it was in the 
the cheering that Paulus rea 
camp, and, imcovering his> 
luted the commander-in-ch 
was riding forward to meet I 
having thus committed and 
himself l>efore the legions. 

** Welcome!** said Gcrmaii 
ding in a low voice, ** The 
not far behind, of course ? 
here to-night, I suppose ?" 

** 1 regret to say^ gencni 
gan Paulus. 

*♦ What !" interrupted Gen 
with considerable excitemem 
ner, "have you not brought 
sure ? Is not the money hcrt 

** No, general," returned 
'' but be pleased to hear whal 
curred," 

"Did not the Jew fulfil hi 
taking ?" again broke in ( 
cus. 

** He did, and delivered t^ 
treasure ; and in all particulact 
one, general, 1 fulfilled your 

** What was that one/*' vd 
Csesar, with an exceedingly 
wrathful face. 

'" I did not carry the mon 
iron box." 

" Go on ; tell me everyt 
will hear you to the end,'* 
manicus, compressing his 
clinching his right hand. 

** The facts are very soon 
neral/* resumetl Paulus. ** M 
muster but ten legionaries, 
with Cha;rias, Longinus, audi 
our whole escort. By some 
transpired from the Jew's hoi 
a large treasure was about to 
to the army, and a numbcx 
pcradoes in the Suburra detcm 
waylay us. Indeed, we were 
ed by seventy armed men, 
from the town of Sora, bc>'< 
other end of Lake Thrasymcd 
oning from here/' 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



345 



mnicus could no longer 
his excitement ; he ex- 

t so they took the treasure 
; and you are here alive, 
led, reporting your little ad- 

nk somebody else^ general/' 
ftlus, ** would have reported 
lit for me ; the treasure is 

e name of the Sphynx," ex- 
i the astounded commander' 
L "explain yourself; you did 
jbat seventy armed men with 

I general ; we parleyed^ antl 
pnd gained time, and finally 
fered the iron che&t and the 
containing it j but the mo- 
1 not there. It was the only 
f which I ventured to deviate 
|f instructions/' 

ti adventurer then told the 
devices he had employed, 
fortune which harl attended 
^niianicus listened with the 
I* at tent ion, and whenever Pau- 
sed, through modesty, to 
^OT hasten over his narrative, 
>r every particular, and ask- 
f minute questions. 
I the whole story had been 
d all his inquiries had been 
d, German icus said : 
nly hope I may show such 
jeneralship on a large scale 
have shown on a small one. 
tely I shall be able to give 
portant post soon," 
a called to an officer, named 
:,and bade him conduct Piiu- 
\\s quarters, and to present 
their centurion to the fourth 
of the legion to which he 
He said Paulus would 
'shment^and could consider 
his own till daybreak, when 
uld be an escort of fifty 
for him, and placed un- 



der his orders, at the west gate of 
the camp. 

After which he chuckled, and cried 
out gleefully : 

*' It w*ouid be an amusing scene 
to witness the division of yonder 
plunder. What will the knaves do 
with it ?'* 

'* Perhaps,*' said Paulus, ** fight with, 
instead tif over, their respective 
shares.*' 

The general rode off laughing hear- 
tily, and Paulus, thus far successful, 
followed his new guide, the centurion 
of the name of Pertinax. 

CHAPTER viti. 

A COUNCIL of war was sitting. It 
consisted of the most silent, discreet, 
and gossip-scorning officers of a cer- 
tain rank in Germanicus's army. The 
scouts who, riding small hardy Afri* 
can horses, had gone forward seven- 
ty, and some of them even a hun- 
dred, miles beyond the Venetian ter- 
ritory into that of the RhLCiian Alps, 
had brought back an imjiortant piece 
of news. The substance of it was 
this : at the top of Lake Guarda 
(then called Lake Benacus), the bar- 
barians, according to their custom, 
had broken into two large liodies. 
Partly on account of die greater fa- 
cility of obtaining sustenance and 
plumier, because they would waste a 
wilier area of country; i>artly in or- 
der to march more rapidly ; partly 
from a radically false and bad strate- 
gic motive, they had there divided, 
intending to ravage both the borders 
of the lake, and to take the imperial 
army as if in a pair of tongs, or a 
forceps, at the southern end. Mean* 
while, a large saibboat had come 
across the Atkiatic from lllyricum, 
conveying two or three of the Ro- 
man officers w*ho had escaped from 
destruction. These officers, being 
examined, had stated that the 



34* 



Dion and the Sibyls* 



whole of that province was for ihc 
moment lost, that the garrison had 
been massacred, and that the barba- 
rians, who at first had intended to 
cross the sea in galleys and land an 
immense force near Ravenna, or 
south of it, near Ptyfius Classts^ find- 
ing that the Liburnian craft had been 
all withdrawn to Italy by the pru- 
dence of Germanicus, were now 
swarming through Histria, round the 
head of the Adriatic, 

The tidings agreed. CJermanicus 
explained his plan as detailed below, 
and asked his council their advice 
upon it, remarking that he had forty 
thousand effective men, and that the 
hordes with whom they were to con- 
tend might pediaps number three 
times as many, 

*• But half three times as many," 
added he, "make only sixty thou- 
sand men ; and we know from long 
experience that we are generally 
equal to twice our own numbers. 
We must, however, avoid being struck 
by all that vast horde simultaneously ; 
and I conceive that we have now an 
opportunity of fighting the barba- 
rians in two separated armies, suc- 
cess! vely^ with the whole of our own 
force. They have committed a mis- 
lake, and frequently the best thing a 
general can do is to wait for such 
mistakes, and take advantage of 
them. 

" A few miles north of Verona, 
there is a narrow, marshy, and diffi- 
cult pass, between the eastern shore 
of the lake and the river A thesis 
(Aihge), 

" I have sent forward the best part 
of one legion, with plenty of spades 
and axes. Any number of wild Ger- 
mans, marching upon us between the 
lake and the river, will there be 
checked and brought to a stand for 
weeks by such a force as I have 
sent, when it shall be well establish- 
ed behind earth-works, I mean at 



once to march, with every availallei 
man remaining, round the southern 
end of the lake, and to turn north- 
ward by our right hand, so as tO' 
meet our visitors on the other, the 
western shore, where they will notti 
seize us in a pair of longs, as thcjr , 
hope and have said, but must fight 
us front to front If we beat them \ 
effectnally, as 1 calculate we shall, 
w^e can return rapidly; and being 
near this end of the lake, and hav- 
ing four times a shorter road, wc I 
shall reach our detached legion above 
Verona long before the fugitives on j 
the opposite route can rejoin the as- 
sailants of the detached legion. We i 
will then change the defence of that | 
position into offensive action. i 

** You have heard ray plan/' coo- I 
eluded Germanicus. ** Give mc your I 
advice, I require the youngest pre- \ 
sent, my new message- bearer, Pau- i| 
lus Lepidus .4CmiUus, to speak the 
first;* 

** General," said Paulus, " the pUo 
seems to me to be sound. I inaf 
mention to the other ofticers, nif 
seniors, that Germanicus Cassai fof 
the moment has discharged me froua 
being his message -bearer and has 
appointed me to command the great- 
er part of one legion, stationed it 
the marshy pass between the easiens 
shore of the lake and the river ^ 1 
shall therefore not share in yotir fini 
battle. All I would askofoi 
ral is to let me have sixty or 
car]>enters and artificers, one ^^^^ 
balista for shooting stones, and three 
more catapults for darts and for ti»f 
trifax/* 

** What is your purpose ?'* asfcd 
Germanicus* 

** My men.'* replied Paulus^^bave 
already, by using the axe and spa<^» 
made their position vcr>' stmng ^^ 
felled timber and earth betwcco tn^ 
lake and the river, I expect the tf*" 
emy to arrive in front of it «l»omI 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



Uf 



turn to the post ; and I am 
hopes, as they cannot at this 
soon get upon our flanks or 
must attack us upon a very 
e, that a handful of Roman 
11 be as good as thousands 
:es. But 1 should be still 
inhdent of holding my ground 
turn one of their thanks," 
aulus forthwith was inter- 
a general laugh, and Ger- 
ixcbimed : 
fou so oblivious of the very 
Iments of fighiing? You, 
rjut three-cjuarters of one le- 
m the ftank of fifty or sixty 
d barbarians !" 

!the grim old officers forming 
til laughed loudly, 
frcddeneil, and with a slight 
a slow and deliberate way, 
I want the artificers lo con- 
■ a large raft, on w hich 1 will 
P balista and the three cata- 
k have obtained two small 
Is, They shall be tugs to my 
will have the raft towed up 
, on my left hand, a lilde be- 
^e front or face-line of my 
Ittifications, out of reach of 
Id-darts from the shore, and 
urcd against arrows, but the 
1 be within the easy and 
range of our own instru- 
tonnenta, upon the raft, 
Germans attack me in front, 
right will be galled and 
from the lake. This is 
X turning their right Hank, 
h we could have a similar 
ent on the Adige, to turn 
i flank also/* 

^cn and frank murmur of ap- 
fecceeded to the previous de- 
id the officers expressed their 
of Paulus*s proposal. Ger- 
I took the same view, and 
pr? !hat our adventurer should 
li \vAt{ asked ; after 

uiLii separated. 



We need not detail the military 
operations which followed. The Cae- 
sar won a great victory where, about 
eighteen hundred years afterward, 
Napoleon, by very similar strategy, 
gained several others. But instead 
of immediately returning round the 
southern end of the lake, as at first 
he had thought uf doing, he found he 
had time to tlo better ; he pursued the 
enemy into the Rhietian Alps, dispers- 
ed them completely, and, making a 
short and sharp defection over the 
top of Lake Benacus or Guarda, 
marched back to the south along its 
opposite or eastern shore* M h is mo ve- 
ment brought him, one evening, upon 
the rear of the other German army, 
who thought at first that a large rein- 
forcement of their countrymen were 
joining them ; and being attacked 
bet"ore they could at all understand 
who the assailants were, and strait- 
ened on both danks between the lake 
and the river, while a fortification 
^vhich they had not yet been able to 
take by assault prevented them from 
flying southward, they sustained one 
of the most terrible overthrows that a 
Roman army had ever infiirted U|jon 
barbarians. Many were slain, many 
drowned, having taken to the lake. 
A considerable number swam the 
Adige, and escaped. I'he rest threw* , 
down their arms, and claimed the 
mercy of the victors. The Roman 
general immediately ordered the car- 
nage to cease, the wounded to be re* 
moved, and die prisoners to be secur- 
ed. Had German icus not made the 
circuit of the lake, but simply return- 
ed round its southern extremity, he 
would have attacked the front of the 
second (German army instead of its 
rear ; and, its retreat being open, its 
losses w^ould have been less. On the 
other hand, had (jermanicus, with 
the plan actually adopted, been beat- 
en, he must have been completely de* 
stroyed. But he felt morally sure of 




the victory, partly through the effects 
of suqjrise, which was a strategical 
reason ; nncJ partly because, in a crowd- 
ed hand-to hand encounter upon a 
confined field, no weapons were equal 
to the short Roman sword and large 
buckler ; and Uiis was a tactical rea- 
son. Indeed, the bayonet of modern 
warfare would not have been equal 
to those weapons without firearms, 

A soldier in our times must have 
his rifle, and he could not carry this 
and a shield and a sword too ; the 
bayonet, therefore, is merely more 
handy as an adjunct to what has it- 
self become indispensable* Still, might 
it not be worth while to add to a mo- 
dern army a thousand or two thou- 
sand or five thousand men^ armed in 
the old Roman fashion, with one small 
revolver of the best new pattern stuck 
in every soldier's belt ? This bwly of 
men could not be used on every oc- 
casion ; but where, from the accidents 
of the ground^ they could first be 
brought (nnexposed to lire) close tip 
to the enemy, antl then precipitated 
upon the flank of a thin infantry line» 
they would tlouble it upon itself, and 
destroy it before the bayonet -carriers 
knew what was the matter. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Torrents of rain had fallen during 
the night, and during the next fore- 
noon, following this great battle, 

(iermanicus, at midday, when the 
rain had ceased, called the legions 
into parade; saw more than thirty 
thousand effective men mustered after 
his two battles and the severe forced 
march which had intervened. 

The general thanked his army, and 
tnade a short speech, in the course of 
which he remarked that, although 
they had already received one boun- 
ty, they should certamly have an- 
other forthwith. I'his was cheeretl 
with a violent outbreak of shouting 



and admiration, as a very sv 
of oratory ; and a veteran i 
turned to the soldier behind 
remarked that Germanic us ki 
to speak almost as well as J 
sar was reputed to have donci 
the noise of their literary am 
enthusiasm had subsided, Ge 
proceeded to read a list of pr< 

He appointed two /^gii/i, 
rals, and directly afterward 
out, in a thundering tone» t 
of Paul us Lepidus ^iimilius. 

No answer. There was a 

*' Is Longinus the decuriol 
he next asked. Longinus w 
on account of a severe but 
gerous wound. No answ 
and another pause ensued. 

** Is the decurion Thcilus p 
cried the Cfesan ** Adsum^ 
ed Thellus, advancing a step 
the ranks, 

** You are wounded,** said 
nicus. ** How is it thai no 
has extracted that broken c 
your shoulder ?" 

*' Tis only the point of a 1) 
man thistle/' said the stalwal 
king. ** I hardly fell it when 
in me during our great mowii^ 
yesterday." The legionaries 
and cheered. 

'*What has become of tl 
who commanded your intrcnc 
pursued the comniander*in-c 

** He is badly wounded, 
and, as I could not find where 1 
daylight, the rain had been dl 
him all night long; I am ratb 
he'll go." 

Germanicus ordered a ch 
once to accompany Thell 
render \^ hat succor he co\il( 
w o u n d e d you th , H e , m orcoi 
Thellus inform Paulus that, 
count of services to the an 
assembled, both in securing 
treasure, which only for 
have been lost, and in 



Dian and the Sibyk. 



349 



i to the success of the cam- 
id all this as much by his 
\ as by his courage, he con- 
Im not only to have given a 
iexamfilej but to have shown 
kies of a soldier whom it is 
bterest of the troops to see 
t 

more authority persons like 
b, Paukis, possess,** conclud- 
ihe better and the safer it is 
hole army," He thereupon 
I'aulus from that moment to 
Jary tribune. 

Houncement evidently pleas- 
^ps. 

fcpon, Thellus led the doctor 
I mile away, whither he and 
fee soldiers had carried Pau- 
S young man was lying with- 
tm or consciousness upon a 
let The doctor looked at 
ids, which were numerous 
e chest — not one of them 
% itself — ^but such as had 
(eat loss of blood. So many 
ised under the heavy rain of 
iding night, and the delay 
tl occurred before the wounds 
•attended to, made the case 
15. However, the medical 
pdered whatever his science 
I4 and then left the hut, pro- 

pay another visit in the 

tommander-in-chief, not hav- 
ling to fear from the broken 
pf the horde which he had 

1 sent back most of the troops 
lie south to take up their 
larters in various tow-ns. He 
|e wounded who could bear 
f removed; and for those 
\ was forced to leave behind 
I wooden hospital, to protect 
[small gu;ird was assigned. 

riok a few mounted servants 
and, f ro«ising the Pq by a 
\ travelled very fast 

Dssthe Apennines to 



Rome, whither Augustus and Tibe- 
rius had returned, and whither Ger- 
manicus was thus the first to bear an 
authentic account of his late opera- 
tions. 

A solemn triumph would readily 
have been decreed to him, hatl he 
not (partly through modesty, and 
partly through a politic fear of yet 
further exasperating the suspicious 
jealousy and hatred of Tiberius) re- 
fused it peremptorily. 



CHAPTER X. 

The last w^e saw^ of Paulus's mother 
and sister was at Lepidus's Casile of 
Circa? i, where 71 hen us Ctesar had 
just ascertained them to have taken 
refuge. The aged triumvir was not 
less disgusted than alarmed at the 
threat which the ladies (whom he 
was protecting under his roof) inform- 
ed him had been uttered by his ne- 
phew Marcus. 

However^ as Marcos came no more, 
and as the most unbroken tranquillity 
for weeks together attended the lives 
of all at the castle, the thought of re- 
ally embarking for Spain was aban- 
doned by Aglais and Agatha, who 
would thus have postponed indefinite- 
ly their reunion with Paul us. 

They now concentrated all their 
hopes and dreams upon that events 
but couhl not always banish the idea 
that he might, alas ! have fallen in 
battle. News travelled slowly ; and 
how the war went none had told 
them. 

One morning, before they had left 
their bedroom to join the triumvir's 
early repast* they heard his voice at 
the door, bidding them come quickly 
dowm^ for Dionysius» the Athenian, 
had just arrived Irom Rome, and had 
brought tidings of Faulus, the milita- 
ry tribune. 

" Of Paulus the military trihune /*' 



Jiian and the Sibyls, 



echoed the mother and sister, when 
they were all seated together at their 
jentacitium. ''How weU it sounds! 
It is the very style and title of his fa- 
ther!" 

" Ay," (|Uoth the triumvir, ** the 
splendid lad makes ray valiant bro- 
ther's name ring once more. Once 
more we hear of Faults, tribune of 
tlie soldiers; but this youth will soon 
be a legatus." 

** Where is he ? Why is he not 
here?" suddenly asked Aglais, turn- 
inj^ with alarm to the messenger^ their 
friend iJion. 

" He is recovering from a wound/'* 
said Dionysius, ^^ in a hut near Vero- 
na, where he is attended by your old 
freed man Philip/' 

" But with no doctor," cried the 
mother. ** and without me ?" 

*^ Let us both go to Verona at 
once/* said Agatha. " Helena can 
wait upon us." 

** He has had the advice of a doc- 
tor, and of the best doctor living/* 
said the Athenian. " Moreover» I 
have reason to believe that it would 
be dangerous for you and Agatha to 
undertake such a journey. Agatha, 
in any case, should not leave this 
castle till Paul us returns/' 

** But I can/* said the mother; 
** my stay here is no additional pro- 
tection to Agatha, and my presence 
with him may save the life of Pau- 
I us. You must await us here, my 
daughter. J will go this very day, 
taking our slave Melena. She un- 
derstands how to nurse the sick.*' 

As no objections to this plan were 
raised, the Athenian lady left the 
room to give orders. When she re- 
turned, Dionysius informed them diat 
Germanicus C^sar had re-entered 
Rome before he was expected, hav- 
ing entirely dispersed the Germans ; 
that Paulus had distinguished him- 
self during the operations which had 
led to this result even more by his 



military prudence than by 
liant courage; and that be, 
sius, having learnt that his ivvi 
lying ill near Verona, had p^ 
Charicles to leave all his U 
practice in the capital for t 
of visiting the wounded hcfli 
the two Greeks had travel I q 
ther to Venetia; and that Ui 
had himself seen Paulus, w 
rapidly recovering; and he hi 
hastened back to bear the go^ 
to Aglais and Agatha, 

*• But this is not all/' ad< 
Athenian; »* I have somethinj 
portance to tell you about y 
for the recovery of that part 
*4imilian estates which once 
ed to the brother of our host 
umvir — 1 mean, to your gallj 
band. Your suit is over, ai 
over." ' 

" Has Augustus made up hisi 
** Yes ; but in a curious iJ 
You have heard of Vedius Po| 
Posilippo. He would hav( 
much longer only for his lai 
but now he is gone. He di 
suddenly, the other flay, blai 
gods for taking him, and ns 
for not keeping him, Altho 
has several kinsfolk, he hasi 
his Vesuvian villa, his pottei 
all his treasures to AugustuI 
the emperor, who, for sotn 
back, had known how PoIIia 
preys used to he fattened, wjj 
derfully disgustetl by the deviQ 
deed, so far as taking per^onjl 
session of the property was c0 
ed, he renounced the legacy 
oath, 1 thereupon seized m 
tunity, brought forward a 
case of your son, and urgi 
Augustus that, if he could noti 
to the last of the great -4Cniili 
the -4^milian Casde on the I^ 
might, at least, confer upon 
Cumaean estate instead. Tl 
ror pondered awhile and col 



but yet with a singular qyalification.* 
The Lady Plancina, wife of Cneius 
Piso, had, it seems, sonic claims tip- 
on old PoUio ; ^nd Augustus has or- 
dered a patent to be drawn out by 
the lawyers, conferring the property 
upon Paul us as an imperial grant, 
but, should he die without an heir^ 
conveying it afterward to this Lady 
Plancina.*' 

" 1 have heard of reversions to the 
young after the old should die,** ob- 
senxd Lepidus; ** but the disposal 
which you describe is indeed a curi- 
ous caprice on the part of my once 
oilleague, Paulus must marry at 
once, and defeat the possibility of 
so whimsical a remainder." 

That day. the Lady Aglais, taking 
the slave Melena with her, departed 
for Rome in one of Lepidus's old- 
fashioned carriages, while Dionysius 
retyrned lo the cajMtal ija his own 
Lhariot at the same time. Aglais 
i^asgbdof such protection and com- 
\miy on the road. There were t\\ o 
or three mansiants^ or httle post- 
ifouses. and two imperial muUttiones, 
'^here they calculated on obtaining 
fhanges of horses, as Dionysius had 
t^en the precaution of fLiniisbing 
himself with the retiuisite 'Uiipkma,'' 
Or warrant, from Lucius Piso, the 
governor of Rome. 

Besides a trusty serving- man of 

Lepidus's who acted as coachman, a 

ccmple of grooms went with the lady 

Ibe first stage^ in order to ride back 

^hc triumvir*5 horses. In Rome, it 

^^as planned Dionysius would see 

*iut Aglais should obtain the readi- 

^l and best means of continuing her 

journey northward ; and the Athe- 

i^n even promised himself to es- 

^rt her all the way, and to guide 

*« to the very house in which her 



^tfie rcil historioil ftftpropria.tioQ of this pro- 
bgild "jM/iVa'* Pfiriic** occurred hi 



son was now regaining his health 
and strength, near Verona. 

Agatha wept bitterly at parting 
from her mother, for the first time, 
as it happened, in her whole life. 
Two incidents marked the afternoon 
of this first separation. 

It was at midday that the sound 
of the receding wheels died in the 
distance; and the aged Lepidus» pat- 
dng die head of the fair girl, said: 

'* Come, niece ; have fortitude ! 
Your mother will soon return widi 
our noble Paulus, and they must see 
you cheerful and happy, or they will 
blame me. Go to your apartments, 
and prepare for a little fishing excur- 
sion. I will call the slaves, have out 
our large galley, and give you a row 
up and down the shingly beach." 

She laughed through her tears 
with a litUe gasp^ and obeyed. The 
castle was encompassed with gar- 
dens, and these again with an or- 
chard, the w^hole being enclosed in a 
loosely-semicircular sweep of strong 
walls, with the sea line as arc to the 
bow^, almost like a fortification. A 
few Thessalian dogs, famed as watch- 
ers, w ith which Agatha had early es- 
tablished the most friendly and con- 
fidential relations, had been trained 
to range these gardens, and the 
whole enclosure, at will, and per- 
formed that duty or pastime very 
much with the air of disciplined sol- 
diers. 

While Agatha was dressing for the 
boat, she heard one of these dogs 
bay angrily; and, when she descend- 
ed into the garden, she saw her un- 
cle in the act of shutting a heavy 
wooden door in the enclosing wall, 
and caught the following words ad- 
dressed to a man on horseback, of 
whom she obtained only a momenta- 
ry glimpse : 

" No more in my house after such 
a menace; but tell this to Tiberius 
you^ if it will help your interest urith 



352 



Dion and the Sibyts. 



him J tell him, I say, that very little 
is now rct|uired to induce Lepldu^, 
once triumvir, to bequeath all his 
property to Tiberius C^sar. You 
fence with an old swordsman." 

And while yet speaking, Lepidus 
slammed the door, and Agatha heard 
a horse gallop away. 

" I've outgeneralled ///w, I think," 
muttered Uie old man, turning back 
into the garden, 

^' Who was there^ uncle ?" asked 
Agatha, 

** One who shall not trouble us 
again while my brother's widow and 
daughter are under this roof/' repli- 
ed the triumvir. And he led Agatha 
to the boat. 

Their fishing expedition was not 
very gay, and they were both con- 
tent when it was over, It was eve- 
ning as they re-entered the court- 
yard of the castle. They were met 
by an old slave, who held in Lcpi- 
dus's establishment a ]>lace corre- 
sponding lo that of a butler in mo- 
dern families. 

'* I am sorry you were away, sir, 
an hour ago," said he to the trium- 
vir. " Just before yon entered the 
boat, a knight, or more than a knight, 
whose horse was covered with fo.irn, 
rode up to the door at the end of 
the garden, by which your grandson 
had departed, and asked for the La- 
dy Aglais. When told she had left, 
he said hastily, " What ! in the ship 
for Spain ?'* When I mentioned for 
Rome, he asked, Had the young lady 
gone also ? and when 1 said that the 
young lady and you, sir, were out 
fishing, he called for some one to 
hold his horse, and stated he w*ould 
write you a letter. Searching for his 
tablets, he muttered that he must 
have left them in Rome. I offered 
to get him paper, a reed, and some 
cutde-fish ink, if he would enter the 
house. He did so, looking much 
disturbed; and saying, as often as 



three several times, that he 
one to send whom he tou 
trusted ; that he had been obll 
come himself; and that, if 
not at once return, he should 
ed. When he had written 
words, he folded up the pap< 
me for wax and a taper, am 
the letter with a signet-ring 
had on his finger. Then he 
letter so, without giving it to 
at last tore it up." 

** But,*' said Lepidus, 
not ask who he was?'' 

** Yes, sir; and he told me 1 
a friend of the Lady Aglats, 
the young lady." 

** VV as he dressed as a 
man ?*' 

** No, sir; he had a sort 
only it was dark; the ho( 
brought over his hcvid; he 
ed. He was a handsome oj 
der the middle age* But I w; 
certain of his rank by the vo 
by his general bearing.'* 

**Well, did he leave no ines 

'* None, sir ; he merely said 
was very unfortunate he coi 
nobody, and especially that h^ 
not speak to the lady, yoii|]j 
He then mounted his hon 
rode away swiftly," 

"Here is the seal, I do b 
said Agatha, picking up a p 
wax on the fragment of a lett< 

**Ah!" said Lepidus, exami 
"How well I remember the 
emblem. That used to be thi 
of Maecenas, who brought 
to the block," 

** Uncle!" whispered Agat 
also had looked at the seal, 
into the house, and I will i 
who this visitor was." 

** You can go," said Lep 
the servant, who retired. 

**It was Velleius Patercu 
Praetorian tribune," said 
" That is his device — a £irog» 



I have seen his notes before, sealed 
with tl)at emblem. Some danger, 
against which he would fain protect 
us, is impending/* 

CHAPIER XI. 

Ix passing through Rome, Diony- 
sius had ngam called upon Charicles, 
and had obtained from that celebrat- 
td phvnsician a promise that he would, 
within only a few hours then next 
cniiuiag, leave Rome once more, and 
fly north as fust as good horses could 
whirl his carriage, in onler to pay 
?aulus another visit and watch hLs 
fccovcry. •*! may even overtalse 
you upon the road," were the words 
of this nudkus insists ^ as Tacitus 
terms him ; and with a grateful pres- 
sure of the hand Dionysius left him 
10 wait upon his countrywoman in 
the prosecution of her anxious jour- 
Dcy. 

The next step was to obtain anoth- 
er set of warrants from the prefect to 
jkicure them relays of horses along 
the road at the various [>ost-houses„ 
where none not connected with the 
imperial administrations would be so 
served. The good-natured Lucius 
Piso again furnished the Ajhenian 
with the indispensable orders, and the 
l«iy, with her female slave, renewed 
her travels after less than half a day's 
delay in the cai>ital, Dionysius ac- 
company iiig them stilL 

Having completed their rapid jour- 
oty, they found Paul us not in the 
little tav^nia^ or hut, whither Phi Hp 
bd first carried him, but in a beau- 
tiful rooai, opening upon the impiu- 
^«w, court-yard, or central garden 
tjfafinc coimtr>"-house about a quar- 
ter of a mile distant. 

TlVither they had been immediate- 
ly pided by a lame soldier walking 
' ff. \ crutch. The master of the 
''' U.VC was absent^ and indeed seldom 
^nd there. He wa3 a rich and dis- 
VOL. XII. — ^25, 



sipated young patrician^ who much 
preferred the gayely and magmficence 
of Rome to the quiet of the countr)\ 
A steward and his wife, with three 
or four outdoor slaves, took care of 
the almost abandoned place. 

As Aglais, having descended from 
the carriage, followed the lame sol- 
dier along a rough path, through a 
fine wood of sycamores, she obsen^ed 
here and there near the stately man- 
sion a decurion or two and several 
other soldiers. She asked what that 
meant ; and the man said that these 
were convalescents from among the 
wounded left liehind in the neigh- 
borhood by Germanicus; and they 
w-ere all too much attached to Paul us 
to return home or to leave the spot 
where he lay battling for his yoftng 
life till they knew his late, 

** You arc brave and nolile friends !*' 
cried Aglais; **but in what state, then, 
do you consider my son to be ?" 

The soldier darted a shy, quick 
glance of compassion at her, and, 
muttering something, hastened his 
hobbling pace to such a degree that 
the ladies could hardly keep up with 
him. 

They found Paul us carefully laid 
upon a sof^ couch in a beautiful 
room^ and Tliellus sealed nigh, watch- 
ing him. 

^*Alas! lady/' said Thellus, rising, 
"he will not know you." So saying, 
he left the chamber on tiptoe. In 
vain the mother, kneeling by the bed- 
side, called the youth in the voice so 
dear to him. He was talking to 
himself in a mixture of Greek and 
Latin, and said, *' It would be pleas- 
ing to the Great Being to save an 
innocent young couple from brutal 
tyranny ; would not a God rescue 
the world? why, it would be godlike; 
it was not more reasonable to expect 
from a man what was human than 
from a God what was divine* Au- 
gustus might take their inheritance, 



• 



I 



354 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



but he would find nothing save stones 
in the strong iron box; no, the trea- 
sure is safe, general; suppose the 
Germans swim the Adige behind us^ 
what then ? A miHtary tribune, mo- 
ther, a heady your son a tribune ! 
By fire you will subdue the — was she 
the Sibyl ? That was h'ttle Esther on 
the raft, covering the left flank of the 
entrenchment. They swim the riv- 
er—come, Thelhis— face to the rear, 
be men. Tlie lawyers were no match 
for him. Dion broke Sejanus — Dion 
held torches to the prefect's nose. 
Wliat a splendid scene in the palace I 
ril drink at the fountain; they may 
stare, but drink I must; the emperor 
wants a tlraught^ the Cai'sars want a 
draught ; water, clear water^ — wliat 
mean you by keeping me from the 
fountain ? Augustus told me to 
drink !" 

Thus he raved, and the wee|jing 
mother, while moistening his lips and 
head, said ever and again in vain : 
** Paul us, my child — Paul us, do you 
not, then, know your mother ?** And 
the night came; and the old stew- 
ardess brought refreshments to Aglais, 
weary witli travel, distracted with 
anguish. 

But the stewardess was unable to 
induce her to take rest or leave the 
room; she therefore lighted lamps 
in the part of the chamlier behind 
the sufferer's bed, ]irepared couches 
there for the mother and for herself, 
and made every arrangement which 
her experience and prudence could 
suggest to render more supportable 
to the forlorn stranger the coming 
watches of the night. She told Ag- 
lais that the military doctor would 
pay his visit presently, and that she 
felt sure the sufferer would recover; 
she bade the mother control her 
emotions, because the youthful tri- 
l>unc would l>ecome sensible in a 
moment, and it would injure him if 
he saw her in grief. 



Aglais was occupied in fanning 
the wasted and sunken face of Psau- 
his, occasionally moistening his lip* 
and temples, from which the light 
brown locks fell away tangled and 
dank upon the pillow, when Thellus, 
entering, announced the doctor. This 
functionary found the patient stilJ in 
delirious condition, was infonned that 
there had been no intermission for 
hours in his ra\ings, and declarcfl 
that, although he dreaded tlic result 
because Paul us was perceptibly los- 
ing strength, he would bleed him, « 
the last chance of saving his lifc. 
Ever>lhing was rearly for this opera- 
tion, when the sound of wheels anri 
the furious tramp of horses were 
heard. The surgeon, rcmemberiiig 
that it was the dead of night, aod 
feeling surprised at a noise for which 
he could not account, turned round 
in suspense, grasping the fatal lin^ 
cet. Thcllus wai holding an earthen 
ewer in one hand and with the othrr 
was gently sujiporting Paulus's wrtil. 
On the one hand stood the doctor, 
and, on the further, the nurse, raiding 
a taper so as to shed its light over 
the bare arm of the young tribuuc 
Aglais was leaning over her sonV 
face on the opposite side oi tlif 
couch, too anxious and too frighten- 
ed to weep, and, almost as one who 
is dreaming, conscious of the rtish "f 
wheels and the tramp of hoofs* P^** 
sently there was the sound ol per- 
sons springing to the ground, n 1'^'^ 
murmur of voices was hcarti * 
and then the door of the apa:-- 
was pushed open, and Charicles, fol" 
lowed by an Asiatic sen^ant, earn* 
ing a box, entered, 

\ few whispered wonls were s«'' 
ficient to inform the local Joctof 
that the most eminent member of ^'^ 
firofession then li\ing sr ' *'"^'"'* 
htm; and Charicles at * 
that, being long isin 
friend of the sufferer 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



MS 



: was natural and right that 
_jld desire, and he give, at- 
!e and help in the present 
rhe manner of the celebrated 
m was at once noble, simple, 
hiral, without any affectation 
fluzing hk lowly colleague. 
bg persuaded the Lady Aglais 
( the room, and having exam- 

filus's wounds, which he de- 
> have been most admirably 
he said his colleague had 
the proper method of cure 
mg from the principle that 
had already lost fiir too much 

^ is quite evident/' said the 
fetor, concealing his lancet, 
es unlocked his box, pro- 
ointment of some kind, and 
e patients spine from the 
be neck to the small of the 
be vigorously rubbed by 
\r about twenty minutes, 
applied to each temple a 
men saturated with a liquid, 
odor of which failed to in- 
professional person present 
ure; and, in order to keep 
tizing appliances in their 
le bound them gently and 
>sely round the head. He 
own hands cut off the bcau- 
n locks of the youth, and 
ellusto continue from time 
j till Paulus should sleep, to 
IC top of the patient's head 
ftiponge steeped in a lotion 
m placed ujion a table near. 
pXiall tray of pottery he then 
le whity-brown leaves resem- 
\ coarse description of paper 
^ratka, which he set on 
which burnt with a hissing 
and emitted much smoke. 
pient the whole atmosphere 
foom was changed j those 
; round the couch drew invol- 
L long inhalation ; and Pau- 
in the midst of his ravings 



had been respiring irregularly and with 
painful difficulty, heaved a free and 
even breath which it was a relief to 
bean At the same time, the faintest 
conceivable undertint of color came, 
in that artificially-produced climate 
and chymical atmosphere, timid* 
ly and flutteringly into his cheeks. 
The ]jhysician set a large phial on 
the table, saying that the patient 
would soon sleep» and that the mo- 
ment he awoke he must be made to 
take a portion of its contents, which 
he specified. Finally, he went for 
Lady Aglais, brought her back into 
the room, told them that Faulus 
would, beyond all doubt, recover; 
that he would in the morning feel a 
ravenous appetite ; that he must not 
be allowed to eat to the extent he 
would wish ; that the best decoction 
of meat (in modem phrase, good| 
light, pure souji) ought during the 
night to be made ready for his break- 
fast, after which it would l>e well to 
give him a small quantity of gene- 
rous wine. He proceeded to fix the 
diet to be afterwards used. But 
Charicles forbade them to let the pa- 
tient leave his bed until he should 
have finished the contents of the 
large phial, the method and times 
of taking which he particularly and 
accurately described. The last di- 
rection which he gave was not to 
permit Paulus to talk too long ; but, 
whenever he should be inclined over- 
much for conversation, to entertain 
him with music instead, 

*^ Remember," said Charicles, ** that 
nothing has been now done except 
to give you the Imttle-field for fight- 
ing this illness, and the time needed 
io do so. I have effected nothing 
except to abate the delirium, to 
quiet the nervous fury, to quicketi 
the blood, to relieve the breathing, 
and to promote the sleeping inclina- 
tion of your son, lady. He would 
have died to-morrow of nervous eitr 



35« 



Mr. Frouiit^s History of England, 



liaustion, insomnolence, and annemia 
combmetl The easier breathing, 
the quicker blood, the reduced im- 
agination, the lull of the quivering 
nerves the power to sleep (which 
will; soothe and foster his whole sys- 
tem), all unite to give you a chance 
of beginning, remember, merely be- 
ginning, your contest uiih this illness 



in the early morning. Tba^ 
what you must carefully acj 
Then adhere stricdy to thej 
your son will be able 
fortnight/' 

After a light repast 
leave, and started Uf 
journey to Rome the san 
But Dionysius remained. 



TO BB CONTIKUKO. 




MR, FROUDK'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND 



" Mr. Froudc do^ not »ecm to have fully grusped the nature of inverted 



AN EXPLANATION FROM MR. FROUDE. 

In the New York Tribune of Octo- 
ber 1$, we find the following article : 

'* In the eighth volume of Mr. Froude's 
liiskfry; he quotes an important fetter, 
which he states was wriucn by Randolph 
to i»ir W, Cecil. A writer in a recent 
number of The CATiioLtc World asserts 
that he has beeri informed by Mr. Steven- 
son of the Record Oflice(where Mr. Froude 
says he found it) that ihcre is no such let- 
ter in that uflice at all. The impression 
conveyed by the very positive statement 
ill Thk Catholic World, on the autho- 
rity of Mr. Stevenson (who is a Cntholic^ 
is thai Froude forged the letter. On read- 
ing the article in the American periodical 
Mr. Froude wrote to the Foreign Office, 
and discovered that there has been, cither 
by himself or a compositor, a clerical er- 
ror in giving the name of the writer of the 
letter. It was the Earl of Bedford » instead 
of Randolph, who wrote the letter, though, 
owing to the fact that Randolph was at 
that lime about the court, and in connec- 
tion with Bedford, the latter could only 
have written on the authority of Randolph'. 
However that may be, the impression 
produced by the statement of the critic in 
Thk Catholic Wukld is erroneous. In 
the leltcr he is right, in the spirit false. 
He says there is no such letter in the 
Public Record Oflice. We copy below 
the reply that Froude has received from 



attm, hi 



that office. The date, 
given in this reply vrr-^atim, i 
contained in the I/tstery*, the i 
rencc absolutely beinj^that^byU 
error tnetuioned, Randolph \% 
the writer instead of Bedford^ 
that does not in the slightest dd 
the moral or historical weight J 
tract: 'The letter referred ti 
Froude's note to Sir Thomns > 
from the Earl of Bedford to Sir 
dated Alnwick. 5 Oct., 1565 ^ 
Elix, vol, xi. No. 60 A) T»<c \ 
as follows : •' Ther is no talked 
with that Q. but that she wilt dl 
heade of tlie Duke or of the Ei|i 
rey,'* The volume of *' Forcigi^ 
pers, I5tq-i565, p. 480, No. 15J 
to be published, also contains V 
' W. Noel 
" * PuiiLic Rkoro OrrtcSk 19 

To this the following i 
ed iti the Tribune of < 

THE FRCITDE COIS 

To THE Editor of thr Trib 

StR \ A paragraph in yoar is 
15th inst,, under the heading 
Notes/ endeavors to explain M 
the many serious errors coml 
Mr. Froude in his //i'jAtv --f 
At page2i t, vol. viii., h » 

accusation against Mj 
a letter from Rando • 

betU's ambassador is >.^ .. j^^^ 



Mr. Froudis History of England, 



357 



Rsli Prime Minister), which let- 
\ cited : ' Randolph lo Cecily Oc- 
cotcb Mss, Rolls iiouse/ In an 
viewing Mr. Ffoudcs work, pub- 
[the August number of The Ca- 
ToRU), this accusation was com- 
J upon^ and the assertion was made, 
imputable auihorily, that * this letter 
L>ctober» refcricd lo by Mr, Fronde, 
Ln the Record Office / and it now 
S from Mr. Froude's attempted dc- 
that the assertion is correct, and 
kere is no such letter there. But 
lit of a mistake, * either by him- 
L compositor/ is claimed for Mr. 
nd it is said that there f> a letter 
ecord Office from the Duke of 
|to Cecil, * ihc only difTerence ab- 
being thai by the clerical error 
_ [ Raiidolph is given as the writ- 
end of Bedford — an error that does 
Ibc slightest degree afTect the mo- 

PStorical weight of the extract.* 
Is assertion the waiter of the 
b review in TiiE Catjiolic Worfd 
lireci issue with the author of the 
IT paragraph* whether he be Mr. 
B himself, or some one speaking 
Land in ihc proper place, namely, 
Hug article of his series on Mr. 
^ work, he pledges himself to 
liat in this matter he is rights not 
.D the letter,' but also ' in the spi- 
ll ihat the Ik^dford ktler falls de- 
^ short of what is claimed for it, 
M. 
TopK, Oct tg, 1870/* 

id of waiting until publication 
losing article of the series to 
I matter thus put in cotitro- 
t prefer to dispose of it sepa- 
id at once, and now proceed 
t up. Not stO[)ping to com* 
on some objectionable points 
Tribune paragraph, one of 
\ the singular appeal to Pto- 
►rejudice in pointing out Mr, 
as a Catholic,^ wc pass to 



in iiiut Mr. Stevenson was written to 

$^ ; V, and the question uked 

th- Record Office such %. docu- 

iran Randolph to Cecil, dated 
' to which Mr.Slcvcnson replied 
'lOl. Noisr, neither the propriety 
'i4»r the truUi of his answer is at 
iutt— " Mr* Stcvcusou Is a Catho- 



the discussion of the strictly historical 
question involved. 

And, at the outset, we tiecHne ttj 
be at all accountable for the proposi- 
tion that ** the impression conveyed 
by the very [vositive statement in The 
Catholic World is that I'Youde 
forged the letter," Forged is a gross 
m\A serious term. We neither used 
the word nor any expression e'luiva- 
lent to it. Mr Froude could not be 
charged with forging a letter he did 
not i^rodtice. He cited^ wuh the 
usual quotation marks which convey 
the assurance to the reader that the 
words are original, a short passage 
which he said was in a certain desig* 
nated letter. At page 211, vol viii., 
he makes Mary Stuart say ^^ she could 
have no peace ti/i she had Murrafs or 
Chiitelheraidfs head^ and gave as his 
authority a letter of ** Randolph to 
Cecil, Oct, 5, Scotch Mss. Rolls 
House." We asserted (August No. 
Cath. W(3rld, p. 587) ** this letter 
of 5th Oct. referred to by Mr. Froude 
is not in the Record Office ^ But our 
" statement was very positive/' says 
the 7>7M//<' paragraph. It was. And 
we now repeat it yet more positively^ 
since Mr, Froude admits that the 
Randolph letter cited by him has no 
existence. On that point, the contro- 
versy may be considered as closed. 

W'e freely accept the explanation 
given, according to wbtch Mr. Froude 
meant to cite a letter from the IJuke 
of Bedlbrd to Cecil, " the only difife- 
rcnce absolutely being that, by the 
clerical error mentioned, Randolph is 
given as the writer instead of Bed- 
ford." 

Then, according to this explana- 
tion, it was Bedford who wrote, " She 
said she could have no peace till 
she had Murray's or Chatelherault's 
head '* ? But it appears that, ** in the 
letter referred to in Mr. Froude*s 
note to Sir Thomas Hardy," the Karl 
of Bedford wrote no such thing, and 



358 



Mf\ Frondes History of Sngland^ 



we still wait to hear from Mr, Froude 
where he found his authority for stat- 
ing that Mary Stuart used the words 
he has put in her mouth. 

We do not want amiable supposi- 
tion and inference and a general 
gooil-natured wish to help a worthy 
gentleman out of a serious difficulty 
of his own making. We desire, and 
have the dearest right to demand, 
proper documentary evidence that 
Mary Stuart used the precise lan- 
guage attributed to her by Mr- Froude, 
The explanation offered by the Tri- 
hune [paragraph does not supply such 
evidence, and we have good reasons 
for doubting Mr. Fronde's ability to 
produce it. 

If Mr, Froude meant to cite the 
words *' there is no talk of peace/' 
etc., as proving the malignant hatred 
of Mary Stuart for her bastard half- 
brother Murray, why did he not quote 
the express language of the letter? 
By what right docs he substitute oth* 
cr words, conveying a very different 
meaning ? We know of no school 
of history or morality whose teach- 
ings warrant a historian in giving as 
an original authority his own inter- 
pretation, in his own words, of the 
meaning of that authority. The writ- 
ing of history, with aid of such pro* 
cesses, would soon become what to 
too great extent it unfortunately is — 
the composition of romance. 

The singular explanation is given 
that, "owing to tlie fact that Ran- 
dolph was at that time about the 
court and in connection with Bedford, 
the latter could only have written on 
the authority of Randolph/' 1 he na- 
tural infL-rence from this statement is 
that Randolph, *'who was about the 
court/* must have authorized Bedford 
to write the letter, thus leading us lo 
suppose that Bedford was his subor- 
dinate, and also '* alxiut the court.*' 

Very far from it. Randolph was 
not then, and never was in a post- 



I 



tion to be, the personal 
cial superior of Bedford 
lish earl writing under the 
of Mr Randall?* 

Truly, the man who ii 
of grace 1565 shoidd hav< 
to Francis, the second Earl 
that he was Randolph's si 
would have passed what C 
friends call a mauvais qm 
IndependenUy of other a 
considerations, such as ran 
their relative positions to 
sovereign should settle thi 
Randolph's written comn 
were, as a general rule, stri 
and addressed lo CeojH 
m mister, t ^| 

But Bedford, whenever 1 
it necessary, addressed El 
recily and in person, and s 
ed him with her own ha 
this could not well be othc 
sidering the delicate nat 
subjects treated between 
one letter of Bedford tol 
Mr. Froude says (vol. vi] 
" Bedford wrote in plain J 
to the queen herself/' 

** About the court ?" 
derstand that Randolph I 
a spy, or a hanger-on af 
court ? "In connectiq 
ford !" What is meant 1 



•Thts w«5 hi* rcml lume, 
ally called RMidolph. 

t SprAking of accrtaJn negd 
My* (vol. iL p. 7»), "Raoc^^ 
admitted to hh TnHtre?V'; <;cj 

tin the si: 
Injf corrcHp<M 

urtj, Ett/mbcth lo HtafurU. j 
«which sbc {nstrticti littn i 
mv with itviincy and *ildid 
let her be delettcd \ Scptcl 
to £h/abelh, Sej*tt*tubrtf 
belh. OcL.bcr i), Hc<il 
ber aa. Ktiukbcth In 
ctlpt by the Earl of Mti 
QUecii *jl England) af 
In the common cause \ 
within this realm mf Scrj 
nobililielheri^rt for m«li/ 
Ugiofli," Dumfrtei., 
JametSleviriul. 



Mr. Fraudcs History ef England. 



3S9 



ambiguity ! There is no occasion for 
ajiy mystery. Rnndcdph was the 
diploraadc representative of Eliza- 
beth at the court of Scotland, and 
having^ by virtue of his position, 
frequent opportimities of seeing and 
hearing Mar}' Stuart, his testimony 
as to her sayings and doings was 
valuable in so far as it was that of 
a person who might possil>ly have 
heard her say *'she could have no 
peace,'* etc, — provided she ever said 
to. On this account, the citation, 
** Randolph to Cecil," was valuable 
to Mr. Froude. But Randolph did 
not so report her, and we are asked 
to suppose that Bedford did, on the 
authority of Randolph. Hut here 
a serious dJfificulty arises. Although 
Randolph was at the time *' about 
Ibe court," the Earl of Bedford was 
not. He was not '' about the court/' 
He was not at Holy rood. He was 
not m Edinburgh. In short, he was 
not even in Scotland. As marshal 
or governor of Berwick, in command 
of the border, Bedford was then in 
England, where Mr. Froude repre- 
sents him a few days later as **conlTn- 
ed by his orders at Carlisle" (vol 
m p. 214), 

Although, as Mr Froude says (vol. 
viii. p, 113), Bedford **was a deter- 
mined man, with the prejudices of a 
l*rolestant and the resolution of an 
English statesman;'' although he was 
Elizabeth's ready tool, in an infamous 
|jicce of treachery with the Scotch 
icbcls in the insurrection against the 
Scottish queen, which Mr. Froude 
ctpressly admits (vol. viii, p. 214} as 
•"uiudcrtaken at Elizabeth's instiga- 
iwn and mainly in P:ii/.abeth*s inte- 
tcits," and, although he offered to re- 
^ftart the vilbny of Admiral Winter, 
iKTopo^mg to Elizabeth that she should 
^'pby over again the part which she 
Kii! played with Winter j he would 
!itm«rlf enter Scotland with the 
Bcm'ick garrison, and her majesty 



could afterw^ard seem to blame him 
for attempting such things as witli 
the help of others he could bring 
about," he may, nevertheless, have 
written in good faith to Cecil, ** There 
is no talk of peace with that queen/' 
etc. Talk with signifies the discoun^e 
of at least two persons. 

Talk by whom ? When ? Where ? 
We take his communication to Ce- 
cd to mean that j^eoj^Ie thought it 
useless to talk or think of peace — 
that is to say, the end of the rebel- 
lion, until Murray and Chatelheratdt* 
its leaders^ were punished; and this 
was the most natural view in the 
world for an Englishman or a Scotch- 
man of that day to take. Under 
Henry and under Elizabeth, no man 
who arrayed himself against regal 
authority ever escapefl confiscation, 
the block, and the axe, except by 
exile, and even then was not always 
safe from trt-acherous English ven- 
geance. Mary Stuart was then at 
the beginning of her career, and was 
not yet known for that kindness of 
heart and horror of bloodshed which 
maile her reign one of '* plots and 
pardons," and sacrificed her crown 
and her life. 

The punishment of Murray and 
Chatelherault for their crime was at 
that day looked upon by English- 
men as a matter of course, 

Antl here we wish to say a few 
words as to Elizabeth's lunncc tion 
with this rebellion. The historian 
Lingard truly states the case : " She 
shrank from the infamy of being the 
aggressor in a war which the rest of 
Europe would not fail to attribute to 
female pique and unjustifiable resent- 
ment." He might liave added that 
in avoiding that infamy she rushed 
into a score of others, if possible, 
worse. Even Mr. Froude speaks of 
Elizabeth-s conduct in these terms: 
** Elizabeth hail given her word, but 
it was an imperfect security," shows 



Fronde's History 




her *' struggling with her ignominy, 
only to floumler deeper into dis- 
traction and dishonor/' tells us " she 
stooped to a deliberate lie, Df Foix 
had heard of the ;£^3,ooo,^ and had 
ascertained beyond doubt that it 
had been sent from the treasury ; yet, 
when he questioned Eli/aheih about 
it, she took refuge behind Bedford, 
ami sivore she had sent no monfy to 
the lords at alb" further, Mr. Froude 
writes, ** her policy was pursued at 
the expense of her honor/* and so 
on — usqttf ad nauseam — up to the 
time when, on Murray's arrival in 
London after the faihirc of his foul 
treachery, Elizabeth sent for him, 
" and arranged in a private interview 
the comedy which she was about to 
enact" (Froude,- voL viii. p. 219). 
This comedy was his appearance, 
next day, before Elizabeth » who, in 
the presence of two foreign ambas- 
sadors, delivered a long harangue on 
the enormiiy of his offence in rebel- 
ling against his sovereign — a rebel- 
lion gotten up at her instigation, 
and for which she had paid him in 
money ! A more stupendous bud- 
t of mendacity it would be diffi- 
cult to find anywhere recorded, even 
taking Mr, Froude's account of it 
(vob viii. pp. 222 to 224). It has 
been thus t:haraeterized by a Pro- 
testant historian (Hosack) : *'This 
astounding exhibition of meanness 
and falsehood and folly, which it is 
certain imposed upon no one who 
witnessed it, is without a parallel in 
history." Elizabeth fitly crowned 
this performance by writing to Mary 
with her own hand : *' I have com- 
niimicated fully to Randolph all that 
passed at my interview M'ith one of 
your subjects, which I hope will sat- 
isfy you, wishing that your ears had 
heard the honor and affection which 
1 manifested toward you, to the com- 



plete disproof of what is saH 
supported your rebel subjects 
you — which will ever be v 
from my heart, being too g 
ignominy for a princess to 1 
much more to do/* 

Just as we finish transcribiri 
lines, our eye accidentally fal 
passage in Mr. Froudc^s elevel 
ume, page 20, in which, spcal 
Elizabeth's portraits, he says \ 
sometimes represented ** as th< 
tian Rcgina Coili, whose naif 
dose to her own birthday, am 
functions as the virgin of Prd 
ism she was supposed to supf 

We must fiere thank Mr. \ 
for a prolonged and heartj 
whose ripples will, we fear, ' 
our work for hours to com 
resume the letter question, 
Bedford letter is dated A 
which is in England. WhcnC 
Bedford's information, ** Thci^ 
talk of peace " ? Is Mr. Fr 
possession of a letter of Ranc 
Bedford upon the subject ^ 
Bedford, in England, receii 
communication at all from Rai 
who was "about the court' 
Randolph knew that Mary 
had said *' she could have no 
etc., he was seriously derelict 1 
in not reporting it to Cect 
know full well the envious avi 
Elizabeth for the most trifling 
concerning Mary Stuart's raovi 
even when they had not the 
est connection with affairs o( 
we also know the industry wit 
Randolph ministered to her. 
But here was a serious ml 
question of open war, and it 1 
porlant that Elizabeth should 
vised as to Mary*s plans con 
the rebellion which, as we hai 
Elizabeth herself, aided by 1 
had set in motion* Rantlol 
not a fool, but he w^ould havi 
silly indeed if he had faileii I 



Mr, Froude^s History af England, 



361 



jvised in so important a crisis 

He made no such failure. 

fully watched Mar}% and had 

Bched, for he had spies in 

ki. And now, having infor- 

^khich it was important that 

h, through Cecil, should be 

d of, are we to suppose that 

ot send it to London, but to 

at Carhsle or at Alnwick ? 

position is too absurd to dis- 

d we are answered by the 

Jn the 4th of October, the 

Irious to the date of Bedford's 

i letter, Randolph writes to 

^ resenting Mary as ** not only 

as to what she should do^ but 

I0 €lcment measures^ and sa 

as to hop€ that matters could 

/." Does this sound like 

advice " and ** breathing 

:e''? If Mr. Froudc had 

to represent ^fary Stuart 

Ig to the evidence before 

piould not have thrust aside 

bred this letter of Randolph. 

I testimony of an enemy of 

pttart, speaking of his personal 

Igeand in the line of his duty. 

I testimony does not suit our 

k. It does not support his 

puart theory. He passes it 

Isilence, goes to England to 

pled of what has taken place 

Bind, and gives us after all a 

btcment, a mere on-dit, Ixom 

pe evolves words which he 

Were spoken by the Queen 

B. His entire account of 

|lts between the ist and the 

October, 1565, is not his- 

its caricature. Cecil writ- 

rivate letter of advice '* to 

lartl Cockburn, an Eng- 

spcaking " his mind freely 

De Mauvissi^re, the agent 

le de* Medicis, her bitter- 

:er Elizabeth and Cecil, 

ing " and expostulating with 



There is another letter in this con- 
nection as invisible to Mr, Froude 
as the Randolph letter of October 4, 
Mr. Fro tide's narrative, defective in 
dates, is so confused as to conceal 
the important fact that Mary Stuart 
did all in her power to maintain 
peace, and that on the 5th of Octo- 
ber, so far from having commenced 
hostilities, she was still in Edinburgh, 
and did not leave Holyrood until the 
8th of October, when she addressed 
an admirable letter to Elizabeth, which 
we regret our limits will not allow us 
to insert here. 

In closing, we must express our^ 
suqjrise that Mr. Froude should hav€ 
selected for reclamation or protest a ' 
case so comparatively unimportant. 
Our readers must not suppose that 
the point discussed is an isolated 
one. In our previous articles, we 
have pointed out scores of more se- 
rious errors. Mr. Froudc*s insanity 
for die romantic and picturesque 
would, as we have already remarked, 
wreck a far better historian; and the 
imaginative power and talent for pic- 
torial embellishment which make his 
work so attractive to the young and 
inexperienced inevitably involve him 
in serious difficulty the moment a 
true historic test is ap[jlied to any of 
his l^owery pages. Will Mr. Froude 
seriously apply such a test, and ex- 
plain to us, for instance, his manipu- 
lation of Mary Stuart's letter of April 
4, 1566, and give us the original Ian- 
guage of the passages which we have 
denounced as unauthorized ? Will he 
explain his remarkable arrangement 
of the members of the phrase at his 
page 261, vol. viii., "It will be known 
hereafter/' etc. ? Will he throw some 
light on the peine forte et dure — but 
no, we will not ask that. We acquit, 
Mr. Froude of any intention to mis-^ 
represent in that instance. It was 
merely a blunder arising from a 



3^2 



Our ]Vinter Evenings, 



strange ignorance of the laws of Eng- 
land. Will he clear up the mislead- 
ing paucity of dates in the Jedburgh 
story ? Will he fmd some authority 
less untrustworthy than Buthanan for 
the poisoning story, and for a hun- 
dred oUicr statements repudiated by ail 
respectable historians? Will he show 
us how it is that " he /cared for his life'' 
is the English translation of** 11 [»rend 
une pour de recevoir une honte," and 
how it is that the meanings given 
[in his text of numerous Spanish and 
French passages, which he avoids 
translating, are so often at daggers 
drawn with the language of the origi- 
nals ? How it is that he describes a 
letter from Mary to Elizabeth as one 
**i'//^ wrote wUh her oian hand^ fierce, 
dauntiessj and haughty/* when, in 
the letter, Mur>^ expressly excuses 
herself to EH^abeth for not wTiting 
with her own baud (notre propre 
main) ? How it is that he coolly 
substitutes "fled from ** for departed^ 
** lords" for huiicSy "four thousand 
ruOians for four thousand gentle nien f 
How^ it is that — ^but space fails. 
In these cases, we wish to be dis- 



tinctly understood that we do not 
charge Mr. Froude with forgery. 
Heaven forbid ! U^e readily, and 
with reason, fmd a more charitable 
explanation. 

There are persons w hose sense of 
sound, or color, or light, or intcgritVi 
or morality, is either obtuse or totally 
absent. We have known peojjlc wlitj 
could not distinguish ** Mary in ha* 
ven '' from **iJoyne W*ater;'^ wc have 
heard of others to whom, from color 
blindness, white and scarlet were iden- 
tical \ of others who, tn lying, bcliev- 
ed they spoke the truth ; and othcn 
who, like Mr, Froude, could not, for 
their lives, repeat or correctly tjuoic 
the words of third persons; whose 
minds, in short, *" had not yet suc- 
ceeded in grasping the nature of in- 
verted commas.** 

Finally, we seriously, and for tl*e 
last time, ask Mr. Froude for «>inc 
contemporary proof tliat the Earl of 
Bedford, or any one else, wrote ta 
Cecil, speaking of Mary Sruart, "Stic 
said she could have no peace till 
she had Murray*s or Chatelhcrault'i 
head.'* 



OUR WINTER EVENINGS. 



II. 



BREAD EETURKED. 



At one of our evening assembla- 
ges, the bachelor lawyer introduced 
his sister, a very interesting and in- 

! Iclligent lady from some Western city, 
who had come to pass the winter 

' with her friends in New England. 

The conversation was naturally di- 
rected toward the W^estern country, 
its peculiarities social and physical, 
their comparison with those of our 
locality, the influence of European 



emigration upon them, and thai ci* 
erted by New England, through b^ 
numerous children, in all those tar-016 
regions. 

At length, mention was v^ 
the cholera, antl the fearful i 
had wrought, during the 1 
year, through those vast tu... • 
not only in town and city, hut aiiMJOt 
the sparse population of wild 1 
newly setded districts* She ( 



Bread Rctttrned, 



ly of the inhabitants as 
;ourge approached, and 
jlrcad, which obtained 
■l to shut all pity for 
TOm the most compas- 
5 J reaching a degree in 
.hich she thought would 
mipossible among the 
IS impetuous people of 

\i quite certain of that/' 
le-aged lady, who was 
rnt at our evening par- 
busy knitter, and more 
sten than lo speak. " I 
rcumslances, during our 
seasons, that would go 
luman nature, under the 
terror, to be mych the 
* England as elsewhere, 
t, in particular, hngers 
' memory » and has been 
.red in that of others by 
idences," 

\ an immediate call for 
d, according to our cus- 
iplied without hesitation 
le following 

THE CHOLERA SEASON. 

! first cholera season in 
essels arriving weekly at 
Montreal brought crowdi; 
among whom the dread 
4 appeared during the 
daimed its victims. In 
:cst whole families were 
and there were few from 
loved member had not 
ed by the ruthless ser- 
I. 

panic flew like wild-fire 
the Canadian borders, 
ig strength as it advanc- 
tp have consumed every 
jjtexnanity in its devas- 
^pefore it crossed the 
te and penetrated our 



1 he people of Vennont, ever not- 
ed before and since for their impul- 
sive *benevolence and tender sympa- 
thy with all human sufferings became 
suddenly steeled against every emo- 
tion of pity. In a paroxysm of fren- 
zied t errors they establi^>hed a line of 
sentinels along the whole northern 
frontier, to prevent all communication 
with the infected regions^ and all im- 
migrants from crossing the border. 
This excited state of feeling was fed 
and increased by news arriving daily, 
through boats which still plied the 
lake, of prominent and well-known 
Canadian citizens who hud fallen 
victims to the scourge. 

The very elements seemed to sym- 
pathize, in some mysterious way, with 
this strange and erratic condition of 
the moral atmosphere. Days dur- 
ing which a heat prevailed intolera- 
bly sultry, and stagnant, as it were, 
for lack of a breath of wind to 
sdr the air, were succeeded hy nights 
shedding the very chills of death from 
their pinions, yet so still that not a 
leaf was stirred. The \'ott c of thun- 
der and the gleam of lightning were 
unknown through the whole season. 
Birds on the wing, languid and song- 
less, would fall dead in the streets 
and yards. The housekeepers of 
Vermont, renow ned for their tidy ha- 
bits» were spared their usual warfare 
with thes, for not one was to be seen. 
The hum of an insect's wing to break 
the dismal silence would have fallen 
upon the ear hke welcome music I 

On an unusually opjiressive after- 
noon in the latter part of July, I 
was doing my best to make myself 
comfortable, and musing sadly upon 
the state of affairs along the border, 
and the inevitable sufferings of poor 
immigrants who were prevented from 
pursuing their course through the 
country, as that class had hitherto 
done, not only unmolested, but as- 
sisted bv the kind inhabitants. KoW| 



strangers in a strange land, they dar- 
ed not ask for the aid they needed 
to keep them from penshing, ■ but 
were shut out from all compassion, 
not for any fault of their own, but, 
as it would seem, by the direct visita- 
tion of God. 

My husband was absent attending 
court in a distant county. At that 
period of my life my health was very 
delicate, and, as I sat with my boy of 
two years beside me, and my baby 
girl on my lap, I could not dismiss 
the gloomy train of thought into 
which I had fallen, or resist the over- 
whelming tide of sadness it pressed 
upon me. 

While I was ruminating thus, my 
young brother rushed in, all breath- 
less with excitement : " O sister I 
sister ! such a poor, suffering Irish 
family as there is hidden in the ra- 
vine, op the brook I I thought I 
WQulfl come home from school that 
way, and so I found them. Oh I I 
am so sorry for them, and what can 
we do ? If brother were only at 
home ! but he is gone, and, if it 
should be found out in the village 
that I hey are there, they would be 
hurried off without mercy, and they 
are so tired and hungry. They have 
not had a mouthful to eat since yes- 
terday, and did not dare to stop to 
ask for any. The children are cry- 
ing for bread, and their father trying 
to hush them for fear they will be 
heard. Oh ! what can we do ?" 

All this was uttered in a breath, 
and I comprehended the whole as 
instantly. Had the All- Merciful not- 
ed the course of my thoughts, and 
sent me this immediate test of the 
sincerity of my sympathy ? If so, 
there should be no hesitation in ac- 
cepting the ordeal. So I told niy 
brother to guide them cautiously, un* 
der cover of a thicket of willows 
and other shrubs which marked the 
course of the brook, until they should 



reach our large bam on its bank, 
used only to stone hay from the 
meadow, and, after seeing them safe- 
ly sheltered there, to come back to 
me. 

The tea-ketde was mounted on the 
stove and boihng in a trice. Tea, 
bread, milk, and cold meats, wiih 
butter and cheese, were [>repared lO 
abundance for transmission by the 
time he returned. 

My girl, Huldah, who had been 
gossiping at a neighbor*s, came in 
just as I had brought afifairs to this 
stage. I did not think best to ac- 
quaint her with our secret, but told 
her I w as going out a little while, and 
she must attend to the children while 
I was gone. I w as in the habit of 
\isiting frequently, and providing for 
the wants of a sick family of colored 
people in the neighborhood^ and she 
took it for granted ray present mis- 
sion was in that directioti ; for 1 heard 
her mutter (she was a Y'ankee) as my 
brother and I took up our load aad 
departed : " I never did see anybody 
that thought so much of them kiDd 
o* critters! Catch me takin' so much 
pains, and a-puttin' myself out to 
such a rate, a-waxtin* on a lot o' !ai)V 
good-for-nothin' niggers, if they wtf 
sick!'^ 

When we reached the bani^ At 
sight 1 witnessed was a sore trill W 
my weak and excited nerves. 1 b*d 
the greatest difficulty to mainuift > 
reasonable degree of composure. 

Til ere was an aged grand molhefi 
her son, a fine-looking, stalwart !"**^ 
man ; his wife, and their six c 
the oldest a beautiful girl of .lUi^* 
sixteen, the youngest a baby-girt^ 
the same age as ray own. Th 
so exhausted with extreme Ik 
fatigue, so famished with hunger a9<J 
worn with agonizing fears of bciaj 
discovered and hunted like wiU 
beasts, that the sight of them wai 
enough to melt a heart of stone. 



Bread Returned. 



As we entered^ they were oo their 
knees, breathing thanks to God for 
the shelter and the kindness, and im- 
ploring blessings for those who had 
taken pity upon their desolation. 
When they arose, the repast was soon 
spread, and, warning them to eat 
sparingly at tirst in their exhausted 
state, I left them to enjoy it by diem- 
sclves; not, however, until I had 
learned something of their history 
from^the grandmother, a most inter- 
esting old woman, I wish I could 
convey it under the garb of her own 
language, rich in impressive imagery, 
and exquisite in its impassioned and 
touching pathos. But the tongue 
must be to ** the manor born '* which 
•ould wield that graceful weapon ef- 
fcctivcly ; otherwise the attempt serves 
only to blunt the point and tarnish 
the brilliancy. Doubtless her tone^ 
her altitude and manner had much 
ID do with the deep impression her 
simple narrative made upon the lis- 
fccner, in this instance, as well as the 
tone, the place, and the circuni stan- 
ce* in which it was related. There 
was a serene light in her soft black 
ejfts, a dignity in the calm humility 
oifthc aged matron, before which the 
haughtiest spirit would be instinctive- 
ly impelled to offer reverential hom- 
age. Her jet-black hair — an occa- 
sional silver thread mingled here and 
there but to enhance its shining beau- 
ty by the contrast — w*as combed 
smoothly back from the high and 
*ni\kled brow% under the frills of a 
snoifc -white cap ; a muslin kerchief 
of the same snow^y freshness w^as 
nosscd over her breast, beneath the 
"{ven waist of a well-worn dress of 
coarse gray stuff, fitting neatly the 
occt and graceful form of the wearen 
Btri what impressed me most was the 
ion of her countenance, upon 
\rcp. abiding grief, subdued 
^ enre ajifl resignation^ had 

while the sw*eet smile ha- 



bitual to those lips illuminated yet 
seemed to impart by its very light a 
touch of deeper, more ineffable sad- 
ness to the face, and slightly revealed 
lines of perfectly regular pearly' teedi 
that gave an indescribable effect and 
tlnish to the whole picture. Years 
have passed ; yet I can see her now, 
as she stood before me in the light 
of that summer evening, as vividly as 
if it were but yesterday. 

They had belonged to tlie class of 
intelligent, comfortable Irish farmers. 
Her husband, with far-sighted shrevvtl- 
ness, had been quick to detect every 
accumulating symptom of the misery 
which w^as to press more and more 
heavily, year by year, upon ihcir op- 
pressed land, and his plans were laid 
accordingly* Providing an outfit for 
his oltlest son, he sent him to Ame- 
rica with his little family to seek a 
home in the far West, where land 
could be secured at the lowest rates. 

Upon the arrival of this son in 
New York» he fell in with an agent 
of the United States (Government 
among the Indians of the West, who 
advised him to join a colony that was 
about to start a settlement in South- 
western low^a, then almost a /^rfxt in- 
aii^nita to all but the red man, He 
did so, and took up, at a very low price, 
a large and fertile tract of govern- 
ment land, well diversified with open 
rolling prairie and woodland, and 
abundantly watered. 

When they heard from him of his 
entire success, and that nothing was 
now wanting to complete his satisfac- 
tion but the presence of his parents 
and the remainder of his l)eloved fa- 
mily, they made speedy preparations 
to depart and join him. 1 hey real- 
ised a sutficient sum from the sale of 
their effects to defray all expenses of 
the journey and leave a considera- 
ble amount for future contingencies. 
Their plan was to proceed by water 
from Montreal, up through the lakes 



i 



366 



Bread Returned. 



as far as they could toward their place 
of destinalioi), and pursue their jour- 
ney by land from that point. 

On the voyage, the cholera broke 
out among the passengers. Their 
youngest son, the darling of his fa- 
ther, was among the first victinis. 
Then their newly-married daughter 
a nd h cT h u sb :i n d . T h e brok en - h eart- 
ed father soon followed. The surviv- 
ing brother was so crushed by these 
successive blows that his mother had 
to forget her own sorrows to soothe 
his, and help him to bear up under 
tht;ir accumulated weight for the sake 
of his wife and helpless little ones. 
Many times she feared he would 
sink entirely, ^\\A offer another victim 
to the merciless destroyer. Prayer 
was her only refuge ; her beads, the 
citadel to which she flew for refuge 
and tiefencc when the storm seemed 
about to overwhelm them all in utler 
nun. And not in vain dirl she appeal 
to the widow's God ! They reached 
Montreal in safety by his permission; 
mourning, indeed^ over the vacancies 
death had left in their ilesulate house- 
hold, but thanking him for all he had 
spared. 

Here a new dilTicuky met them in 
the restrictions placed upon the pas- 
sage of all foreigners through the 
iountry by land or water. Her son, 
accustomed to rely upon the sagacity 
of his clear-headed father to plan 
what his own strong arm could exe- 
cute, was now thoroughly dishearten- 
ed and irresolute j powerless to devise 
any means of escape from the obsta- 
cles that beset them on every hand. 
Almost at random, they improved a 
rhance to be canied to St. Johns, 
and proceeded on foot to Missisquoi 
Bay, near the provinre line. Here 
ihey Icanied it would be impossible 
to pass through the open country 
into Vermont, Ihc whole hue being 
strictly guarded. I'hey plunged into 
a forest which extended from that 



place to a considerable disU 

Vennont, and made their 
suffocating heat, with indc 
toil and fatigue, over logs t 
trees, through tangled thic 
miry swamps so wild and n 
different from anything they 
seen in their own country, 
effort to get on seemed ol 
utterly hopeless, gnd the cc 
struggle useless. The gran 
felt her strength failing m* 
once, and a deathly faintne: 
over her J but, thinking of 
dren, she called up all her 
endure, and, seated on a loj 
again betake herself to hi 
with renewed fervor and 
which were rewarded by n( 
sions of vigor to her enfecbl 

Thus had they struggled 
til the afternoon of this da; 
they gained a covert m \hk 
near our house, where they 
unable to make a further cffi 
out food, which they dared 
The father, driven frantic by 
of his children, was about 
out in (juest of bread at ; 
when, to their great dismay, 
brother discovered their rctr< 
soon assured ihcm ihey had 
to fear from him, and what 
has been toUL 

W'hen the shades of evei 
cured us from obser\*ation, 
titer assisted me in conveyiiS| 
bara such bedding as was 
to protect thera from the nig 
After all arrangements wci 
for their comfort, I retired, 
by their fervent bk 
soon in bed, and skt ^ 

Before midnight, i was a' 
liy a gentle tap on the windo 
nursery, which was on the si< 
house toward the bajn« 1 
from my be<i, filled with 
misgivings that |in 
too well founded. 



Bread Returned. 



367 



the family, stood by 
pale and trembling, and 
died whispered huskily 
^■bs, ** O lady ! come 
^St my father is d)ang 
Lt agonv I" 

child!" I rei>lied, as I 
ny dressing-gown, and 
>lan of action in a twin- 
dare sen<i for a physi- 
voiild compromise him 
ntless authorities of our 
ge if he should attend 
large, which I rcganled 
jariy been committed to 
n by Di\Tnc Providence 

not accustomed to ad- 
much as an herb-drink 
ical direction. 

Htj!dah into die secret, 
I her aid. So I called 
brother, directed her to 

boiler in the arch with 
my brother to make a 
under it; then to carry 
) the barn, I told them 

water, and empty it in 
x>n a5 it was hot; and 
i would remain with me 

he should see to keep- 
ill supply of hot water 
and tea-kettle, 
ing these directions, I 
[athered and packed in 
bottle of camphorated 
\i laudanum, a phial of 
ock, a bottle of what 
I physicians called hot- 
chiefly a preparation of 
►er in alcohol, and a tlisk 
Jtrating and stimulating 

sprains and bruises in 
last three having been 

me, as tokens of grati- 

old blind essence-ped- 
i I had offered a home 
n he should pass our 
' whom I had on such 
uied the services of 



cleansing, filling, and labelling his 
phials for a n^w start — else I should 
never have possessed them, for 1 en- 
tertained as great a horror for keep- 
ing as for administering drugs. 

Thus equipped, I snatched a pile 
of blankets from a closet, took the 
lighted lantern, and started for the 
barn. Arriving there, my ivorst fears 
were realized ! The strong man was 
writhing in the grasp of that terri- 
fic disease, in the presence of which 
I now stood for the first— thank 
God ! it wa.s also the last — time, face 
to face. His countenance was rap- 
idly assuming that ashen hue which 
is not to be mistaken. The ago- 
nized contortions of the whole frame 
were fearful to behold, impossible 
to describe! The stifled moans of 
an agony which was crushing the 
life out of that noble, athletic form 
brought a deathly faintness over me 
as they met my ear; but, ner\nng 
myself to my Heaven - appointed 
task, I promptly prepared a large 
dose of mingled camphor and lau- 
danum in die hot-drops, which he 
succeeded in swallowing, though with 
great diflicuky, so severe were the 
spasms in his throat I then called 
them all to assist me in bathing his 
whole body freely with the liniment, 
and applying violent friction with the 
hands. I suspect my course wouhi 
have made a ** regular practitioner '* 
smile, but I could only use such re- 
medies as I had at hand, and trust 
in Providence to guide my ignorance. 

\\liile we were thus empK)yed, 
Huldah arrived with the hot water, 
into which I poured oil of hemlock 
> — having heard that ^apor-baihs pre- 
pared with hemlock l)oughs had 
been found efficacious in this disease 
— and set Huldah to wringing the 
I>lankets from it, and assisting me 
in wrapping them closely around 
him, layer over layer. While we 
were rubbing him» the cramps were 



3^8 



Bread Returned, 



so severe that the hand passed over 
lumps under the skin as hard as 
bone the whole length of the hmbs. 
With what intense anxiety I watched 
for tile shghtcsl softening of their ri- 
gidity> hoping it might be a favorable 
indication! And with w^hat a flood 
of thankful tears — the first I had 
dared allow myself to shed^ — ^did I 
at length discover the least faint 
yielding of that frightful tension and 
alleviation of the excruciating spasms! 
Yet I allowed no relaxation in the 
use of remedies to follow these first 
encouraging symptoms. As soon as 
I hoped his stomach would retain it, 
I administered frequent f loses of hot 
brandy punch m small quantities. 
Before morning, I had the unuttera- 
ble satisfaction of seeing him swallow, 
without difficulty or nausea, a cup of 
tea in which cracker was soaked, 
soon after which a slight general 
perspiration appeared, the spasms 
ceased entirely, and the exhausted 
sufferer fell into a quiet sleep. At 
dawn, I roused him gently to take 
more nourishment^ and, when he 
slept again, 1 returned to the house, 
under tlie joyful persuasion that the 
danger was now past, and that the 
patient with good tare would soon 
recover. 

The state of that afflicted family 
during all this painful scene can 
scarcely be imagined, much less por- 
trayed in words \ The silent anguish 
of his aged mother, kneeling through 
the livelong night, and finding her 
only solace in that unfailing resource, 
the beads; the clinging afi'ection and 
harrowing grief of the poor broken- 
hearted wnfe and mother, with her 
trembliug children huddled around 
her in helpless dismay; their joy 
when the first favorable symptoms 
appeared ; and the general thanks- 
givings at lastj accompanied by pray- 
ers that every blessing might follow 
me and mine — all these arc matters 



to be carried fresh in th^ 
while life shall last, but 
conveyed in words. 

My poor httle brother, 
had been so agitated wit 
and sympathetic distress th 
the consequences of perm; 
to remain a witness of such> 
I hatt insisted on his ga( 
and to bed soon after midn 
onre, when^ leaving the pa 
Huldah for a few minutcSj 
the house to look after tlii 
I found him in a feverish 
quite alarmed me. The n 
the hapjiy morning news, 
soon restored him, and I 
comfort of seeing every^thil 
a pros[)erous course with tl 
crs and at home. 

As for Huldah — my sturt 
nerved Huldah — who alw 
herself out for the most hc4i 
feeling person in the woi 
she most feared she migh 
pectefl of being ** soft," anc 
set herself with the cooln 
resource, and tact of a trui 
(the readiest and most ing 
all people for a sudden eil 
and with all the strength o£ 
lute hands and heart, to S4 
eObrts for the relief of tb 
accomplishing more and 
purpose than a half-dozen 
poor weak self could perl 
could only say, with avc 
bashful face, in reply to mj 
commendations of her ui 
qualities and conduct as a i 
half-choking with suj>pressa 
between each muttered I 
**lf fulks will be such iarwal 
to go round a-hunting u[> \ 
mi stable critters, and a-tl 
creation t'other side up tc 
'cm, 1 d*n' know what a 1m 
do but take hold and lielp. 
much opinion of th. i " ' ! 
as a gin'ral thing, L. . 



Bread Returned. 



369 



so torn to pieces, and so 
bent too, I tell you 'twas 
ould stand. But that wan't 
in% neither; 'twas his poor 
|rl I never did see any- 
^l my bom days that beat 
ihat 1 There she was so 
kn, and a-praying all the 
tn old saint, so kinder meek 
le-like! It made me think 
I mother, that's been dead 
I this many a year, and 
Voy sha'n't have to mourn 
bn, if old Huldah can do 
to save him ;' so, you see, 
pe my own mother than 
im that 1 was a-thinkin' of 
I And poor Huldah fairly 
!)wn " herself into a hearty 

^' c 

Overy of my patient was as 

tis attack had been sudden. 
ays, I prepared and admin- 
I food with great caution, 
jfour days of resti and a 
|upp!y of nourishing food, 
all sufficiently recruited to 
cir journey safely. Mean- 
id laid all the plans for it. 
evening previous to their 
I had called our man^ 
in the neighborhood and 
" himself, so that we had 
difficulty in keeping , this 
lur from his knowledge— 
g^ him to harness the 
ttr large farm -wagon, be- 
Hi the next morning, to 
piily in whom we were in- 
p the lake, in order that 
It take a canal-boat for 

hgly, I had the satisfaction 
I ihem olT from our own 
^mpanied by my brother, 
tpacious lunch-basket well 
ith substantial viands for 
Ijbefore any one was astir 
|Rge» When they reached 
>ur name and their escort 
VOL. XI L — 24 



were sufficient guarantees with the 
captain of the canal -bo at to settle 
all matters connected with their fur- 
ther progress without difficulty. 

At our parting, the aged grand- 
mother took my hand in one of herSp 
and, laying the other one gently on 
my head, lifted her eyes reverently 
to heaven, and whispered : " May 
the great God, who has w^itnessed 
all you have done for the afflicted 
stranger, reward and bless you, and 
all belonging to you! May his 
peace be about your path through 
life, and his Blessed Virgin Mother, 
with all the holy angels, smooth and 
comfort your dying bed, and conduct 
your soul to eternal bliss !** 

** I thank you, ray dear good wo* 
man,*' I replied, *' for your prayers 
to God for me and mine. But you 
know we do not believe in seeking 
help from the saints and angels — '' 

" May be they'll help you, then,, 
whether you will or no 1 Heaven 
never forgets such kindness as you 
have shown to the desolate. * We 
were hungry, and you fed us; strang- 
ers, and you took us in ; sick, and you 
ministered unto us/ Has not our 
dear Lord and Saviour pronounced 
his blessing upon such ? Yes, in- 
deed ! And his Blessed Virgin Mo- 
ther, with the holy angels, will aid 
you in life, and guide you to him, 
whether you will or no; and the 
thought of it consoles my poor wi- 
dowed heart this day ! " 

And so we parted. I did not ask 
their name, nor did they ask mine. 
We wanted to know as little of each 
other as possible in those excited 
times^ in case the circumstances I 
have related should be dbcovered, 
and trouble ensue. 

I have often asked myself, Did 
the prayers and blessing of that aged 
saint procure for me and mine, long 
years after those events, the great 
gift of faith ? The question cannot 



370 



Bread Returneit 



be an$w€ red in time \ but ihe gift, if 
we hold it steadfastly, will assuredly 
form the theme of thanksgiving for a 
numerous and united household ia 
eternity ! 

During many succeeding years, 
my il^oughts often reverted with in- 
terest to those strangers, and with 
regret that 1 did not even know their 
names. 

My beautiful baby-girl passed from 
her cradle to heaven* My boy had 
grown into a merry, wayward strip- 
ling, full of mischievous pranks, but 
fond of his books withal, and alrea- 
dy [prepared to enter college. My 
** little brother/' loveliest and gen- 
tlest of boys — who at the age of 
four years was solemnly committed 
to my care by our dying father — 
\i:Li\ gradtiated with honor from the 
university of Vermont, studied law 
in my husband's office, picked up his 
scanty patrimony — carefully preserv- 
ed for him by his good brother-in- 
law — and started the previous au- 
tumn for tlie far West to seek his 
fortune. I receJvetl a letter from 
him at St. Paul, Minnesota, where 
he thought of establishing himsell" 
l^hen many months passed, and I 
heard nothing further. My heart 
was filled with anxiety, and oppress- 
ed with the most gloomy conjectures 
as to the cause of his silence, when 
the following letter, written in a fal- 
tering handj entirely difi'ercnt from 
his usual clear, bold style, explained 
itali: 

B— , FowA. March, iS-. 

Dear Sister: I know you have 
been wondering and anxious during 
x\\y long silence, and your anxieties 
have been but too well founded, as 
you will know when you have read 
this letter, which I shall write by 
snatches, as my physician will per- 
mit. 

Soon after I arrived at St. Paul 
and dispatched my letter to you, 1 



set out for a long journey on the 
Western plains, to transact some bu- 
siness with the Indians for a leading 
mercantile firm of that place. 

While I was receiving packages of 
valuable furs, and other articles of \ 
Indian traffic, in payment of former 
consignments — transmitting them by 
trusty agents directly to ray cmj^loy- 
crs^and engaged in making con- 
tracts for future supplies, a band of 
the fierce Sioux came suddenly upon 
us, and captured the w*hole party. 
They hurried us oST to the Nonh- 
wc*st, where winter soon set in w*ith 
frightful rigor. I was wholly unsup- 
l»lied widi clothing necessary lo de- 
fend me against the inclemency of 
the climate* 

Forced to undertake long journeys 
witli parties in quest of furs, and to 
labor early and late in taking and 
dressing them, with such a scanty 
allowance of focjd that I was almost 
famished^ my sufferings became at 
length so intolerable that I deter- 
mined lo escape, or die in ihc 3t* 
tempt. 

Taking advantage of a csirousJ 
in w^hich my companions were in- 
dulging — after having met some iti- 
nerant traders, and exchanged furs 
with them' for whiskey — and while they 
were in the stupor of intoxication, I 
took a dask of the liquor, the gun I 
wa5 allowed to use for procuring 
game, and what ammunition I cx)uld 
find, and started in as direct a cotffi^ 
for the South as I could guess with- 
out any certain means of dcttnuin* 
ing. 

As long as the amr 
I succeeded in getting 
to sustain life, but my suftering* tt^*^ 
cold and fatigue were past iJcscnp 
tion ; nor would I pain your XtnA^ 
heart by giving the full picture i' ' 
couUI. My feet and hsnds t^ 
ixoTxxK several limes !ti3l I 

feared I should lost- <i W 



use them entirely. I did not dare to 
stop for rest or sleep, lest the numb- 
ness which oppressed my whole frame 
should pass into the final torpor of 
death. 

Before my ammunition was ex- 
hausted, I began to experience a soft- 
ening in the air and a yielding in 
the intensity of the cold. When at 
length that supply was gone, I wan- 
dered on and on, in the lonely wilds, 
the weather getting more and more 
mild, until finally, becoming so utter* 
ly famished, faint, and prostrate that 
my tottering feet refused any longer 
to perform their office, I sank down^ 
resigning myself to the Divine Will, 
and to the care of the Blessed Virgin 
and my guardian angel I soon fell 
into a state which was neither a 
sleep nor a swoon, but partook of the 
nature of both. How long I remain- 
ed in that condition, I have no idea; 
but* when 1 began painfully to revive, 
I became dimly conscious that soft 
voices were whispering near me ; that 
friendly hands were diligently em- 
ployed in applying a vigorous course 
of measures for my restoration. Fric- 
tion with the hand, and with flannel 
cloths saturated in some pungent 
mij[ture, was kept u]\ Stimulants 
were poured in small quantities and 
at short interv'als into my mouth, and 
the first words 1 distinctly heard 
were, ** Thank God I he has swal- 
lowed for the first time. Now, my 
boys, take courage, and w^ork with a 
will ! we shall soon have him alive 
again/' 

My head was completely bewilder* 
cd. I could not recall a feature of 
the past, or form an idea of the pre- 
sent, or of the circumstances in which 
I found myself. When I opened my 
eyes and looked around me, exclaim- 
ing, ** Where am I ? and what has 
happened ?'* an elderly woman, who 
^t by me chafing my hands, said 
kindly, ** No matter, my son ! You are 



with friends who will take care of 
you, and you must keep perfectly 
quiet." 

I resigned myself in full and peace- 
ful trust to their care. In my bewil- 
dered condition, my first impulse was 
to renew the fr^intic efforts I had 
been forced to make, during all that 
agonizing journey in the wilderness, 
to presence the life with w^hich God 
had entrusted me. Oh ! the unut- 
terable relief that came with the 
slowly dawning assurance that I 
need make those efforts no more ! I 
abandoned myself to sweet refresh- 
ing sleep, and, when I again awoke, 
it was to a clear consciousness of all 
around me, of the f)erils I had en- 
countered, and the rescue which had 
been vouchsafed by a kind Provi- 
dence when I could no longer help 
myself. 

Absolute quiet for some days and 
entire abstinence from all converea- 
tion were strictly enforced by the phy- 
sician. After several days of silence, 
I was lying In the half-drowsy state 
induced by my exhausted condition, 
the man, whom I first saw and heard 
when I revived, and the woman I 
have mentioned, sitting by me, when 
I suddenly cried out, with an emo- 
tion the more startling from being so 
long suppressed : ** Oh ! my sister and 
my friends, how will they feel when 
they hear all this ?" 

•* Where do your friends live ?" he 
inquired. 

" In S , Vermont,** I replied. 

♦^InS jVermontl Thatlshoold 

hear the name again!" he exclaim- 
ed in great amazement, then fer- 
vently added : 

** Thank God that I have at 
length had a chance to pay some- 
thing toward a debt 1 have long 
ow^ed that |>lace on account of a 
family living in it !*' 

I asked to whom he alluded, when 
he told me the whole story of the 



afflicted family we took care of in 
the cholera season ; and, to ray as- 
tonishment, he was himself that very 
victim of the cholera, and his family 
tlie identical one! It was his turn 
to be astonished when I told him I 
was the little boy who found them 
in the ravine ! 

His sons were out surveying some 
wild lands belonging to him when 
they formd me apparently lifeless in 
the woods. 

This place is in South-western 
Iowa, where they first settled. His 
older brother hves near him. His 
mother died some years since. He 
says she never ceased to pray for 
us while she lived. Their chiklrcn 
are married and setded around them, 
and they are wealthy, intluential peo- 
ple, and highly respected by every 
body» as I have learned from the 
physician. 

You should have witnessed the 
welcomes I have received from the 
whole family since they have heard 
who I am ! There was nothing too 
much for them to do for me before^ 
as the stranger whom God had 
thrown upon their care; but now 
their manifestations of affection and 
gratitude are unbounded 1 They in- 
sist upon my investing my little capi- 
tal in a portion of their lands, at the 
original Government price — a mere 
fraction of what they are now worth, 
so much has the value been enhanc- 
ed since they purchased. They are 
also determined that I shall setde in 
the village near by, which is the 
shire-town of the county, and offers 
a good opening for a young lawyer. 
So, as soon as my strength is suffi- 
ciently recruited, I intend to engage 
an office there, settle up ray little 
affairs at St. Paul's, and take a new 
start. 

I have not told you about the ba- 
by-girl of other years, who was of the 
same age with our darling whom tlie 



angels claimed. Well, she is a brfl- 

liant, beautiful young lady, and a ihrif- 
ty assistant to her mother in house* 
keeping, and highly accomplished 
widial, for she was educated at a 
convent of the Sacred Heart iu St» 
Louis. She is playing a piece of 
music on the piano, with exquisite 
skill and expression, while I am writ- 
ing; and I am tempted to lay down 
my pen, and take my place beside 
hen And — shall I tell you ? but no I 
you have half-guessed already — that 
your susceptible brother is at this 
moment the devoted lover of this 
rose of Iowa, and hopes soon to 
claim the dainty little hand whic4i 
is flying so deftly over the keys for 
his own, with the full consent of all 
concerned, you may be sure ! 

My new friends have exleiistvc 
business connections, and will be 
able to throw a large amount of 
practice into my hands — which is all 
an energetic young lawyer wants — 
and the property their kindness [las 
already put in my possession is a 
litde fortune to start with. So l>c 
sure, dear sister, to thank God for all 
the mercies he has bestowed upon 
your unworthy brother. 

** How strange are the ways of Pro- 
vidence I and how fully did we rca* 
lize, in this singular instance, tlic 
truth of that saying uttered by the 
wisest of men, * Cast thy bread upon 
the waters, and thou shall find it after 
many days!'" 

" Well, certainly, that was a curi- 
ous and most providential scries o( 
coincidences all the way through-'' 
exclaimed a sprightly young lady ^i*^ 
had been a very attentive listen^" 
to the narrative. " But t/sii that ^ooil 
old grandmother really haveanvio' 
iluence in converting you and yf>^ 
family to Catholicism ? I have *!* 
ways wondered how it was brotfg^' 
about, at a time when so little ^^ 



One Word more about Copernicus. 



known, and such bitter prejudices 
prevailed about the Catholic religion, 
in these part*?. Now these clianges 
are so frequent that ihey hardly ex- 
cite surf^^rise, but it was different then." 
" No doubt her prayers, and the 
indelible impression made l>y her un- 
wavering faith and confiding piety 
upon my mind and heart, must have 
had their effect. Our heavenly Fa- 
ther uses instruments for performing 
h*s merciful designs upon those whose 
spiritual discernment he enlightens 
to see what is hidden from others. 



It is often impossible, humanly speak* 
ing, for the subjects of his grace to 
explain the process by which the 
work was accomplished, the gift of 
faith received, and their feet placed 
upon the rock of certainty and truth. 
Enough for them to know that the 
great and glorious gift is the sun of 
their spiritual firmament, and will 
continue fixed and firm as eternity 
when the sun and moon of this earth- 
ly planet shall disappear, and * the 
heavens depart^ as a scroll that is 
rolled together !' *' 



r 



ONE WORD MORE ABOUT COPERNICUS. 



[The article on Copernicus, trans- 
lated from the German, which aj)- 
peared in a recent number, has given 
occasion to the following vindication 
of the claim of Poland to the great 
astronomer, which has been commu- 
nicated by a Polish exile, who has 
the honor of that glorious but un- 
happy country deeply at heart. — Ed. 
Cath. World.] 

It happens to the great astrono- 
mer as to many others whom sanctity 
or genius has canonized, that the im- 
mortal syllables by which he is known 
to posterity differ from the simple 
vernacular of his original name. Ki- 
phas becomes Peter, Von Stein be- 
comes a Lapide, and Nicolas Koper- 
nik become NicoUius Copernicus, 

Copernicus, then, is the Latinized 
name of the celebrated astronomer ; 
hk real name is Kopcrnik^ as in Po- 
lish the c has the soft sound of /j, 
while in most modem languages the 
r is hard before all letters except e^ i, 

The mistake of his being a Prus- 
sian or German originated with Fon* 




tenellcj but Francois Arago, page 
173, vol. iii,, of his complete works, 
thus corrects it : 

** Towards the end of the eigh- 
teenth century, when Poland was 
dismembered, Thora and Frauem- 
burg, with all Polish Russia, called 
royal^ fell to the lot of the iMargraves 
of Brandenburg^ who, since the year 
1525, held from the crosvnof Poland, 
in fief, a part of Prussia, called ducal^ 
and who ended by taking the title of 
kings of Prussia, This passage of 
Prussia, a Polish pnwincty under the 
dominion of a German house, caused 
some modem writers to believe that 
Copernicus was German." (This 
note had been communicated to 
Arago by the Hungarian general 
Bern, who was attending his lectures 
at the Observatory in Paris.) 

It may not be out of place to state 
here briefly what was the origin of 
Prussia. Henri, the Bird-catcher, 
who in 919 was elected king of 
Germany, sent some military colo- 
nies into the midst of Slavonic pos- 
sessions. The northem colony was 
called " Marchia Borealis," North- 



■ 



em March, March of Brandenburg, 
afterwards margraviate, electorate, 
then, finally, kingdom of Prussia 
(1701), Austria had the same ori- 
gin J it was called ** Marchia Austra- 
lis," Southern March. It became 
successively a duchy, an archduchy, 
and lastly tlie empire. 

At the first dismemberment of Po- 
land (t772» 1773)? Frederick II. ob- 
tained for his share all Polish Prussia 
except Dantzic and Thorn (Polish 
"Tonin"), The latter city was tlie 
birtiiplace of the celebrated astrono- 
mer, Frederick WilJiam IL, in 1793, 
added to his kingdom these two cities, 
with all Cireat Poland, under the name 
of Southern Prussia. 

After his first campaign in Prussia 
(1807), Napoleon, by the treaty of 
Tilsit, formed out of all Prussian Po- 
land, and of several other provinces 
of ancient Poland, the grand-duchy 
of Warsaw, which comprised about 
I wo -fifths of tlie ancient kingdom. 
This he gave to Frederick Augustus, 
grandson of Augustus II., who had 
already been elected king by the Po- 
lish patriots of 1790, but had not 
accepted the crown. After the fall 
of Napoleon, the Congress of Vienna 
(1S15) divided into two parts the 
grand-dudiy of Warsaw, and the 
western part, comprising Dantzic, 
Thorn, Culm, Posen, etc., was given 
back to Prussia, of which king- 
dom it still remains a part under 
the name of the grand-duchy of 
Posen. 

Copernicus waii born in 1473, and 
died in 1543. At that lime the Po* 
lish nation was mistress of all the 
country between the FJbe and the 
Dnieper, and from the Carpathian 
Mountains and BLack Sea to the Bal- 
tic. Throughout tliis territory the 
Polish language was spoken, but as 
it did not reach its perfection till the 
second part of the sixteenth century, 
Copernicus wrote his works in Lattn^ 



which, at that period^ was the com* 

mon language of science, 

llie Poles then maintained for 
themselves an intellectual supremacy 
over all tlie other Slavonic nations, 
and, we might almost add, over all 
the nations of Europe; for it was 
rare to find a Polish gentleman who 
did not speak several languages. 

Erasmus of Rotterdam says of ilic 
Poles, in his letter to Sever in Bon&r 
in 1520: '* It is in their country that 
philosophy possesses excellent disci* 
pies J it is there it makes Polish citi- 
zens who dare to lie learned men,** 

The celebrated Marco Antonio Mu- 
ret» who was born in 1526 and died 
in 1585, and was professor of 
philosophy, civil law» and theology 
in Rome, comparing the nations then 
considered most ijolished and leam- 
ed, the Italians and the Poles, asks : 
** Which of these two nations is the 
one more deserving to be praised ii» 
regard to science and the arts ? h 
it the ItalianSi of whom hardly 
hundredth part study Greek and 
tin, and show some taste for scieD< 
or the Poles, of whom a great num 
ber know perfectly both I 
and who appear animatetl n 
an ardor for science that they conse- 
crate to it their whole life?*' 

President dc Thou, the French his- 
torian, speaking of Poland, cjUIs it 
** a fertile country, filled w iih cities 
and castles, full of a cour 1 
bility uniting usually the 1 
ters to the exercise of arai.s." 

Then, sj^eaking of the Polish no- 
bles who came to Paris in 1573 to 
offer the elective crown to Henri of 
Valois ; 

"What was most remarked wiif 
case with whtch Ihey spoke in LftH 
French, German, and liaJbn: thcne ft^ 
languages were as faimihar to ihcm 
the tongue of ihcir tjwn couatri% Th* 
were only two men of high t^irlli w% 
could .inswer t>iem in Latin, the Fitia 
de MUhau and tlic Marquis of CAstdn 






IVc^rd more about Copernicus. 



Maurissiire ; they had been sent for pur- 
posely lo sustain on this point the honor 
of the French nobiliiy, which ihcn blushed 
3kX its ignorance. In tliose limes it was a 
gresil dcivt lor it to blush. The Poles 
spoke our Inngtiage with so much purity 
they might liave been taken for men edu- 
c;itcd along the sliore of ihc Seine or the 
Loire, rather than for inlKibiUints of llic 
country watered by tlie Vistula and the 
Dnieper, which sh;inicd our courliers, 
who know nothing* and who arc declar- 
ed enemies of all that is called science; 
therefore, when the new guests asked 
them any questions, they only answered 
by si^ns or in blushes." 

Out of the ranks of such a nation 
it is not strange that such a man as Co- 
pernicus should have come forth. But, 
moreover^ it is related by John Czin- 
ski^ the biographer of the father of mo- 
deni astronomy, that during his stay 
in Padua, Copernicus had his name 
inscribed on the list of the B}iis/t 
shidents who studied at the iiniver- 
siiy. 

Authentic and irrefutable docu- 
ments prove the following circum- 
stances concerning the parentage and 
hinh of Copernicus : His grandfather, 
who was born in Bohemia (a coun- 
try of Slavonic origin), settled in Cra* 
cow, where he acquired the rights of 
a citizen. At Thorn (which had been 
incorporated into Poland in 1464) 
one of his children married Barbe 
Wjv^serold, sister of the Bishop of 
Wannia. Copernicus was their oniy 

He studied first in his native city, 
l>ut afterwards went tu the Universi- 
4 of Cracow in 1491, There he de- 
^^tcd his attention to Latin and 
^^tct!k literature, and more especially 
to mathematics; also lo astronomy, 
'i^'ltr Albert Brudzevvski. When 
^^*'^* latter, urged by Prince Frederick 
J^gtllon, went to Lithuania, Coper- 
^'cu.i relumed to Thorn with the in- 
t^i^tton of becoming a priest. He 
g^ve it up only for a time, in order to 
go in 1495 to the University of Pa- 



dua, where, as we have memioned, 
he had his name inscribed on the 
list of the Rfiish studefits. He often 
made excursions to Bologna in com- 
pany w ith the Dominican Maria Fer- 
rare, who helped him in his astrono- 
mical observations. His great learn- 
ing acquired him such a reputation 
in Italy that he was called to Rome 
to be a professor of mathematics. 
His public lectures attracted crow^ds 
of listeners. This was in 1499, when 
he was only twenty -seven years old. 
He afterwards received the degree 
of doctor of medicine in Padua. 
He returned to Thorn in 1501, but 
soon after w^ent back to Italy. In 
1 503, he went to Cracow, where he 
was ordained a prUst^ and remained 
till 1508 oi>i5io, and finally setded 
in F ran em burg, a small city at the 
raouth of the Vistula, near the shore 
of the Balric Sea * There he spent 
the remainder of his days, dividing 
his time between the duties of his 
ministry and the study of astronomy. 
He devoted a great deal of his leisure 
to works of charity ; he constandy 
visited the poor and the sick, and had 
them taken care of at his own ex- 
pense ; he also invented a hydraulic 
noachine, by which water was carried 
to all the houses in the city; he occu- 
pied himself with the scientific de- 
partments of the public mint, and 
wrote a work about it, and pleaded 
victoriously the cause of his colleagues 
in a lawsuit which the Chapter of 
Fraueniburg had to sustain against 
the Knights of the Teutonic Order. 

He put up an observatory^ where 
he meditated and prepared his astro- 
nomical revolution. He made use 
of a parallactic instrument composed 
of three pieces of wood with divisions 
marked in ink. This instrument fell 



♦ It WM found In tlie acuof the Chapter of 
Frjiuemburc: that the Jailer had piid Copernicus's 
expenses to Italy ; su he must hare gone there 
again in alter-iifo. 



• 



i 



376 



Vcrd more about Copernicus* 



uito the possession of Tycho Brahe, 
and though it had lost its value, he 
preserved it as a precious rehc% and 
even composed verses about it. 

The tower where Copernicus for- 
merly set up his obser\'atory is now a 
prison. The house he lived and died 
in was, in 1S02, occupied by a Lu* 
theran minister ; verses he had w rit- 
ten on the wall could still be seen, 
and, on a window, his coat of arms. 
Alier remaining there for two centu- 
ries and a half, they were erased ; and 
an oval hole over the door was closed 
up, which he had made to admit the 
rays of the sun, in order to observe 
its meridian height, the solstices, the 
equinoxes, and to detine the obli- 
quity of the ecliptic. 

Not till 1512 did he ^ome to the 
full possession of his system. Like 
all truly great men, he was humble 
and mode-st, almost distrusting him- 
self He did not publish his immor- 
tal work, De Rcvolutionibus Corpotum 
Ceiesiium^ till his seventieth year, ihir- 
ly*six years after he bad written it — 
and then only at the urgent and con- 
stant solicitation of two g/cal friends. 

He says in the preface of this work, 
which he had dedicated tu Paul III. : 

** 1 must be allowed to believe that as 
soon as what I have wrtticn about the 
motion of the earth will be known, cries 
of indignation wilt be ullcred (*sialim me 
explodcndum cura tali opinione clami- 
Icnt 'J. Besides^ I am not so much in 
love with my own ideas as not to tai^e 
into account what oihcrs will think of 
them ; then, ihougli the ihoughtsuf a phi* 
losopher follow a diRerent direction I'roin 
those of the gcncraliiy of men, because he 
propose,^ 10 htmself to search after truth 
as far as God has allowed it to human 
reason, I do not think, however. I ought 
to reject opinions which seem to differ 
from mine, . . . AH these motives, as well 
as the fear of becoming an object of laugh- 
ter, on account of the novelty and the 
[apparent] absurdity of my view (* con- 
temptus qui mihi propter novitatcm et 
absurditatem opinionis metuendus '), had 
almost made me give up my undertaking. 



But friends, among whom are the 
dinal Schomberg and Tiedemann Gie 
Bishop of Kulm. succeeded iii conqucf* 
ing my repugnance. The latter^ partto 
ularly, insisted most earnestly 1 should 
publish this book, which I had kept on 
the stocks^ not nine» but nearly ihirly-sin 
years." 

It was printed in Nuremberg in 
1543, Rhelicus, his disciple xad 
friend, looked over the proofs, and 
Copernicus received the first copy of 
it only a few days before his death* 

The first direct proofs of his sj'stcni 
could only be proposed by Galileo 
after the invention of the telescope, 
and after he had seen the disc of Ve- 
nus over the sun, had recognized the 
phases of W^nus and Mars, and found 
out the variations of the apparent di- 
ameters of the principal planets. Be- 
fore, it was irnpossible to settle evco 
approxiinatively the value of the prin- 
cipal elements of oux planetary sys* 
tein : that is why its discovery is wrong- 
ly attributed to Galileo. 

George Rheticus had published j 
Dantzic extracts from the maniiscri 
of Copemicus in a work called NA 
ratio de Libris Revohitionum C<*per 
and, in 1543, a Trigonameiria Oj 
nki / the appearance of which 
haps decided Copernicus to publish 
his work, De Revoluimiibm Corparum 
Cce/estium, 

The second edition was publts! 
at Basle in 1566, the third at _ 
sterdam in 1617, finally, the fourth 
edition appeared in Warsaw in 1S51 
in Latin, with the Polish translation 
by John Baranowski, professor of 
astronomy. Copemicus had also pub- 
lished his work, Dhseriaiw de ^ftmA 
moHftiZ cudenda: ratione^ anna 1526 
scripta. This work was republished 
in Warsaw in Latin and in Polish 
by Felix Bentkowski, and extracts 
from it in French in Paris, 1864, by 
Louis Volowski. In that disseitatioii 
Copernicus says: "WV see nations 
which have good money floumh, 



One IVorti more about Copernicus. 



m 



whfle those which have only bad fall 
and disappear. Bad money engen- 
ders more laziness than it relieves 
poverty/* 

About forty years ago, some mem- 
bers of the Royal society of the Friends 
of Science of Warsaw went to Frauem- 
burg in search of his manuscripts. 
Nothing was spared to discover them. 
Some signatures were found on the 
acts of the Chapter, The in habitants 
had preserved for a long time some 
of his instruments, but they could not 
agree in the accounts they gave 
about their number or shape, as the 
instruments themselves were lost. 
It is feared his writings shared the 
same fate. His manuscript on mo- 
ney, it is thought, must be in some 
city of Prussian Poland, A few of 
his family letters w^ere gathered; one 
woij sent to Warsaw. Some day they 
may be used, if needed, to verify his 
manuscripts, if any are found. 

It was also about this time that 
his remains were transferred. On the 
coffin his name could be still read 
distinctly ; part of his remains were 
sent to Pulawy, and the rest to War- 
saw. 

The man who illustrated Poland 
l>]f his genius found always among 
his countrymen the admiration which 
*as due to him, 

Tlie monument put up in the 
church of F'rauemburg represents 
Him kneeling before a crucifix with 
these words which were so familiar 
to him: 

"Non parcm PauH grati,im rcquiro, 
Vcniam Pctii ncquc posco, scd quam 
Cmds Ugno dcderas laironis scdulus 
oro." 

And below; 

"Nicolao Copernico Thoruncnsi» ab- 
*^i«t* subtlUtatismarhemaiico, ne tanto 
*lfi apud cxlcros cdebcrrini, in sua pa- 
ma pciirct mcmoria, hoc monunicnium 
Pp*iium. Mottuus Warinijc in suo caiio- 
flicatti, anno 1543, die actaiis Lxx.'* 



In 1581, Martin Kromer, a Polish 
historian, caused to be engraved on 
his tombstone the followiirg inscrip- 
tion : 

** D- O. M. 

R, D, Nicolao Copernico Thoriinensi, 

Artiiim et Medicinje doctori^ 

Canonico Warmiensi 

Pncstami astrologo et ejus disciplinaa 

instantori 

Martiniis Cromerus, episcopus Warmi- 

ensis hanoris ct ad posteritatem 

memorise causa pO!»uU. 

Anno Christ mdlxxl'* 

About two centuries after, in 1 766, 
Prince Jablonowski, paladin of Now- 
ogrodtk, raised to the memory of 
Copernicus in the church of St- John, 
in Thorn, a monument bearing a 
long inscription, in which he is called 
a Polish philosopher. 

When, during the campaign of 
1806-1807, Napoleon went to see 
the house where Copernicus was 
bom, he also visited that monu- 
ment. The house belonged to a Po- 
lish weaver called Mathias. It form- 
ed two angles, was simple in ap- 
pearance, and had two stories and 
a basement. All that belonged to his 
room was religiously preserved ; his 
bed, table, chest of drawers, and two 
chairs. Above the bed was his por- 
trait : Napoleon wished to buy it in 
order to put it in the Mus^e Napo- 
leon \ but as there is a tradition which 
says that a blessing will be on the 
house of the owner of the portrait, 
the w^eaver refused to part with it, 
and Napoleon respected his feelings. 
He, however, ordered that the Ibun- 
tain in front of the house should be 
repaired at his own expense and sur- 
mounted with a globe. He had the 
monument put near the high altar, 
so that it could be seen from all parts 
of the church. 

In 1S09, the Abb6 Sebasdan Sie- 
rowski put up in honor of Copernicus 
a monument in the academic church 



■ 



One Word more about Copernicus, 



\ 



of St Ann in CracQw,* The bust in 
marble is crowned by Urania. On 
a half'iq>here placed above there b a 
Polish inscription which is thus trans- 
lated : 

Poland gAve birth unlo ttic mm 
Who caused the sun to slop, an<i the e&rUi to 
ino%'c. 

On the disc of the sun these wonis 
are read : 

Sta, sol, ne movcare. 

And above : 

Sapcrcauso. 

On the base, these words are en- 
graved : 

•■ Nicolaus Copernicus, patriae, urbis, 
Univcrsitatis dccus, honor, gloria." 

Hie latter inscription is surround- 
ed with the arms of the Polish repub- 
lic, thnse of the city, and of the Jagel- 
Ionian University of Cracow. 

In iSirj, medals were struck in 
Paris in honor of the celebrated men 
of all nations. A mistake was made 
in regard to the origin of Copernicus, 
which was said to be German, Adri- 
an Knyrzanowski, professor at the 
University of \\^arsaw» and Vincent: 
Karczewski, professor at the Univer-* 
sity of \\'iina» had another medal 
struck in 1S20, on which the mistake 
is corrected, 

Stanislas Staszic, a celebrated Po- 
lish audxor and phDanthropist, raised 
a national subscription, to which he 
contributed the most, in order to 
erect in Warsaw a monument to the 
memory of Copernicus. The work 
was given to Thorwaldsen ; it was c^ist 
in bronze, and inaugurated on the 
nth of May, 1S30. The members 
of the Royal Society of the Friends of 
Science met in the church of the Ho- 
ly Cross, then marched to where the 
monument was placed in the street 
of Faubourg de Cracovie. In the 



midst of a great concourse af people, 

ihe president of the society, Julian 
Ursin Nicmcewicz, improvised a dis- 
course suitable to the occasion. 
Afterwards, the artists of the Nation- 
al Theatre* placed on the balcony of 
the palace of the societ)% sang a can- 
tata composed by Charles Kuq^inski: 

"H«iU sonofthce»Tth! 
Thou who h*st tnpasured the course of worlds) 
Thftu bast tiikc- ' ' .imonic llie elect* 
And thy virtUL ivunt. 

And thou, bent ; , ciLst ti{trm him Uif 

rays; 
Be the ha]o of his Ati{*tist forel&e«(L 
The nioiiou of botJics! - , , Sublime mystery 
Which he could dWitie snd expl;iiit. 
May the whole e»rth refieat with li'oUnd; 

Glory be to tir i ! 

Glory be unf. '. 

Glory be uot' >> g»%*c ta» birtli!'' 

On the occasion, Wadislas Olesc- 
zinski was ordered to strike a medal, 
representing on one side the monu- 
ment of Copernicus, and on the other 
bearing the following inscription: 
** Nicolo Copernico, Jagelloniflum 
aevi, civi polono, alumno Acad. Cra- 
cov. immortalis gloria. Socictatis 
regias Wareov. decreto, monuracn- 
turn, necdum perenne mdcccxxx" 
The monument, which is of colossal 
size, represents a figure in a sitting 
posture, holding in the left hand a 
globe, and in the right a compass. 
It is placed on a pedestal of gray 
marl>le taken from the quar 
Poland* The front is crownc 
seven stars. On tlie right side is the 
Latin inscription, " Nicolao Copcmic, 
gratia p:Jlria." On the opposite si<if 
are the same words in Polish. 

Many distinguished writers H^^^ 
written more or less about Copc**^'* 
cus. 

Among the Poles we iind : Sunis- 
las Starowolski. Ignatius Bedeni,Jt>**'* 
Sniadecki, Louis Osinski, Louis Ten 
goborski, Bernard Zaydlcr, r^^"^^ 
Brodzinski, Charles Huhc. A<^"^ 
Krzymanowski, Vincent 
Ignatius Chodyniski, Chr; 
Szyrma, Julian Bartoiwewski, \^^^ 



Prayer, 



379 



tiic Szule. John Czioski, Thadcus 
Chamski, John Pankiewicz, Leonard 
Chodzko. 

Among those of other nations are ; 
George RlieticuSj Connrs, Gasscn- 
di, Kepler, Appelt, Ferdinand Hoc- 
fer, Joseph Bertrand^ Lalande, La- 
place, Brenau, Wcsiphal, arid Ara- 

Thus we see the number of Polish 
writers who liave honored the memo- 
ry of their countryman is more than 
double that of other nations. 

Poland 1 thou hast had thy 
cup of sorrow more than full. Truly 
Oightest thou be called the Golgotha 



of nations 1 Thou hast been dismem- 
bered, and tliy name erased from the 
map of the world 1 Persecution and 
penidties have been used to force thy 
people to forget their faith and ma- 
ternal tongue, and they have been 
scattered all over the earth I And 
now, even thy past glory Is taken 
away from thee, and thy great dead 
are appropriated by other nations! 
Truly, in the words of the office of 
the church on the feast of the Seven 
Dolors of Our Lady, mightest thou 
say : " Oh ! ye who pass by, consider 
and see whether there is any sorrow 
as great as mine T* 



PRAYER. 



FKOU TWa FRENCH OF ALI'ttOSSB DB U\MARTINE. 

O pra\t:r ! thou voice divine that dost command 

To bend the knees and pray ; 
Instinct reminding us our native land 
Lies far and far away ! 
Thy breath sweeps over human souls 
Till from the brimming eyelid rolls 

The tear- tide welling up ; 
As breezes rippling over flowers 
Shake down the dew in crystal showers 
From e\ cry bended cup. 

Apart from thee, what were this" earthly soil ? 

A perishable dod, 
Where men, like beasts of burden, would but toil, 
And feed and till ihe sod. 
But, raised by thee, thought's broken wing 
Still toward the lofty realm can spring — 

The truer home above \ 
Thou dost refresh this earthly course ; 
Through thee we drink in at their source 
Immortal life and love. 

Thou sigh wherewith the mother's heart is stirred, 

The airs with thee rejoice ; 
The child*s lip whispers thee ; the little bird 
Hears in the woods thy voice. 



38o 



A Visit to Satibiaca, 



The angels understand the sound — 
From nature's infinite around, 

Thy mystic raumiur floats ; 
For all that grieves or yearns, and sighs 
And songs, blent in one anthem, rise — 

One song of thousand notes. 

O prayer! through my full heart thy holy tones 

In softest music ringj 
As forest waters rippling over stones, 
Do thou my sorrows sing. 
Be my lifers feeble accents blent 
One aspiration heavenward sent, 

In ravished ecstasies ; 
And make my heart a harp whose string 
Swept by celestial gales shall sing 
Joy's wondrous melodies. 



C E. B. 



A VISIT TO SOUBIACO. 

MAY 27, 1870, 



WEleave Rome at four rm. to avoid 
the heat, and, after a drive of three 
and a half hours, reach Tivoli, where 
we pa5s the night. Soubiaco is twen- 
ty-six miles from Tivoli. We get off 
early, so as to reach Soubiaco by ele- 
ven A.M. I'he road runs the whole 
way along the banks of the river Ar- 
no, and through mountain scenery 
of great beauty. A short distance 
from Tivoli, we come upon several 
arches of the old Claudian aqueduct, 
with a square tower covered with ivy. 
A little beyond has been placed an 
inscription, only some years ago dis- 
covered, recording the name of C» 
Menius llassus^ prefect of the Fabri 
(chief-engineer) at Carthage, under 
Marcus Silanus, the father-in-law of 
Cahgula, whose name is so often 
mentioned by Tacitus, The tomb 
of Bassus is supposed to have stood 
near this spot. 

We pass the town of Castel Ma- 



dama, and soon after the ruined ro«- 
diteval fortress of Sacco Muro, bod> 
perched on high peaks, as are all 
these old towns of the Mid !' 

Vicovara, llie ancient Var< 
next, seven miles from Tivoli. it* 
ancient walls are seen as we pas, 
formed of huge blocks of tiavcrtifle, 
some of which measure one hundrct! 
and sixty cubic feet. Vicovara i< ^ 
fief of the Bologneili family, and his 
a large palace of that name. 

About a mile from this is the church 
and convent of San Cosimata, bu3i 
on a plateau of land between the riv- 
er Arno and the Licenjta. A lit^^ 
off the road is Cantalupe IbnJelU, 
occupying the site of tht ' 

of Horace, of which not; 
save some fragments of mosaic p»*^ 
ment. The names of all the pl*^ 
in the neighborhood still present * 
record of the classic tirocj. So®* 
very ancient tombs have been foooi 



A Visit ta Soubiaco, 



381 



containing human bones, 
fow-heads, etc., belonging 
<e earlier than that of 

in miles from Tivoli, perch- 
eagle's nest on a high co- 
I twenty-five hundreil feet 
! river, is a town called 
ico," founded by a colony 
s after their defeat by Ber- 
, the ninth centur>'. Many 
tbitants preserve their ^\ra- 
I and wear a most pictur- 
ume» 

ig this fine road are wild- 
every shade and hue, filling 
1 fragrance; white and phik 
ey suckle, great trees of pri- 
f sweet pears, and broom ; 
field IS crimson with wild 
I is the case all over Italy, 
he mountains are rich val- 
fineyards, and every varie- 
t-trees ; and sometimes to 
mountain-tops are patches 
nd com, hemp, and several 
p-ain peculiar to this part 
mir)' ; also vast forests of 
chestnut white with bloom. 
;dst of the fields the whole 
i were at work; there were 
ts to be seen J the women 
ten were working with the 
the babies lay cradled un- 
ade of the trees or slcejnng 
tds made of fresh leaves, 
miles before reaching Sou- 
descended to drink of the 
rater of the springs called 
le," which burst from the 
\t mountain^ and which at 
if our visit was ]>eing con- 
Rome for a part of the city 
to supplied with water — 
great works of Pio Nono, 
I was to have been called 

nr we come to Soubiaco, an- 
|ed Sublaqueum, from the 
lakes of the Villa of 



Nero, below which it is built. The 
situation is remarkably beauLifuL It 
lies embosomed in mountains, with 
the falls of the river below and val- 
leys covered with forests of chestnuts. 
In common with all these towns, it 
has a fine old castle on the summit 
of the hiil in the centre of the town, 
and inaccessible except on foot or 
on mules, through dark narrow streets 
lined with houses whose antiquity 
carries one back to the Middle Ages. 
This castle was for many years the 
summer residence of the popes. All 
these attractions, with the grand old 
monasteries of St. Benedict and Santa 
Scholastica, which have given it such 
celebrity in the ecclesiastical history 
of the Middle Ages, combine to make 
Soubiaco one of the most interesting 
and remarkable places in Italy. 

After dining upon the speckled 
trout of the mountain -streams, we 
mount donkeys to climb to the mo- 
nasteries of Santa Scholastica and 
the Sacra Speco. 

About a mile from the town, a great 
chasm dividing it from Santa Scho- 
lastica, are the ruins of the Villa of 
Nero, of which Tacitus relates that 
it was struck by lightning while the 
tyrant was at supper, and the table 
thrown down. Several monuments 
found in these ruins decorate the clois- 
ters of the monasteries, some fine col- 
umns and bas-reliefs. 

Santa Scholastica was founded in the 
fifth century by St. Benedict, restored 
in 981, and consecrated by Benedict 
VIL the same year. There are three 
cloisters; that dating from 1052 is 
one of the earliest examples of the 
pointed style of architecture. The 
church, dedicated to St, Scholastica, 
contains nothing remarkable. It was 
solemn and mysterious to hear the 
monks chanting behind the great 
altar, yet see no one. It gave ns an 
opportunity to piously steal some of 
the beautiful flowers from off the side 



382 



A Visit to Sotibiaco. 



altar to preserve in memory of the 
saint. 

This monastery was once famous 
for its library^ and was the first place 
in Italy in which the printing-press 
was established. A copy of Lactan- 
tins, printed in 1467, is still preserved 
in the library. 

One and a quarter miles from Santa 
Scholastica is the *' Sacra Speco " 
(Holy Grotto), The ascent is steep, 
and the scenery very grand. Enter- 
ing a gateway on the mountain -side, 
we pass a magnificent grove of chest- 
nuts before we come to the convent, 
a most curious and picturesque build- 
ing, hanging, as it w^ere, on the moun- 
tain-side, supported by nine arches. 

St. Benedict retired here when only 
fourteen years old. One above an- 
otlier rise three chapels^ the altar of 
each placed in a recess of the rock. 
In the lower one St. Benedict lived 
for three years, and there is a beauti- 
ful marble statue, by Bernini, of the 
holy youth before a cross, and beside 
him the basket in which his food was 
daily lowered down the mountain- 
' side by St Romanus. The original 
basket, as well as the pastoral staff 
of the saint, are presented in the con- 
vent as holy relics. The chapels are 
all painted in frescoes of great inter* 
est and antiquity. That of St. Law- 
rence was painted in 1219 by " Con- 
solo," supposed to have come from 
Greece^ and to have preceded Cima- 
bue, the earliest of the Itahan nivis- 
ters. The rude sketches on the side 
of the lower grotto are tn the style 
of those in the Catacombs, and date 
jfrom the sixth centur)\ Those of 
; the middle and upper chapels, scenes 
[from the life of St. Benedict and St. 
Scholastica, are of the fifteenth cen- 
tury. The pointed architecture of 
one of the chapels is said to be of 
the tentli century, and consequently 
the very earliest specimen of the Go- 
thic st)^le of Italy 



In a chapel which St. Fj 
Assisi occupied when he vv^V 
monastery in 1223 is a portT! 
that saint, taken by one of the mon] 
of the convent. Below is the littl« 
garden filled with roses, descended 
from those which SL Benedict him^ 
self cultivated. The legend 
how^, tormented by his passioi 
threw himself into a bed of i 
which were miraculously tumc<! jiitoi 
roses. Certain it is that the rosesj 
are marvellously sw^eet, and ihar 
almost every green leaf bears upon 
its face the form of a serpent 
rude fresco represents the scene,i 
another shows St Benedict ai 
Scholastica at their frugal meal; 
haps at the time of the very 
when she urged him so tend 
remain with her, feehng theap] 
of death. He denied her, s^yii 
was not seemly that he shoul< 
out of his convent after nighl 
She, who knew it to be tlie la.si time 
she should behold the broth* ' 
she so loved, bowed her he 
the table, and wept; whcr 
great cloud came, so dark . 
companicd with such lightning and 
thunder that no human being coulil 
encounter the storm, ** See, brother.'* 
said she, ** how much kinder is our 
Lord to me than you are.'* Ar»tl it is 
related how they passed the ; 
spiritual converse, and how tJ 
day she died. 

The story is also tohl how Totila, 
one of the Cloths that scourged It^l^ 
hearing of the great sanctity uf Ht 
Benedict, determined to vLstf ^'^ 
He appeared with all the in^ 
his high rank before the sai 
with a commanding gesture 
him to strip himself of thin;: 
were not rightly his ; and Ti ' 
away changed in heart, : i 
sought to protect the :v- 
fenceless. ^ 

We spent several hour > 



td upon the memories of 
e saiot whose miracles are 
m them ; and while \ve 
there came sounds of mel- 
seemed, from out the very 
•side. Nearer and nearer 
hed, and two and two 
monks, chanting as they 
tlie winding stone stairs 
►1 to chapel. They paused 
hft:T cavern, and sang ccr- 
ks most swcedy • then each 
fed forward, and kissed the 
he saint, after which the 
te extinguished on the altar, 
tired. 

ling to town, we mounted to 
05 tic, from which the \iew is 

SBowing day, Sunday, we 
ass at five a.m. in the church 
Pius VL when abbot of this 
y. It was most interesting 
e crowd of kneeling peasants 
bright costumes — the white 
(head-covering) being here 
uslin trimmed with lace, 
congregation sang during 
pausing only at the eleva- 
as 3 nuptial Mass, and the 
le, with the bridegroom and 
t inside the sanctuary. At 
e bridal party went reve- 
looking exceedingly mo- 
ppy. We afterward pass- 
humble enough in appear- 
doorw'ay of which, however, 
1 with garlands of myrtle 
and were told it was the 
Jt>f the ** sposa." 
second Ma5s in the cliurch 
tonio, at the end of the 
left Soubiaco for Olevano, 
iHes higher up the moun- 
cnjoyed an enchaiiting 
superb vieAvs, passing many 
ic towns on the mountain- 
no is in the midst of 
:ener)% and has the ruins 



of an old castle of the twelfth centu- 
ry, when it was the stronghold of the 
Frangipanis, It is now a possession 
of the Borghese. Here we followed 
the crowd of peasants to the church 
of Santa Margherita for another 
Mass. 

Continuing on our way thirteen 
miles further, we came to Palestrina, 
where we passed the night* This 
place, the ancient Praeneste, is one 
of the oldest Greek cities of Italy, 
and was the residence of a king 
long before the foundation of Rome. 
Horace mentions Praeneste as one 
of his favorite retreats, classing it with 
Daiae and his Sabine farm, and speaks 
of having read die ///W during his 
residence there. A short distance be- 
low the town is the site of the Fonmi 
erected by Tiberius, and all around 
the town are ruins of w^iat are sup- 
posed to have been patrician villas. 
The modern name of Palestrina is 
meinioned as early as a.d. 873. Its 
whole history in the Middle Ages is 
associated with the family of Colonna 
and their contests with the popes and 
the Corsini. 

The famous Stefano Colonna re- 
stored the castle in 1332. It is of 
him the story is told that, when his 
family were hunted out of Italy and 
nothing remained to him, one of his 
attendants asked, " What fortress have 
you now ?'* ** Eccola," he repHed 
w^ith a smile, laying his hand on his 
heart. Petrarch calls htm ** a Phce- 
nix sprung from the ashes of the an- 
cient Romans/' 

Palestrina was sold to the Barbe- 
rini in 1630, ginng to that family the 
title of Prince of Palestrina. 

Returning to Rome, wc pass Za- 
garola and near the ruins of Gabii, 
memorable as the scene of the con- 
ference of theologians commissioned 
by Gregory XIV, to revise the Latin 
Vulgate. 



384 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



OUR LADY OF LOURDES. 



PKOM THB FRBNCH OF HENRI LASSBRRB. 



VI. 

The night had put an end for a 
time to the agitation of so many dif- 
ferent minds, some believing in the 
reality of the visions, others remain- 
ing in iloubt, some absolutely deny- 
ing thom. The dawn came, and the 
chun h throughout the world was re- 
iwating, in the depths of her temples, 
in the houses of her isolated j)astors, 
in the ^hadow of her populous clois- 
ters unvler the roofe of abbeys, mo- 
nasteries, and convents, the wonb of 
the rs,dmist occurring in the office 
of matins : Tu es Dcus qui facts r::- 
m/'t.ur .AWjMf/AvVA" in /kfii4:s :;>- 
fk^vi /jiKjwr. . . . lljVrurt u 
%%qu.: l\:»s^ :t.:V'xv/ .V ».vi,r, ft ti^uf- 
r^Ht.it :u'\\iL: si,Ki ^c-yssi. •* Thou 
art the C»vxl that d^x^: wonvlers. 
l>.ou hast made thy jvucr known 
amv^uj: the n^iion^ . . . Vhe 
wauis s.\w thcv\ O CivV.; ihc mater? 
s,i\^ thcv; ,;r.d ihcy uorc -:V,iiv:. ani 
the ^-.c: ;h> wcro trv^uMcl." * 

Ivr.Uvlctio. h,\\;nc -.rr.xev: Ne:Vre 



rxX~K>* vr.i.i v'.OT*": 



» , Ok N ». V v» ..V . » » % . .V ^« V. «. > « «— • ». 

A'.. :", , v .^v-^ -'-> ix* ::> :* 



the glorious vision appeared 
nadette, who instantly pasi 
the ecstatic condition. It 
usual, in the oval niche of t 
and its feet rested upon the w 
bush. 

Bemadette gazed at it w 
ings of inexpressible joy, w ith 
and deep emotion which floe 
heart without at all disturbii 
making her forget that she \ 
in this world. 

llie Mother of God Ion 
innocent child, and wished ' 
her near to herself; to str 
still more the bond which un 
humble shepherdess to her 
that Bemadette might, as : 
feel in the midst of the trouble 
world that the Queen of Hea^ 
holdir.i: her invisibly by ihe h 

•* My child," said she, •* I 
ti'.l \ou oze more secret for } 
:ir.d y:ci:: yo',irs<:if s.Ior.e, ar.i 
\cu r.'u>c r.o: reveal lo ir.y 
ihe wccli, jlhv mon? than in 
:w.\" 

'»Ve >-a^e aIr>fJLiy e\r':i:n 
:~:vr:-iz: r^J5.>z5 why ihe>< 
, - i r. T-i. oodim ^r.ix^ ti-ons w' C' u . ■.. 
:..:-:xr 5c:V~j:iri cf Bcrr-ide:: 
:>? -Lirci^ !-■* whi-ch ih;r ex 

T^i•:t^?SNl^^T -xrcjK her. By 






ii-e T^sn-s in-- 






Vi^.^. -X 



c. . ^ . 


r>i '-r^si::-; muse 


J >>: 


f^-^i-:. =irimiL i3*i 


N.T 


' sui oar Ladf • 



Our Lady of Lotirdes* 



38s 



igo drink and wash at the 
i, and eat of the herbs grow- 
ts side." 

ietle at the word "fountain ** 

[>und. The re w as n o spri n g 

pliice, nor had there ever 

The child, therefore, keep- 

rision always in sight, mov- 
f naturally toward the Gave, 
ttimuhuous waters were ni sh- 
ew paces distant, over a bed 
les and fragments of rock. 
>rd and a gesture from the 
on stop[>ed her on the way, 

not go there,*' said the lUess- 
fin : ** I did not tell you to 
f the Gave. Go to ihe foun- 
hps here close by/* 
extending her hand, that deli- 
id powerful hand to which 
is subject, she )>ointcd out to 
Id, on the right side of the 
the same dry corner to which, 
^receding day, she had already 
ieniadeite go on her knees, 
igh she saw nothing at the 
licated which seemed to have 
nieciion with ihe words of the 
Bemadette obeyed the order. 
>f of the grotto sloped down- 
p this side, and the little girl 
liged finally to advance on 

she got there, she saw no 
of a fountain. There was 
. except a tew tufts of saxi- 
Dwmg close to the rock, 
on account of another sign 
apparition or moved by 
jlor impulse, Bemadette, ivith 
pie faith which is so pleasing 
1 Stooped, and began to make 
the ground, digging op the 
her little hands. 
Iinunierabie spectators of this 
bo neither heard nor saw the 
t>n, did not know what to 
[this singular undertaking of 
r Some began to smile, and 
must be crazy or fool- 
VOL. Xll.^ — 25. 



ish after all. How little it takes to 
shake our faith i 

All at once^ the bottom of the 
small hole which the child had made 
became moist. Coming from un- 
known depths, through many thick- 
nesses of earth and marble rock, a 
mysterious stream began to flow, drop 
by drop, under Bemadette*s hands, 
and to fill the little cavity, of about 
the size of a tumbler, which she had 
succeeded in making. 

The water being mixed with the 
earth crumbled by the cliild's fingers 
was at first very muddy. Bemadette 
trietl three times to drink some of it, 
but her disgust was so strong that she 
was not able to swallow any. Never- 
theless, she wished above all things 
to obey the radiant apparition ; and 
the fourth time, by a great effort, she 
overcame her repugnance. She 
drank, washed, and ate a little of the 
wild herb which was growing at the 
base of the rock. 

At that moment, the water of the 
fountain overflowed the brink of the 
litde hole dug out by the child, and 
began to run in a thin stream, no 
larger than a straw, toward the crowd 
in front of the grotto. 

This stream was so insignificant that 
during the whole day the Axy ground 
absorbed it all, and its movement 
could only be seen by the gradual in- 
crease in length of its track, which 
advanced with extreme slowness to- 
ward the Gave. 

When Bemadette had executed all 
the orders she had received, the 
Blessed Virgin gave her a look of sat- 
isfaction, and almost immediately dis- 
appeared. 

The excitement of the multitude 
was great at this prodigy. As soon 
as Bemadette had come out of the 
ecstasy, they rushed toward the grot- 
to. Every one wished to see with 
his own eyes the spot where the water 
had just risen under her hand. Eve- 



Our Lady of Lcurdes, 



ry one wished to dip a handkerchief 
in it, and raise a drop to his lips, so 
that this rising spring, the earthly re- 
scn oir of which they gradually made 
larger, soon looked hke a mud-pud- 
dle. The water became, however, 
continually more abundant, the open* 
ing by which it rose from below slow- 
ly enlarging, 

" It is a little water which has soak- 
ed into the rock during the miny 
weather, and has happened to collect 
in a little reservoir underground 
which this child uncovered by the 
merest chance/* said the $tn\mis. 
And the y " ' rs were quite sat- 
isfied Willi ; J nation. 

Next flay, however, the fountain 
increased visibly, and came out in a 
stream which continually grew strong- 
er* It was already as large as a fin- 
ger; nevertheless, the widening of its 
passage made it still rather muddy. 
It was not till the end of several 
^ days, during which it continued to 
slowly increase, that it at last stop- 
ped growing, and became perfccUy 
clear. The stream was now about 
the size of a chi!d*s arm. Let us not 
anticipate, however, but continue to 
follow the daily course of events as 
wc have done hitherto; resuming 
where we left off, that is, at seven in 
the morning, on Thursday, the 25th 
of Fcbruarj'. 

vti. 

At this hour exactly, at the vcr>' 
time when the fountain burst out 
gently but irresistibly under the hand 
of Br . the philosophers of 

LouTv. hed another article on 

the events at the grotto in the free- 
thinking journal of the place. The 
ijnrditn^ which we have already 
quoted, was fresh from the press, and 
being distributed in the town while 
the astonished crowd was returning 
from the Massabielle rocks. Now, 



in this article as well as in 
ceding one, and in all of 
scriptions written at this t 
hint whatever was given of oi 
tain at the grotto; so that tlj 
lievers cut off in advance thi 
bility of the statement which 
while they might have had j 
to, that there had always ' 
spring tliere. Providence hai 
mined that, l>esides the pubS 
their own printed ajul un< 
words should bear witness 
them. If before the 25th of 
ary, before the scene which 1 
just described, there t tj 

at the grotto the al»i i 

which exists there now, why 
their newspapers, w*hich were 
sen^ant of all that took plji 
which entered into the small 
tails, ever take notice of ifl 
challenge the free-thinkers to | 
a single document in which 1 
is made of the fountain, or c 
any water at all at the spot, 
the day when the Virgin con 
cd and nature obeyed. 

VIII. 

The popular excitement ha 
become very great. Bemadd 
the object of public respect wl 
and wherever she passed, and tl 
child used to hasten home to 
demonstrations of it. '1 '■ 
soul, who hitherto had I 
scurily, silence, and solitude, 
herself suddenly placed in broa 
light in the midst of crowd 
raised on the pedestal of n 
Such glory, which many wook 
l>ecn ver}' glad to receive* « 
her a most cnid sufiering. Hi 
words were discussed and ad 
or criticised and ridiculed 
was that she felt the joy €^ 1 
something which was nat 
petty in die three secret^ 






Blessed Virgin had revealed to her ; 
which were a sort of private sanctua- 
ry into which she could retire undis- 
turbed, and be rcfrcbhed in the shade 
of mystery and the charm of inti- 
macy with the Queen of Heaven* 
The time was at hand when this trial 
of popularity was to become still 
more severe. 

As we have said^ the appearance 
of the spring was at about sunrise, 
OQ the 25 th of Februar>\ This was 
the fourth Thursday of the months 
and the regitlar market-day at Tarbes. 
Ilie news of the wonderful event 
which had occurred that morning 
at tlie Massabiellc rocks was carried 
by many eye- witnesses to this large 
town, and spread by niglitfall through 
the whole department, and even to 
the neighboring towns of the adjoin- 
ing departments. The extraordina- 
ry movement toward Lourdes wliich 
had been going on for a week pifst 
now attained much greater dimen- 
sions. 

A great many csme that evening 
to sleep there in order to be on hand 
the next morning ; others walked all 
tight; and at the break of day, when 
Ikmadette usually arrivetl, five or 
six thousand people were crowding 
about the banks of the Gave, and on 
the rocks and hillocks from which 
grotto could be seen. The foun- 

in, more abundant than on the day 
before, was already flowing in a good- 
sized stream. 

VVTien the favored child, humble^ 
quiet, and unnffccted in the midst of 
lliis excitement, came to pray^ the 
people cried, '* Here's the saint ! 
Here's tlie saint !" Some trietl to 
touch her garments, regarding as sa- 
cred e\*cry object which belonged to 
one so privileged of the Lord. 

'ITie Mother of the humble and 
the lowly, however, desired that her 
ifinacent heart should not yield to 
Ac temptation of vainglory, and 



that Bernadette should not become 
proud of the singular favors which 
were shown her. It was good that 
the child should feel in the midst of 
these praises that she was of no con- 
sequence, and should once again 
learn her own inability to summon 
the vision at pleasure. She prayed 
this time in vain. The supernainral 
light of ecstasy was not seen upon 
her face to-day, and when, after pray- 
ing a long while, she rose to go, she 
could only answer sadly to the ques- 
tioners who besieged her that to- 
day the heavenly vision had not ap- 
peared. 

IX. 

This aosence of the Blessed Vir- 
gin was, no doubt, intended to keep 
Bernadette humble and aware of her 
own nothingness ; but it may also be 
consitiered as containing a high ancJ 
mysterious lesson for all ; the mean- 
ing of which will not escape souls 
accustomed to admire the hidden 
harmony of the works of (iod. 

Though heaven was to-day closed 
to Bernadette's gaze, though the ce- 
lestial being who had appeared to 
her seemed for a moment to vanish, 
the foiuitain, which had gushed forth 
the day before, and was continually 
increasing, was visible to all, and flow- 
ed upon the sloping floor of the grot- 
to in the sight of the wondering mub 
tituile. 

The Blessed Virgin had withdrawn, 
as it were, to let her work speak for 
itself. She had withdrawn and re- 
mained silent that the church's voice 
might be heard whose wonls in the 
Introit of the Mass and the re^)on- 
sory of Matins on that day furnish- 
ed an admirable commentary on the 
new fountain which had suddenly 
risen under the hand of Bernadette. 

For, while these events were taking 
place at the grotto before the mi- 



I 



raculous fountain which had sprung 
from the right side of the dry rock, 
the festival of the most memorable 
one which ever watered the earth was 
being celebrated in the diocese of 
Tarbes and many other dioceses in 
France, This day, the 26th of Fe- 
bruary, 1858, the Friday of the first 
week in Lent, was the feast of the 
Holy Lance and Nails; and the 
fountain of which we speak was that 
great divine fountain which the lance 
of the Roman centurion, as it pierced 
the right side of the dead Christ, 
caused to burst forth as a river of life 
to regenerate the earth and save the 
human race. ViJi aguam egredicti' 
km lie templo^ a iakre deMro ; et om- 
nes ad gum paTenii aqua ista sa/vi 
facti sunt — "I saw water running 
from the temple on the right side, 
and all those to whom the water 
came were made whole ** — the proj>het 
had exclaimed, as he saw in the dis- 
tant future the wonders of the mercy 
of God. The prediction, ** In ihat 
ilay, there shall be a fountain open 
to the house of David, and to the 
inhabitants of Jerusalem, for the wash- 
ing of the sinner'* (Zach. xiii. i), also 
uccurred in the XLitins of the feast. 

Ry these coincidences, the church 
herself answered with unmistakable 
clearness the innumerable questions 
which were asked regarding the new 
miraculous fountain; for it took its 
real origin from that immense river 
of divine grace which began its 
course, eighteen hundred years ago, 
on tlie top of Mount Calvary, under 
the nails of the soldiers and the cen- 
turion's lance. Such was its mysti- 
cal meaning; but for the words ex- 
presiing the external effects which it 
was to produce in the world at large, 
we should naturally look not in the spe- 
cial office of a particular diocese, but 
rather in the common one of the Ca- 
iholic. Apostolic, and Roman Church. 
Now, in this the Gospel of the day 



contained the following words, wbicli 
need no comment : ** Now there bs 
at Jerusalem n pool, called Probatica, 
which in Hebrew is named Beth- 
saida, having five porches. In these 
lay a great multitude of sick, of blind, 
of lame, of withered, waiting for the 
mo\ ing of the water. And an Angel 
of the Lord descended at certain rimes 
into the pool ; and the water was 
moved. And he that w ent down first 
into the pool after the moliou of the 
water, was matle whole of whatsocvft 
infirmity he lay under." (John v, 2-4..) 

Although no doubt but few of 
the multitude thought of it, the 
idea that the water of the grotto 
might have miraculous healing j>rc^ 
perties must have Dccurre<l to *om€ 
ver>^ soon. As early as the rooming 
of this Friday, reports of several mi* 
raculous cures were circulated. In 
the midst of the contradictory ac- 
c5unts which were given, tn view of 
the sincerity of some, the exaggera- 
tion, voluntary or otherwise, of others, 
the entire denial of a few, the hea- 
tation and doubts of many, and the 
general excitement, it was at first liiffi- 
cult to distinguish the true from ihf 
false among the miraculous sturic> 
which were repeated on all side*; 
for they became very much confuted 
in the telling by their narrators mis- 
taking the names, confounding the 
persons, or mixing up the circuoi- 
stances of several occurrences which 
had no connection whatever »ith 
each other. 

Did you ever, when taking a walk 
in the country, Vp§ the effect of throw- 
ing a handful of wheat on an ant- 
hill ? *rhe bewildered ants run alioui 
in the most extraordinary- cAcitemcnt. 
They go backward ana forward, nia 
against each other, stop anfl start 
again, then retrace their steps, jmd- 
denly rush away from the point to- 
ward which they were making, pkk 
up a grain of wheat and drop it, 



Onr Lady of Lourdis, 



Kt; 



ninmng about in every ilirectiun in 
the wildest disorder and most incx- 
I)rcssibk confusion. 

The muUitudes of inhabitants and 
strangers at Lourdes were in a con- 
dition someUiing like this, from the as- 
tonishment into which they had been 
thrown by the recent miraculous 
events. The natural world is always 
thus afTccted by a sudden incursion 
of the supernatural. 

In course of time, however, and by 
degrees, order is restored in the dis- 
ed ant-hill 
There was in town a poor laborer 
whom everybody knew, and who had 
for many years led a most misera!>le 
life. His name was Louis Bourriette. 
Some twenty years before, he had 
met with a great misfortune. As he 
WIS working in a stone ([uarry near 
Lourdes with his brother Joseph, a 
badly-managed blast had gone ofi' 
dose by them. Joseph was killed 
tiutrighl, and Louis's face was plough- 
ed by sphnters of rock and his right 
eye nearly destroyed. It was with 
the greatest difficulty that his life was 
saved. The sufferings consequent 
upon the accident were so terrible 
that a violent fever set in, and it be- 
^tne necessary to confine him to his 
be<l by force. (Vraflually, however, 
he recovered, thanks to careful and in- 
telligent treatment; but medical skill 
M been unable to cure his eye, 
*hich had been organically injured. 
He had resumed his occupation, but 
'^c could only do the coarser kinds 
^J^work, his injured eye being useless 
^nd only seeing objects, as it were, 
thmugh a thick fog* 

Time had brought about no im- 
pf^vement, but rather the contrar}\ 
wourriettc's vision had diminished 
*^tinually, and this continual 4lete- 
^ration had recently become even 
^ore marked than before, so that 
^t the lime of our story the disease 
*^Ti nude such progress that the right 



eye was almost entirely gone. AVlien 
he shut the left, he could not distin- 
guish a mail from a tree, both ap- 
pearing as only a confused black 
mass on a dark background. 

Most of the inhabitants of Lourdes 
had occasionally empluyetl Rourriette, 
His condition caused him to be pi- 
tied, and he was a tlivorite in the 
confraternity of quarrj'men and stone- 
cutters, which was quite a large one. 

This unfortunate man, when he 
heard of the miraculous fountain, 
said to his litUe girl : 

*' Go get me some of this water. 
The Holy Virgin, if it really is she, 
has only to say the word to curcnie." 

Half an hour afterwartl, the child 
brought him a litde of the water; it 
was still muddy and thick. 

" Father/' said she, '^ it is only 
dirty water." 

*' No matter," said he, as he kneel- 
ed to pray. 

He rubbed his blind eye with it, 
and ahiiost immediately uttered a 
loud cry, and began to tremble in 
violent excitement. A wonderful 
change had taken f>lace in his eye, 
the air about it being clear and full 
of light. Notwithstanding, there still 
rt-mained a little haze which prevent- 
ed him from seeing clearly the details 
of objects. The mist remained, but 
it was not as black as it had been 
for the past twenty years; the sun 
shone through it, and instead of dark 
night there was the transparent vapor 
of morning. 

Rourriette continued to pray and to 
liathe his eye with this healing water. 

The light steadily increased, and 
he at last distinguished ol ijects plainly. 

The next day, or the day after, he 
met upon the street Dr. Dozous, who 
had attended him from the beginning 
of his troulde, 

" I am cured r said he. 

"It is impossible/' said the physi- 
cian. " Vou have an organic lesion 



I 



390 



Our Lady of Lourdfs. 



which makes your disease absolutely 
incurable. The ireaiment which I 
have adopted with yau has been in- 
tended only to reheve the pain, not 
to restore your sight." 

♦*lt is not you who have cured 
me/' said the quarn man : •* it is the 
Holy Virgin of the grotto." 

The man of science shrugged his 
shoulders : 

"I know that Bcniadette has ec- 
stasies which are quite unaccounta- 
ble, for I have carefully sluilied and 
verified ilium. But that the water 
which has sjjrung at the groito from 
some unknown source should sudden* 
ly cure incurable diseases is out of 
the question," 

As he said this, he took some tab- 
lets from his packet, and wrote some 
wurvk in pencil. 

Til en with one hand he closed 
Uourrielte*s left eye, and held before 
the right, whith he knew had been 
quite blind, the little sentence which 
he had just written. 

'•If you iran reafl this, I will be- 
lieve what you say," said the eminent 
physician with an air of triumph, feel- 
ing confulent in his thorough scien- 
tific knowledge and medical experi* 
ence. 

The people who were passing had 
collected about them. Hourriette 
looked at the paper with his lately 
useless eye, and read without the 
least hesitation : 

'* Bourriette has an incural>le amau- 
rosis, and can never recov<?r," 

If a thunderbolt had fallen at the 
feet of the learned doctor, he could 
not have been more astonished than 
at the voice of Bourriette reading, 
without the least difficulty, this hne, 
written lightly in pencil atvd in a 6ne 
hand. 

But Dr Dozous was a man of con- 
science as well as of science. He 
frankly and immediately acknowledg- 
ed in this sudden removal of an in- 



curable disease the action of \ 
natural power. " I cannot 
said he, *^ that this is a real i 
however much it may go agl 
own views and those of my I 
in the faculty. It certainly co 
me ; but we must yield before 
dent a fact, though it l>c ab 
range of our limited mcdu 
ence/* 

Dr, Vergez, of Tarbes, a ii 
of the Faculty of Montpclli 
physician at the waters of 1 
being also called upon for h 
ion about I his event, could m 
acknowledging its undeniabl] 
natural character • . 

As we have said, Bourrietti 
dilion had been notorious for 
years, and he was personally! 
to almost ever)' one. The wd 
cure had left some external | 
traces of the terrible disease^ 
everybody could verify the 
which had been worked. Tl 
fellow^ almost craxy with joy,| 
full account of it to all who 
listen to him. But he was i 
only one who had occasion toi 
gratitude for an unexpeclctl 
Events of the same characi 
occurred at other houses in ih 
Several persons of Lounlcsy 
Daube, Bcniarde ScmbiCt 
Baron, had immediaiely rises 
beds 10 which they had bc€ 
fined for years by diseases d 
been considered incurable^ 81 
publicly announced thdr f 
from the use of the waters 
groito. J canne Crassus, whoj 
had lieen paraly/cd for ten 
had it compietely restored i 
miraculous water.t 

1 he first vague rumors a 

•The written stfttfment* of ih^te it 
cjativ who, ms well m It ^ ^c i4 ; 

ucrp ]ucfent«iJ tiy thr / lov 

Tnls^loti which Mft.^ ■([ imTJ 

bbtliop (41 c»niine the ^ 

t These cufts were 
meciicai reports ftddttsscu to mc i^.jmnii 



wonderful cures were followed by 
certain ant! exact details* The cmo- 
uon of Uie [leuple was very great, 
and excellent in its character, show- 
ing itself in the church by fervent 
prayers, and at the grotto by songs 
of thanksgiving which burst from the 
joyous lips of the pilgrims. 

Toward night, a number of the 
workmen of the association to which 
Bourriette belonged bctouk them- 
selves to the Massabielle rock, 
and began to make upon the steep 
ground a path for visitors. They 
placed a wooden trough or canal to 
lead from the hole out of which the 
stream, already very strong, was flow- 
ing, and at the lower end dug out a 
iJSltk resen-oir about a foot and a half 
^Hbep, and of about the shape and 
92e of a child's cradle. 

The enthusiasm of the people con- 
tiftaally increased. Multitudes were 
constantly going and coming on the 
road to the miraculous fountain. Af- 
ter sunset, when it began to be dark, 
it was evident that the same idea had 
occurred to a great many of the faith- 
ful; for the grotto shone with a thou- 
sand candles, brought by poor and 
rich, by men, women, and children. 
All night long the bright and gentle 
light of this host of little torches, 
tcaitered like the stars in apparent 
tonfusion, could be seen from the 
Othtr side of the Gave. 

Among the crowd w^ere none of 
the clergy^ of any order; nevertheless, 
without any signal, at the moment 
that the illumination shone upon the 
potto and surrounding rocks, and 
*as retlected on the trembling water 
^f the little pool which the wftrkmeii 
Had dug, all the voices of those pres- 
*^i^t mingled in song with one accord. 
^Tvc litanies of the^ Blessed Virgin 
*^e heanl breaking the silence of 
^'ghl to celcl>rate the praises of the 
^tother of God before the rustic 
^^itont where she had deigned to ap- 



pear and till all Chi'istian hearts w^ith 
joy. ** Makr admirabilis^ Sedts sapi- 
aiiia^ Causa fws/m ktiiiiiC^ ora pro 
nobis r 



XI 



At the same time, the opponents 
of *' superstition'' were assembled at 
the club and the caft-s. The sanhe- 
drim was greatly troubled. 

** There is no fountain at all in 
the place,'' said one of the most ** lib- 
eral." " It is a little pool, formed by 
some accidental intiltration, which 
Bemadette happened to find by the 
merest chance in digging the ground. 
Nothing could be more natural*' 

** It is quite evident," was the an- 
swer of all 

** However," one ventured to say, 
'' they pretend that the water slill 
flows!" 

'*That is a great mistake," cried 
several. ** We have been there; it is 
nothing but a pool. The people, 
with their usual exaggeration » i>re- 
lend that it is a stream. It is not so ; 
we examined it yesterday, and fountl 
it to be merely a mud-puddle/' 

These statements were deemed 
conclusive by the savaftis. This was 
their recognized and official vension 
of the matter. Such is the ready be- 
lief of unbelievers in everything that 
fivors their views; such is the ab- 
sence of all examination in these ad- 
vocates of free examination; such is 
the obstinacy of their prejudice against 
the most evident facts that a month 
and a half afterward, and in spite of 
the overwhelming evidence and cer- 
tainty of the existence of a fountain 
yielding, as einy ottc can stUl sf€ for 
himself^ more than twenty thousamf 
gallons a day, this entire denial of it, 
this impudent puiklle story, was circu- 
lating among the free- thin king papers. 
This would not be credible, perhajis, 
without the proof which we give be- 



% 



low from the official journal of the 
department.* 

As 10 the cures, they were of course 
denied, like the fountain. All with- 
out exreption were disposed of with 
shrugs or laughter, as, for example, 
that uf Louis liourrlette- 

" Bourriette is not cured," said one. 

** There never was anything the 
matter witli hiui,'* answered another. 

" He imagines he \\ cured ; he 
fancies that he can see/' suggested a 
young disciple of Renan. 

'* The imagination certainly does 
sometimes have an astonishing effect 
on die ner\es,*' said a physiologist. 

Another went furdicr yet, and main- 
tai?ie«i that there was no such person 
as Bourriette at all. 

These few formulas summed up the 
conclusions of the wise philosophers 
regarding the remarkable cures which 
had made such a sensation among 
the poor people. 

It was really astonishing that earn- 
est and intelligent persons like M» 
Dufo, at that time president of the 
order of barristers, like 1 *n Dozous, 
M. Estrade, the commander of the 
garrison, and M. de J.affite, should 
have been so weak as to let them- 
selves be misled with regard to the 
events which were taking place. 

During tliis eventful day, Bern a- 
dette had been called to the court- 
room after or before the public ses- 
sion, but all the skill of the/r<vr^/r///', 
of the deiJUty, and of the jutiges 



• The JTrr tm^irinU puhrishcd the following 
In it» issue of April to, thul Is, mU wetk^ a/ttr 
the mp^ruriifue 0/ tk« fi'UHtain^ in an urtirle 
about the new church which wws already beings 
talked of: " A better reftson niigbt be itnaHf^incd 
for budJhiff A sacred edifice ihau the stories of a 
visionRfy child, and a better place might be 
trhoacn than the puddle where she nmkes her 
toilette," The author was desirous to ftM:ertain 
the cjiact yield of this miraculous fountain^ and 
ftccordinely bad it measured in his prc&ence ; the 
amount found was 85 litres a mlaute^ or T9a«4oo 
litres a day. ri'hc litre is about t^^enly-two one- 
hi4iidredllis of a gallon.) Thi* is what tkcy had 
the in^TL'tlible audacity to call aa Infiltralioa ftnd 
a puddle. 



had not been more succe^fuL 

ing her vary or contradict hei 
the genius of M, Jacomet. 

The proiurcur^ followed 
deputy, had made up his mia 
days before, and noticing cou| 
his determination. He deplot 
invasion of fanaticism, and \ 
solved to discharge his dutjr^ 
ously. But by some strange i 
especially remarkable conside^ 
great numbers of people wl 
assembled, no disorder had oc 
and the laudable a^eal of tl 
cureur was for the present d 
to complete though cxj)ectai| 
tion. In the midst of this vast 
mcnt of men and of i*leas wli| 
stirring up the whole region, i| 
that an invisible hand must hj| 
tected the innumerable inul| 
and prevented them from \ 
even accidentally and innoccnl 
pretext lor the interference of | 
lice or the administration, \y 
they would or no, these forq 
personages had their hands t 
die time being, not to be freed 
mysterious apparition at the \ 
had completed its work. 
might come in perfect safl 
crowds so great to the ey^ 
then beheld them flocking fti 
points of the horizon, though 
to the mind which can now cq 
them with those which were to 
as pilgrims in subsequent yea 
invisible regis shielded from all < 
these first witnesses which the 
ed Virgin had selected. 
timcre^pusilhn grtx — '* Fear not 
flock." 

Ihe enemies of *^su]>er!$i 
made the most urgent requQ 
the mayor of Lourdes that be 
issue a proclamation forbiddu 
access to the Massabielle rocks 
were on the public land 
a decree, they thought, 
some reason, will cej 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



393 



fringed upon by ihc excitud people, 
and there will be m:my prochs-ver' 
haux ; there will be resistance and 
arrests; and, when they are once 
started, the judicial and administra- 
tive authorities will easily manage 
cvcf>'thing, for tbey will have all the 
jxm-cr of the empire to back them. 

The mayor, M, Lacade, was an 
honest and excellent man, enjoying 
and deserving the respect ol all. 
Every citizen of Lourdes bore testi- 
mony to his rare personal qualirica' 
tioos, and his enemies or rivals could 
find nothing to reproach him with 
except a certain timidity in taking a 
decided attitude regarding iniportant 
issues, and a little loo much attach- 
ment to his ofticial duties, which, 
however^ as has been said, he per- 
formed admirably, 

He refused to make the desired 
procbmation. 

'*I cannot tell,'' said he, " in the 
ntidst of so much confusion, where 
the truth lies, and cannot pronounce 
in favor of either side. 1 shall let 
•natters take their course as long as 
tiiere is no breach of the peace. It 
to the bishop to settle the 
_ IS question involved, and to 
the prefect to decide upon the nieas- 
*Wes to be taken by the civil power. 
^w my part, I intend to keep out of 
^e matter as much as possible, and 
^hall only act ofiicially upon the ex- 
press order of the prefect." Such, 
if not the precise language, was the 
*T4bstance of his reply to the en- 
^t'taties crowded upon him by the 
Rood ** philosophers," who acted as 
^Hat class of men have always acted 
^v-crywhere from the earliest times. 
^ liberty of opinion, so-calledj seldom 
^^ilcrates liberty of faith, 

JGince the appearance of the foun- 
the apparition had not re- 
I to Bcmadette her former 
^^<(hi te dtaoAiid from the clergy 



that a chapel should be built. On 
the following day, as was related, 
Bemadcttc had no vision, and there- 
fore liad not gone again to the cure, 
Meanwhile, in spite of the rising 
tide of popular faith and the 
growing rumors of miracles, the 
clergy continued to keep aloof from 
the enthusiastic demonstrations which 
were going on at the grotto. 

** Let us wait," said the cure, 
" Even in purely human matters, it 
is well to be prudent, and it is a hun- 
dred times more important in the 
things of God." 

So not a single priest appeared in 
the incessant procession to the mira- 
culous fountain. 

And (the clergy persistently hold- 
ingoff, and the municipal authority re- 
fusing to interfere) the popular move- 
ment took free course, and swelled 
like the rivers of that region when 
the snow is melting on the mountains. 
It spread in all directions, continually 
rising higher and covering all the coun- 
try with its innumerable waves. The 
advocates of repression began to feel 
their impotence against so mighty a 
current, and to see that their opposi 
tion would be swept away like a 
straw before it. They were, therefore, 
obliged to allow these multitudes put 
in motion by the power of God to 
pass freely, 

xii, 

NoTvviTfTsTAMDiNG the immensc 
concourse at the grotto, everything 
continued to go on in perfect order 
The people took the water of the 
fountain, sang hymns, and prayed. 

I'he soldiers of the garrison, inter- 
ested like everybody else in the mat- 
ter, had asked and obtained permis- 
sion to visit the Massabielle rocks. 
With the instinct of disciidine devel- 
oped in them by military training, 
they took precaution to prevent un- 
due crowding, to have a 



394 



Our Lady of Lourdrs^ 



left free, and to keep the niulritude 
from coming too near the dangerous 
banks of the Gave; they made them- 
selves useful in various ways and 
places, assuraing a certain authority 
which was readily conceded to them 
by all 

Some days passed in this way, dur- 
ing which the apparition was repeated 
without any special new featiare; only 
the fountain continually increased, 
and tlie cures became more and more 
fre([uent. In the camp of the free- 
thinkers this was a time of bewilder- 
ment. The facts became so numer- 
ous, so wdl attested, so evident, that 
every hour there were new desertions 
from their ranks. The best and most 
honest among them let themselves 
be persuaded by the evidence. Ne- 
vertheless, there remained an inde- 
structible nucleus of" strong-minded '* 
persons, whose minds, in fact, were so 
strong as to be proof against all 
proof, I'his might seem impossible, 
did we not know that a great part 
of the Jews resisted the miracles of 
our Lord and the apostles^ and that 
four centuries of prodigies were re- 
quired to completely open the eyes 
of the pagan workL 

PART FOURTH. 



On the second of March, Berna- 
dette again presented herself before 
the cure of Lourdes with a message 
from the apparition. 

*' She wants a chapel built, and pro- 
cessions made to the grotto," said the 
child. 

Facts harl been developed, the 
fountain had appeared, cures had 
l>een obtained, God had attested Bcr- 
nadette's veracity by miracles. The 
priest had no more need for evi- 
dence, and asked for none. He was 
convinced. Doubt could no longer 
weaken his faith. 



The invisible ** Lady ** had not as 
yet told her name. But the inAH of 
God had already recognized her by 
her motherly fiivors, and ]>erhaps al- 
ready had added to his prayers the 
petition, ** Our Lady of Lourdes, pray 
for us.^' 

Nevertheless, in spite of the secret 
enthusiasm which filled his ardent 
soul at the sight of these great events, 
he had, with rare prudence, been 
able to restrain any premature ei* 
pression of the deep emotion which 
agitated him at the thought that the 
Queen of Heaven had indeed de- 
scended among his humble Hock; 
and he still continued to formally 
l>ryhibit his clergy from visitiog the 
grotto. 

** I believe you," said he to Bcrna- 
dette, when she now for the secoD^i 
time came before him j ** but I caniwi 
of myself grant what you ask 
name of the apparition. It n 
upon the bishop, whom I have al- 
ready informed of what is going en* 
I will see him, and tell him of llii* 
new demand. It is only he who an 
act in the matter." 



n. 



MgT. Bertrand-Sdvtre Laiircnrt, 
Bishop of Tarbes, was, as much by his 
personal character as from hi^ l 
pal thgnity, the head of the *' 
He had been bom and " 
there. He had risen rapi< 
to the most important eccle 
positions, and had been sucLc->.a- 
superior of the httle sctninarf 0* 
Saint Pe, which he hn ' " 
nor of die great senj 
general. 

Almost all the priests of the ^ 
cese had been his pupils. He M 
been their teacher before bdr" ^^^^^ 
bishop; and under one or tb' 
of these titles he had directed uu" 
for nearly forty years. 



Our Lady of Lourdcs, 



% harmony and absolute 
itinient which prevailed 
lunt between the fonner 
the seminaries and the 
I he had himself trained 
dotal state, had in fact 
the many reasons for his 
\ the episcopate. When, 
before, the see of Tarbes 

vacant by the death of 
f, the name of the Abbe 
me to the lips of all, A 
T who found themselves 
his favor signed a peti- 
st his nominaiion. The 
thus^ as was often the 

primitive church, been 
suffrage to his high 
ill at we have said will 
^gr. Laurence and his 
d, as should always be 

great Christian family, 
irmlh of his nature was 
is paternal heart, which 
df all things to all men. 
r hand, but without in- 
his head was cool, and 
k^erything to the calm 
' reason. His intellect, 

to spiritual impressions 
bad, notwithstanding, an 
icdcal character and ten- 
one probably could have 
less subject than he to 

of imagination or the 
considerate ciithufsiasm. 
rj persons of an ardent 
ijngdisposirion. Though 
Kensitive and sympa- 
wme directed his mind. 
pj then, before acting, 

great care not only his 

all their consequences, 
mm, a certain slowness 
ss observable in his ac- 
ant matters, which, how- 
\ have its cause in any 
liharacter, but in a wis- 
fcm willing to act with- 
lin reasons. Know- 



ing also that truth is eternal and can 
bide its time, he had that rare virtue, 
jjatience* Mgr* Laurence knesv how 
to wait. 

Gifted with unusual powers of ob- 
servation, he had a thorough know- 
ledge o{ human nature, and possess- 
ed, in a high degree, the difficult art 
of managing and goveniing others. 
As long as the interests of religion 
were not at stake, and no special 
event called for their assertion, he 
carefully avoided collision, discord, 
and conflict ; for he knew^ that mak* 
ing enemies to himself was practical- 
ly equivalent to making them for the 
episcopate, and for religion itself. 
Having in charge tlie good of the 
church throughout his diocese, he 
was full of the sense of his responsi- 
bility. 

Of remarkable administrative abih- 
ty, a man of order and discipline, 
combining the simplicity of an apos- 
tle with the tact of a diplomat, he 
had at all times, from the reign of 
Louis Philippe to the Second Emjyire, 
been held in the highest estimation 
by the su c cess i v e go v ern m en ts . \Vli en 
Mgr. Laurence asked for anything, 
those in power knew beforehand that 
it was certainly just and probably ne- 
cessar)', and never refused it. 

On this account, in this Pyrenean 
diocese, the spiritual and temporal 
power had long been in the most per- 
fect harmony at the time of the mira- 
culous events which form the subject 
of our history, 

ML 

The Abbe Peyramale proceeded, 
according to his promise, to lay be- 
fore his bishop the astonishing occur- 
rences of which his parish had for 
some three weeks been the scene. 
He described the ecstasies and visions 
of Bernadette, the words of the appa- 
rition, the appearance of the fountain, 



Our Lady of Lourdcs. 



197 



of truth, whichever that 

be. 

t yet time for the episco- 
ity to intertcre in this a ft air, 

t the deLisiori which is de- 
\ us, we must proceed with 
5ware of the haste and im- 
tion which would now be 
( take time for reflection, 
i hght by attentive obser- 
' events." Such were his 

sefore confirmed the prohi- 
pe clergy to go to the grot- 
It the same time, in concert 
cure, he took every means 
I daily information, through 
Hd intelligent witnesses, 
•that should occur at the 
e rocks, and all the cures, 
e, which might subscfpent- 
rted. 

sequence of the reserved 
iopted by his lordshiji, the 
' or examination went on 
lot by means of a commis- 
' few chosen persons, but 
id in by all, as was natu- 
irrc was any error or trick - 
le affair, the mibelievers 
[ so strongly opposed to 
Mperstition were sure to 
Dd proclaim it- But if, on 
and, it came from God, 
of itself to triumph over 
;, and would show its m- 
lit)' by getting along with- 
1 aid. 1 1 would then have 
all the more indisputable. 
bop, therefore, decided to 
'• long as possible, at least 
months, in this observant 
'hatever might occur; and 
Srfere till events should, as 
pnpel him to do so. 

IV, 

B? ecclesiastical authority 
this very cautious liiae 



of conduct, the civil power was in the 
greatest perplexity over the events 
at Lourdes. The prefecture of Tar- 
bes was at the time held ])y M. Mas- 
sy J M. Rouhiiid was minister of pub- 
lie worship. 

A sincere but somewhat inde- 
pendent Catholic, M, Massy, the 
jjreffct of the Upper Pyrenees, was 
a lirm opponent of superstition. 
He professed, as a good Chris- 
tian, to believe the miracles re- 
corded in the Bible; but, these offi- 
cial prodigies {as they may be called) 
excejjtedy he did not ailmit the super- 
natural. Miracles having been in- 
dispensable to found the church and 
give it authority, he accepted them 
as a necessity for the period of for- 
mation. But, according to his views, 
God should have stopped there, and 
been content with this minimum of 
the supernatural which had been so 
liberally granted him. In the sys- 
tem of M. M assy's administrative 
mind, the part for God to take had 
been definitely assigned by the creed 
and concordats. This was arranged, 
codified, reduced to articles of faith 
and legal enactments ; the faithful 
respected these mysteries, and go- 
vernment had made proper allow- 
ance for the influence of these distant 
evangelic events. But what business 
had God now to leave this pjroper 
sphere, and disturb the regular and 
established order of things by inop- 
portune exhibitions of his power? 
Let him leave the management of 
affairs to the constituted authori- 
ties, and keep himself in the in- 
visible depths of the infinite. The 
prefect, having once for all bowed 
his lofly intellect before the mys- 
teries of the Gospel, was like those 
excellent people who in their budget 
devote regularly a fixed sum to charity 
which they never allow themselves to 
exceed \ and so, when the supernatural 
presented its claims, the reply rose to 



398 



Omr Lady of Lourd^s, 



his lips : *" Go about your business, 
mv ttier.d : you will get couiing more 
from me." 

M. Massy was. then. cxtmnclT or- 
thcxiox: but on the doctrinal sale, 
he creiviec tie .nciireiccis of the su- 
penLir-iraL He mas very religiocs: 
but in frncccal rrLittcrs he feared the 
ecvTOiiciiiiients oc" the clergy. Ri^^ 
^ sv^ was his mocro, aad a very 
good c ce coo. ocly crixr^nateiy those 
who ido|"C it ^jiesenily carry it some- 
what to eicessw and do net allow 
^^u:» eccii^c- The sxmMJkm Jzts is 
Eoc tir r^cn the jajou izj^rii. 
The RoGiizs e^-en pKteaded that 
it was the aome thin^. 

EssecnaZy cmciil in. hi? ideas^ he 
wee: izt abr rse escaclzshed cnier aad 
i?c soch.irrj eise. WhaXTer was. was 
rjihc Ai e\^-"£ scire cc tiiz^is 
was A rrj^ciyie. Thar whxh mas 
iftzral was Jg-cr-^ateL CMe ziiii: 
S15 '^ Z^'iTti 1-^S *::wu tha.: =ade r:o 
cuSiKCo: ; ~^::/ I-^r' mas h^ an- 
swer, Ke w\*r,: >cll rirthcir. L:i* 
3ZJl3v ccher ^^csrazs -n t-t«i e.v:?j*ti'*e 
hcdy. he was jici^e'd r: irizk ±ai 
e«wf i*ir*Lr:j:^ ±cci the r^^ruuir r^ 
was a ri^Sc xpicsc the iCirial rrji- 
cir;ics cc *uscceL Hi sTJciriinced 
arrxTipicn;^; >:ci >:rier. a.-:ii purees- 
i»i r:?,-tare a^i "jw r,' ^e :»iwf!icc^ 

I"^ i^u^r- r£^ M >IiS5^*' "VIS :r: 
tS; * x*ie ritr.irs-:!:i»^. Hi i'irr:.r:.s- 
^jr^i. -* c.t ^-^it tiiJti^t tte ier^rt- 
3tc^: ^t:crri>c::»i *,- '*.:rr. Hi "r^'i a 



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ae 



bad once adopted. When he was 
wrong, which fortunateiy was not 
often, his plan was to march bcioly 
against all obstacles, even those pre- 
sented by the nanire of things. It is 
certainly a great glory nevtr to re- 
treat, but only on the concidon Lhai 
one is alwaj-^ on a practical le tne 
of advance. Otherwise, i: can only 
end in breaking one's head a;^ain^t 1 
walL 

V^ to this time the protect and 
the preiare had lived in penec: hir- 
mocy. M. Massy was a Catholic 
in ti::h and practice. Kvery one 
bcre tesomocT to his excellent cha- 
racter and docKi^ic virtues, and the 
bishop esteemed him highly. The 
pred^:t also, on his port, could not 
help Akimfnng and loving the emi- 
rem CTSiIities ot Mgr. Laurence. 
The pnoesce and tact of the lanci 
had also alwavs enabled him to 
avc-cd coufsioGs between the spiri- 
r=il arsd c^-I power, so that the 
zicsc cjcirtece and cordial undcr- 
scaz*!::^ e\i5ti«i between the respcc- 
r.v- "2eajLS cc the vflocese and the d^ 



v. 

M. M.vssT. who was kept infonn- 
i*i al*ciir ±e events at Lourdes by 
±e rftrccts cf M. Jacomet, in »hora 
>e jaii :he 3i«rsc absoluie confidence. 
hit 3:i:c TiTiTate the wise resene of 
±e -ishcc. He let himielf be car- 
t:e"i. iwaT *ry h::* frst impression, and, 
"reiie^T^ :icc at aH in the possibuity 
:c izr:jr--o:cs and mirades, but per- 
ii'-tn in hi:> reiser to rep.ress the pop- 
lar ts-n;i:sa.-<nT. he took his course 
:rrsciuK*y^ iz*i determined to crush 
ri.s lew a:^i -.trgerOkis superstition 
n r:e rujii. 

• I' I jjii reen rnrfect of Iserer^c 
iif5!»: r;^ >aT. - i: rhe time of the prt- 
?iace»i rrc-irtroQ of La Salette, I 
wviiic hix-ie >i&$»xsed of that aftur 
^ronr sutat^ aaii k vosid bam act 



Catholic Literature and the Catholic Public, 



399 



same fate which tliis one 
tl y m ee t with. A] I th is ph a n- 
ia will soon vanish. 

of watting for the ecclesi- 
imhority, which alone was 
[It, to institute an examina- 
te prefect thus decided the 
I beforehand according to his 
The bishop patiently wait- 
ftc to untie the Gordian knot, 
[assy thought best to cut it. 
5 sometimes can be perform- 
\ sword of an Alexander, but 
^a mere prefect does not ab 
cceed so well Poor M. Mas- 
Jeslined first to blunt his, and 
breaJc it. 

ttgh he had decided on his 
e could not but see that the 
estion was one belonging to 
scopal authority and by no 
o the civil power, and he real- 
lot wish to wound the feelings 
encrable prelate who conduct- 
affairs of the diocese with a 

so universally acknowledged, 
^efore limited his external ac- 
the matter to certain measures 
:ou!d be justified by the pre- 
f the great multitude which 

\ attracted to Lourdes by the 



events occurring there; though he 
kept a sharp and secret watch upon 
these events by means of his agents 
in the place. 

On the jd of March, in conforaiity 
to orders received from the prefecture, 
the mayor of Lourdes, M. Lacadd, 
requested the commander of the fort 
to place at his disposal the troops of 
the garrison, and to hohl them in 
readiness for action until the follow- 
ing day. They were to occupy the 
approaches to the grotto. The local 
gendarmes and the police had receiv- 
ed similar instructions. 

What need there was of this threat- 
ening display of force we do not ex- 
actly understand. Was it not rather 
to be feared that, by such hostile or 
at least uncalled-for demonstrations, 
the people, so far peaceable, but natu- 
rally excitable, and even somewhat 
excited by recent events, would be 
highly irritated ? Was there not 
some risk of jjrovoking tumult and 
disorder ? Many expected such a 
result^ — ^some, perhaps, hoped for it, 
and that some excuse would thus be 
given for forcible intervention. There 
was great reason to think that it might 
turn out in this way. 



TO BE COHTJWUID, 



lOLlC LITERATURE AND THE CATHOLIC PUBLIC. 



church has always known how 
to the service of religion and 
of God the most useful 

aventions, the elegant arts, 
L discoveries of science. What 

i devised for purely temporal 
|e has consecrated to holy 

, impTDving and developing 

tic has borrowed* She took 



from the heathen poets the art of 
lyric composition, and taught us to 
sing the praises of God in measures 
which before had celebrated only 
ignoble passions. She foimd music 
a mere discord of barbarous and 
arbitrary sounds, and taking it into the 
sanctuary, she constructed from this 
rude material the most beautiful of 



humai> sciences. Slic taught archi- 
tects to build in honor of the divine 
name temples which will never be ex- 
( ellerl. She laid her blessing on the 
p:iintcr*s bnish and the sculptor's 
chisel, and art sprang at once into 
new life, and clothed itself in the 
most exquisite forms. Under her 
guidance the disputes of the schools 
gave way to a more elevated philoso- 
phy. Studies of every kind acquired 
new vitality and higher aims. The 
multiplication of manuscripts^ once 
the drudgery of Roman slaves, he- 
rn mc a labor of love upon which, in 
the f|uiet of the cloister, monks spent 
year after year, storing the convent 
libraries v^ith treasures which even yet 
have not been fully explored. 

At last came the greatest invention 
uf modern times — the art of printing. 
The first lo make use of it and to 
understand its value was the church. 
The first books printed were books 
o( piety, and the art was only a few 
months old when the entire Bible 
issued from the press of Faust and 
Sihoeflfer, From that time to llic 
present the church has made dihgcnt 
use of this tremendous engine, and as 
education has become more and more 
genera! and the moral fjower of types 
and ink has steadily increased, the 
etTorts of good men to turn them to 
good uses have been redoubled. 
Religious communities have made the 
publication of books ilie principal 
labor of their life, and everywhere 
the clergy have put forth zealous 
et^brts not only to keep popular litera- 
ture pure and hannkss,but to keep it 
cheap and abundant. William Cax- 
ton introduced the art of printing 
into England under the patronage of 
the Abbot of Westminster. The first 
book issued in America was printed 
in a Mexican convent^ and the first 
book printed West of the Alleghany 
Mountains in the United States was a 
Catholic: edition of the Epistles and 



Gospels published in French and 
English at Detroit. 

While we have been tr>nng in this 
way to serve God and save souls, uur 
ativersarie-s have been equally active. 
The devil is a pretty sharp fcJloT«f»and 
the Saints have never invented a good 
thing yet that he has not pirated ami 
twisted to his own uses. For every 
book the church has given to the 
world, we dare say he has given tm> 
Every copy of the Holy Scriptufw 
that the church has sent abrcad, k 
has matched with a dozen countcricil 
Bibles of his own. It is always casv 
to get recruits for the St r 
and the arch-enemy has . 
The consequence is that the < 
now got ahead of us. Popul : 
lure ha.s become so generally cnlL«ited 
on the wrong side that wc are almost 
denied a hearing, l*he church bai 
as much trouble to make 1. 
against the deluge of bad a 
taken books, p»amphlets, m, 
review^s, tracts, and newspapci , 
she taught a new faith among nation* 
long wedded to other forms of wor- 
ship and cherishing hostile belief 
Protestantism has rich and lh< ^ 
organized societies for the di- 
tion of printed mii*information, 
societies scatter tlying sheets 
theology and mischievous ex h 
broadcast all over America anu oi'--- 
Britain, Bible societies buikl up 
enormous establishments for the miO' 
ufacture of spurious copies of the 
word of God, and whoever will take 
them can be supplied almost wiihou' 
price. Every denomination has its 
weekly newspapers, many "T 
are exceedingly prosperous, ^\' 
conducted with tlccided al i 
spirit. The profession of av 
— we refer now to Englisli 
countries, with which we ai 
pally concerne<J — is almost f 
lized by Prutestants. H 
essays, novels, tniveh i 






ikalic Literature and the Catholic Public, 



401 



s of literature are in their 
when not expressly anta- 
oar faith, are colored by 
nd distorted to our injury. 
all, the daily press^ which 

within the present cen- 
>st tremendous eng^ine for 
ig truth or falsehootl which 
ver invented, reflects uni- 

sentinients of our adver- 
reaches into every house, 
> thousands who will listen 
s of no other adviser. It 
ihe most obstinate. It is 
by all classes of persons, 
ing, men and women, rich 
earned and ignorant, the 
1 the wicked The scholar 

his study, The laborer 
s w ords are spelled out to 
js at the corner grog-shop 
je store. To the majority 
ted inhabi tan ts of our cities 
necessity, no more to be 
'ith than the morning loaf. 
;her ever reached so many 
i great daily newspaper 
ks to 200^000 or 300,000 
ery day, and repeats its 
300 times in the year ? 
last eloquent of men, and 

by any possibility, be 
none than 2,000 or 3,000 
\ time. He cannot speak 
except in rare instances, 
could he would find few 
Id the course of a year he 
ig.rd by more people than 
■kof average circulation 
Wery day. Moreover, 
ord is once spoken it dies; 
inted remains, and men 
aiu and again. A great 
nliincs in one issue the 
dom, the eloquence of a 
idroit and accomplished 
tends their voices simulta- 
evcry corner of the coun- 
\ the most powerful of 
^c engines of opinion 



— and Protestantism has it all to it- 
self. 

Now there can be litde doubt, we 
think, that the press is not only one 
of the most formidable weapons used 
against us, but it is also one of the 
most valuable of the weapons Avith 
which we ourselves ought to fight. 
It ought to come next to the church 
and the school, and in the estimation 
of our teachers and pastors it does 
come next. The Holy Father has 
given his blessing and encouragement 
to every reasonable enterprise for 
putting the types to the service of 
religion which has ever been brought 
to his knowledge. The bishops and 
clerL'y give a warm welcome to Ca- 
tholic books and Catholic periodicals, 
and sacrifice a great part of their 
scanty income for the support of re- 
ligious literature. We have weekly 
papers conducted with intelligence 
and force, w^e have Catholic publish- 
ers in aU tlie large cities, we have 
several periodicals, and we have a 
Tract Society. How much, with all 
this, are we doing for the creation 
and dissemination of Catholic htera- 
ture ? 

To answer this question, we must 
take into consideration not only the 
actual number of pa])ers and books 
issued from Catholic establishments, 
but the number circulated by Protes- 
tant bodies, and we must remember 
that besides counteracting this great 
flood of anti-Catholic religious litera- 
ture, we are obliged to furnish an 
antidote to the more insidious and 
secret poisons indirectly instilled by 
the anti-Catholic secular press^ — that 
is to say, almost the entire political 
and literary press of America. To 
begin with denominatioual publish- 
ing ho uses J we have tirst the Metho- 
dist Book Concern, which publishes 
every year 2,000 bound volumes, and 
about 1 ,000 tracts. Of Sunday-school 
books alone it prints every year over 



Catholic Littraiure and the Catholic Public. 



fiv€ hundred miliians ofpa^s, and the 
various Sunday-school papers of the 
denomination have an aggregate cir- 
culation of over half a railUon. The 
Baptist Publication Society issues 
about I, GOO volumes a year, and 
prints annually more than two hun- 
dred millions of pages. The sect 
sustains 29 weekly papers, 9 month- 
ly magazines, and 2 quarterly re- 
views. The Old School Presbyte- 

^jdans have an aggregate circulation 
2,000,000 copies for their various 

periodicals, and pubhsh about 500 
volumes of Sunday-school hterature 
•every year. The Boston Tract So- 
ciety sends out 1,350,000 pages a 
year. The American Unitarian As- 
sociation, small as it is, published 
300,000 copies of books and tracts 
in a single year, and the New York 
Tract Society 800,000 volumes. A 
juvenile paper issued by the Ameri- 
can Sunday* School Union has a cir- 
culation of 300,000 copies. The 
Independent has a weekly edition of 
about 60,000 copies, and is one of 
the most prosperous periodicals in 
the country. Other religious week- 
lies in New York print from 15,000 
to 20,000 copies of each issue. These 
items represent but a portion of the 
organizations for disseminating Pro- 
testant religious literature, but they 
suffice to show how much our sepa- 
rated brethren are doing. Now look 
at the secular press — all more or less 
openly hosdle to Catholicity in spirit 
if not in profession. A little pam- 
phlet entitled Hints to Advertisers 
was published m this city about a 
year ago, giving among other things 
the circulation of the daily and week- 
ly papers of New York, We take 
from it the following figures : The 
daily circulation of the Herald is 
6o,oo-> ; Tribune^ 40,000 ; Times^ 35,- 
000; Worldy 35,000; SuHy 50,000; 
Staais Zeitung, 40,000] Evening News ^ 

>6q,ooo i Ikm^rat (German ), 1 2 ,000 ; 



Hamiels Zeitungy 12,000; Star, 20,000; 
Telegram^ 28,000; various evening 
papers, from 3,000 to 7,000 each. 
These figures of course are only ap- 
proximative ; a few are too high, but 
the aggregate is certainly much un- 
der the truth. The Heraid, for in- 
stance, has more than 60,000 circula- 
tion, the Tribune has more than 40,- 
000, and the Sun^ on its own show- 
ing, has about 100,000. Then of 
weekly papers we have the Trikine^ 
with 200,000 subscribers; the IFtntid 
with 80,000 ; the Ledger with a sale 
of 375,000; the Ne%0 York Heekfy\ 
300,000; Harpet^s Weekly . 100,000; 
Harpef^s Bazar, 65,000 ; Frank Les- 
lie's illustrated papers in English, 
Spanish, and German, iSo,ooo in 
the aggregate; and a number of 
sporting and Sunday papers which 
have a regular sale of 15,000, 20,000^ 
even 60,000 copies weekly. The 
newspviper dealer is no longer as in 
former times a curb-stone peddler; 
he has become a prosperous racf- 
chant. The distribution of periodi- 
cals has grown to be a branch of 
commerce as lucrative and import- 
ant as the distribution of breadstuflk 
The trade of the newsman has bc^ 
come divided like all other large 
trades into wholesale and retail, for- 
eign and domestic. Down town, 
there are several enormous establish- 
ments doing a wholesale business in 
newspapers, which may be measur- 
ed by millions of dollars^ while the 
retailers of this class of literature can 
afford to keep elegant and spacicK^ 
shops in the most expensive thorough- 
fares. 

What share has Catholic Uier^tufc 
in this wonderful activity of : } 

With the exception of the.' h 

probably owes its prosperity more to 
its national than its religious charac- 
ter, we do not believe there is a Ca- 
tholic paper in the United Suucs 
with over 10,000 paying sulwcribci^ 



I 



Catholic Literature and the Catholic Public, 



and very few of them have even half 
that number. There is hardly one 
which can afford to give good con- 
tributors a reasonable remunerationj 
or to be at any expense in the collec- 
tion of religious news. It is trut that 
in spite of their poverty many of our 
papers do credit to the faith. Zeal 
sometimes takes the place of money, 
and earnest pens wili now and then 
write for the sake of the cause, though 
they 'WTite without price. But pub- 
lishing religious literature, like pub- 
rg any other literature, is a busi- 
enterprise, which only prospers 
when it is conducted on business 
principles. If we want good writers, 
wc roust pay them a fair price. Those 
who can write best are the men who 
write for their living, and if they can- 
not get pay from us they must get it 
from tlie secular press» or starve. Vob 
fllitary contributions, as every editor 
"feows, cannot be depended upon. A 
periodical which trusts to the 2eal of 
its friends is a lottery in which there 
are few prizes and many blanks. The 
editor must be able to command ar- 
ticles when he wants them. Consi- 
dering all this, we say that our Catho- 
lic papers, even the feeblest of them, 
deserve praise and gratitude. But 
they are few in number and weak in 
tirculation. Our magazines are lim- 
ited to The Catholic World and 
four or five smaller publlcarions, 
such as the Messenger of the Sacred 
Heart of J^sus^ the Ave Maria^ and 
the Annals of the Propagatimi of the 
Pmthy which confine their scope to 
cenain specified objects, and hardly 
teong to the department of general 
ferature; the De La Saile Monthly, 
published by an association of 
young men in this city; and the 
<hl, edited by the boys of Santa 
Clara College, California. There are 
Jio Catholic reviews. We had an 
^mirable one, but we let it die for 
lack of subscribers. 
There is no reason for complaint 



in the small number of Catholic pe- 
riodicals, for the prosperit)^ and use- 
fulness of the press depend not upon 
the multitude of those that print, but 
upon the multitude of those that buy. 
We shall do more good to religion l>y 
concentrating our attention upon what 
we already have than wasting time 
and money and enthusiasm in starting 
new papers which will never be read. 
Probably there are not yet enough 
Catholic writers in this country, pro- 
fessional or occasional, to supply any 
more periodicals than are now in ex- 
istence, that is, any more of the same 
general character \ for journals devot- 
ed to some special, determinate want 
there would, of course, always be 
room. But there certainly is cause 
for complaint, and cause for deep mor- 
tification, in the niggardly support 
which the 6,000,000 or 7,000,000 Ca- 
tholics of the United States give to 
their four or five magazines. We speak 
now only of our own. Of the pecuni- 
ary condition of the others we, of 
course, have no knowledge, but we 
tell no secret when we say that none of 
them taxes the capacity of its presses 
ver>' severely. A few words about The 
Catholic World will not be imper* 
tinent, and may interest our readers. 
It is between five and six years since 
we started this periodical, with the 
determination to make the best Ca- 
tholic magazine that money would 
enable us to produce, and give it a 
fair trial We believe that we began 
the experiment under more favorable 
conditions than any of those who had 
preceded us in the same field. The 
progress of education had created not 
only a great constituency of possible 
readers, but a pretty numerous body 
of possible writers. We obtained the 
assistance of persons familiar with the 
business, and we had capital enough 
to secure us from pecuniary emliar- 
rassment, at least for a long time. 
Without egotism, we may say that 
The Catholic World^ though not. 



404 



Catholic Literature and the Catholic Public^ 



yet what we hope in time to make it, 
has been more successful than any 
former Catholic magazine in Ameri- 
ca, and has been generally recogniz- 
ed, within and without the church, 
as the leading organ of Catholic 
thought, and the leading exponent 
of Catholic sentiment. The anti-Ca- 
tholic press does us the honor of light- 
ing us harder than it ever fought an 
American Catholic periodical before, 
and vYc have furthermore been cheer- 
ed by the blessing of the Holy See, 
and the cordial approval and assist- 
ance of the bishops and clergy of the 
United States. Of the quality of our 
contributions it docs not become us to 
speak; but if the praise of friend and 
foe is any criterion, The Catholic 
World has secured a corps of writers 
of whom any magazine might be 
proud. It is time now to judge whe* 
ther the Catholic public are willing 
not only to praise a magazine, but to 
pay for it. After an experiment of 
nearly six years, we must own to a 
feeling — not of discouragement, but 
of some disappointment. True, we 
have obtained a subs<:ription list large 
enough to pay all the expenses of 
manufacture and leave a considerable 
sum for the payment of contributors 
— a subscription list much larger than 
an American Catholic magazine ever 
had before. But what is this, when 
such periodicals as liarprr^s Afonthiy 
count ten purchasers for every one 
of ouni ? What is this, when we re- 
member that there are six or seven 
millions of Catholics in the United 
States, with only one 6rst-class maga- 
zine of general Catholic literature? 
What is this when, with a few thous- 
and subscribers, we have to face the 
whole adverse fiood which pours from 
the press exery day in every city of 
the land ? 'I'he labor of editing ilie 
magazine has been performed without 
pay, and a great many of its pages 
every monUi are written by men who 
leceive no reward for their trouble 



except the reward which G 
give for every work done in 
vice. And still, the profitsoftlu 
zine arc too small to justify us : 
ing it as good as we want lo i 
Nor is it only in neglect ci 
dical literature that Catholic 
a meagre appreciation of the r 
uses Kii the press. It is only 
a few years that anything lib 
ciety has been formed for thi 
mination of cheap literature, a 
society is hampered by the 
ence of those w ho ought to i 
it. The Catii/^lic Pubucati 
ciEiT has done a great and we 
a most important work in : 
tracts, which have been eagei 
from one end of the Unitei 
to the other ; but the more il 
the poorer it grows ; for the In 
sold at about 12 per cent, le 
the cost of manufacture. The 
SociETV. instead of yielding ai 
to the Publication Societv, 
a charge which must be mc 
other sources. The Public ati 
ctEiT attempts to supply ih« 
of Catholic readers in two din 
first, there is the want of cb 
good books; secondly, the n 
handsome and attractive boj 
scarce books, and of foreign 
which other dealers have chI 
rally found it profitable to ! 
For years we have heard ih 
plaint of etlucaled Catholics th 
could find but few religious 
which people of tasie aud 
would like to have on their 1 
shelves or their parlor tabta 
the poorer Catholics have be 
as loud in complaming that ] 
was an expensive luxury, azM 
were loo dear for them. T 

THOUC PUBLICATIDK SoCICl 

foundetl for the puri>osc of ^ 
both these classes. On the OQ 
in the mechanical part of Ihl 
publishing busings, il be^m \ 
to n\ al the best secular bouse 



Catholic Literature and the Catholic Public. 



print paper, binding, and illustration 
of its issues. It secured I he best 
workmen, and paid the best prices, 
and we can safely say that no firm 
in America issues books which as a 
nile are handsomer or better made. 
The price of such volumes has al- 
ways been below the standards of 
Protestant houses, for the conductors 
of this enterprise have no ambition 
to make money except to pay the 
current expenses of the concern. 
The character of the books has been 
diversified. Works of controversy 
and devotion have altemate<l with 
tales, sketches, poetry, biograjihy, 
and narratives of travel, so that all 
lastcs might be suited, and entertain- 
ment provided as well as instruction. 
In the supply of cheap books, the 
enterprise of the Society has been 
directed toward the issue in paper- 
uoverSt on thinner paper, and \sitli 
dose-cut margins, of impressions 
from die plates of its more costly 
vorks, and these popular volumes 
bve been sold in great numbers at 
fifoiB one-half to one- third the price 
of the finer editions. Now, the con- 
ductors of tlie Publication Society 
do not complain of the encouragement 
ihcir efforts have met with; on the 
contrary^ they have abundant cause for 
gutitude in the extensive circulation 
of their books, and the evidence, mul- 
tiplying ever}' day, that the plan is a 
good one, and one that is likely to 
teult in permanent benefit to the 
Catholic community. Yet we are 
^ure our readers would be surprised 
if they knew how small a share of 
the support bestowed upon Catholic 
literature in this country is bestowed 
^ the Catholic laity* The clergy arc 
liberal purchasers of books ; of con- 
Itoversial volumes a certain number 
Can generally be disposed of to Fro- 
Icstants ; but Catholic laymen hardly 
look at iJie literature of their own 
dcnominalion* We could mention 



scores of rich men, belonging to our 
church, who set apart in their houses 
rooms which they call libraries and 
furnish them after a fashion with vol- 
umes of greater or less value, but 
who never buy a Catholic book from 
one end of the year to the other. All 
Catholic publishers who have made 
money m the business have made it 
by the sale of prayer-books and 
school-books. Their best customers 
are devout people of the poorer 
class, who have generally too little 
education to take an interest in lite- 
rature, and for whom books of piety 
must be manufactured in the- cheap- 
est possible way. Leave out this 
class of purchasers, the managers of 
schools, the clergy, and a few zealous 
and enlightened persons who make 
it a religious duty to buy numbers of 
good books to giveaway, and you will 
find that Catholic ]>ublishing houses 
have hardly any customers left. 

We have scores of colleges scat- 
tered over the United States, besides 
high -class seminaries for the education 
of young women in almost every im- 
portant diocese. Probalily some thou- 
sands of pupils are graduated from 
these institutions every yean They 
are supposed to have acquired dur- 
ing their course of study at least 
some taste for books and discrimina- 
tion in choosing them. They arc 
supposed also to have learned the 
importance of fighting the enemy 
with his own weapons, and recover- 
ing from Protestantism the tremen- 
dous engine of proselytism which it 
has secured in this countr)- by its 
control of the printing-press. Why 
is it that this great army of young 
educated Catholics has yet done 
nothing to foster Catholic literature ? 
The writers of even moderate note 
who have been trained by our own 
seminaries, can be counted on the 
fingers of one hand; the readirs — 
well, sometimes it seems to us hardly 



I 



4o6 



Catholic Literatun and i/ie Catholic Publ 



an exaggeration to say tltat there are 
none. Perhaps the colleges them- 
selves could do more to cultivate a 
literary taste. Perhaps pupils are not 
trained sufficiently to look upon books 
as a source of amusement rather than 
the instruments of labor, W'e know 
that in some colleges young men are 
never taught to think of reading as 
one of the employments of their fu- 
ture life^ never initiated into the de- 
lights of literature^ or trained to make 
any other use of books than to get 
sound Catholic ideas of the ou dines 
of general history and the principles 
of metaphysics, with a knowledge of 
Greek, Laiin» mathematics, physics, 
and Christian doctrine. Of covjrse, if 
a lad be brought up in this way, he 
will not care about buying books 
after he leaves college. The daily 
and weekly newspaper, the last sen- 
sational novel, and a pictorial maga- 
zine, will be quite enough for him. 
More than half the knowledge which 
he has spent his youth in acquiring 
will be wasted because it is only in 
books that he can find opportunities 
to apply it. But it is not by any 
means the colleges principally which 
are in fault. Most of them do their 
duty faithfully and efficiently, and if 
the result of their labors is not ap- 
parent, we must look outside for the 
cause. 

A great deal of the blame we be- 
lieve ought to fall upon Catholic 
parents. If the father and mother 
neither read themselves nor encou- 
rage reading in their children, of 
course the house must be a literary 
wilderness. Time was when there 
were few educ^ited Catholic famihes 
in this country, and few good Catho- 
lic books ; but that time is long past. 
The books arc abundant, and only 
waiting to be bought. Education, 
tf our schools have been good for 
anything during the last generation, 
must be e.xtensively diffused. Noth- 



ing is ivanted but the w 
may have a Catholic literal 
rica as prosperous as thai « 
denomination, and as gloi 
Catholic literature of Fran 
and of Germany. The i 
enough. Buy books y0U3 
them to your children. £ 
ing their minds and \\\ 
taste with trashy magazines 
full of covert and often ui 
misrepresentation of the t 
cepts hostile to the Cat 
and irreverent allusions 
we bold most sacred. Il 
ble for us to avoitl the li 
the day. Catholics mus 
newspapers, if they res 
more. Do you suppose f 
on for ever, reading tliese 
ing else, withoui imbibing 
false spirit which pervade 
Do you suppose we can 
adversaries in exclusive 
this mitrailleuse of typ« 
which is discharged eve 
against our ranks, and not 
the assault ? The majo 
leading newspapers profcj 
partial between the two i 
in reality they are all ir 
decidedly against US| &1] 
effectively so, perhaps, b< 
apparently or really do 
to be. Every Protestant- 
say un- Catholic — public 
tains a drop of poisoiiM 
afJbrd to take it withonP 
a corrective. Little by 
extinguish our fervor if 
undermine our faith. O 
life will no longer be filh 
freshness and vigor of hej 
drag along, sickly, useles! 
unprofitable, and if wc sai 
at last it will be by taxing 
patience to the very ytl 
the present, until we are i 
we cannot avoid the poi 
be careful to take the ; 



The Invasion of Rome. 



holidays are at hand; Catholic fa- 
thers and mothers, who value the 
spiritual welfare of your child ren» take 
advantage of this season of gifts to 
show them some of the treasures of 
CaihoHc literature, and encourage a 
habit of judicious reading and judi- 
cious buying of books. Remember 
that God has given us the pen that 
tt may be used in his service. Re- 



member that those who are capable 

of using it can do nothing unless you 
help them. Remember, you whom 
Providence has blessed with money, 
that after you have helped to build 
your church and to build your school, 
the duties of your stewardship are 
not yet discharged. Catholic literature 
has a claim upon your purse, and you 
cannot be excused if you neglect it. 



THE INVASION OF ROME. 



SECOKD ARTICLE. 



In our last number, we briefly no- 
ticed tlie event, which at the time of 
writing our article was stiil too recent 
for accurate information, of the cap- 
ture ^x\t\ possession of Rome by the 
troops of Victor Emmanuel, and re- 
corded our protest against it. We 
lake up the matter now anew, for 
the purpose of communicating to our 
IBlilcrs all the facts which have come 
% our knowledge regarding this great 
act of unjust and sacrilegious spolia- 
lion* and the sentiments of Catho- 
lations commenc- 
Ctl for a capitulation. It is a great 
satisfaction to be able to say that 
both the Italian and Uie foreign troops 



of the gallant litde Pontifical army, 
wOiich all told numbered about 10,700 
men, behaved in the most admir- 
able manner, and showed a dispo- 
sition which would have led them 
to sacrifice their lives even in a des- 
perate and hopeless resistance to over- 
whelming force, if they had been per- 
mitted to do so. 

When the capitulation had been 
concluded, the Italian army entered 
the city, and with it a mob of 4,000 
refugees, banished criminals, and loose 
women, who were soon joined by the 
similar scum of the Roman populace, 
and the inhabitants of the prisons, 
which were immediately set open, 
A scene of disorder, riot, and outrage 
immediately began which made it 
dangerous for any persons, even for- 
eigners of rank, ladies, or members 
of the legations, who were known or 
suspected to be favorable to the Pope, 
to appear on the street, and made 
even the seclusion of private dwell- 
ings unsafe. Numbers of assassinations 
were perpetmted in open day on the 
Corso. The bodies of some of the 
fallen Zouaves were hacked in pieces, 
and their heads borne on pikes in 
triumph through the city. A Sister of 
Charity was murdered and thrown into 
the Tiber, also a Jesuit priest in the act 
of administering the sacraments to a 
dying soldier, three of the ruml police, 
and a number of prisoners. The mob 
paraded the streets singing Gari- 
baldi's hymn, and during the evening 
made an illumination, which was en- 
forced by violence and threats of as- 
sassination. The Vatican itself was 
attacked by a mob with most violent 
outcries, and the guard on duty, who 
repelled the attack by force of amis, 
were obliged to send to General Ca- 
dorna for a detachment of troops to 
protect the Holy Father from the 
attacks of these disorderly bands, led 
on by criminals of the w^orst descrip- 
tion, who had been released from 



prison or had relumed to Rome 
from exile to abuse the clemency 
of Pius IX,^ which had spared their 
forfeited lives. The details of all 
these sickening and harrowing scenes 
are very fully given by numerous 
eye- witnesses who were on the spot 
during these lamentable and disastrous 
days of the capture and occupation 
of Rome. Nevertheless, bad as the 
state of things is, we have the great- 
est reason for congratulauon that it 
is not worse, and that still more hor- 
rid tragedies have not been enacted 
in the Holy City. The hand of God 
has been over the Holy Father, over 
Rome, and over the devoted and 
loyal children of the Holy See, to pro- 
tect them from the worst which might 
have l>een reasonably apprehended. 
And, however much we may grieve 
over the misfortunes and trials which 
God has permitted to fall upon his 
faithful people, we shall never cease 
to glory in the virtue and heroism 
displayed so conspicuously by the 
great and holy Pius IX. and the no- 
ble band of his true and devoted fol- 
lowers, whose names will shine forever 
with a (ixdeless lustre on the historic 
page, when traitors and rebels and 
their base enterprises shall have been 
buried in the grave of oblivion and 
infamy. 

The parting of Pius IX. from bis 
gallant Zouaves was one of the most 
beautiful and touching incidents which 
the history of the Eternal City has ever 
inscribed in its crowded records. The 
heroic band of soldiers of the cross, 
called to show a fortitude far more 
difficult than the valor of the field — 
fortitude to bear humiliation, defeat, 
apparent failure and loss of their glo- 
rious cause, assembled for the last 
time before the Vatican. Three ring- 
ing cheers for the Pontiff King were 
given by these descendants of the 
crusaders, these chivalrous knights 
of faith in a faithless age, as a fare- 



well chorus to the revered and belov- 
ed sovereign. Plus IX. came forth 
upon the balcony, and in few but 
deeply significant and memorable 
words praised their loyalty and fidel- 
ity, thanked them in the name of 
Cxod whose vicegerent he is, and gave 
them his farewell and his blessing. 
Sublime moment I emblematic of that 
in which the Lord of all will give 
his blessing to those who have been 
faithful to his cause in times of trial 
before the assembled universe ! It is 
known to every one, of course* that 
the French Zouaves immediately 
formed a battalion, under Col. Ijl 
Chare tte, to fight for their native 
country, where they are now winning 
fresh laurels by their display of pa* 
trio tic valor. It is pleasant to be able 
to record also the fact, that the Ital- 
ian soldiers of the Pontifical anny^ 
with few exceptions, have refused to 
enter the service of Victor Emmao- 
itel. 

The next move in this iniquii 
game was the pkbhcitum^ or popi _ 
vote on the annexation of the Roinsn 
state to the king*!om of Italy. Ac- 
cording to the reports, somewhere 
about 40,000 votes were given in ihc 
city, and 6,000 or 7,000 in the country. 
in favor of annexation, with but few 
against it. The value of X\\\% ^ippar- 
ent popular vote as an ex of ^ 

a deliberate choice and ju _ cin 

the part of the Roman people, is» 
however, very small The conscieo- 
tious and loyal adherents of the Pope, 
with few exceptions, refused to coitll<- 
tenance this farcical proceeding in 
any way. A vote taken after the city 
had been violently seized by an annv' 
of 60,000 men, the papal authoril/* 
overthrown, and the people intimidate' 
ed, is no free vote, and of no value-— 
Moreover, the city was full of emi^t^' 
to the number, as stated by the Lon— ^ 
don Ttm^s^ correspondent, of 15,00^- 
That a great n 



iJtM||J 

p4 



The Invasion of Rome. 



413 



classes of Romans were carried away 
by the excitement of the occasion 
and ready to sliout for Victor Em- 
tnanuelt cannot be denied. It is pro- 
bablc, aUo, that many of the more 
respectable citizens, from motives of 
fear and self-interest, were induced to 
acquiesce in die state oi things which 
appeared to them unavoidable. Be- 
sides all this, the urns were in the 
hands of the partisans of Victor Em- 
manuelt and it is well known how un- 
scrupulous they have been heretofore 
in these things, and how they have 
mocked at the farce of their own crea- 
tion, which is a mere ruse to deceive 
the popuiace and to keep up a show 
of (air words in their published docu- 
Wtents. These p/e3iscUes, taken under 
iie surv'eillance of armed men and 
managed by party leaders whu are 
dettirmined to make them turn to 
their own advantage, are the laughing- 
stock of all sensible men in Europe. 
1 The people will shout on one side, 
ind soon after that again on the other, 
ttcach side alternatety gains the as- 
trncy. The subjects of Pius IX. 
e frei|uendy shown the greatest 
tnihusiasm for him as their sovereign, 
aad that within even a few weeks be- 
fore the invasion of Rome. They 
*ill ihow it again when he re-enters 
into the possession of his rights. All 
^ > >nhy of reliance show that 

' man people, although ti- 

Diid and tickle, are truly attached at 
'icui to the papal monarchy, and 
*ec contented under the govern- 
5sat which has been so wisely and 
*cll administered by Pius IX. under 
stances of unparalleled ditFi- 

It IS pretended that the Roman 
'^^'^^v''* and the people of Italy are 
It over the downfall of the 
*'j;ici temporal monarchy and the 
P'^ifl>pct of having Rome fur the 
' ' nited Italy. All accounts 

t , howe\xr, that this repre- 



sentation is false, that the demonstra- 
tions of popular rejoicing have been 
manufacturetl and feeble, and that 
there has been no spontaneous out- 
burst of joy on the part of the genu- 
ine Italian people. The great ma- 
jority of the Italian people are sin- 
cere Catholics, disgusted with the in- 
fidel government of Victor Emma- 
nuel, and desirous of the breaking 
up of his bogus kingdom. We have 
had the proof of this before us for a 
year past, in the confessions and com- 
plaints of the principal liberal presses 
of Italy. That party is intellectual* 
ly, morally, and numerically weak; 
strong only in fraud, violence, and 
the actual possession of usurped pow- 
er. At the present moment, the li- 
beral organs are taunting Victor Em- 
manuel and his cabinet respecting 
the utter fruitlessness and inutility of 
the usurpation of Rome, and their 
utter incapacity to make the king- 
dom prosper. The party of the king, 
Lanza, San Martino^ and Cadorna — 
that is, of the Moderates — ^has really 
no strength except in the passive to- 
leration of the great Catholic mass 
of the people, which is patient of 
their rule because it prefers it to re- 
volution. It has no warm sympathy 
or cordial support either from red- 
hot liberals or Cathohcs. And it 
must, therefore, soon get out of the 
way of the approaching conflict be- 
tween these two forces, most likely be 
overthrown, and ignominiouily push- 
ed aside by a red-republican revolu- 
tion before many weeks or months 
have passed. The true young Italy, 
the regenerated Catholic Italy, sus- 
tained and encouraged by the ap- 
plause of all Christendom, will then 
be able to actualize and carry out 
in deeds the aspirations of the true 
men of genius and patriotism who 
are the guiding-stars of the future 
era of Italy. There are not wanting 
palpable, tangible proofs of the exis- 



■ 



414 



The Invasion cf Rome. 



tence and strength of this truly Ita- 
lian and Catholic movement. One 
proof is the ability, vigor, and exten- 
sive circulation of Catholic periodi- 
cals. Another proof is in the abun- 
dant collections which have been 
cheerfully contributed by the people 
for the relief of the Sovereign Pon- 
tiff Another is the superb album 
presented to Pius IX. in 1867, filled 
with the names of subscribers to an 
offering of money, jewels, and costly 
gifts, by a deputation of 300 gentle- 
men from a hundred cities of Italy, 
Another is the visit of a thousand 
young men representing their associ- 
ates all over Italy, who brought to 
the Holy Father a present of 425,- 
000 francs. Still more, even in the 
present discouraging and disastrous 
state of aflairs, protests against the 
spoliation of Rome from noblemen, 
gentlemen, and persons of education 
and character, are pouring in at the 
editorial bureaus of the Catholic pe- 
riodicals. They are obliged to be 
cautious in publishing these protests, 
and careful how they carry their hos- 
tility to the irreligious measures of 
the government too far, on account 
of the censorship of the press and 
the danger of suppression. We must 
leave it to time to justify more fully 
the statements we have made, and 
to future events to show what hfe 
and vigor and promise for the future 
are lying partially concealed and dor- 
mant within the bosom of the Italian 
people. What Italian wTJter is more 
enlightened or patriotic than Cesare 
Balbo ? And he has said that those 
who seek the fall of the sovereignty 
of the Pope are "without under- 
standing of the sufferings and expe- 
riences of Italy, deaf to Us history ^ 
Mind to Us mission J^* 

We proceed now to give account 
of the sentiments and acts of Catho- 



ve had 
tnd to I 



lies in different parts of Euix 
cerning the spoliation of tl 
See, so far as these hav 
manifest themselves and 
our knowledge. 

The condition in which! 
and Spain are at present t 
impossible for us to look foi 
tive manifestation in those 1 
for the present. Austria is 11 
anti'Catholic tmnny of a Ff 
premier, and there is not I 
liberty there for a free and sO 
prcssion of the sentiments of 
and loyal Catholic populatioi 
rest of Germany is too de 
gaged in war, and the sloi 
action on important mattcn 
wxll'known a trait of the ' 
character, to allow us to i 
prompt and immediate mart 
of their sohd and stanch m 
Catholic principles. 

We see notice of a meetiii| 
lates and others at Geneva/ 
over by that stanch defends 
Holy See, the Archbishop 1 
more. In Belgium, a prd 
against the unjust invasion I 
has been made in the pai 
and a great meeting has b( 
at Malines, the seal of the 
of Belgium. Ireland, ev^ 
Ireland, that has suffered I 
for its fidelity to the Vicar ( 
during three centuries, is men 
moved at the new outrages 1 
ligion now suffers in tlie pi 
the Sovereign Pontiff, and 
quent pastoral of Card ink 
gives fit expression to the inc 
and grief of all true Irish an 
lie hearts. 

In England, the Catholi 
chy, nobility, and leading cli 
laity appear, with the full % 
of the whole body of the 
people, to be fully arouse 
admire the noble tone of I 
lish Catholic press, ♦^'- t*)-*! 



The Invasion of Rome, 



415 



ragcous attitude of the small but va- 
liant band who contend for truth in 
that grea t em pire o f erro r. 1 h e I a i t y 
of England, headed by the Duke of 
Norfolk, have issued a protest against 
the possessioa of Rome, coupled 
with a demand on the English go- 
vcmraent to intense ne for the rescue 
of the Holy Father from his impri- 
sonment. And, worthy chief of the 
true church of England, the Archbi- 
shop of Westminster, with his single 
voice has uttered a protest and a 
warning, in the cars of Europe and 
ihc worldj more weight}^ and power- 
ful than any which has yet been 
beard outside the walls of the Vati- 
can itself In his private chapel, 
the illustrious archbishop keeps two 
rdics ; one, the mitre of St, Thomas k 
Bccket ; the other, a cloth dipped in 
the blood of Archbishop Pllnkett, 
They could not have fallen into wor- 
thier haiids. The successor of St. 
Augustine, St. Theodore, and St 
Thomas, if not in title, yet in right- 
ful authority, the si>int of the martyr 
of Canterbury, and of his other glo- 
rious predecessors from Augustine 
to Pule, lives in him, and breathes 
through his magnificent discourse. 
ITie head of a national church whose 
ticrgy and laity are largely composed 
of Irishmen, no more fitting banner 
could be given him than the white 
cloth stained with the blood of the 
list Irish martyr to the cause of the 
fopc in Great Britain* For the Catho- 
lics of our own country, also, no more 
fitiingemblem of the spirit which ought 
*o animate them can be found than 
^15 iiame blood-stained banner, which 
**ininils them of the faith of thetr an- 
^5torB, For the Catholic Church in 
^cse United States owes its founda* 
^on, its extension, and its prosperity 
Aicfly to the children of the Irish 
J^c. And here, if anywhere, fidel- 
**yai\d loyalty to the Pope ought to 
•^ a perpetual heirloom linking the 



present and future generations of the 
children of the church with that past 
which is at once so sorrowful and 
so glorious. Fidelity and loyalty to 
the Pope as the supreme head of the 
Catholic Churchy as endowed by 
Christ with the plenitude of spiritual 
sovereignty on earth, cannot exist 
without a distinct and unreserved 
adhesion to the declaration which he 
has made respecting his sovereign 
temporal rights. It is, therefore, the 
obligation and duty of every Catho- 
lic to detest and condemn the inva- 
sion of Rome and the overthrow of 
the Popal monarchy, and to take 
part by his hearty sympathy, by the 
expression of his sentiments, and by 
all acLs which are lawful and expedi- 
ent, with the hierarchy, in resistance 
to the oppression of unjust power 
and efforts for the restoration of the 
sacred rights of the Holy See. 

This is true, in the first place, be- 
cause it Ls the duty of a Catholic to 
detest and oppose robbery, violation 
of treaties, unjust invasions, and wick- 
ed rebellion against lawful authority. 
Viewing the matter merely as a secu- 
lar question, as a question relating to 
nations and sovereigns only, in the 
light of the law of nature and of 
nations, and without reference to the 
position of the Pope as a spiritual 
sovereign^ every one who knows 
its history knows that no just cause 
could be pleaded for the absorption 
of the Roman state into the Italian 
kingdom. Rome has been bombard- 
ed and captured without even a decla- 
ration of war, and with no excuse on 
the part of the Sardinian government 
excepting this, that they could not 
restrain or resist the aspirations of 
the party of action. Those who do 
not know the history of the matter 
have no right to any opinion, and 
ought to follow the opinion of the 
most wise and conscientious judges 
in the Catholic community. Those 



■ 



4i6 



The Jmmsion of Rome^ 



who do know it are Dound by all 
the print i pies of morality, law, and 
honor to sustain the cause of the 
Pope as the cause of a legitimate 
sovereign unjustly invaded and de- 
spoiled. 

So far as the choice of the Roman 
people is concerned, we have already 
mentioned some things tending to 
show that this choice has not been 
fairly and validly manifested in the 
\xi{L popular vote. Since writing 
these paragraphs, we have come 
cross another fact, namely, that, 
ccording to the official returns, 
32,000 voters abstained from voting. 
We do not choose, however, to rest 
even those rights which the Pope has 
in common with other kings upon a 
count of votes. Those who believe 
that the power of suffrage is a natural 
and universal right, that sovereignty, 
therefore, resides in and always re- 
mains with the majority, who may 
delegate and withdraw the execution 
of its prerogatives, make and destroy 
constitutions, dynasties, and govern- 
ments, at will, may argue that the 
PojK- is a tenant-at-will of his throne, 
dependent on the sovereign people. 
Sucli extreme radicals hold a posi- 
tion diametrically opposite to Catho- 
lic principles* This is not a conve- 
nient ojii>ortunity to argue with such 
persons. AVe are at present arguing 
widi Catholics who acknowledge that 
they are bound to hold Catholic prin- 
ciples and to make these their crite- 
rion of judgment in all cases, with- 
out exception. We therefore merely 
stale the fact that tlae radical doc- 
trine in politics is one that iscontrar>^ 
to the teaching of Catholic Iheolo- 
igians and jurists, to the constant 
profession and practice of the su- 
preme tribunals of the church, and 
incompatible with Catholic princi- 
[pies. We do not delay in the proof 
this aftirmation, because we are 
ag to the point presently by a 



shorter and more direct fonit 
therefore advance from thequcnitf ' 
the temporal rights of the l^^|R;o» 
sidered merely as a lawfii] sotoop* 
to the higher one of hb lifbotf^e 
Vicar of Christ and Vic«gerciitclGod 
upon earth — a question wbk^ sol- 
lows up the other entirely. 

At the outset, we distinpish 1 
tween the personal sovereigntj'flfll 
Vicar of Christ, which consists b to 
independence of and superiority ( 
all civil sovereignty, and his rcali 
administrative sovereignty, whkht 
sists in his rightful possession of faof* 
ly power over a specific icrriiaiy,»ilh 
its inhabitants. The former is of 4* 
vine right and inherent in hisspintBll 
supremacy ; the latter is isi h« 
right, and attached to that sup 
cy. In regard to t!ie divine 1 

the personal sovereignty of th 

we say* first, that it is a neceS*T 
conseipience of the immunity of 4<^ 
whole hierarchy from the 
jurisdiction of temporal iribu 
ways held by Catholic tradid 
right conferred by Jesus Chr 
celebrated canonist, Cardinal^ 
thus lays down tl»e principles oM 
tholic law on this subject: 
these things are so, and that thd 
munity of the clergy from the \ 
forum was perpetually and con 
observed in the church, and wc« 
not trace its origin and bftr^'**' 
either to the apostles or tl 
pontiffs or councils of b. . 
evidently established that th 
nity proceeded from a divin 
And this sentence is proved in tl 
markable manner by \\w 
c o u n t i I s. Fo r t h e C o u n < 
(5th) under the Sovereign Pontiti i 
X., in its ninth session sayi*: *!5it 
no power is given to laymen ovtr^" 

clesiastics either by divine or ^ •'''' 

right.' And the Council of l 
part u chapter 20^ afl&ri 
immunity is 'most ondtJ 



The Tnvasian of Rome. 



4U 



]y by divine and human 
>o, also, the Council of Trent, 
XV., chapter 20, d^ Reform,^ 
he immunity of the church 
cclesiastical persons was es- 
by the ordinance of God 
ecclesiastical sanctions,' ■' • 
PS, of course, a fortiori^ that 
f, as the supreme judge of all 
Jical causes and persons \\\ 
^lal forum, is himself above 
, whether ecclesiastical or 
can be judged by nu one. 
more precisely declared and 
t)y the famous bull of Boni- 
I., and most unmistakably 
. by a passage in St. Mat- 
ospel, as explained by Catho- 
jon: 

when they were come to Ca- 
V, (hey ihat received the di- 
^anie to J^ier and said to him : 
your master pay the didrach- 
fe said r yes. Ami when he 
r into the house, J^esus pre- 
kf/, saying: What is thy opin- 
nf Of whom do the kings 
\rth take tribute or custom f 
ten chi/dren, or of strangers / 
pit: of itmngers. yes us said 
fltten the children are free. But 
\ay not scandalize them, go thou 
', and cast in a hook / and 
which shatl first come up^ 
d when thou hast opened its 
lou shait find a stater : take 
giix it to them for me ana 
Our Lord associates in this 
act St. Peter with himself, .is 
IQ from tribute, because he 
;he family of kings, paying 
dicless, voluntarily, in order 
smdalize the parties concern- 
las always been the Catholic 
,tion of this paf^sage that the 
Is of Pcler ViX^jure divino so- 
owmg no subjection, even 

far. f^h. lib. UL csp. 1. 1 5^* P< 13^. 
YOL. XIl. — 27. 



in temporals, to any civil authority 
and that whatever obedience they 
have voluntarily rendered at certain 
times to emperors Ims been merely a 
condescension, Hke that of our Lord 
himself on the earth, practised for the 
sake of the common good. 

The temporal power of the popes 
over certain provinces adjacent to 
the city of Rome^ and over the city 
itself, is derived, as the author just 
cited declares, ''from the munificence 
and liberality of sovereign jjrinces, 
the voluntary and free gift of the 
people, long prescription, onerous con- 
tracts, and other legitimate titles/'* 
This is a human right, or right found- 
ed on human law and authority. It 
is, however, a perfect right, and one 
which, according to the principles of 
Catholic morality, cannot be taken 
back by the parties which originally 
conceded it. Moreover, as a right con- 
ceded to the Roman Church for the 
benefit of religion and the service of 
Almighty God, it is classed among 
things sacred, which cannot be invad- 
ed without the guilt of sacrilege. The 
necessity of it to the full indepen- 
dence of the Pope, as head of the 
church, is obvious enough. Even 
Victor Emmanuel and the Lan^a ca- 
binet have admitted the reasonable- 
ness of leaving to the Pope personal 
sovereignty and guaranteeing his 
comjilete independence in the exer- 
cise of his spiritual office. And 
statesmen hke .\apoleon L, Mctter- 
nich, Guizot, Thiers, and a host of 
others, have declared enii>haticnlly 
that tliis independence cannot subsist 
without a temporal monarchy. Theo- 
retically, it is possible. W'e can im- 
agine a state of things in which the 
kings and nations of Christendom 
should contorm themselves to the« 
laws of the church, and the Pope 
possess the liberty and the means 

t S0i^, ^nr, Pttk, lib. U. cap, i^ f 40, p. 977. 



4i8 



The Invasion of Rome. 



of exercising his full jurisdiction 
without any hindrance from and 
with the full co-operation of a tem- 
jjoral ruler in Rome. We can like- 
wise imagine a possible state of 
things in New York which would 
render policemen and locks upon 
bank-safes unnecessary. But such 
ideal conditions will never become 
real in this world, and therefore in 
practice and in point of fact the 
Pope must possess a temporal prin- 
cipality. We might prove this at 
length with the greatest ease, but at 
present we are intent upon showing 
what is the authoritative judgment 
of the rightful judge on this ques- 
tion, and what Catholics are obliged 
in conscience to hold, rather than 
the motives and reasons upon which 
this judgment is based. Among the 
numerous documents which might be 
quoted on this head, we select two or 
three, which will be amply sufficient 
to cover the whole ground. 

The ApostoHc Letter of Pius IX., 
Ad ApostoliccB Sedis Fastigium^ dated 
August 22, 185 1, is directed against 
the works on canon law published 
by Professor Nuytz, of the Athenajum 
at Turin. In this Encyclical, the So- 
vereign Pontiff says : 

** In these books and theses, under the 
specious appearance of asserting the 
rights both of the priesthood and monar- 
chy, such errors arc taught that, in place 
of the precepts of salutarj' doctrine, poi- 
sonous draughts are administered to the 
minds of the young. For this author, in 
his erroneous propositions and the com- 
ments on them, has not been ashamed to 
teach his auditors, and to publish through 
the press, under a certain guise, of no- 
velty, all those opinions which were 
long ago condemned and rejected by the 
Roman pontifts, our pri'drccssors. espe- 
cially John XXII., Hencdict XIV., Pius 
VI., and (iiegory XVI., and by numerous 
decrees of councils, esi)ccially the Fourth 
Lateran. the Florentine, and the Triden- 
tinc. Inasmuch as it is publicly and 
• openly asserted in the published work<t 



of the said author : That the chui 
no power of empIo}nng force, n 
temporal power, direct or indirect 
that nothing hinders the transfer 
supreme pontificate from the Rom 
and bishop to another city and 
by the judgment of any general • 
or the act of all the nations ; . . 
the children of the Christian and 
lie Church dispute among ther 
concerning the compatibility of il 
poral with the spiritual monarchy, 
etc., etc. — wherefore, etc., etc., we 
bate and condemn, and we will an 
mand that all should hold to be 
bated and condemned the aforesaid 
as containing propositions and do 
respectively false, rash, scandalou 
neous, injurious to the Holy Sec 
gating from the rights of the sam 
verting the government and divir 
stitution of the church, schismatic 
retical, favoring Protestantism a 
propagation, leading to heresy ; 
the system long ago condemned 
retical in Luther, Baius, Massilii 
lavinus, Jandunus, Mark Antoi 
Dominis, Richer, Laborde, and the 
bers of the Synod of Pistoia, as j 
others equally condemned by the < 
and, moreover, subversive of the < 
of the Council of Trent." 

This canon law of Nuytz, 
summarily condemned, is the 
book of Victor Emmanuel's thet 
a summar)' of the principles 1 
party of Febronius, Joseph II 
yamts — that party which woul 
disguise itself under the nan 
Catholic, while it is anti-papa 
anti-Roman. Any one who pre 
to be a devoted and loyal soi 
spiritual subject of the Holy F 
can easily see from this one coi 
nation that he cannot sustain 
profession and at the same time 
opinions directly .springing out 
the condemned system. 

In the magnificent Allocuti< 
the 20th of Ai)ril, 1849, Piu* 
says : 

•' Among these our most ardent d 
we cannot avoid specially admon 
and reproving those who applauc 



T/iv jMvashn of Rome, 



decree by which ihe Roman Pontiff is 
despoiled of all the honor and dignity of 
his civil princedom, and assert that this 
dcciee conduces in the highest degree 
toward procuring the liberty and felicity 
of tlic church itself. But here wc pub- 
licly and openly profess that we say these 
tilings without any ambition of ruling or 
desire of temporal principality^ since ovir 
tistc and disposition arc entirely aliun 
Jrom any kind of domination, Uui the 
character of our office demands that wc 
should defend the ri>?hts and possessions 
of the Holy Roman Church, and the lib- 
bcfty of the same see which is connecied 
With the Ubeity and usefulness of the 
whole church, with all our might, by de- 
fending the civil principality of the Apos- 
lie Sec. And, indeed, (hose men who, 
applauding the decree alluded to, affirm 
such false and absurd things, either are 
ignorant or feign ignorance of fhe fact, 
that by a singular counsel of Divine Pro- 
vidence. when the Roman empire was 
divided in so many kingdoms and iealms» 
ihc Roman Pontiff, to whom the govern- 
ment and care of the whole church was 
Commtttcd by Christ the Lord, obtained 
a cifil princedom for this cause, that he 
might possess that full liberty for ruling 
the church itself and protecting its unity 
which is required for fulfilling the office 
of Uic apostolic ministry. For it is evi- 
dent to all that the faithful populations, 
nations, and kingdoms would never yield 
full conhdencc and obedience to the Ro- 
man Pontiff if tliey saw him subject to 
the dominion of any prince or govern- 
ment and by no means free ; since it is 
plain that the nations and kingdoms 
whose populations hold the Catholic 
faith would vehemently suspect and nc- 
vcr cease to fear that the Pontiff might 
eonfomi his acts to the will of that prince 
or govefnment within whose realm he 
lifcd, and therefore would not hesitate 
fTCfjuenUy to resist these acts under that 
pUDtexi/* 

Wc have quoted these two docu- 
ments at some length in order to ex- 
hibit more clearly the jiurjKirt of two 
censures contained in the Syllabus of 
1864, since these are the precise docu- 
ments referred to in the aforesaid 
Sylbbus. 

The 75th of the propositions con- 
demned in the Syllabus is that **the 



children of the Christian and Ca- 
tholic Church dispute among them- 
selves concerning the compatibility 
of the temporal with the spiritual 
monarchy/' The 76lh is, *' The abro- 
gation of the Civil Princedom which 
the Apostolic See possesses would 
conduce in the highest degree to the 
liberty and felicity of the church/' 
In die lincyclical which precedes the 
Syllabus, the Sovereign Pontiff de- 
clares : 

"We reprobate, proscribe, and con- 
demn all and singular the depraved opin- 
ions and doctrines singly mentioned in 
these letters by our apostolic authority, 
and we will and command that they 
should be entirely held as reprobated^ 
proscribed, and condemned by all the 
children of the Catholic Church." 

The Pontiff also says : 

**We cannot pass over in silence the 
audacity of those persons who, not endur- 
ing sound doctrine, contend that assent 
and obedience can be withheld without 
sin and without any damage of ihc Ca- 
tholic profession from those judgments 
and decrees of the Apostolic See whose 
object is declared to pertain to the gene- 
ra! good of the church, and the rights 
and discipline of ihe same, if only it does 
not touch dogmas of faith and morals. 
How entirely opposed this is to the Ca- 
tholic dogma of the full power divinely 
given to the Roman PontitT by our Lord 
Christ himself, of feeding, ruling, and 
Koverning the universal church, there is 
no one wdvo does not clearly and mani- 
festly sec and understand," 

Finally, the Council of the Vatican 
adds all the moral force and authori- 
ty of the unanimous judgment of the 
bishops and prelates composing it t« 
the supreme and decisive judgment 
of the Vicar of Christ so often givea 
in the following admonition at the 
end of the Dogmatic Constitution on 
Catholic faith : ** And since it is not 
enough to avoid her^ikal prainf}\ un- 
less at the same time those errors 
which more or less approach to it arc 
carefully shunned, we admonish all 



420 



Letter from Rovte. 



of the DUTY OF OBSERVING LIKEWISE 

THE Decrees and Constitutions 

BY which depraved OPINIONS OF 

that sort which are not in this 
place distinctly enumerated are 
condemned and forbidden by this 
Holy See." 

What has been said is enough to 
show that every motive, natural and 



supernatural, points out clearh 
course for all faithful Catholic? 
is one of stanch defence of the i 
of the Holy See, of loud pi 
against the violation of these ] 
by the ItaHan government, and c 
swerving, unfaltering loyalty tc 
suffering but glorious Pontiff, 
IX. 



LEITER FROM ROME. 



[As we were going to press, we re- 
ceived the following letter from an 
American Catholic gentleman now 
residing iri Rome. We give it to our 
readers as conveying reliable infor- 
mation about events in which ever)' 
true Catholic must feci a deep inte- 
rest. — Ed. Catholic World.] 

Rome, Oct. 15, 1870. 

In times of great excitement, peo- 
ple arc apt to fi^ive their fancies or 
apprehensions for facts, and it be- 
comes extremely difficult to arrive 
at the exact truth. This has been evi- 
denced in the occurrences that have 
lately taken place in the Papal States. 
It is simply with a view of R:ivin^ a 
correct account of these events that 
now, three weeks after the Italian 
occupation of Rome, we take up our 
pen for the purpose of writinj^ only 
what we know ourselves or have had 
from creditable eye-witnesses, or 
have gleaned from the confessions 
of the conquerors themselves. 

The mission of Count Ponza di 
San Martino, the letter of Victor 
Emmanuel, the reply of the Sove- 
reign Pontifl* and the subsequent 
invasion of the Pontifical territory 
by Generals Cadorna, Angi<iletti. 
and Bixio, we pass over as too well 
known and authenticated. The order 



had been Rfiven to the troops t 
back on Home, and wherever 
ble it was carried out. Col. La 
rette, in command at Vitcrbo 
ceeded, by strenuous efforts and 
ed marches across the counti 
reaching Civita Vecchia. and Cc 
Azzanesi. whose character for 1 
ty malignant persons had tri- 
asperse, brought all his nK-n 
VelU'tri safely to Rome. Co 
nication with Civita Vecchia 
kept up until the 1 5th of Septei 
when the railway was cut. and 
place, threatened by a large 
under (General Bixio, and by a s 
fleet of seven iron-clads. capita 
unfortunately, without firing a 
On the evening of the 14th ol 
tember, the advanced guards o 
neral Cadorna came near enoii 
Home to have a skirmish with 
of the Zouaves and dragoons o 
the Klaminian Way. One of th 
cers of the Italian lancers, the ( 
Crotti, was taken prisoner ; whi 
the side of the Papal troops. 
Sergeant Shea, was seriously W( 
ed, and several were captured, 
ing this and the next three 
troops poured into the Camp 
and took up ]>ositions arounc 
city, some crossing the Tibe 
a pontoon-bridge and transfe 
large siege-guns that were to be 



Letter from Rome, 



for making the breach. These gu ns 
were of brge calibre, and did their 
work cflectually. In the ineanwhilc, 
Ihc Papal troops completed their bar- 
f icadcs at the gates and the bastions 
in front of them, and on the r7th, 
iSth, and 19th of September there 
were *)ccasional skirmish ing and can- 
nonading. The points fort i fled were 
the Porta Pancrazio, the Porta San 
Lcircnzo, Porta San Giovanni, the 
entrance of the railway* the Porta 
Pia, the Porta Salara, and the Porta 
del Popolo. After a great deal of 
unproductive parley, the besiegers, 
linding they could gain nothing by 
it. gave notice on the iglli that they 
would attack the next day at five 
o'clock* The intimation had no ef- 
fect on the Papal commanders, the 
Pope having already, in a letter bear- 
ing date of this day, thanked the 
army for their devotion, ami signi- 
fied the course he wished pursued. 

The Papal army, the whole army, 
both native troops and foreign, did 
not belie the good opinion of their 
Sovereign. The deviation and con- 
rage of all, especially of the natives, 
subject to a pressure to which the 
foreign clement were strangers, and 
which it required all the force of 
religious principle to resist, hav^e 
sefdom been surpassed. In the 
fighting that followed, the artillery. 
principally native* suffered most in 
proportion; while the faithful dis- 
charge of their duty by the native 
gens d'armes and their auxiliaries, 
uativcs of the provinces formerly 
enlisted under tlie name of squaitrt- 
giitri to suppress brigandage, was 
such as to gain them the distinction 
of the hatred and violence of the 
mob. We make one remark here : 
it is that, when one sees such fideli- 
ty in the troops, it is a sign that the 
real feeling of the m.ijorily and of 
the good is with the authority the 
troops support. Let us go on with 
our narrative. 

With praiseworthy punctuality, on 
the morning of the 20th of Septem- 
ber. the first gun of tl»e attack was 
fired against the city, and in a few 
laents the cannonading became 



generjil. The points assailed wxre 
the l^incio and Porta Pinciana, the 
Porta Salara, the wall between this 
and Porta Pia also fiercely battered, 
Porta San Giovanni, and the three 
archcsofthe railway entrance. The 
bombardment from outside the Por- 
ta San Pancrazio, fortunately, did 
not begin until shortly after eight 
o'clock, it is said through failure of 
General Bixio to come up to time. 
The attack was very determined and 
uninterrupted along the whole line, 
and was replied to w^ith a vigor and 
spirit that did honor to the Htllc 
park of f^uns of the Pontifical army, 
and which their enemies appreciated 
and applauded. For live hours and 
a half the roar and din of cannon 
and musketry was kept up, the 
shots averaging at times thirty 
in a minute. Shortly after eight 
o'clock, the firing began at the Jani- 
culum. Here General Bixio, famous 
for his raging declarations against 
Rome and the cardinals — whom he 
would throw into the Tiber^ — com- 
manded a division, and, apparently 
angry with the Romans because they 
w^ould not rise against the Pope, be- 
gan throwing shellswithout number 
into the city. The shells passed 
clear over the fortifications and came 
down into the parts of Rome thit 
lie on the left bank of the Tiber. 
There is no help for it— cither Gene- 
ral Bixio's artillery was the most un- . 
skilful in the world, or he absolute- ' 
ly intended to shell the city. The 
Porta l*ancrazio,as everyone knows, 
is more than a quarter of a mile from 
the river ; and yet not only the 
houses on the same side of the Tiber 
with it were struck, but the Piazza 
Parnese, the vicinity of San Andrea 
delia V'alle, tlic Ghetto, and even the 
Piazza of the Pantheon, suffered. 
One shell narrowly escaped striking 
the entablature of the famous temple 
of Agrippa. and carried destruction 
to a house standing on the side of 
the square next the Corso. Alto- 
gether, the projectiles that fell in 
the town were numerous; we know 
positively ourselves of some eighty 
or ninety spots struck by shells, and 



Letter from Rome. 



we ccunteri on the farade cf St. J :hn 
Late ran an-i the adj fining palace the 
iTSiC^'i of fifty. While all this was d > 
ing. the real work of the day was gj- 
in;^on at the wall between the Porta 
Fia and the F^orta Salara. The hea\-\- 
siege-guns told against the old wall 
of Aurelian, certainly never buiit to 
resist the cannon of the nineteenth 
century. The masonry trembled 
under the terrific strokes, and at 
last gave way ; by ten o'clock a 
large wide breach laid the city 
of the Popes open to the army of 
the house of Savoy. Six battalions 
of bersai^lieri with other tr«>ops had 
been drawn up in a copse near by 
awaiting the order to advance. It was 
given ; they moved up near the wall. 
for a short time crouched in the field, 
and then with a loud cry, *' Savoia," 
rushed forward to their easy victory. 
They had not time to do much ; alrea- 
dy General Zappi, in accordance with 
the wishes of Pius IX., who had 
hoisted the white flag on the cu- 
pola of St. Peter's, had arrived at 
the Porta Pia. and given orders that 
it should be hoisted there too. The 
firing ceased, and those whose duty 
it was to treat with General Cadorna 
repaired to the Villa Albani, outside 
the Porta Salara, where he had his 
headquarters. At this time occur- 
red a flagrant violation of the rules 
of warfare. Both sides sh<mld have 
remained resting on their arms, with- 
out advancing. The Italians, instead, 
availed themselves of this cessation 
of hostilities to scale the last barri- 
cade. They were ordered back, and 
refused ; and thereupon the fore- 
most Z(*uaves fired, killing a major 
and wounding others, though they 
themselves were immediately shot 
down. Now began the scenes of 
disorder and violence that were to 
know no cessation for three days. 
With the troops poured into the citv 
upwards of four thousand "emi- 
grati," or [)olitical exiles, and many 
wor.ien. To th( se men. and espe- 
cially to the women who a(:r()mi)a- 
nied them, nothing was so delightful 
as to insult and ill-treat the foreign 
troops in the service of the Holy 



Father. They surrounded those who 
wcr* isolated, tore oflf their medals. 
their wccoutremenis, spat in their 
i2.zri<. and. in many instances, beat 
them S3 unmercifully thai they feii 
lifeless, to ill appearance. We know 
positively uf four treated in this 
manner : and so nunerous arc the 
recitals of similar outrages with fa- 
tal consequences that we should not 
be at all surprised if not a few were 
butchered or thrown into the Tiber. 
For this, however, we do not answer, 
as we are giving only details of 
which we are certain, in the mean- 
time, the capitulation was negotia- 
ting, and. when signed and approved, 
was executed at once, though the 
city was already, to a great extent, 
in the hands of the invading forces 
and their horde of returned outlaws. 
These latter got well down into the 
city in time to take part in and di- 
rect the demonstration in favor of 
the former. The cheering began in 
the Piazza della Pitota, when some 
officials, sent to present the act of 
capitulation, reached the oflfice of 
the commander-in-chief, and on the 
Ouirinal. as the troops advanced. 
Up to this time good order had been 
kept by the gens d'armes and squad- 
rii^/itri. Now the people in detacheJ 
bodies began to set on soldiers sep- 
arated from their corps, and to at- 
tack the p<^sts held by the police. 
In several instances they were met 
by stout resistance, and the capitol 
held out against them until the royal 
troops came up and made known to 
the Papal tro(^ps the news of the 
surrender. It is well for the foreign 
soldiers and the police, with their 
auxiliaries, that they kept together 
with their arms, or were, if unarmed. 
escorted by the regular soldiers of 
the Italian army; otherwise the loss 
of life would have been fearful. 
Gradually the pris.mers of war were 
gathered into the Citta Leonina. and 
tluro remained until the morning 
of the 22d, when they marched out 
with the honors of war. Here good 
order prevailed. In the remainder 
of the city, the masses, relieved of 
the presence of the police, and not 



Letter from Rome. 



423 



d with by the conquerors, 
e anxious to propitiate the 
nd have the demonstration 
favor unaUoyed by any act 
on their part, g^av^e them- 
p to all kinds of excesses. 
ne who has been in Italy 
what a vendetta means^ and 
not dwell on those said to 
>ccurred. but which are to be 
das private assassinations, and 
frc have only an occasional 
tl to the political events of 
.we are speaking. The acts 
snce were principally directed 
; the Papal troops, who were 
ily protected by the Italian 
I individually when their 
e was sufHcient to sustain 
S>luntary interference. This, 
\tt was not always the case» 
laves were taken from the 
of their protectors and bru- 
featen. The religious institu- 
icxt excited the wrath of the 
ace, who had now amcmg them 
Is who had escaped from pri- 
cn the doors were thrown 
free the political prisoners, 
nstances perquisitions were 
soldiers, led on by officers, 
civilians representing them- 
es authorized to search for 
rd F^apal Zouaves. In this 
r for purpose of violence 
ipine, were visited Trinita 
Ute, Villa Lanti, the novi- 
the Sacred Heart, a monas- 
\ Trasterere, the Irish Col- 
ic Roman Seminary, and the 

first of these houses is an 
\y of religious ladies of the 
Heart for young girls. The 
Klanccs were very aj^grava* 
The persons conducting the 
were unauthorized civilians, 
id with them a squad of sol- 
'They came at night, hunt- 
^•where, to the terror of the 
jdies and their young charg- 
sh fin king from violating the 
f of iheirapartments. The fact 
arly all the sisters in this 
ire ladies of position— not a 
les of rank — while the pupils 



belong to the best famih'cs, will ena- 
ble men of gentlemanly feeling to 
appreciate to some extent the grav- 
ity of the insult. 

At the Gesii, a major of the ^- 
sagUt^rf insolently entered the house, 
made all the fathers leave their 
rooms and assemble in the corndors, 
and listen to his incoherent and in- 
sulting remarks. 

At the Roman Seminary, at one 
o'clock A.M., under pretence that 
Papal soldiers were concealed in the 
house, a captain, with a force of 
Some doyen men, presented them- 
selves at the door, knocking furi- 
ously for admittance. One of the 
superiors came down and opened to 
them, when he was forthwith seized, 
and, having a pist<il placed at each 
ear, was told to givo. up the con- 
cealed men. He was self-possessed 
enough to act with the proper pru- 
dence. The captain asked for Hghts, 
and the men dispersed through the 
seminary, following <>nt the orders 
given. When they retired, some 
silver spoons and forks and a watch 
were missing, while a quantity of 
tlie fish for which Newfoundland 
waters are famed, owing to its tell- 
tale odor, was left upon the stair- 
way. 

This state of things began to be so 
intolerable that the new authorities 
determined that a stop must he put 
to it. But they were in a dilTjculty ; 
they had come to preserve the or- 
der that the Papal governmtfnt, they 
said, could not maintain. Here, at 
the outset, they found themselves 
with a city full of rioters — their aux- 
iliaries in tearing down and tramp- 
ling on the armorial bearings of the 
Ponlifl', the symbol of his authority, 
and in rendering helpless the former 
police force. How should they know 
the bad characters abroad in the 
town, and the authors of the mis- 
deeds against which they were re- 
ceiving hourly complaints? There 
was nothing else to do but turn to 
the former police employes. They 
were sought out in their hiding- 
places, and promised protection. It 
was a wise and timely thought, as 



424 



Letter from Rome, 



well as a compliment to the Papal 
government, and a de facto apology 
for the calumnies heaped on it. By 
the aid of the knowledge of the Pa- 
pal police, the chcitaliers (Vindustric, 
as well as their bolder confreres^ were 
safely lodged in proper quarters, 
within forty-eight hours, to the num- 
ber of four hundred. It is said that 
subsequently the number swelled to 
fifteen hundred. 

At the same time, telegrams were 
sent to Florence, and the detach- 
ments of the guardie di pubblica si- 
cureszah^^n to pour into the town. 
Peaceful citizens began to breathe 
freely and to leave their houses. To 
do the troops justice, they have as a 
rule behaved well. 

We have allowed this topic to 
carry us away from other points that 
deserve mention. We have said a 
demonstration was made on the en- 
try of the Italian troops into Rome. 
The first impression of any stranger 
who saw it was that there was uni- 
versal rejoicing at the occupation of 
the city. Success with many in this 
world is everything, and material 
interests have so powerful an influ- 
ence that only men of principle and 
strong character stand up for a lost 
cause. Xevertheless, the fear of per- 
sonal violence and the threats of 
the mob had an effect on many who 
otherwise would not have given the 
least sign of approval. We are per- 
sonally acquainted with several per- 
sons of this description ; and things 
wont to such a stage, and so great 
was the alarm, that those most do- 
voted to the S>ve reign Pontitf ad- 
vised the use both of banners and 
illumination to escape from violence 
or broken windows. Wo could men- 
tion some particulars <mi the subjeci 
that are most convincing from the 
chancier ot" the persons concerned, 
hut wo omit doing so through mo- 
tives ot" dolicacv. S^ universal bo- 
camo tlv.^ use of the tiicv^lor cockndo 
that, in a niannor, it I ^st its signifi- 
cance. 

As t > the Iar»::o vote civen for an- 
nexation to the kingdv>m v^f Italy— 
anv one who saw the numbers v^f 



strangers that poured into 
could understand how easy 
be to poll a large vote. V 
United States know how the 
have been managed in pa 
A friend of ours travelling : 
ligno came to Rome in a 1 
of Garibaldians provided v 
passes only two days bel 
plebiscite. It is uncloubte 
that the city was full of s 
principally men. Anothci 
of the plebiscite is this — nu 
distributed with a liberal 1 
fact known to us is wort I 
The day before the vote, a 
sented himself to an inhal 
the Citta Leonina, and at on 
** How many men are tlier 
house ?" " Six," said the 
"Well," said his interrogat» 
are six tickets, each for one | 
meat, and six for two pc 
bread each — and here are si: 
tickets were all taken, thou 
for the bread and meat \ 
only ones used. A write 
Cn/fi) CaNo/ica says he sav 
band of persons marchint 
capital with a banner at tl 
marked " CV/Ai Z<\v//>/.r." 
thouj^rht him of taking a 
the Citta Leonina. and to h 
ishment f«:»und it as pi>p 
over. The voting in groat 
done by corporations — the 
shoemakers, smiths, carpon 
forming separate bodies. T 
man was known, and as 
had to be given publicly it 
courage tt^ say //l\ Wo saw c 
one oi those processions p 
the stroot. and it certainly ! 
little ri«iirulous : one wr)i 
thought it a funeral proces* 
it nrt f^r the fl,ag ahead 
f x'ca < i V ^ n a I ci t /: \j — u 1 1 o red 
• 'f tiio .-/■.'v^/. and taken i 
others in a way to give tht 
siwi o\ anything but spt) 
acti-^n. In conclusion, we 
of this p-ol-tiscrie that it wa 
Hero is a city taken after f 
ha'.f h'^urs' b.^mbardment, 
po :^o are asked lo vote 3 
to the wish of the victor, t 



Letter from Rome. 



435 



between the anarchy of 
d republic or the government 
ing Victor Emmanut-1. Mo- 
■jTitics arc full of farces, but 
Hvas ever more completuiy 
,haii ihfs Roman plebiscite of 

absorbing feature in the re- 

Pthnt has just taken place 
ondition of the Sovereign 
Whatever may be said to 
jDtrary, the Pope is a prison- 
In the evening of the 22d of 
ruber* " Morte al Papai" was 
:tl \n the Piazza di V. Pictro ; 
as immediately followed by an 
l^n the entrances to the pa- 
Blbc Vatican, which was rc- 
Ry the fire of the Papal gens 
*s with a loss of two killed and 
Awoundcd on the part of Lhe 
I The result was the entrance 
fctaliau troops into the Citta 
K and the placing of a guard 
Kntc of the Vatican. Tiie 
Kjch Pius IX. has addressed 
\ cardinals sufliciently shows 
\te of things to make it super- 
for us to dwell on the vexa- 
and espionage to which he 

t nee forth be subjected. This 
liberty guaranteed to him 
S divinely appointed to rule 
;n irrespective of nationality. 
eivc reports from those wlio 
th to act in his name and with 
thority, to receive appeals in 
)f erroneous judgments, and 
c decrees in matters of more 
t than life or death ! Is it 
•le that the Catholic world 
igto allow this ? Is it possible 
re who have set apart a por- 
£our own territoi-y, and de- 
■I to governmental purpos- 
Vie expense of its elective 
tse, for the benefit of the 
>untry. arc going to grudge 
irch Catholic the reserva- 
a trifling portion of the 
all essential points hither- 
better governed than the 
States? Are we to permit 
\t%l of all the nations of the 
J be subject to the caprice of 
klc nation % 



We jshould assuredly feel as a per- 
sonal insult, and as such resent it. 
if any one were to undertake to revile 
with indecent caricatures the chief- 
magistrate of our country. We all 
know how to distinguish between 
raillery and insult, between what is 
done to amuse and what is done for 
quite another purpose. We bear 
the one \ the other we stigmatize as 
it merits, and put down by legiti- 
mate means. The person of the 
Sovereign Pontiif is sacred in the 
discharge of his duty ; he speaks with 
the authority of Christ; and be- 
cause he does so the streets of 
Rome at this moment teem with re- 
presenLrtions and designs the na- 
ture of which will not bear descrip- 
tion, and in which the august per- 
son of the Vicar of our Lord is made 
the jest and sport of the profane 
and blasphemous ! 

The faith, too, of the Roman peo- 
ple is assailed. Infidel works of all 
kinds are scattered among the peo- 
ple, and political doctrines are taught 
by means of parodies on the cate- 
chism^ in which the sacred formulas 
of the sublimcst truths are degraded 
to being the vehicle of ideas false 
and foolish, not to say blasphemous. 
Wc believe that the Romans will 
not lose their faith as a people. They 
have been subjected to severe tests 
before this without such a result. Rut 
there is great danger for individuals, 
and that the education of a religious 
and higldy cultivated people will 
be vitiated. On this ground, also, 
there is a claim on the interference 
of every Catholic in behalf of the 
Church of Rome, so justly termed 
mater et caput immium eccUsuiritm — 
the mother and head of all churches. 

Rut what interference are we Ca- 
tholics of America capable off The 
condition of our country, the neu- 
trality as regards all religious bo- 
dies obligatory on the go%^ernment 
by the terms of the constitution, be- 
sides other wxighty reasons, render 
active interference impossible. This 
is true. But there is another kind 
of interference that will be of avail 
at the proper timc^thc intervention 



426 



New Publications. 



of prayer. We must pray for the 
Sovereign Pontiff more than we have 
hitherto done. Our common father 
is surrounded hy trials ; we must 
ask God to give him hght and 
strength to do what in the de- 
signs of Providence will tend to 
the good of religion. We can come 
to the aid of the Pontiff also by 
our contributions, now more need- 
ed than ever. The subscriptions to 
the Peter's Pence should be larger 
than heretofore, and show the usurp- 



ing government that our head is 
not a pensioner on their bounty. 
Finally, we can interfere by our sym- 
pathy, that will show the reproba- 
tion in which we hold the act of 
those who have despoiled the church 
of her legitimate possessions, and 
reduced to bondage him whom Pe- 
pin and Charlemagne and the voice 
of Christendom had constituted free 
of all earthly control, that he might, 
without trammel attend to the intet-^ 
csts of Jesus Christ on earth. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



Companions of My SoiiTrnE. By Ar- 
thur Helps. From the Seventh Lon- 
don Fdition. Boston : Roberts Broih- 
ers. 1S70. 

This is a very neat and elegant 
edition of a well-known and favt^rite 
book, first published, we think, in 
1851. Its popularity in the reading 
world is sulfioienily attested by the 
fact that this American reprint is 
from the seventh English edition. 

Mr. Helps, at one time private 
secretary to the Oiiecn. has spent a 
large portion of his lite, if we are 
not mistaken, in othcial position. 
Hut he has at the same time, as is so 
common with persons engaged in 
politics or the civil service in Eng- 
land and so rare with the same class 
here. !"oiI,^\ved literary and scholarly 
pursuits, and given tv^ the reading 
world several charming volumes k.^\ 
ess.iys ar.d one or two his lyrical 
works of v. line. 

Tile c ^iiipani.T.s of his s-z'iitude 
are iiis tl:.nii:his an^I retlecii- ns on 
pr-Mo: 



»c-.ai ar.vl r-^Kl:ca. 



.^Iv 



!■'> • ::v. w :;:jh acco:^T:M:iy \\\\\\ .\< 
he s.i:;:itc:s. ^ til.' i wise a'.-r.e. ::i l>.o 
Mi'^'s ar.vi meac..ws ai.i:::^: !*.:> 
count rv-soal. 



' These thoughts and reflection's^ he 
has given us in an easy and u:^cnre- 
strained way, and in a style cl ^car. 
direct, pleasant, and singularly "^trec 
from affectation of any kind. 

The subjects discussed arc m. -^^ny 
and varied, though they are all cr^ on* 
nected by an association of ic^^^^s 
more or less natural. They are ^^^ 
the most part everyday mat "•crs 
constantly written and talked J^'^ 
yet the reader noi familiar with ^3lr. 
Helps need not on this account '^^^ 
a repetition in this book of ^ 
dreary platitudes and diluted cc^^^', 
monplacesof the "Country Parsed "• 
whose essays are on much the s:^*--"*^ 
class of subjects. 

Mr. Helps discusses such subjctf^^^' 
for instance, as " Recreations" ;-^". 
••Small Anxieties** with origi -^^ 
and striking thought, and althoi^ -^ 
never profound, and at times ^^^}\ 
haps a little prosy, he is never tri%^ ^ 



or weax. 

rnc.or the name of the " Great £ 
lireai C:iies.'* Mr. Helps very d 



win 
2r;. 



ite!\ yet plainly and forcibly ixt^^^ 
;•:..» iVste:;:.g sore on the surfa.^* 
;:r civ.Iizaiion which excites ^' 
same time the disgust aod tl^ 



Neio Publications. 



427 



_ est men who live at 

'large populations. 
I of this matter, the au- 
throughout an earnest 
)irit» without any of that 
lentalKy with which the 
r it is tjften approached. 
, who is a member of the 
urch. discusses its con- 
ime length, and shows 
m satisfactory it is to 
it Englishmen, 
ing passages are inler- 
thohc readers, as show- 
sc customs and institu- 

Blessed Motlier. which 
bright, commend them- 
in a merely human and 

of view, to thoughtful 
; her pale : 

sursc, there arc thousands 
is kind in which one feels 

child has slipped out of 

care of people who would 
too glad to aid her, I dare 
LOthcr nor child ever went 
t or chapel ; and in truth, 
est and confess \\\,x\ going 
England is somewhat of an 
jecially to a poor ill-clad 
sj'siem of pews and places, 
openness of churches, ihc 
service, rcBultitiR from the 

services, the air of over- 
id respectability wliich be- 
.and the difficulty of getting 
like, are sad hindrances to 

ilUdrcssedt the sick, the 
idious. the wicked, atid the 

there is nobody into whose 
prl can pour her troubles, 
J <w a hggar. This will be 
ining on my pari to the con- 
cannot help that ; 1 must 
h that is in me." 

^By I was at Rouen ; T 
^frand old cathedral; the 
I doofs were thrown wide 
»on the m;iiket-p]ace tilled 
and in the centre aisle a 
ind her child were praying, 
ffc a few minutes, and these 
smain impressed upon my 
surety vcrj^ good that the 
some place free from 



the restraints, the interruptions, the fa- 
miliarity, and the squalidness of home, 
where they may think a great thought, 
utter a lonely sigh, a fervent prayer, an 
inward waiL And the rich need the same 
thing too." 



The Origin and HrsTony of iRtsit 
Namp-S of P1.ACES. By P. W. Joyce, 
A3r. M.R.I,A, Dublin : McGlashan 
& Gill. Boston; Patrick Donahoe. 

It is a cheering sign rjf the health- 
ful growth of public taste in Ireland 
to tind. from time to time, the ap- 
pearance from the national press of 
such books as this of Mr, Joyce, 
which, though but lately published, 
and treating^ of matters of local in- 
terest, has already reached a second 
edition, the first having found a 
rapid sale not only in Ireland, but in 
the sister kingdoms. The design of 
the work is to give in concise terms 
definitions of the original names of 
locahtics* historical personages, and 
public edifices, civil and religious, in 
Ireland ; and to illustrate by careful 
reference to the best authorities on 
antiquities and philology the ori- 
gin uf the nomenclatures, and the 
legends, more or less aothcntic, as- 
sociated with them. We can well 
believe the author when he states 
that •* the work of collection, ar- 
rangement, and composition was to 
me a never failing source of pleas- 
ure ; it was often interrupted and 
resumed at intervals, and. if ever it 
involved labor, it was really and 
truly a labor of love \' for no desire 
of mere local fame or hope of pecu- 
niary reward could have induced a 
gentlemati of ^Ir* Joyce's standing 
to undertake and so thoroughly ex- 
ecute a work requiring the most 
ininutc research, and doubtless the 
expenditure of much valuable time 
in personally verifying on the spot 
descriptions which others have been 
satisfied to take on hearsay. The 
greatest difficulty with which t!iose 
unacquainted with the Gaelic or Cel- 
tic language have to contend in 
reading Irish history is the peculiar 



428 



Neiv Pttblications, 



construction of the ancient names, 
twelvC'tlHrteenths of which are of 
the original Celtic; for, though the 
founders of that language saw fit lo 
have only sixteen letters in their 
alphabet, they dispbyed an evident 
weakness for the ni u I tiph cation of 
syllables and the inordinate use of 
aspirates in such manner that the 
primary^ sound of many of their let- 
ters is either radically changed, ac- 
cording to their position in a word, 
oraltogelhcr rendered silent. Hence 
we arc frequently frightened at the 
appearance in Irish literature of 
names containing ten, twelve, or 
more letters arranged, lo us niod- 
eros, in the most unpronounceable 
maruier, but which^ in referring to 
Mr Joycc*s glossary, we find sound- 
cd much shorter and possessing a 
euphony quite natural to our cars. 
The historical and topograplncal al- 
lusions are in the main exact and 
correct; indeed, remarkably so, when 
wcconsifler that the author has la- 
bored in a field altogether neglected 
by his predecessors; and his ety- 
mological dcri\Mtit>ns are nut only 
sanctioned by the rules of such Gac* 
lie grammars as we possess, but have 
been critically examined and ap- 
proved by the ablest h'ving Irish 
scholars. The l>ook will be found 
interesting to every person of Irish 
birth or descent, as pointing out in 
detail the peculiarities uf any local- 
ity with which he may be specially 
connected; but its principal value 
is that it constitutes a collection of 
useful facts within the easy reach of 
historical and archirological students 
of all countries. This also seems to 
have been Mr. Joyce's aim in its com- 
position, for in addition to the gh^s- 
sanr^ he has appended a very exten- 
sive and accurate index of names, 
by reference to which the reader can 
at once refer to any place or person 
mentioned in the text. 

Geology and Physical Geoorapiiv of 
BkA7.il, By Ch, Frrd. Uarn, Professor 
of Geologf)' in Cornell Uni\*ers«ty. 
Boston : Fields, Osgood & Co. 1S70. 
Brazil presents a tolerably fresh 



field for scientific explorersj 

such, if able and well informed 
hope to find there a good dcalj 
new and important. The %\ 
results obtained by Profcsso 
siz are still fresh in the nunc 
Profits sor Harttwas also on tl 
known Thayer expedition, 
present volume is the resuf 
servations made on this and 1 
quent journey undertaken on 1 
account. It is arranged accoj 
the provinces of the empire 
valuable facts being recorded i 
ing each in the two Hcpartr 
science specified \n the Bible,| 
others also occasionally; 
with a sufficient amount of less 
nical matter to make the book 
readable by the unprofessi 
Some of the scientific portiotiii 
of general interest, such as th; 
lating to gold and dianiund 
also the question as to the off 
the drift or buulder formatioq 
in Brazil as in our own 
Professor Agassiz ascribes it^| 
as the similar stratum here 
Europe, partly to the action j 
ciers, and believes that there \ 
tain signs of such action cved 
very near the equator— a di 
tainly calculated to enlarge ourU 
of the cold of the glacial pel 
The author also adheres to thi(" 
ion ; hut some other gcolog 
count for the Brazilian drifH 
by the decomposition of 
mations, to which part of it isw 
festiy owing, as ts granted by 
Also the probable age of the I 
caverns of the Rio das VcH 
which an account is givc^ 
question of injportancc, 
which, like that of the simila 
in Europe, cannot yet be con 
as settled ; and the origin 
**turba" deposits is as yirt 3 
interesting mystery. This 1 
found near the shore of ihc j 
Camanni. yields from sevctitj 
a hundred gallons of all to I 
and appears, according to ] 
Flartt, to be a hituminouii mt^ 
very light, and takes fire an 
readily, leaving an ash of ib«^ 



JVnu Pubiications. 



429 



Its contents indicate 
f been deposited under 
addition, we have only 
ntion the chapter on llie 
5 Abrolhos as specially 

> the general reader. A 
is mentioned here am on gf 
ippears that there is a 
•ar Santa Barbara, called 
io** or the cemetery, to 
rding^ to the statement 
le of the neighborhood, 
birds resort on the ap- 
iflth. The autlior visited 
I found the remains of 
f them* some freshly 
aw none anywhere else, 

it would seem not im- 
\t such unaccountable 
lima Is may have some- 

ith the accumulations 
r caverns above-men- 

Hartt is evidently not 
cjl but an admirer of na- 
ofof this, it will only be 

> quote part of his de- 
Rio and vicinity as seen 
rcovado Mountains : 

can lean over the parapet 
[he Corcovado, and took 
in 2,000 feet on ibe temple 
e Botanical Garden, and on 
[6ft dc Frcjtas — anotht^r sky 
e depths sail soli Occcy 
cm gaze on the proud cn- 
1, green with an everlasnng 
hivcring wiih silvery rcflec- 
Cccropias — who can look 
island and sail-dotted sea, 
« creeping tip on ihe long, 
iclies, and iht-n over the ba>% 
ringing widely its sweeping 
I of liilts beyond, the majrs- 
Otg&os heaving iis great 
xqui!&ite blue distance, far 
rel line of the cloud?, iis 
stiarply de6ned against the 
-and c;m inldligcnily take 
Uioo all the geolo/^ical, cli- 
«r «Tt.,rril laws which have 
a is of beauty and 
ILL', and not have his 
3Ycd within him In hornngc 
jjriiose hand has moulded 
out their lineaments, 



spread over them their mantle of vegeta- 
tion, and peopled them with living forms, 
has not gone beyond the alphabet and 
grammar of his science, and his no idea 
of the literature of Nature/' 

The forests of Brazil are usually 
imagined as abounding with animal 
h'fe. Professor Hartt says: 

" It is a very mistaken idea, carefully 
spread abroad by our gcograpliics and 
popular works and pictures, that one may 
everywhere expect to see in the Bnuilian 
forests great boas wreathed uround the 
trees, and all manner of birds and beasts 
in profusion. I have ridden d\\y after day 
through the virgin forest without seeing 
or hearing anything worth shooting, and 
nothing more dangerous than a wasp T 

Ntmierous illustrations and maps 
are interspersed, and an apipendix is 
given on the subject of the Botocudo 
Indians* 



Life of rifK Cure o'Ars, From the 
French of Abbi- Monnin. Wiih intro- 
duction by Archbishop Manuing. Bal* 
limorc: Kelly, Fict & Co. 1S70. 

The Catholic public in this coun- 
try are under obligations to Messrs. 
Kelly (S: Piet for this beautiful work. 
Both style and type are excellent; 
and when we come to the contents, 
we are sure there can be only one 
opinion of them. The Cure of Ars 
W.1S the most extraordinary^ man. in 
respect of supernatural gifts and 
graces, that has appeared since the 
so-called Reformation. And his life 
is a fact to which we specially invite 
the attention of Protestants, It was 
one contiiuious miracle, and furnish- 
es irrefragable proof tliat the tree 
which bore such fruit must not only 
he uncorrupt^ but the same unfailing 
source of all truth and holiness as 
she was in the apostolic age. The 
Cure of Ars was a refutation of Pro- 
testantism from the hand of God 
himself. 



430 



New Publications. 



Nederland aan Piu8 den Reoende. Op 
den XI. April, 1S69. Door J. W. Brou- 
wers, Roomsch - Katholiek Priester; 
Riddcr der Orde van dc Eikenkroon, 
enz., Amsterdam: C. L. Van Langcn- 
huyscn. 1870. 

The Netherlands to Pius, Reigning 
Pontiff. For the 11 Ih of April, 1S69. 
By J. W. Brouwers, Roman Catholic 
Priest; Knight of the Order of the 
Oaken Crown, etc. 

The Abbe Brouwers is one of the 
most active and eloquent priests of 
Holland, of whom we have formerly 
made honorable mention in our 
account of the last Congress of 
Malines. \Vc are indebted to him 
for this volume, which is an album 
containing poems addressed to Pius 
IX. on the occasion of his Jubilee, in 
the Dutch, French, German, English, 
and Latin languages. It was pre- 
sented by the Bishops of Holland 
and a deputation of clergymen and 
laymen, with a magnificent copy of 
the works of Vondel, the great Dutch 
poet, and a large ofiering of money 
and valuables, to his Holiness, on the 
joyful occasion of his celebrating 
the fiftieth anniversary of his first 
Mass. The volume also contains a 
list of the names of the Pontifical 
Zouaves from Holland, with notices 
of several who distinguished them- 
selves in battle and fell in the ser- 
vice of the Holy See. It is a monu- 
ment of the piety and devotion to- 
ward the Holy See for which the 
Catholics of Holland are so highly 
distinguished. Among the poems 
there are two from America, one by 
Father Van den Hagen, of Louis- 
ville, and the other by Father Van 
Laar, of Willimantic, Conn. 



Gregorian Chants for the Mass, ac- 
cording to the Kight Tones, harmonized 
for the organ, and arranged for unison 
or part singing. By Edward Fagan. 
Nos. I to «;. London : Burns, Oates & 
Co. 

Any work which aims at the restor- 
ation of the chant of holy Gregory 



in the divine offices of the sanctu- 
ary, where it holds the right of place 
both by church authority, ecclesias- 
tical tradition, and the moral fitnes! 
of things, has our entire sym 
pathy. 

Our English friends are far ahcai 
of us in this matter, and arc lenc^ 
ing a strong hand to their Cathol - 
brethren on the Continent, who hav 
of late years pleaded so eloquent^, 
the cause of true church music, a -^ 
so vigorously labored to repel frc... 
the temple of God the encroac:::: 
ments of music which, in style 
composition and manner of ex^ 
tion, is the music of the world, 
flesh, and the devil. 

In the republication of those ^-7 
tions known as the Ordinarium ^^ 
sse. consisting of the Kyrie, Gl^zrai 
Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus X) 
Mr. F'agan has not followed th^^ 
der generally laid down in the <Jn 
dual, where they are found disposec 
according to the dignity of the fest/. 
val, but has selected Masses Xrom 
various sources, composed in the dif- 
ferent modes of plain chant, and pub- 
lished them as"Missa I^rimi Ton/." 
"Secundi Toni," etc., without givin/f 
any indication of the special fitness 
of each to the season or festival, 
which appears to us to be a little 
like an edition of the chants for the 
Preface or the Bcnedicamus desig- 
nated as number one or number six. 
Twice he has also adopted, for the 
convenience of ordinary players and 
singers, the system of modern nota- 
tion. Why not have given them 35 
well some of the signs of expres- 
sion commonly used in music to 
direct the movement of the melody- 
We are sure that such instruction 
would not be thrown away upon the 
majority of those into wliosc hands 
these publications may come. 1^ 
harmonies are about as good as anV 
that have been written, but ** 
think a practical system of accoffl" 
paniment to the plain chant, wbeth* 
er by voices or instrument, has y*' 
to be discovered. In the meantitnc* 
we commend this work of Mr. Pa- 
gan to all who are interested in th* 



Neiv Publications. 



431 



execution of the sweet and 
g of the church. 



Heart-Songs. A Collection 
, Quartets, and Choruses. By 
ndel. New York : J. B. Ford 



e never found much to ad- 
rotestant hymns, the vein 
IS thought running through 
ing either purely senti- 
lachrymose, with expres- 
he dogma of total depravi- 
io not wonder, therefore, 
•ovcrty of musical ideas 

• the most part, character- 
mes adapted to the rhymes, 
ot say that the accom- 
rganist of Mr. Beccher's 
IS made any real improve- 
he old Carmina Sacra and 

collections by his well- 
;empt to introduce a style 
r more showy in combina- 
exprcssive in its rhythm, 
ain task to galvanize a 
sessing so little life in the 
of the nineteenth centu- 

• collection " of Protestant 

rit of Mr. Zundel's preface 
•rk wc like. Its conclud- 

we transcribe as a subject 
ation by our Catholic or- 
id choir directors : 
s the tunes are rightly in- 
and sung in the spirit 
eivcd them, the best pur 
e work — true musical wor- 
-cssive edification — will be 
jw shall this spirit be 
Just in the same way we 
Lain other* graces. Watch 

for it ; get Christian or- 
id leaders ; put no profane 
ood singers as they may 
f)ur choirs ; and then, why 

for your church music 

arc praying for your pas- 
ons, Sunday-schools, etc.. ^ 
it choirs are worth praying 
>w they need praying for ; 
st none will say they arc 
,ng for." 



The Lake Shore Series.— Bear and 
Forbear ; or, The Young Skipper of 
Lake Ucayga. By Oliver Optic, au- 
thor of " Young America Abroad," 
"The Army and Navy Stories," "The 
Woodvillc Stories," "The Boat-Club 
Stories," "The Starry Flag Stories," 
etc. Illustrated. Boston : Lee & Shep- 
ard, Publishers. New York : Lee, 
Shepard, & Dillingham, 49 Greene St. 
1871. 

Oliver Optic's books are always 
great favorites with the young peo- 
ple. This is quite as interesting as 
the rest of the series. 



Life and Alone. Boston : Lee & Shep- 
ard. 

A strange, unnatural story, yet 
showing talent. The author calls 
one of the characters in the story a 
Catholic priest, It would be difficult 
for those who have met and known 
Catholic priests to find any points 
of resemblance. To use the lan- 
guage of the writer, " Words and 
imagery are here put down which 
might have adorned a more noble 
theme— at least, conveyed a better 
moral lesson." 



The Student's Mythology. A Com- 
pendium of Greek, Roman, Egyptian, 
Assyrian, Persian, Hindoo, Chinese, 
Thibctian, Scandinavian, Celtic, Aztec, 
and Peruvian Mythologies. By C. A. 
White. New York: W. J. Widdlelon, 
Publisher. 

We have carefully examined this 
excellent w^ork, and desire to call the 
attention of directors of Catholic 
schools to its merits. Text-books 
of mythology abound ; but the one 
before us, for reasons that will be 
readily appreciated by any teacher 
who will take the pains to examine 
it, is, above all others now before 
the public, the one best adapted to 
the use of Catholic youth to whom 
we wish to teach mythology without 
communicating the taint of pagan 
or oriental corruption. The work is 
peculiarly suited to the use of female 
academies. 



432 



Nc7v Publications, 



The History of Rome. By Theodore 
Mommsen. Vol. IV. New York: ^5crib- 
ner & Co. 

This volume completes a history 
of the Roman republic which we 
have no hesitation in pronouncing 
the best that has ever appeared. 
Indeed, it has met with the highest 
praises on all sides. 

The Rivers of Damascus and Jordan. 

London : Rums, Gates & Co. For sale 

by The Catholic Publication Society, 

New York. 

A controversial work, which has 
the merit of putting old arguments 
in a new and entertaining garb. It 
cannot fail to do great good among 
Protestants capable of conviction. 

Light at Eventide. A Compilation of 
(Choice Religious Hymns and Poems, 
by the l-Idilorof Chimes for Childhood, 
etc. Hoston : Lee & Shcpard. 
The j)urpose of the editor of this 
elegant little volujne has been to 
furnish subject-matter for quiet me- 
ditative reading, which would sug- 
gest to the soul aspirations after 
God and heaven, and resigmition to 
the divine will. The selection has 
been made with exceedingly good 
judgment and a highly cultivated 
taste. 

WoNDKRS OF Acoustics ; or, The Pheno- 
mena of Sound. From the French of 
RodolpheRadan. The English revised 
by Robert Hall, M.A. Wiih Illustra- 
tions. New York : Charles Scribncr 
& Co. 1S70. 

This is another volume of that ex- 
cellent scries, •• The Library of Won- 
ders," and is in every way as inter- 
esting as its predecessors. 

Letters Everywhere. Stories and 
Rhymes for Children. \Viih twenty- 
eight Illustrations. HyTheo|)hile Schu- 
ler. HosiDu : Lee & Shei>ard. New 
York : Lee. Shepard cS: Dillin^diam. 
1S70. 

A beautiful book, printed on super- 
fine pa])or, and beautifully illustrat- 
ed, eacli illustration so ingeniously 
drawn as to rejiresent a letter of the 
alphabet. 



Messrs. John MeKPiiv & Co., B: 
nciunce as in press Memoirs o/a Cua 
translated tiom the FrcHLh of M. I 
(l«in. This wotk was translated in K 
the Council, at the urgent request ( 
most zealous of the preiates. and wjtl 
ot the author. The same firm annmtn 
Communion, it is tny I.i/c : or. Si'-. 
0/ the J'erTi-nt Sou/ xv/tose //<i///y/i 
tutt'd by Holy Co mtn union." '1 hvi ! 
phy will also publish two plays ad.nit; 
ladies. 

Mr. P. DoNAHOK, Boston, annorinc 
Jesus in Jerusaletn ; or, lin' U'.iy 
first volume of a series oi books for s 
ing. By Sister Mary Frances ( l.iic. 
Ireland, author of /.i/e 0/ St. I'atric^ 
History 0/ Ireland, etc. The h'ii^tc. 
from the Rariiest Period to thi' /'n 
the same author. A I.i/e 0/ 1 iu* I 
most authentic and reliable sourrcs. 
ings : Prophecies on the Church and 
Ami-Christ, and the I-ast Times. /. 
Illustrated. A book for ^'unday-sc^ 
family. 

noOKS RECEIVFL). 

From Ciiari.es Douniol, Libr^irc 1 
do Tournon, 29, Paris: Hi*.t>'i 
li{;ion Chr<<ticnnc au Japon dip 
qu'4 1651. Comprenant Ics Ja.t< 
deux cent cinq martyrs beJlI^K;^ 
1867. Par Leon Pagi's. 

From Charles Scrib.nkh A Co., Nov 
Tlieolojjy of Christ, from his ow 
Joseph P. Thompson. -The Ea 
Christianity. By K. dc Presscn: 
" Josus ('hrist : llis Times. Lite, 
Translated by Annie Ilarwood. 
tolic Kra. 

Concilii Provincialis Ballimoron^is 
tropf>litana Baltimorcnsi F.iilis 
(piuitu post Pascha. qii.i' fcsta S 
gelist;c inciilil, .\. R. S., i >o. in 
sequenti L)ominica Al>si»luti. At t 
Pnrside lUmo. ac Rcvir.o. M 
nc Sp;ildiiip, .Arc!n«-pis» ..pi> 1 
Typis Joannis Murphy. Si ii:ni 
Archiepiscnpi Haltimore:i-»is 
B;»ltimoi;v. iPjo. 

Sixteenth Annu.1l Report of the S\: 
of Public Instruction ui thf Si 
York. Transinitlfd to the I.cgi 
nmry c*?. tS7«>. Albany: Tht* 
[)aru'. Printers. 1.^7. \ 

Twonty-cij»lith Annual Report c;f I 
Ivtlucati'^n of the Cirv an. I Cou 
York, for the your cndinj: ^i^ 
\Z ). New York: Printed bv th 
Piintin*^ Company, 81, 8:, an 
street. 1.70. 

Annual Report of the S-.honl Comr 
Citv of Piovidcncc, Jun.'. ii;-*. 
Hammond, Angell & Co., Pri 
Citv. 1F70. 

I'rom Patkick Donaiiok. B(>st.-»n . X. 
A Tale of the Irisli Vitli;ns. \\ 
Russtll. 

Fioui PurK F. CiNViNcii \M. Plnlii 
anilro : or. The Sign ot the t!ro» 
lie Tale. 

Froni Kit i.i:v, Pikt & Co., Baltimo 
of Mailamc Louise dc France 
Louis X Y. ; known a« Mother 1 

From RoiKRis Bk(»thers Boston 
Dante Gabriel Kossetti. 




VOL. XII., No. 70.— JANUAHiY. iS;^;/^,^. 



BEECHERISM AND ITS TENDENCIEa* 



said by somebody of Ecce 
an anonymous book which 
me noise a few years ago, 
must have been wriuen cither 
pan rising from rationahsni to 
^ by a man falHng from faith 
fcnalism* But, though it re* 
b nice eye to distinguish the 
It of the coming from that of 
irting day^ we hazard little in 
g the twihght of these volumes 
evening not the morning ere- 
!^ and in regarding the Beech- 
deepening into the darkness 
flief, not as opening into the 
^ faith. We must, therefore, 
liile, interpret in all doubtful 
leir language in a rational Is- 
laiuralistic sense, and not in a 
m sense. 

^Tliomas K. Bcecher, who is 
frank and outspoken than his 
r, more cautious, and more 

* StrtHfitu 0/ Henry If'ttni Btechtr in 
CMurtk, From Tcrb«tim rcpojtJi by 
Kim. Second, and Third Se^ 
ftber. 1869. lo M»rth. JB70. New 
B ft Co. 1870* 3 vols, Bvo. 
^kmrchtt, Ky Thoinns K. Heecli- 
. i6nia, pp, 167. 



timid brother, after recognmng what 
he regards as the distinctive excel- 
lences of each of " Our Seven Church- 
es " — that is, the Roman Catholic, the 
Presbyterian, the Protestant Episco- 
pal, the Methodist Episcopal, the 
Baptist, the Congregational, and 
the Liberal Christian — tells us very 
plainly that, abstractly considered, 
all churches are equally good or 
equally bad, and that the best church 
for a man is that in which he feels 
most at his ease, or which best satis- 
fies him, or suits his peculiar consti- 
tution and temperament. " When 
thus he has tried all churches within 
his reach/* he says, ^^ then let him 
come l>a€k to any one tliat may seem 
best for him, and ask for the lowest 
place among its members. As he 
enters and is enrolled, let him say to 
every one that asks: I cannot tell 
whether this is the best church in 
the world, still less whether it is the 
true church. Of one thing only am 
I certain, it is die best church /^rw**. 
In it I am as contented as a partly 
sanctified man can be this side of 

Dg to Act of Conffrc4s, in (be year 1870, by Rsv. L T. Hackek, la tho Office of 
the Libimrion of CongreBi Kt Waslilaffton, D. C. 



I 



VOU X!l. — 28 



the general assembly of the first- 
bom in heaven " (Our Snrn Ckunh- 
a, p. 142). 

Yet this same writer had (p. 8) 
pronounced the doctrine and ritual 
of the Catholic Church throughout 
the world excellent, and had espe- 
cially commended her (pp. 9, 10) 
for her exclusiveness or denial of the 
pretensions of all odier churches, and 
for maintaining that there is no sal- 
vation out of her communion ! *rhis 
Beechcr can swallow any number of 
contradictions without making a wry 
face ; for he seems to hold that what- 
ever te€ms to a man to be true is 
true for him, and tliat it matters not 
however false it may be if he esteem- 
eth it true and Is contented with it. 
For him, seeming is as good as heing. 
Poor man, he seems never to have 
heard J at least never to have heeded, 
what the Scripture saith, that " There 
is a way that seemeth to a man just, 
but the ends thereof lead to death " 
(Pro v. xiv. 12). The fact probably 
is that he believes in nothing, unless 
perchance himself, and looks upon 
truth as a mere seeming^ a pure illu- 
sion of the senses or the imagination, 
or as a purely subjective conviction 
without objective reality. 

It perhaps would not be fair to 
judge brother Henry by the utter- 
ances of brother Tom, but the Beech- 
cr family are singularly united, and 
all seem to regard brother Henry as 
their chief No one of the family, 
unless It be Edward, the eldest 
brother, is very likeiy to put forth 
any views decidedly different from 
his, or which be decidedly disap- 
proves. I'hey all move in the same 
direction, though some of them may 
lag behind him while others may be 
in advance of him. 

AJlhough we have no difficulty 
in ascertaining for ourselves what 
Mr. Ward Beecher holds, so far as 
he holds anything, yet we do not 



find it always ea^y to adduce de- 
cisive proofs that we rightly under- 
stand him. His language, apparently 
plain and direct, is singularly in- 
definite ; his statements arc seldom 
clear and certain, and have a mar- 
veil o us elasticity, and may at ncctl 
be stretched so as to take in the 
highest and broadest Protestant or- 
thodoxy, or contracted so as to ex- 
clude everything but the most nar- 
row, meagre, and shallow rational- 
ism. They are an india-rubber 
band, You see clearly enough what 
he is driving at, but you cannot 
catch and hold him. His statements 
are so supjde or so clastic that he 
can give them any meaning that may 
suit the exigencies of the moment 
This comes, we presume, not from 
calculation or design, but from his 
loose manner of thinking, and Cnoai 
his total want of fixed and defmiie 
principles. Hb mind is uncertaiOf 
impetuous, and confused. 

Beecherism, as we understand it, 
errs chiefly not in asserting what is 
absolutely false, but in mistiming or 
misapplying the truth, and in jve- 
scnting a particular aspect of tnilh 
for the whole truth. Its Icadiag 
thought is, as Freeman Clarke's, that 
Christianity is a life to be lived, not 
a doctrine or creed to be believed; 
and being a life, it cannot be dnwil 
out and presented in distinct and de- 
finite statements for the understazKl- 
ing. One is a Christian not because 
he believes this or Uiat doctrine, bul 
because he has come into personal 
relations or sympathy with Christ, 
and lives his life. Its cJTor is to 
what it denies, not in what it asseiis, 
and its cliief defect is in not telliilg 
who Christ is, what it is to come into 
personal relations with him, what 8 
the way or means of coming into 
such relations, and in discaitlini; m 
making no account of i^ c¥ 

of the intellect or under - la 



BeecherisfH and its Tendencies, 



liv^ing the Christian life. Undoubt- 
edly Christianity is a life to lie lived, 
and we live it only by toming into 
intimate relations individually with 
Christ himself, as the church holds^ 
only by being lueralty joined to him, 
bom of him by the Holy Ghost, and 
living his life in the regeneration, as in 
natural generation we are born of 
and live the life of Adam. But 
Beccherism means not this, and, in 
fact, has no conception of it. It sim- 
ply means that we must be personally 
in sympathy with Christ, and art from 
the stimulus of such sympathy. But 
this is no more than the boldest 
rationalism might say, for it implies 
no higher life than our Adamic life 
itself 

If by doctrine is meant only a 
view, theory, or " a philosophy" of 
tniih, which is all that Beecherism 
an holil it to be, we agree that 
Christianity is not a doctrine to be 
helteved ; but the creed is not a view 
or theory of truth, but the truth it- 
self In believing it, it is the truth 
ilsdf, nut a view or theory of truth, 
that we believe. Christ is the truth, 
^ *dl as the way and the life, and 
he must be received by faith as well 
to by love ; for we not only cannot 
lov'c what we do not intellectually 
Apprehend. but Christ is supernatural, 
and can be apprehended only by faith 
^nd not by science, Christ is the 
^Vond — the Logos^ — made flesh, and 
^'s life nnust then be primarily the life 
^f intelligence, and therefore we can 
f^ter upon it only by faith. Christian- 
l*y IS a religion for the intellect, whose 
^Mjcct is truth, as well as a religion 
forthe heart, or our appetitive nature, 
whose object is good. Beech erism 
*^^'^rlooks this fact, and places Chris- 
^>ty, religion, in love. Love, it 
^ys— ami says truly, when by love is 
™tant the supernatural virtue o^ ch^^- 
^^.<anias — ^is the <:nd or perfection 
^ iHt law ; but it forgets that the 



understanding must precede the love 
and present the object, or nothing i? 
loved. What Beecherism calls love 
is simply a subjective want, a blind 
craving of the soul for what it has 
not and knows not. Even Plato, 
high as is the rank which he assigns 
to love or our ajipetitive nature, as 
St. Thomas calls it, does not hold 
that love alone suttices. According 
to him, it is only on the two wings, 
intelligence and love* that the soul 
soars to the Empyrean, to ** the First 
Good and the First Fair." 

There is no love without science, 
and the science must always precede 
the love and present its object. Our 
Lord even includes love in the sci- 
ence or knowledge, for he says, \n ad- 
dressing his Father, " This is ever- 
lasting life, that they may kfW'O thee, 
the only true God, and Jesus Christ 
whom thou hast sent " (St. John 
xvii. 3). All through the New Tes- 
tament love is connected with know- 
ledge or faith, and ihe knowledge of 
the truth is connected with salvation. 
*•• The truth shall make you free,*' 
" Vtrrlitts liiyfrabif vo^!' says St. John. 
" God will have all men to be saved 
and come to the knowledge of the 
truth,** sa)'« St, Paul, who also says 
to the Corinthians, ** Brethren, flo 
not become children in understand- 
ing, albeit in malice be children, bu* 
in understanding be perfect," or *' be 
men '* (i Cor. xiv. 20). 

it is the grave fault of Protestant- 
ism itself, especially in our limes, that 
it makes lilde or no account of intel- 
ligence. It is essentially unintcllec- 
tual. illogical, and irrational, and its 
tendency is to place religion almost 
entirely in the emotions, sentiments, 
and affections, which are in them- 
selves blind and worthless, are even 
worse, if not enlightened and restrain- 
ed by truth intellectually apprehend* 
ed by faith. When not so enlight- 
ened and restrained, they become 



d 



M 



faiiatici:»m. Beecherism is even more 
uiiiutellectual than the Protestantisni 
of the Reformers themselves. It di- 
vorces our sympathetic nature from 
our intellectual nature, ami would fain 
[>crsuade us that it is our higher na- 
ture, This is bad psychology, and 
to its prevalence is flue the inca- 
pacity of Protestants to apprehend 
the higher and profoumler truths of 
the spiritual order. The affections are 
eitlier aflfections of the sensitive soul 
or affections of the rational soul. If 
affections of the rational soul, they 
are rational in tht^ir origin and prin- 
ciple, and impossible without intelh"- 
gence. If affections of the sensitive 
soul, they have no moral or religious 
character, though they incline to siti; 
but are, when they escape the con* 
trol of reason, that very ** flesh/' or 
concupiscence, the Christian struggles 
against. Beecherism, in reality, makes 
the flesh our higher nature, and re- 
(juircs us to walk after the fltsh, not 
after the spirit, as do and must all sys- 
tems that place religion in sympathy 
or love without intelligence. All the 
affections of our nature not enlighten- 
ed by intelligence and informed by 
reason or faith are aftections not of 
our higher but of our lower nature, 
and when strong or dominant become 
destructive passions. 

BeeLherism,in rejecting intelligence 
or in making light of all dogmatic 
Christianity or objective faith, and 
substituting a purely subjective faith, 
only follows the inevitable tendency 
of all Protestantism emancipated from 
the civil power ; for Protestantism 
recognizes no authority competent to 
enjoin dogmas, or to present or de- 
fine the object of faith. It can give 
for a creed only opinions. It could 
not, in abandoning the church, if left 
to itself, avoid in its free develop- 
ment eliminating from Christianity 
the entire creed, all tlogmas, doc- 
trines, or statements, which are credi- 



ble only when made on an infal 
authority, which no I xve 

or can have. Protcs; rc- 

fore, in its develo[unenti obitgeil ci- 
ther to become open, undisguised in- 
fidehty, or to resolve Christianity into 
a purely subjective religion — a religion 
consisting in and depending solely 
on our interior emotional, sentimental, 
or affectional nature, and incapable 
of intellectual or objective statement, 
and needing none. The tendency 
of all Protestantism must always be 
either to religious indifferentism or to 
religious fanaticism. 

We do not find from the $ermon» 
before us Uiat Beecherism, which is a 
new but not improved ecUtion of 
Bushnellism endorsed by Mr. T. K. 
Beecher, explicitly denies the Chris- 
tian mysteries ; neither do we find 
that it exphculy recognizes them ; 
while it is not doubtful that ihc 
whole current of its thought excludes 
them. What are its views of GoA 
and especially of the person and na- 
ture of our Lord, we are not distinct- 
ly told, but evidently it has no con- 
ception of the tri-personality of the 
one Divine Being, the personality of 
the Holy Ghost, or the two for ever 
distinct natures, the human and the 
divine, hyposiaticaUy unitcii in the 
one divine f>crson of Christ, As far 
as we can ascertain, it ro no 

distinction of person and Mid 

is unaware of the tact that die Wucd, 
who is God, took to hinisdf, in the 
Incarnation, human nature^ and made 
it as really and as truly his own na- 
ture, without its ceasing to l»c hu^ 
man nature, as my human nature 
joined to my personality is my na- 
ture. It would seem to hold that 
Christ is God or the divine nature 
clothed ^^-ith a human body withoal 
a human soul, or, rather^ that Chrisi 
is God humanly represented or per- 
sonated. 

In a sermon on the " 



Tendencies, 



of the Sufferings of Christ/' Mr. Ward 
Beeeher seems to regard Christ, who 
was tempted and suffered in his di- 
vine nature, yet without sin, in all 
.ots as we are tempted and suffer, 
suffering in his divine nature, and 
fiom that fact he argues that his 
sufferings were absolutely intinite. 
But he asks : 



^r; 



"Can a Divine Bcinp suffer? I should 
failier put the question, Can one be a Di- 
vine being in such a world and over such 
a world as this, and not siilFer? If we 
canrc in mir imagination a perfect God, 
with the idea that [>erfectness must he 
ibat which is relative to himself alone, 
lli»( he must be perfect to himself \n in- 
telligence, perfect to himself in moral 
diamcicr, perfect to himself in beauty, 
and in transcendent elevation above all 
those vicissitudes and irouWes which 
irisc from imperfection — if thus we make 
our God, and in no w^y givf hint nw(s in 
humanity, m no way lead liim to have 
«yinf>alliy with infirmity, then wc have 
flot ;i perfect God. We have a carved 
ielfislmtss cmbeHtshcd. We have a be- 
iti^ that cannat be Father to any thought 
tlui 5|iiings from the human heart. . . . 

"A God that cannot suiler. and suffer 
in hh (nniihip naittrf, can scarcely be pre- 
icfiicd to the human soul, in all its weak- 
n«st5 and trials and wants, so that it 
**>»U bu acceptable. We need asufl'erinjf 
Cwl, h was ihc Vfty miuisimfien 0/ 
Ckriii iQ tfVr'i/[V> that side of the Divine 
^*«fl^— the susceptibility of God to suffer 
through sympathy, as the instrument and 
cbrmcl nf benevolence by which to res- 
^t iheni that sutfer through sin " {Third 
^V*» p. 3S), 

Wc bad supposed that man has 
^w roots in God, not God his roots in 
'°^h, and that the ministration of 
Christ was to retlcem, elevate, and 
l^^ricct man, not to develop and per- 
'^^^ or fultil the Divine Being; but 
^^ lud done so without consulting 
^^€ iJ^erhcrs. If the Divine Being 
*>« any side needr>, ever needed, or 
ever could need, to be developeti, the 

* ' Being is not eternally perfert, 
- |>erfect being in itself, t»r being 



in its plenitude ; consequently, God is 
not eternally self existent, indepen- 
dent, self sufficing being, as theolo- 
gians maintain, and therefore is not 
Godj or, in other words, there is no 
God ; and then nothing is or can be. 
We must in our charity suppose the 
preacher either says he knows not 
what, or that he does not mean what 
he says. It is not our business to 
rede the Beeeher riddles j but proba- 
bly, if it wasj BushneUism might help 
us. Dr. Bushnell, with a slight tinc- 
ture of Swedenborgianisin, regards 
Christ not precisely as God or man, 
but as a scenic display, as the 
representation or personation under 
a human form and human rela- 
tions to our senses, feelings, sympa- 
thies, and imagination^ of what the 
Divine Being really is, not in him- 
self, but in regard to man. But this, 
though it might exjjlain, would not 
save Beeeher ism from the charge of 
making Christ an anthroi>omorphous 
representation of God, not God him- 
self, or the Word made flesh; nor 
from tliat of maintaining that God is 
passible 111 his divine nature, *' his 
Godship nature." l*hc Word or Son 
is indeetl the express image of God 
and the Ijrightness of his glory, yet 
in the divine not the human form; 
for the Word is God, and eternally, 
and it is only as made iicsh that he 
hiis a human form and human rela- 
tions ; but ill this sense he is man, 
not a representation of God humanly 
related. No man whi> believes in 
the tri-personality o( the Divine Be- 
ing, or in the hypostatic union of the 
two natures in the onu Divine Per- 
son of the Wonl, couUl ever use the 
expressions we have quoted, or re- 
gard Christ as a scenic representation 
or personation of the Divine Being, 

Beecherism undeniably anthropo- 
morphizes God, and regards him, a* 
docs Swedenl>org, as the great or j)er- 
feet Man, or as man carried up to infi* 



I 

4 



45* 



its Tendencies. 



2irT. rr«zpc<sesdieaiinb«itesofGod 
2re Lhe irriinnes oc man kmnitely 
nsigriine-i- This is wtux ic means^ wc 
3apc*>s«^ by siy-.rLr Gt>i cjs his - roots 
in hxT.an!tTr B^jiz man innnicelT 
dcvtixiied aai cx^tectetL God knows 
and jiDves cs by sympaihy. and is 
able to share o-jt joys and sorrows. 
and s-iner in all the viiiissinzdes and 
troubles woich >pri^z ttom our im- 
p«nei:tior»s. for he has in himseli!. in 
its innninide, all that we have or ex- 
perience in ourselves^ This supposes 
that God is made in the im.i^e and 
likeness of man, not man in the image 
and likeness of CkaL The type and 
principle of man are indeed in God, 
and his works copy hLs divine essence, 
but not he them. G^xl cannot suffer 
in his div-ine nature, for all suffering 
arises from imperfection, and he is per- 
fect being in its plenitude; therefore 
impassible, and necessarily, from the 
fulness of his own nature, eternally and 
infinitely blessed. He knows not us 
from his likeness to us. nor from an ex- 
perience like ours, but in himself, from 
his own perfect knowledge of himself, 
in whose essence is our t\*pe and prin- 
ciple, and whose own act is the cause 
of all we are, can do, or become. He 
knows us not by sympathy with us, 
for he is the adequate object of his 
own intelligence, and cannot depend 
on his creatures, or anything out of 
himself, for any knowledge or perfec- 
tion whatever. He knows and feels 
all we do or sufi'er in himself, in his 
own essence and act creating and 
sustaining us. He loves us in him- 
self, and in the same act, because he 
has created us from his own super- 
abounding goodness, and because 
we live and move and have our 
being in him, not because he feels 
with us, as I5eocherism would have 
us believe. No attribute of the di- 
vine nature does or can depenil for 
its exercise or perfection on us, or on 
anything exterior to or distinct from 



his own Divine Being. Yet as we 
are his creatures, sustained by his 
creative act^ and as that act is the 
free act of infinite goodness or love — 
atnias — his love in that act surrounds, 
pervades, our entire existence in a 
manner infinitely more tender and 
touching to us, and effects in us and 
for us infinitely more than the closest 
and most sympathetic human love or 
kindness. We are held in the very 
arms of infinite love, live and breathe 
in infinite goodness, and we are noth- 
ing without it 

God is perfect being in himself; 
consequently, always the adequate 
object of his own activity, whether 
of intelligence or love, as we are 
taught in the mystery of the Tri- 
nit>'. It is in himself, in his own es- 
sence, in which is the type or prin- 
ciple of our existence, and whose 
decree or act is the cause of all we 
are, can be, do, or suffer, that he knows 
and loves us, has compassion on our 
infirmities, forgives us our sins, works 
out our salvation, and enables us to 
participate in his own beatitude, antl^ 
when glorified, even in his own diving 
nature (2 Pet. i. 4). His love is won --> 
derful, and past finding out ; it is to^:^^ 
high, too broad, too tender, and i^ss 
riches are too great for us to be ab\ «j 
to comprehend it. To be able to 
comprehend it, we should need to V>€ 
able to comprehend God himself, *^ 
his own infinite being ; for his v^^ 
being is love and goodness, — Cari^^^^ 
est VeuSy as says the blessed apo^*-^*' 
No man knoweth the Father save ^}^*^ 
Son, who is in the bosom of the ^ ^,! 
ther, and he to whom the Son st^^ 
reveal him. The error of Beecher*^^ 
here, as well as of many other isnf-^" ^ 
in assuming that the type of God ^^ 
his attributes is in man, not the t>'/^* 
of man in God, which anthroi)oni^^ 
phi/cs tlie Divine Being. 

Vet it is perfectly allowable to s^^ 
that God suffers and is tempted in*'^ 



11 




Steekerism and its Tendencies. 



439 



points as we are, though without 
sin, if we speak of Jesus Christ the 
locamnte God. The Word or Sun 
is Go<i ; the person of our Lord in the 
divine nature or being is strictly di- 
vine ; and a5 it is always the person 
that acts or suffers, whatever Christ 
does or suffers, God does or suffers ; 
fur in Christ there is human nature, 
but no human person. But God can- 
not suffer in his divine nature, and 
, hcnce^ if our Lord had had only the 
one divine nature — which he always 
had and has in its fulness — he never 
could have suffered and died on the 
ooss to redeem and save us. Beech- 
crism, which regards Christ as the 
it|iresentation of the Divine Being 
under a human form and to our hu- 
onan sympathies and affections, denies 
the very possibility of his making any 
rral atonement for man, for he has of 
his own no nature at all. He is not 
himself real being that suffers, but its 
fcpnf^ntalion or personation; and 
therefore his sufferings are represen- 
tative, as the sufferings and death re* 
l*nHented on the stage. Hence, it 
J'^nsfcrs to the Divine Being, to God 
^ his divine nature^ who cannot suf- 
l^t whatever suffering is represented 
"* the person and life of our Lord. 
"tit our Lord is not a representative 
'^'^ujg, but the Divine Being himself, 
^tl he does not personate the divine 
^aiiiro — he is it. He does not in the 
'<iCamaiion part with his divine na- 
^^te, but takes human nature up into 
**ypostatic or substantial union with 
f^*5 divine person. As the Divine Be- 
^'^gisone divine nature, being, or es- 
^tice, in three persons, so is Christ one 
divine person in two natures. Being 
^t ooce perfect God and perfect man, 
^^^ havmg a human as well as a di- 
^'iic nature, he could be tempted as 
*« are, could sympathiijc with us, 
'•^^rt our sorrows, bear our griefs, 
"^ ol>cdicnt to his Father, suffer, even 
^*c on the cross for us ; but in his hu- 



man nature only, not in his divine 
nature. His sufferings could not be 
infinite in the sense Beecherism as- 
serts ; for the human nature even of 
God is finite ; but his sufferings and 
obedience have an intinite value, be- 
cause the sufferings and obedience 
of an infinite person. 

Beecherism gives us no clear or 
satisfactory account of what our L<3rd 
is. All we can say is, that it does 
not treat his person as the Second 
Person of the Godhead nor as the 
Word made tiesh ; but holds him, as 
far as we can get at its thought, as a 
representative person, as Bushnellism 
docs, representing or personating God 
or the Divine Being, as we have said 
more than once, under a human form 
and in human relations. But it not 
only eliminates the Word or Son from 
the Godhead ; it eliminates, also, the 
Third Person, by denying with certain 
ancient heretics the personality of the 
Holy Ghost. In the sermon on 
*• The Holy Spirit," we read ; 

** The Divine Being is not merely a 
person, superlative, infinUc, who sits en< 
shrined and, as it were, hidden in lUc 
centre of his vast domain. Wc are taught 
that there is an cfRucncc of spirit-power, 
and that the Holy Spirit pervades the uni- 
verse. It is lo the /mt»m//iVr of God whai 
the light and heat are to the stin itscU. 
Far, though the sun is in a dcliniie sphere 
and position, and has its otvn glcthuhir 
mass. 3'el it is felt throtigh myriads and 
m3'riads of leag^ues of space^ and is there- 
fore present by its effects and power. 
And tkoHgh God u $t<ft prfjcut [x/V] and 
heaven is the place whcfe he dwells, yet 
the divine influence pervades the universe. 
[The divine influence wider than the Di- 
vine Beinj; !] The menial power, the 
Ihought'povver, the Spirit-power, iniplctes 
the rational universe" {Third Series, 
p. 87). 

In this extract, person alit)'^ and na- 
ture arc not distinguished, and the 
pcrsonah'ty of God is assumed to be 
one, as his Ueing» nature, or essence 



■ 



is one, which excludes both the Holy 
Cihost and the Son as persons from 
the Godhead. The Holy Ghost, in- 
stead of being represented as the Third 
Ucrsun of the ever-hlessed Trinity, h 
denied to be a person at all, and de- 
fined to be simply an effluence or in- 
fluence of the one person of God ; or 
to be to the personality of God what 
the' light and heat of the sun are to 
the sun itself. An eMucnce, an ema- 
nation, or an influence is not a per- 
sonal distinction in the Divine Being, 
and Mn Beecher evidently does not 
so regard it ; for he speaks of it as //, 
not as /tim, and makes it not the ac- 
tor, but the effect of the jierson act* 
ing. Light and heat are not distinc- 
tions /// the sun, as the Divine Persons 
are in the Divine Being; but are, in 
so far as not the sun itself, distinguish- 
able /r^w it, as the effect is distin- 
guishable from the cause. The Di- 
vine Persons are distinguishable from 
one another, we grant, and we re- 
gard the Father as principle, the Son 
;is medium, and the Holy t]host as 
end : but they are distinctions in God, 
not from God ; or distinctions in the 
Divine Being, not from it Obvious- 
ly, then, whatever else Beecherism 
may accept of the Christian faith, it 
does not accept the Mystery of the 
ever-blessed Trinity, but really denies 
it. The Beechers, perhaps, are not 
theologians enough to know it, but 
the denial of the Trinity is the denial 
of God as living God, by reducing 
the Divine Being, with the old Elea- 
lies, to a dead and unproductive uni- 
ty, as do also all Unitarians as distin- 
guished from Trinitarians. He who 
denies the Tiinit)*, if he knows what 
he does, denies God as much as does 
the avowed atheist. Unitariaiusm 
that excludes the tri-personality of 
God is really atheism, and the God it 
professes to recognize is only an ab* 
straction. 

ll is also evident that Beecherism 



does not accept the mystery of 
Incarnation, out of which grows the 
whole distinctively Christian order, 
without which man cannot fulfil his 
existence and attain the end or beati- 
tude for which he is ci#ated. It m 
impossible to assert the Incarnation 
when the three Persons of the ever- 
blessed Trinity are denied, for it sup* 
[>oses them and depends on them. 
Christ, according to Beecherism, is, 
as with Bushnellism and Swedsyibor- 
gianism, not the Second Person or 
Word of God assuming human na- 
ture ; but the manifestation, persona- 
tion ^ or representation of the Divine 
Being under a human fonn and rela- 
tions, which is simply no Incarnation 
at all. Rejecting or not accepting 
the Incarnation, Beecherism loses 
Jesus Christ himself, and with him the 
whole teleological order, which is 
founded by the Woai made flesh, and 
without which creation cannot be fut- 
filled, and must remain for ever inapt* 
cnt or incomplete, and fail of its final 
cause; man must then for ever remain 
below his destiny, craving beatitude 
but never gaining it— the doom or 
hell of the reprobate, 

Beerherism Ls far from having pene- 
trated the depth of the Christian or- 
der, and understands little of the rela- 
tions and reasons of the Chr^itan 
dispens:ttion. It sees not ^ he 

profound truths brought i i^y 

the Christian faith. It sees do rea- 
son why St Peter, speaking of the 
Lord Jesus Christ by inspiration of 
the Holy Ghost, could say : ** Tbcfr 
is no other name under heaven giren 
to men whereby we mu!»t be saved " 
(Acts iv. 12). It conceives of BO 
reason in the very order and tiatiire 
of created things why it sl^ould be sot. 
But how could man exist but by pm- 
cet ^ i^ I through tbedivtoe 

act ^ and hoir tmM be 

fulnl hi r btit hf 

to Ood. ilisorptsoo in hi»,i 



Beecherism and its Tendencies* 



441 



his iinal cause or supreme good ? 
How could he return without the te- 
Icological order ? or how could there 
be a ideological onler without Christy 
or the Word made flesh ? Nothing 
is more shallow, more mcagre^or more 
insignificam than the Beecher Christi- 
anity, It does well to depreciate the 
intellect, for there is nothing in it for 
the inldlett to apprehend. 

Noi less docs Beecherism nrisap- 
prehend and misrepresent the Chris- 
tiaii doctrine of the new birth or 
rtgencration. It attaches no mean- 
ing, as (ar as we have been able to 
perceive, to the palingenesia of which 
both our Lord and St. Paul speak. 
Our Loni says expressly (St. John 
iii, i\ " Except a man be bom again, 
he cannot see the kingdom of God/' 
Beecherism, in very properly reject- 
ing the Mclhodistic proLcss of *' get- 
ting religion," and the Calvinistic pro- 
cca of ** obtaining a hope/' goes far- 
ther, and denies the necessity of rege- 
neration itsclfp and seems to suppose 
'ftan can return to God witliout a 
telcoln^^ical order, or being born into 
^e teleological life. It assumes that 
every one is bom by natural genera- 
^<Jn on the i^Iane of his destiny, and 
**^*y by proper training and eilucation 
^**lfil his existence, and attain beati- 
f>^Uc Nulhing more than the proper 
**^velopment and training of one's na- 
f'**^ powers or faculties, it teaches, 
^ necessary to make one an heir 
^ the kingdom of God. This is the 
'^'ibby of the feminine Bcechers, and 
P^t-haps not less so of the masculine 
^^^^chers. But the full development 
^'^^ right training of our natural fa- 
culiJQj ^Q ^^i Y2i\s^ us above the or- 
<icr of generation, and only enable 
*** to attain at best a natural or acreat- 
^ be^itiiude. which is simply no be- 
^^tiide at all for a rational existence; 
*^ it is finite, and nothing finite can 

Etisfy the rational soul. I'he soul 
^ves, hungers, and thirsts for an un- 



bounded good, and demands an in- 
finite beatitude, the only beatitude 
there is or can "be for it. 

But the only unbounded good, the 
only infinitebeatitude,is God ; for God 
alone is infinite. All that is not God 
is creature, and all that is creature is 
finite. God, then, is our final cause as 
well as our first cause. We proceed 
from God through creation develop- 
ed by generation, and we return to 
liim through regeneration by grace 
as our sui>reme good. Yet God, 
alike as our first cau?>e and as our 
last end, is supernatural, above na- 
ture, above everything created. The 
natural, that is, the creature, can- 
not in the nature of things be the 
medium of the supernatural. We 
must then have a supernatural medi- 
um of return to God as our last end or 
beatitude, or not return at all, but re- 
main for ever below our destiny, and 
for ever suffer the misery of an un- 
fulfilled existence. Faith teaches us 
that this medium is the man Christ 
Jesus, or the Word made flesh, the only 
mediator of God and men. Chris- 
tianity is simply Christ himself, and 
the means he institutes or provides 
through the Holy Ghost to enable 
us to rise to him, live his life, and 
return to God, our supreme good, who 
is our supreme good because he is 
the supreme good itself, and the only 
real good. 

Christ cannot be our medium ex- 
cept as we are united to him and 
live his life. Live his life we cannot 
unless united to him, and united to 
him we cannot be unless bom of him 
in the order of regenerarion, as we are 
bom of Adam in the order of gene* 
ration. Hence our Lord says, " Ex- 
cept a man be bom again, he cannot 
sec the kingdom of God." We can 
no more live the teleological life of 
Christ without being bom of him, 
than we can the initial Adamic life 
without being born of Adam. As 



442 



Beecherism and its Tendtncies, 



we had no faculties by the exercise 
of which we could attain to birth of 
Adam into the order of generation, so 
by no exercise or development of our 
natural powers can we be bom of 
Christ in the order of regeneration. 
Or, as we could not generate our- 
selves^ neither can we regenerate our- 
selves. We can of ourselves alone 
no more enter the teleological order 
than we could the initial order. This 
entrance into the teleological order St. 
Paul calls even a ** new creation/' 
and the one who has entered " a new 
creature/' and we need not say that 
one cannot become a new creation 
or a new creature by development, 
education, or training. 

Now, whatever Beech errs m may 
pretend, it recognizes no new birth 
at ail. It is necessary, it concedes^ 
that the soul should come into per- 
sonal relations with Jesus Christy and 
that we should live his life, but we 
grow into his life and live his life by 
love; and to be in personal relations 
with him means only to be in synipa* 
thy with him. Just begin to love Christ, 
it says, and then you will learn what 
his life is, and will love him more and 
more, and grow more and more into 
sympathy witli him. But one might 
as well say to the child not yet born, 
or conceived even, ** Just begin to live 
the life of Adam, and then you will 
be able by continued eftbrt and per- 
severance to grow to be a man," as 
to say to a man not born of Christ 
through the Holy Ghost, ** Just begin 
to live the life of Christ, and you 
will be able to Uve it/* or, ^* Just enter 
the teleological order, or kingdom of 
heaven, and you will be in it.'* C'aiU 
premkr pas qui coiite. Once get into 
sympathy with Christ, and you are — 
in sympathy with him. All very true ; 
but how take that first step ? How 
bt^n to live without being born ? **Ex* 
cept a man be bom again, he cannot 
see die kingdom of God." lieecherism 



must require one to act before 
l)orn, or else it must deny the 
logical or Christian order altoj 
Since it professes to be Chi 
Beecherism cannot well overla 
action of the Holy Ghost i 
Christian life ; but it does not. tl 
any action of the Holy Spirit 
it recognixes, get the new b 
regeneration. The Holy Ghi 
have seen, it resolves into a 
effluence, or the spirit-power o 
not a personal distinction ii 
and this efBuence only stimul 
excites our natural life. 



"This divine and universal 

it says, '* is ihe peculiar clement (j 
the soul is desiined to 1tvc« nnd 
inspiration and its true food. \ 
tliuugh wc find man first tn lliiq 
and he receives bis first food U 
cause he begins at a low point, 
he develops and goes up step t 
higher facullies, rcquiring^ a bigb( 
of Stimulus or food, arc developia 
he reaches manhood at that pi 
vvhidi he begins to act from the 
ces that arc divine and spiriti 
that flow direcily from God. Up 
point he lives as an animal^ ojid 
that point as a man. 

*' This divine Spirit, or, if I maj 
the diffusive mind of God, whi 
vadcs all the realms of intelligent 
and which is the atmosphere tho 
to breathe, the medium of its llj 
stimulus of its life, acts in the fin 
as a gemr^l ixdt^ment. It dcvel 
whole nature of a man, by rousij 
life. We arc familiar with the gr| 
of this excitement." 

Tlicse gradations are: t 
excitement^ produced by p 
stimtiU; 2, Mesmerk excitcmi 
duccd by the action of men 
another; 3, jEstheik owal 
which gives rise to genii 
philosophy; and, 4, The 
divine excitement* After d 
these several degrees of exci) 
produced by the divine efill 
proceeds to ask and answer 
lion — 




Beecherism and its Ttndenfies, 



443 



'* What is the nesuU of this supernatural 
difbe stimulus upon man's nalure? h 
seems to act on the sensuous and physi* 
al naiurc only indirectly, by acting upon 
the higher life. It is, in general, an (mak- 
mnf of the faculties. It fires men. It 
dwclops their latent forces. We go all 
our life long with iron in ibc soil under 
Qur feet, and do not know that it is hid- 
den there; and we go all our lifelong 
cirrying gold in the mountains of our 
fotits without knowing that it is there. 
We carr>' in us ranges of power that we 
kaow very little of. 

''And the divine Spirit, in so far as it 
act! upon the human soul, or is permit- 
ted to awaken it.//^tv/*j/j its latent forces. 
It cariies forward a man's nwlure, open- 
ing m il, often, faculties which have been 
absobtcly dormant. There are many 
cncD who have eyes that they have never 
opened, and that are capable of seeing 
injths which they never have seen. They 
«w therefore called bUnJ. And they bc- 
^n to see only when the divine Spirit 
ACtiupon their souls; because there arc 
Certain faculties which will not act ex- 
cept when tlicy are brought under the 
divine influence. Then it is that these 
hculiics begin life, as it were*' {Third 

Thus far it is certain* that there is 
Oti new birth asserted; there is only 
w awaketiing into activity, untlerlhe 
ttiroiilus of the divine eftlucnce, of 
Kiturai forces hitherto latent, or the 
%h€r faculties of the soul hitherto 
tiottnant, and which without it are 
"^t, perhaps cannot be, awakened, 
^^velopcd, or excited to act, I'his 
*ca.ns that the soul rises to its high- 
^ life, or tJie exercise of its higher 
fecuiiics, only under the influence of 
f'^l^ematural stimulants, but not that 
'^ iji translated from the natural order 
^f life into the supematuraU The 
I *^*vine stimulants only develop what 
I 5^ already in the soul. T'hese divine 
' **^flueuces create or infuse nothing 
* ^^o the soul ; they only excite to ac- 
[^ity what is latent or domiant in 
l^^^ soul, and therefore do not lift 
H into a liighcr order of life; and it 
^ ^aly lite soul living its the super- 




natural order that can assimilate su- 
pernatural food or stimulants. 

Yet Beecherism would seem, we 
confess, to go a little farther. It 
continues : 

*" It is, however, still beyond this that 
. . . the divine Spirit seetns to act up- 
on the human mind, by imparting ttr it n 
jfinfUfss of susceptibiliiy and manil sympa- 
thy, by which the soul is brought into 
immediate conscious and personal com* 
munlon with God, and from which the 
most illustrious events in man's history 
arc deduced *' (i>- p> Sg), 

But, since the Beechers are on the 
downward track, this must be taken 
as an edort to explain away, while 
seeming to retain, the mystery of re- 
generation. All that is imparled — 
better say, produced — is a finer sensi- 
bility and a higher moral sympathy; 
no new principle is imparted or in- 
fused into the soul that elevates it to 
the plane of the supernatural. It is 
only the highest degree of that gene- 
ral excitement, varying in degree, 
from the lowest point to the highest, 
which Beecherism defines the cfiTect 
of the divine efJluence on the soul to 
be. The true doctrine of die Holy 
Ghost, we are told on the same page, 
is ** that it is the influence of the di- 
vine mind, of the whole being of 
God, as it were, sent down into the 
realm of rational creatures, hovering 
above them as a stimulating atmos- 
phere, and food for the soul ; and 
that when men rise into this atmos- 
phere* which is the nature of God 
diffused in tlie work!, they come to a 
higher condition of faculties," Yes, 
when they rise into it. Always the 
same diAiculty of the first step. W'hen 
men have risen into this stimulating 
atmosphere^ they can breathe it ; but 
how are they to rise into it > Begin 
to love God a little, and you will be 
stimulated to love him more and 
more, till you love him perfectly. No 
doubt of it. But how begin ? The 



444 



B^ec/urism and its Tendencies, 



atmosphere of God is hovering above 
us, and Betfcherism not only requires 
us, but assumes ihat we are able of 
ourselvet, without the infusion of new 
life, and even without the stimulating 
atmosphere itself, to lift ourselves up 
to it, and henceforth to live and 
breathe in it, and assimilate it as food 
for the soul. 

The illustrations prove it. On the 
same page again, it is said of the 
men who have risen to this atmos- 
phere^ that " they find whereas their 
heart was like a tree in the far 
north, which, although it could blos- 
som a little, could never ripen its 
fruit, because the summer is so short, 
now iheir heart is like that same (rre 
carried down toward the equator* 
where it brings its fruit to ripeness/* 
But here is imphed only a change in 
the exterior conditions; the seminal 
principle^ the principle of Ufe ami 
fecund itVi was in the tree when in 
•* the far north " not less than it was 
when ** carried down toward the 
equator/* Whatever ** fineness of 
susceptibility and moral sympathy ** 
the divine eflluence in its action on 
the soul may impart, it certainly does 
not, on tiie Beecher theory, infuse 
into the soul or beget in it the 
principle of a- new and higher life 
than our natural lite, which is what 
is necessary in order to assert the 
new birth, 

Beccherism is not, we presume, in- 
tentionally warring against the Chris- 
tian mystery of regeneration, for it is 
not likely that it knows anything 
about it What moves it is hostility 
to the Melhodistic and Evangelical 
cani al>out ** experiencing religion," 
'* getting religion," *• obtaining hope," 
"being hopefully con verte<i," in a sort 
of moral cataclysm, prior to which 
all one's acK even one*s prayers and 
offerings, are sins, hateful to God* 
The Heechers, brought up in the 
Evmngdkalschoolfhave become tho- 



roughly disgusted with this \ 
of it, and have simply aimed i 
rid of it, and to find a rcgula 
by which the child can grow u 
Christian. Rejecting with a| 
testants sacramental grace, ii 
\irtues, and baptismal regene^ 
they have had no alternative 
either to accept the moral cati 
protluccd by the immediate ai| 
sistible inrushing of the Holy i 
as all Evangelicalism asserts, 
to maintain diat our natural lii 
perly developed and directed^ 
of itself into the true life of 
and suffices to secure our beati 
They do well to reject the Evan; 
doctrine of conversion, but, kj 
no other alternative, they in 
so bring Christ, the Holy Gb 
Christian or t^ ' al order 
and man*s 1 , down 

order of natural generation, Ic 
p al in genes ia, and of course 
thing distincUvely ChristiaiL 

Dr. Bellows, a well knovm 
rian minister in this city, comm 
not long since on a sermon by 
Ward Beecher, said it was ** a 
Unilarianism as he w*anted/* jl 
do not think that, in saying 
wronged either Beechcrism or 
rianism. Certain it is that B« 
ism rejects in substance, if nol 
many words, the mystent* of iJi 
blessed Trinity or the tri pcrs 
of God ; the myslen,- of the 
made flesh, or ihe Incarnaliofl 
mystery of redemption ; the nj 
of regeneratioci and > 
or sacramental grace ; 
could an nan o^ uf 

wouhl be show that llie 

ers make no account of the 
Christie and assign la Clinst 
in man's redempdon, m1 
atitude. Ihe infliKfice af 
spirit that licechensm 
penuitunU only in the sense f] 
creati^'e act of God prodnQiig 



Beccherism and its Tendencies, 



44S 



nothing is supernatural. It is the 
nature of God that pervades the 
world, and is only what theologians 
cal) the divine presence in all his 
works sustaining and develoi>ing them 
in the natural order, or the divine 
concurrence in every act of every 
one of them. It is supematuFLd, for 
God is supernaturah and all his acts 
and influences are supernatural, but 
creating no supernatural order of life. 
Nay, hardly so much as this; for we 
ire told that God is not everywhere 
present, and his influence or effluence, 
being inseparable from himself, can- 
not be more universal than his being 
or extend beyond it ; and hence there 
may, if Beecberism is right, be exist- 
ences where God is not. 

After this, it can hardly l>e neces- 
sary to descend lo further details ; for, 
if Christianity be anything more than 
the order of genesis^ or pure nalural- 
i^i the Beech ers have no Christian 
standing, even in simple human faith. 
They know nothing of mediatorial 
grace; and these sermons make as 
hght of the sacrament of orders as their 
author, in the Astor House scandal, 
W of the sacrament of matrimony. 
The language of Scripture, however 
plain an<l express, has no authority 
for him. He admits that one has no 
Authority to preach the Gospel unless 
he descends from the apostles, but 
holds that every one who is able to 
P^ach it with zeal and eflfect does 
•^^^cnd from them. He has his 
orders and mission in the inward an- 
ointing of the Holy Ghost— in whom, 
^v the way, he does not believe^al- 
though the Scripture teaches that it 
** through "the laying on of the 
hands of the presbyter)^ " that one 
'^'^cives the power — that is, the 
"^ly Ghost ; and the tnission is 
8^^t;n in a regular way, through those 
*l*^ady ordained and authorized by 
^ lord himself to confer jurisdiction. 
''Ard Beecher goes on the principle 



that '' the proof of the pudding is in 
the eating/' but if the pudding hap- 
pens to be poisoned or unwholesome, 
the proof comes too late after the 
eating. Prudent persons would re- 
quire some guarantee before eating 
that the pudding is not poisoned or 
unwholesome, but is what it is said 
to be. Ward Beecher is no doubt 
a very respectable cook in his w^ay, 
but we have yet to learn that the 
Plymouth congregation receives much 
spiritual nutriment from his cooking. 

It may be a question whether they 
who die in sin, or under the jKnalty 
of sin, are or are not tloomed to a 
hell of literal fire^ there also may be 
questions raised as to the degree or 
intensity of the sufferings of the damn- 
eti, and perhaps as to the principle 
on which their sufferings are inflicted 
and are reconcilable with the infinite 
power and goodness of the Creator; 
but among intelligent believers in 
Christ as the mediator of God and 
man, and the founder and princi[)le 
of the teleological order, there can 
be none as to the fact that the suffer- 
ing is and must be everlasting. Every 
one capable of suffering must suffer 
as long as he remains unperfected 
and below his destiny. The damned, 
whatever else may be said of them, 
arc those who have failed, through 
their own fault or that of their supe- 
riors, to fulfil their existence or attain 
their end, and thus are inchoate, in- 
complete, or unperfected existences, 
and therefore necessarily suffer all 
the miseries that sjiring from unsat- 
isfied or unfulfilled nature. As at 
death men pass from the worhl of 
time to eternity, in which there is no 
succession and no change, the damn- 
ed must necessarily remain for ever 
in the state in which they die, and, 
therefore, their sufferLng must be ever- 
lasting. 

Yet Beccherism, without explicitly 
affirming universal salvation, decid- 



Beecktrism cmd its Tendenciis* 



cdly doubts that the sufferings of the 
damned, if any damned there are, 
will be everlasting, as we may see in 
The Mhuskt^s Wooing^ and in the De- 
fence of Lady Byron^ by Mrs. Beech- 
er Stowe, as well as from a recent 
sennon by Mr. Henry Ward Beech- 
er, if correctly reported; although 
a more logical conclusion from its 
premises would be the everlasting 
misery of all men, for it makes no 
provision for their redemption and 
return through Christ the mediator 
to God as their final cause or beati- 
tude. From some things we react, we 
infer that Beech erism inclines to spi- 
ritism, as it certainly does to mes- 
merism, which is only incipient or 
tentati^ spiritism, and it probably 
accepts in substance the doctrine of 
the spirits — the doctri;ie of devils ? 
— that there is ver)- little change 
in passing from this world to the 
next, which, like this, is a world of 
time and change, in which the de- 
%Tlopment begun here may be con- 
tinued, and the spirits rise or sink 
from circle to circle according to the 
progress they make or fail to make; 
but always free and able, if they 
choose, to better their condition, 
and enter higher and higher circles 
up to the highest. Lady Byron, who 
appears to have been a spiritist, and 
who regarded her husband. Lord By- 
ron, as the most execrable of men, 
still expected, if we may believe Mt^, 
Bcecher Stowe, to meet him in the 
spirit- world wholly purified, and a 
beatified saint, standing near the 
throne of the Highest! Great theo- 
logians and philosophers are the 
spirits. 

Beech erism jumps astride every 
popular movement, or what appears 
to it likely to be a popular move- 
ment, of the day. It went in for 
aljolition, negro suffrage, and negro 
eligibility, and now goes in for negro 
equality, in ail the relations of society, 



female suffrage and eligibilil 
reversing the laws of God, s( 
make the woman the head 
man, not man the head of I 
man. Henry ^Vard Beedict 
the head of the woman's righa 
ment, so earnestly defended 
lackey of the Indrpendtnt, 
erism goes in also tor liberty 
vorce, and virtually for pol 
and concubinage or free lo 
free religion, while it retains 
of its original Calvinistic spiri< 
quire the state to take charge^ 
private morals, and determine 
tute what we may or may m 
drink, or wear, when we may 
bed or get up; that is, it 
clothe the magistrate with an 
to enforce with civil pains and 
ties whatever it may for the i; 
hold to be for the interest of 
and social morals, and to profc 
like manner whatever it hoUlj 
against them to-day, though 
hold the contrary to-morroif, 
Bcecher tendency is to throw 
dogmatic faith; lo reject or ti 
no account of the Christian myi 
to remove all restraints on ih< 
tions, affections, and pas&ionf;; t 
the essence of marriage not in t 
consent of the contracting parti 
in the sentiment or passion < 
obligatory, and lawful even, 
long as the love lasts j to rej 
authurity as tyrannical that wa 
strain one from holding and 
ing the most false, dangero' 
blasphemous theories ; and dit th 
time, in the true Calvinistic s| 
demand that the magistrate s| 
press whatever it, in the excrc 
liberty, judges to be wrong, s 
force with the strong hand whal 
holds to-day to be enjoined 
manity, though directly conti 
what it held yesterday. It 
tutes change for stability, 
reason, opinion for faithg 



Beccherism and its Tendencies, 



hopcT philanthropy for charity, fanati* 
cism for piety, humanity for God, and, 
in the end, demonism for humanity, 
sinc^ man, as he renounces God, in- 
evitably comes under the power of 
Satan« 

That Beecherism has reached this 
extreme point we do not allege, but 
we think we have shown that this is 
the point to which it tends. But the 
Bcechers are a representative family, 
and represent the spirit and tendency 
of their age and country. The spirit 
t>f the age moves and agitates them, 
the current of the modern unchristian 
civilization tlows through them, and 
their heart feels and responds to every 
vibration of the popular heart. ** They 
aie of the world, and die world hear- 
€th them/' and sustains them, let 
them do what they will. Mrs. Beech - 
« Sto\ve*s Bynvtks^ though assailed 
«nd refuted by the leading journals 
and periodicals of the Old World and 
the New, have not damaged her re- 
putation, and she» perhaps, is more 
popular than ever. The world can- 
not hpare its most faithful feminine 
representative. Henry Ward Bccch- 
ersunives the /Vstor House scandal 
^thoQt loss of prestige, and proves 
iJiat the dominant sentiment of the 
Anicrican people makes as light of 
'^bc marriage bond as he did, and 
holds it is no more an often ce against 
Christian morals for a man to marry 
Another man's wife than he does. 
He only represented the popular sen- 
tiiBeot rrspecring marriage and di- 
Voitc. He in fact gained credit, in- 
stead of losing it, by an act which 
•blocked every man ant I woman who 
tJcUeves tliat marriage is sacred and 
w^violablc, and that what God has 
Joifltd together no human authority 
^ sunder. Henry Ward Beecher 
^probably the most popular preach- 
as Mrs. Beecher Stowe is the most 
P^pulAr novelist, in the country, 
I'he Bcechcr family, we grant, are 



a gifted family, but not more so than 
thousands of others. They have tal- 
ent, but not genius, and are not above 
mediocrity in learning, science, taste, 
or refinement. The scmions before us 
are marked by a certain rough ener- 
gy, or a certain degree of earnestness 
and directness, but they indicate a 
sad lack of theological erudition, of 
varied knowledge, breadth of view, 
and depth of thought. They rarely if 
ever rise above com mon place, never go 
beneath the surface, are loose, vague* 
indcBnite in expression, unpolished, 
antl not seldom even vulgar in style, 
and have only a stumporator sort 
of eloquence. The Beecher popu- 
larity and influence cannot then be 
ascribed to the personal character or 
qualities of the Beecher family, and 
can be explained only by the fact that 
they are in harmony with the spirit of 
the Evangelical world and represent 
its dominant tendencies. 

In the Beecher family, then, we 
may read the inevitable course and 
tendency of Evangelical Protestant- 
ism, whither it is going, and in what 
it must end at last. The Beechers 
never defend a decidedly unpopular 
cause; they are incapable of being 
martyrs to either lost or incipient 
causes ; they never join a movement 
till they feel that it is destined to be 
popular; they were never known as 
abolitionists rill it was clear that the 
success of abolition was only a ques* 
lion of time ; and we should not see 
Henry Ward Beecher at the head of 
the woman's rights movement if he did 
not see or believe that it has sufficient 
vitality to succeed without him. Yet 
the Beechers are shrewd, and usually 
keep just a step in advance of the 
point the public has reached to-day, 
imt which the signs of the rimes as- 
sure them the public will have reach* 
ed to-morrow ; so that they may al- 
ways appear as public leaders, and gain 
the credit of having declared them- 



Beecherism and its Tendencies* 



selves, before success was known. 
We cannot, therefore, assume that 
the world they appear to lead is ac- 
tually up lo the [joim where they stand, 
but we may feel very certain that 
where they stand is where the world 
they represent will stand to-morrow. 
They arc a day, but only a day, ahead 
of their world. 

The Beechers are Protestants of 
the Calvinistic stamp, and Calvinism, 
Evangelically developed, is the only 
living form of Protestantism. Ail 
other forms had for their organic prin* 
ciple the external authority of prin- 
ces, have borne their fruit, died, 
are dcad» and should be buried ; but 
Calvinism had for its organic princi- 
ple the subjective nature of m*an, in the 
emotions, sentiments, and affections 
of the heart, and can change as they 
change, and live as long as they live. 
This is what the Abbe Martin has in 
his mind when he says, " Protestantism 
is imperishable/' Calvinism can lose 
the support of the civil government, all 
objective faith, all distinctive doctrines, 
and still retain its identity, its vitality, 
and its power ofdevelopment. Indeed, 
it has lost all that, and yet it sur\ives 
in all its strength in what is called 
Evangelicalism, and which is con fin* 
ed to no particular sect, but compre- 
hencb or accepts all that is living in 
any or all the sects. It is the living, 
active, energizing Protestantism of 
the day ; that which inspires all the 
grand philanthropic, moral and so- 
cial reform, missionari% educational, 
and the thousand-and-one other enter* 
prises in which the Protestant world 
engages with so much zeal, and for 
which it collects and spends so many 
millions annually ; that holds world's 
conventions, forms alliances ol sect 
with sect, and leagues with social- 
ists, revolutionists, and avowed infi- 
dels to carry on its war lo the death 
against the church of Christ and espe- 
cially against his infallible vicax. Evan- 



gelicalism is bound to no crca 
ed to defend no doctrine, is su 
ly elastic to take in every hen 
to sympathize with any an( 
movement that is not a inovei 
the direction of the church 
It is, to borrow a figure from 
gustine, the proud and gorges 
of the world set over against t 
of God, and which it attacks b^ 
and siege with all the world'i 
and all the worUrs engines of 
tion. Whoso thinks it is noi 
midable power, or that it can 
ly van(]ui5hed, reckons with( 
host ; only God is mightier t 
and only God can defeat it, 
it to naught. 

We do not say that Evange 
has yet advanced — or descent 
ther — so far as to leave absoluf 
hind all objective doctrines; 
clings to a fading reminisce 
them, and chooses to express 
jective religion in the langi 
faith, to put its new wine into 
bottles, or, however the er 
sentiments, afifections, pa^^oi 
change, to call them by a C 
name. In diis, Beecherism 
its fancy, and lures it on in stsj 
ward career. Any one of thi 
culine Beechers is as little of \ 
tian as was Theodore Parker 
garet Fuller, or as is Ralph 
Emerson or Ellingwood Abba 
Weiss or O. B. Frothingham ; 
Beecher holds from Evangel 
retains its spirit and much of 
guage, and, instead of brcaki] 
it as the Unitarians did. he cc 
its legitimate dev< , aro 

up the faniily cca I; 

keei> just \xi advance of it, but 
not deviate from the line of its 
Unitarians are beginning lo 
blunder, and are striving dai^ 
pair it. 

Beecherism is by no means 
word of Evangelicalism. 1 1 pi 



Beecherism and its Tendencies. 



does not itsdf understand that word, 
nor is it ab]c to foretell what it will be. 
It represents the subjective or emo- 
tional side of Evangelicalism; but 
Evangel icalisui holds from Calvinism, 
and Calvinism, along with its subjec- 
tive principle, fully developed in the 
Beechers, asserts the thaocratic prin- 
ciple — a true principle when not mis- 
tpprehentled or misapplied, or when 
represented and applied by the infal- 
lible church divinely commissioned to 
tiedare and apply the law of God, 
but a most dangerous, odious princi- 
ple when 3]jplied by an unauthorized 
body, like the early Calvinists in Gene- 
va, Scotland, and the New England 
colonies, as experience abundandy 
proves. As Calvinism develops and 
Ijccomes Evangelicalism, humanity 
takes the place of God, and the theo- 
cratic principle becomes the anthro- 
l)ocratic princijile, or the supremacy 
of humanity ; and of course the abso- 
lute right of Evangelicals, philanthro- 
pists, the representatives, or those who 
daira to be the representatives, of hu- 
nianity, to govern mankind in all 
tilings spiritual and temporal — in prac- 
^ce, of those who can best succeed in 
can^'ing the people with them, or, 
^ose vulgarly called demagogues. 
Evangelicalism is developing in a hu- 
''^aniiarian direction, affects to be de- 
'^'Qcratic, and is in reality nothing 
"*it Jacobinism, socialism, Mazzinian- 
*^^, witli a long face, clad in a pious 
'^^be, and speaking in deep, guttural 

But this is not aJL The Calvinis- 

**'^ spirit is not changed any more 

J*^an the identity of Calvinism is lost 

y the changes in our emotional na- 

^^^i'c, by the transformation of the 

"^<iocratic principle into the anthro- 

l^^^iatic. It is always and every- 

^^Here, in religion and politics, in so- 

*-^ty and the family, the spirit of des- 

^tism. At first it said : ** I represent 

*^^; do as I bid you, or die in your 

VOL. XI L — 2Q 



rebellion against God/* Now it says : 
" 1 represent humanity, and humani- 
ty is suj>reme ; I am the people ; the 
l)Cople are sovereign ; their will is the 
supreme law^ ; therefore, obey my will, 
or die as the enemies of humanity." 
Let Evangelicalism once become do- 
minant in a republic, be the belief or 
spirit of the people, and it can easily 
and will establish the most odious 
civil and religious despotism, even 
while it imagines that it is laboring 
solely in the interests of humanity. 
It has cast off God and his law in the 
name of religion, reduced religion to 
the emotions, passions, and affections 
of human nature, in tlie name of piety. 
As every one of these is exclusive and 
despotic in its tendency, nothing is 
more simple than to cast off all liberty, 
jusdce, equity, in the name of God and 
humanity. All government holding 
from humanity or the people as its ul- 
timate principle, is and must be intoler- 
ant and tyrannical with all the intoler- 
ance and despotism of human passions 
or sentiments. The only possible 
security for any kind of liberty is in 
the subjection of the people, collec- 
tively as well as individually — or man's 
emotional, affective, or passional na- 
ture — to the law^ of God, the very law 
of liberty, because the very law of 
Justice and equality. 

We may see what Evangelicalism 
would do by observing what Jacob- 
inism did m France. There it was 
supreme for a time, and its govern- 
ment is known in history as the Reign 
of Terror. Its spirit was, ** Stranger, 
embrace me as your brother, or 1 will 
kill you." We sec w^hat it would do 
if it had full sway in w hat it attempts 
cver)'where in die WMy of political, 
social, and moral reform. ^V'hen it 
sees w hat it regards as an evil, public 
or private, it seeks by denunciation 
and a fanatical agitation to bring pub- 
lic opinion to bear against it, and then 
to get the legislature to pass a statute 



■ 



against It and suppress it by the strong 
arm of power. Whatever it would 
suppress, it seeks to make unpopular, 
and then to legislate it down. It ap- 
peals to public opinion, and popu- 
larity and unpopularity are its mea- 
sure of right and wrong. It hates 
the churchy and is doing all it can to 
form public opinion against her by 
decrying and calvimniating her — to 
form a public opinion that will, in the 
very name of Ciiuality, deny her equal 
rights with the sects — and to enact 
laws for the suppression of the free- 
dom of her diiicipline and of her wor- 
ship as fast as it can be done pru- 
dently. We sec it in the Evangelical 
hostility to our equal rights in the 
public schools, and its legislation on 
marriage and divorce. Its acts en- 
forcing negro equality, to legislate 
men into temperance, etc, are all 
signs of what it would do if it could. 
It would not legislate against the 
same things now or under the same 
pretence that Calvin did in Geneva, 
or our Puritan fathers did in the colo- 
nies of Massachusetts and Con nee d« 



cut, but it would legislate in th 

spirit, and in a direction 
against all true liberty. It 
the church because she oppo 
cobinism and exerts all her pc 
favor of stable government, 
just laws ; and it encourages 
where the Jacobinicil revolul 
giving it the power to suppn 
hberty but its liberty to en fa 
public opinion and civil pail 
penalties, its own constantly 
notions of the public good or th 
rests of humanity. 

The Unitarians, we havcsai^ 
a blunder in breaking with Evi 
calism. FSeechcrism shows ilieJ 
they may repair it, and assists 
to do it. Only keep clear of 
denials, preserve a few £vaa 
phrases, profess to be in cam 
*' heart-religion,** which means 
ligion at all, and peace is ma 
Satan has his forces united 
the Lord and his anointed, 
both civil and religious liberl 
for the emancipati<.>n of socict 
the supremacy of the divine la;! 





A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVKl- 

BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF 
"HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER/* ETC% 



CHAPTER Xn 



" What does thy wisdom think of 
til is imperial grants my necessitous 
husband ?" asked ihc Lady Plancina 
or Cneius Piso, as they sat together 
near a large brazier of burning logs, 
in the most secret room of the Cab 
pumian House, which, as the reader 
rn.ay remember, was surrounded l«y 
tKe willows and the beech-trees of 
the Viminical Hill 

•* May the infernal gods destroy 
that old dotard T' cried Piso, his sin- 
ister face quite informed with a sort 
^f livid h'ghL While he uttered the 
'napn^ation, he gently rubbed his 
^^t hand over the back of his right. 

'*That is saying, not doing, is it 
*^oi ?" pursued his partner. ** And 
rtic sweet youth, who, when he felled 
your slave, Lygdus, to the dust, left 
that mark upon your hand at the 
fringe and fag-end of his blow ; 
^hat say you of him ? Won't ho 
frcatly enjoy our property? He'd 
^^\c marked your face, too, only for 
^e thickness of your mask, the oth- 
^^ night." 

** But still you are to have the 
I^*'o|itfrty of Yedius Pollio, after this 
*^Aulus/' observed Piso. 

Wc may remark that Plancina 
^orc aD out-door dress, as if about 
^^ take an airing, ** A compliment/' 
^^d she, ** to my youthful ness, I sup- 
pose. N'ow, I had imagined that I 
^as olfl enough to be this lad's mo- 
^»^CT, But, no <loubt, since you say 
^, 1 shall succeed him in the pro- 



perty. For, in the first place, I shall 
naturally live much longer than he 
will ; and, in the second place, through 
politeness and out of consideration 
for my expectant state, this new- 
made military tribune and land-own- 
er will, of course, a})5tain from mar- 
rying; for you must remember it is 
only in case he should die before 
me, and so die without an heir, that 
I an} to have the reversion. W^hen 
I think of it in this point of view, I 
feel sure that the young patrician 
will even see the ]>ropriety of \'ery soon 
committing suicide on purpose to let 
me enjoy the estate. Shall we write 
him a little note hinting that such is 
the only course left for him to [>ursue 
in common decency ?" 

" Your note/' said Piso, looking 
up with a ghasdy expression, which 
suddenly came into his face, ** will 
not induce him to die ?'' 

** Could you induce him to die ?'* 
said the woman ; ** for bear in mind 
that it is not yesterday we began to 
expect the property now estranged 
from me and from mine/' 

*' Those who have been known to 
expect it/' re|>lied Piso, »*and, being 
known so to do, have been allowed 
so to do, have acrpiired a moral 
right to it. Ever since ohl Pollio 
began to have such a paunch, I have 
thought of the wealth he could leave ; 
I have watched the growth of his 
obesity with unremitting attention. 
But he was fattening for another.'' 

•* Could you induce that other to 
die/* repeated Plancina, " before 



-^52 



Diam and tkt Sibyb. 



^acxjydj CISC izA.ixxs h:r?. lo nur- 

Piso Slid zorhir.g. 

- Hive yoa heard me ?" osked this 
wtxzLin. 

Pl50, with tears in his eyes, again 
arlaimed : ~ He was fartening for 
aDOtherr 

^ You insufferable driveller !" cried 
Plancina, leaving him abruptly, and 
then quitting the house alone on fooL 

The enormous extent to which hus- 
band-poisoning had been carried in 
Rome, not very long before the date 
at which we have arrived, b well 
known ; and there was such a dead- 
ly and ferocious ring in Plancina's 
voice, as she pronounced the last 
words, that Cneius Piso was roused 
from his tender musings upon old 
Pollio's disappointing death and use- 
less corpulence, to glance at his wife 
as she left the room. Her face, which 
was mobile in feature, but always like 
the whitest paper in color, presented to 
his familiar eye so questionable an 
expression that he mentally asked 
himself whether she could gain any- 
thing by his own demise. A tress 
of black hair had accidentally escap- 
ed from the gaUnis or pile on the 
top of her head, to whicli it ought 
to have remained bound, and, hang- 
ing down her check in front of the 
ear, made her complexion seem still 
more pallid. Her thin, black, sharp- 
ly pencilled eyebrows were as tautly 
drawn as a bowstring when the arch- 
er is levelling his arrow; and under 
them her eyes, which when calm 
were of some very dark tint, flung 
from their cave a kind of yellow or 
tawny fire. 

When she had left the room, Piso 
Eose, stretched himself, yawned, and 
muttered with a smile, ** No, no. I 
am necessary to all her schemes. 
Hut old Pollio's estate must come to 
her. I wonder did Augustus guess 
that his grant to yonder youth was 



so mimed as to be a de 

nnt?"* 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Late in the night of tl 
shortly before the setting 
moon, a lady, closely veiled, < 
ed from a hired carriage, d 
it, saw it return toward Ro 
then began herself to walk a 
solitar}- road in the directio 
famous Tivoli grotto, upon tl 
of the Anio. Quitting the re 
a time, and passing throu 
fields, she reached a curved 
ancient yew-trees, which p 
their convex face outwards, e 
on three sides what seemed 
garden, bounded behind b> 
covered rocks. The trees, 
stood close together, were in 
by an impenetrable hedge < 
kind of cactus. In the ver> 
of the convex, however, was 
of pales, and the gate wa* 
and in the gateway was ; 
standing, the figure of a t 
stately woman. As the la( 
made straight for this gate, appi 
she suddenly noticed the forn 
woman, and paused with an j 
tary start. She whose apj 
occasioned this emotion was 
with both hands upon a loi 
and looking upward, lost in 
plation as she gazed upon th< 
less worlds that rolled throi 
blue and luminous immensil 
was clad from throat to fo< 
long black robe, the hood ol 
intended to be drawn forwa 
the brows, had fallen back in 
and disclosed a beautiful : 
of flowing snow-white hair 
glittered as if a cascade of c 
ries was pouring perpetually 
hcT calm temples and oval h< 

With the snowy hair, her c 
were nevertheless of a pal 



olor; she had a perfectly colorless 
^^cCf a straight nose, the nostrils of 
i^hich were clearly defincfl, delicate, 
.^d almost transparent; while her 
s-Im, large violet eyes had so clear 
»id, at the sams time, so solemn an 
^pression, that the thought came. 
What can that be which her eyes 
l^^ve seen? Some of the light of 
e heavens seemed to stream back 
^aiD tronk her countenance as she 

The TiKly stood sdll, looking at 
tJrtis figure in silence Jind wonder, till 
sxiddenly she felt a species of shock ; 
rc3T the great violet eyes had fallen, 
a.nd were bent iipon her. Recover- 
ing herself, the veiled visitor ad vane- 
e-d a few steps, and, with a low obei- 
sajice, said, in a disguised voice : 

" Wondrous and venerable Sibyl, 
I liave come to you in my distress." 
"There are," replied the woman 
slowly, **no more oracles for the Si- 
byl to give. Deiphob^ who lived 
^ttd sang in this grotto — Deiphobe, 
*fty sister^ is dead; and these hands 
have buried her. The urn of my 
sister Herophtla has long stood upon 
*ts dusty table, in its solitary vault 
^f>on the shores of the Euxine Sea. 
-^hl why recount the names of the 
^ca^ticred choir whose last sighs I 
(far- wandering) have been permitted 
•i^d sent to receive ? The nine are 
Kone; iheir songs will be heard no 
'^lorcj their warnings have been giv- 
^^. Read ! The time has come— 
^^c time has come, when I, //f/r knth^ 
*^ve but to reach the I^ast, and die !'* 
, A bell at a great distance, swing- 
**^g its melody from a mountain-top 
'^pon a gusty night, touching the ear 
ith a faint and interrupted music, 
Id give alone an idea of the 
^^n^ which slowly uttered these 
^ords. Tlic veiled lady, after a short 
pause, said, still disguising her voice: 
** Ka oracles or propliecies have I 



man ; my son is very sick with hurts 
received in battle ; I cannot aflford to 
pay a doctor; the nurse relies upon 
herbs ; I fear she is ignorantly giv- 
ing my son poison ; I know that in 
the garden of this grotto all medicinal 
plants were cultured by you, or rath- 
er, it seems, by your sister; and that 
she used to effect cures among the 
poor people by means even of poi- 
sonous herbs ; for poisons rightly 
used will cure persons, if sick, whom 
they would kill in health, but my 
bny*s nurse has no such skill Show 
me then, I pray you, the various 
herbs in your garden, in order that I 
may know huw to guard my child 
ix\^\\^ unintentional poisoning ?" 

** Enter,'* said the Sibyl ; ** there 
are only two poisonous plants in this 
garden. Here is one, which kills by 
slow degrees ; it is easily recognized, 
you sec. There is^ however, a ma- 
lady in wiiich it is the only remedy. 
Here is the second ; it is certain 
death for a person not already ill to 
drink as much of its decoction as a 
scallop -shell would hold. A minute 
quantity, nevertheless, has saved life 
in certain cases." 

The veiled lady, without ceremo- 
ny, gathered considerable quantities 
of each of these herbs^ and stoweil 
them (carefully separated from each 
other) in two pockets or folds of her 
robe. 

** What is your son*s malady ?*' 
asked the Sibyl 

"A dreadful fever consuming a 
body weakened by wounds and by 
a night's exposure to rain and cold 
while in a state of insensibility.** 

** Then," said the Sibyl, ** either 
of those herbs would be fatal, if no 
medicines — ^" 

*' Precisely,*' interrupted the veiled 
lady» in her natural voice; •* and 
therefore I want them, in order to 
make sure that it is neither of these 



Come to seek. I am a needy wo- which the nurse shall give him in 



I 



her ignorance. There are comforting 
simples which resemble them, and, 
having the real poisons, I shall be 
able to compare." 

I'he Sibyl fixed a long and steady 
glance upon the stranger, whose face 
was so closely covered, and said : 

*' Something tells me that, wheth- 
er you succeed in your present de- 
sign or not, it is probable you will 
have a short and a wretched life 
ended by a dreadful beginning." 

** Ended by a beginning !" answer- 
ed the veiJed lady in a scoffing tone. 
*'That is truly sibylline. I thought 
it was an end which ended things, 
and a beginning which began them." 

*• Go and see, woman of the two 
voices; go and discover, woman of 
the darkened face," exclaimed the 
Sibyl in a tone so indescribably so- 
lemn, sincere, and mournful, that 
the stranger drew her recinium with 
a shudder around her, uttered an ex- 
clamation resembling a scream, and 
fled across the moonlit fields to the 
lonely highway. 

CHAPTER XIV, 

Everything had happened as Cha- 
ricles predicted. About dawn, Pau- 
las awoke free from delirium, recog- 
nized with w^onder and joy his mo- 
ther, pressed the hand of Thcllu-S, 
and with a smile which threw a quick 
and new light upon the alterations 
made by illness in his face, declared 
IJiat he was violently hungr)*. It is 
needless to say with what a cheerful 
strictness of obedience Aglais and 
Dionysius adhered, amid the fulfilled 
predictions of Charicles, to all the di- 
rections of that famous physician. 

First, with a certain solemnity, Ag- 
lais administered the proportion of 
medicine contained in that phial to 
which the Greek doctor had attach- 
ed such importance ; then they gave 
Paulus a light breakfast and the pre- 



scribed quantity of generous irioc 
Already he looked quite dideteou 
A tint like that of the inside of a sea- 
shell was stealing into the haggard 
countenance ; and presently he threw 
himself back upon the cushions aod 
slept like a child. 

The sun was high when Paultis 
was once more awakened, eloquently 
pleading his hungen But the stcni 
mother and firm friend w ere inexora- 
ble. They called him tribune at eve- 
ry turn, and extorted slavish obedi- 
ence to their sovereign authority, Ag- 
lais pouring out his dose of medicine 
with the air of an Eastern queen, and 
Dionysius handing it to hira with tJie 
concentrated firmness of an execu- 
tioner. 

** But I am miserably hungry!'' ex- 
postulated the young soldier, 

*' Be hungry, then, my son f* said 
Aglais, smiling fciociou&ly, 

*^ You are to be hungry," addeiSu 
Dionysius, with cruel glee; ''andH 
hungry you must be T* 

It was the fourth day of lb 
peaceful scenes and this happy con- 
valescence ; the sun of winter wa= 
difiusing an unusual degree of brie3i 
warmth over the landscaj^e; A^!i!??-i 
and Dionysius were sealetl * 

large porch, on each side of 1, J 

couch, which had been wheeled ihi- M 
ther for him ; Thellus and the freed- M 
man Phihp were pacing the gravely 
esplanade in front j and in the di^tano 
a group of soldiers (some of ^homri 
limped) who had just taken leave of ^ 
tlic young tribune, believing hisreco- -* 
very to be at last secure, were seea 
marching south-west to strike the 
continuation of the Via Nomentaj)a, 
and so return to Rome. 

Dionysius, as the reader will re- 
member, had communicaieti to Ag* 
lais at Circaei the favorable decisiao 
of Augustus, and now they had been 
conversing about the immense wcaMk 
with which Paulus would be able 10 




support the memory of his ancestors, 
ihe rank of a military tribune, and the 
just fame which he had acquired so 
quickly by talent and courage, when 
tlie stewardess came from the house 
into the porch, and said : 

** Do not let this young lord slay 
too long in the air, my lady ; it be- 
gins to be cold and damp early of an 
L*\*ening now. His room is ready." 

** 1 low ready ?" said Aglais. *^ You 
were to turn it upside dow^n, you said, 
sweep it, and rearrange it; you have 
not had time/* 

**The new woman had been help- 
ing,'* rcjilied the stewardess; " I ought 
to have presented her for your appro- 
val, my lady. My master, the poet 
Lucius Van us. wrote to me to com- 
iiiiand that I should regard you and 
your family as masters of this place 
and of all his household. Marcia, 
Come hither !'* 

The new servant came, widi broom 
^n band, in working-dress as she was, 
^d made her obeisance. She was a 
l^lain woman, in middle life, with red 
hair and a nut-brown complexion ; 
but seemed, on the whole, to have the 
^ir of one belonging to a rather bet- 
^^r cla^s than that which performed 
**xcmal labor. 

The Greek lady made a slight in- 
^lination of the head, and the new 
^ipoman retired. 

"It is still warm here,*' said Aglais, 
Addressing the stewardess; " we will 
Ro in presently, I see by the water- 
*^ock that tlie time for the potion 
^as arrived *' — and she held up the 
labial, which she had carried from the 
•'uom and ke|it in her hand — ** bring 
^tjc a cyalhus ?'* 

As Taulus took the potion, his mo- 
oter, looking at the phial, remiirked 
thai it contained only three more 
doses. 

The day passed; the family had 
gone in -doors, and Paulas had been 
listening to his mother as she played 



ancient Greek airs upon the six-string- 
ed lyre, when a gentle knock was 
heard at the door. Melena, opening 
it, admitted the new servant, who en- 
tcred bowing, closed the door herself, 
and, approaching Aglais, said: 

** I am the destitute widow, my 
lady, of a decurion called Pertinax, 
well known to your brave son/* 

Here Paulus, who was not asleep, 
opened his eyes : *' Is poor Pertinax, 
then,'* he asked, *' among the slain ?" 

*' Alas ! tribune, yes,'* answered the 
red- haired woman ; ** it w as with him, 
I undei-standj that Germanicus Caesar 
quartered you before the late battles. 
Hearing of your dangerous wounds, 
and learning you were so near, I felt 
glad that in seeking employment, 
which my destitution now makes 
unhappily necessary, I should have 
found it where I could wait upon and 
serve one whom my poor husband so 
much esteemed,'* 

"I am sorry for Pertinax,** said 
Paulus. 

** I have not been able to give him 
the rites of sepulture,'* said the wo« 
man. ** He fell, wounded, into the 
Adige, and his body has not been re* 
covered. Ah I it is dreadful, lady,*' 
continued she. 

** You have had no sleep now for 
several nights ; your son is no longer 
in danger ; take, and let your waiting- 
woman take, the repose you both 
greatly require, and I will watch in- 
stead of you to-night/* 

Aglais refused this offer with many 
thanks. The red-haired, brown-fac- 
ed woman bit her under-lip, and 
looked down. " Well/* said she, *• I 
will no longer disturb you, or keep 
the young tribune from his rest. I 
will merely refill and trim the water- 
clock, and retire.** 

She trimmed the clepsydra as she 
said ; she folded up and placed tidily 
aside some cloaks and wrappers ; she 
arranged in more symmetrical order 



■ 



J 



Dian and the Sibyls, 



a few vases and the lamps ; and final- 
ly, standing with her back to the glass 
betwxen her and the table on which 
the niedicine was placed, secreted the 
phial in her robe, and left in its stead 
another phial resembling it in shape» 
in size, and in the quantity and color 
ef liquid which it contained. She 
then withdrew. 

Before daylight next morning the 
good old stewardess crept into the 
room» as she had regularly done ever 
since Aglais and her w^aiting-woman 
had come to the house, and inquired 
in a whisper how the night ha<l pass- 
ed. She then told Lady Aglais that 
just as the servant, the red-haired 
woman, was going to bed overnight, 
a man had come to the house to say 
that some peasants had found the 
body of Pertinax the decurion ; and 
the widow thereupon seemed to be 
much excited, and commissioned the 
stewardess to excuse her to the Greek 
lady, for she herself must go at once 
and see that her brave husband's re- 
mains were honorably buried. She 
added that, the young tribune being 
out of danger, she could be of no fur- 
ther service, and would not return. 
She had then departed with the man, 
who seemed to be a shepherd. All 
this the stewardess mentioned in a 
whisper : and, her tale told, she retired. 

Shortly afteru-ards, Paulus awoke. 
It was now the time prescribed for 
the potion, which had hitherto been 
administered to him with such pal- 
pable benefits. Melena brought the 
phial to Aglais, who carefully mea* 
sured out the proper quantity. Then 
looking at her son with a loving smile, 
the mother, who was so justly fond 
and so reasonably proud of him, bade 
him take his last dose. 

A beam of the morning sun was 
shming through the chamber, and 
Paulus, before swallowing the liquid, 
held it in the ruddy light, and gazed 
awhile at the ruby color brought upon 



¥11, jL^ 



the surface, as if his eye in sol 
guid whim was ensnaretl an 
captive. At that moment, thi 
was darkened by a shadow flui 
the doorway. There, as if ' 
against the sun*s rays, stood \ 
jestic figure of an aged, ta 
beautiful woman, wearing a lo:i 
mantle, but with a staff, her hi 
covered save by her snowwhitl 
The Athenian lady uttered j| 
cry. But Paulus, laying hti 
upon her arm, whispered n 
tially: 1 

'* Mother, yonder stands ihm 
It is she who bent over me* 
early morning of tliat formidabl 
near the old Latian town, a| 
me that fire wouhl subdi 
cious beast," 

As he spoke, the noble 
tic figure had advanced up the] 
ber, saying in Latin, with a slol 
of the beautilul head, "-^p^.'*' 

" /^iv kospcs r returned Agj 

" I greet you once mon 
Paulus, in a low voice, and 
look of profound respect 

She took from him 
which he had still held \x\ 
gazed into it earnestly, breathy 
it for a moment, set it upon 
and then muttered, " I again 
only three hours ago — ^the w 
the two voices — and I knew 
in the stariight, aldiough tl 
carriage w as bearing her to 
along the smooth road. I 
to you in time, my son* Y( 
no more medicine ; but this 
death in it. You, lady, and 
are called for in Rome. H 
Rome. Lose not an hour, 1 
ess has lost her whelp, and 
himself could not hold the 
the load j'Ott ^vill leans 
now, vaU et sah^e*' 

**But why do you use thi 
of a perpetual EuevreU ?" 
lu& 



As he spoke, Dionysius, who had 
ilept in a neighboring apartment, en- 
tered noiselessly. 

The Sibyl moved toward the door, 

and, seeing tlie Athenian, fixed her 

gaze upon him as she answered the 

question of his friend : " Because/' 

she said^ ** you will see me no more. 

The time appointed forme has almost 

I^issed away. I am journeying even 

MOW to a holy land ; for perhaps it 

will be granted to mc to behold with 

these bodily eyes before 1 die him 

whom we have ail announced. But 

/ou have deemed our words to be as 

savings, and the hopes to be false 

which we have declared to be true." 

**Not I," said Dionysius. 

She took a small roll of paper from 

4 fold in her mantle, and, handing it 

^o him, said : 

'* Read, and remember this. Your 

*''anie already is coupled with that of 

^he beautiful and famous city which 

^ the very capital of human genius 

^^d the centre of intelleclual pride. 

^Ou are Dionysius of Athens — of 

''Athens, the lamp of Eastern Europe. 

^Ut a race in the West, more famous 

^^d more polished than the (Greeks, 

^ith a capital greater and more beau- 

^'uJ than Athens, will claim you one 

^^y as tlieirs also, and, for fifty gene- 

^tions alter you shall have died, a 

^^arUke people will continue to shout 

'^^tih your peaceful name over fierce 

'^^Ids of battle in a language now 

^**^pokco. Your reputation spans 

^^e past and the hereafter of two 

^^Unt nations, like an arch, coming 

^** honor out of antiquity and the 

^^st, and settling in a glory, never to 

S'^ow dim, over the future of unborn 

*^Uliohs at the opposite side of Eu- 

*t>pe. 

** You are deemed its child by the 

^ city of the past, which connects 

name with yours; you will be 

^l(\ among its parents by the still 

4ircr city of the future — a queen city, 



where in many temples he will be 
adored whom your Athens at present 
worships witli a simple statue as the 
unknown God: /4?r he has come, 
Yes^ vty son, he has come,^^ 

The beautiful aged face was lighted 
up with the love of a child, yet the 
speaker bowed her silver Jocks in an 
attitude of unspeakable solemnity and 
awe as she pronounced the last four 
words. For some moments after she 
had ceased to speak, ail who were 
present preserved the air and look 
of attentive heaprs, like those who 
have been listening to a strain of 
music, and remain awhile as though 
they were listening stilh when it has 
died away. AVhen the roll of paper* 
which the Sibyl held out to him in 
her white and almost transparent 
hand, had been taken by Dionysius, 
she crossed the threshold, and, once 
more saying " Vale ei salve^^ disap* 
pea red. 

In obedience to her more personal 
warnings, the whole party temporarily 
domiciled in that remote Lombard 
house made immediate preparations 
for a return to Rome. The groups 
of soldiers who out of interest for 
their hero, their newly- made tribune, 
had loitered in the neighborhood, 
although recovered from their hurts, 
came now to inquire from Paul us, as 
the highest military authority within 
reach, what orders he had to give, 
and to receive from him requisitions 
or billets upon the quaestors of the 
several towns and stations along the 
road to Rome, for rations and lodg- 
ings, and small allowances, from 
post to post. These Paul us wrote 
out for them with a strange feeling 
of the immense social space which 
he had traversed upward w^ithin a 
few weeks* time ; for he felt that, only 
a little while ago, he would have 
been taking the orders which he was 
giving, and would have been almost 
as much in need of the billets he 



DwH and the Sibyfs, 



I 



was iiisj>ensing as the decurions who 
now applied for them to him in be- 
half of themselves and their soldiers. 

ThcUus, with part of a centuria of 
convafescents, ^as to march, and, 
starting at once, he undertook to be 
never at more than a few hours* dis- 
tance, even after they should over- 
take him, from Paulus and the Lady 
Aglais. who, with the slave Melena, 
were to make use of Dionysius's 
handsome travelling carriage^ driven 
by Dion's own coachman. The 
freedman Philip, kading the Sejan 
horse, started in company of Thellus's 
little column. A small carriage was 
obtained, in which Dion himself 
journeyed. 

In short, considerable groups start- 
ed for Rome by different means and 
in relations to each odier more or 
less close, which constituted ihem all 
one company on the road, 

And thus we leave them, to notice 
events by which they were gravely 
affected, which hud occurred, or were 
even then occurring, elsewhere, and 
which were preparing a reception for 
them at their destination. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Thb reader will remember the ad- 
ventures which happened one night 
at a certain house in the Suburra, 
and the share which Josiah Macca- 
beus and his daughter Estlier had in 
preserving not only a large amount 
of public treasure, but Paulus and 
bis companions themselves^ from the 
fate which had been carefully planned 
fur thcnj, and of which there was so 
imminent a danger. 

Josiah never had an hour's peace 
in that house afterwards, nor Esther 
an hour*s happiness. 

At last, the daughter was neither 
^ouy nor suqjrised when her father 
announced to her that he would not 
be scrivener and clerk any longer to 



Eleazar, his wealthy a 
a modest if not parsii 
service, Josiah had a| 
means to place his , 
himself above sordid 
they should live logetl 
she should marry to g^ 
ble portion, a portion I 
a maiden of one of f\ 
names might, without 
arrogant i> re tensions, A 
suitable, but equal taf 
wished. Meanwhile, J 
he had not announced 
teiition of ending hu 
Eleazar until he ha 
preparations and Xz 
sures which were need 
ing that iJitention mt 
feet. 

It does not belong 
work to look back b 
proceeding. The ccm 
siah determined to h 
ever, ami to return wil 
land of their lorefa 
while at once acquici 
termination, rememlj< 
and noble young sol< 
and indeed profession 
had sa\ed from the 
tiffs ; and she would 
to see him once more 
hear him say a kind i 
with such words oti 
appreciation as for 
him, which dwelt in 
and tended to persua 
would herself be rec 
manner by him fron 
hereafter Could sheJ 
him some token, onej 
maiiuscripts, which, 
it, would remind hiu 
But now the best w;] 
such idle whims, 
that they should embj 
a ship which was ev 
point of saihng for lb 

The distance firou 



in Rome to tlie port was not more 
than fifteen miles, including the pas- 
sage of tlie Tiber, the great place uf 
embarkatian (afterwards, from the 
reign of Claudius, so famous and so 
noisy with a whole world*s traflic)^ 
being on the right or northern bank. 
On a southern branch of the lla 
AstUnsio^ or Astian highway, not far 
fiom a cross-road or diverticulum^ 
VThich, coming north-east from tlie 
coast, struck tlie branch highway 
where it was going north-west to the 
mouth of the Tiber, perhaps some 
seven or eight miles from Rorae^ stood 
a house in a shrubbery of oleanders 
and myrtles, ^ little apart from the 
thoroughfare. In that house lived 
an old Jew named Issachar, from 
whom Josiah had, by letter, claimed 
a night's hospitality for himself and 
his daughter. Accordingly, he and 
Esther, dividing a moderately short 
journey into still easier stages, had 
iirrived, toward evening, at the house 
of the cross-road (or rather the fork- 
cJ-roatl), with the intention of start- 
*0g betimes next morning for Astia, 
*nd there going quiedy on board 
tileir ship by early daylight. 
The evening meal was over ; the 
^Ufenher was mild, and Jssachar ]iro- 
^Bbsed to Josiah Maccabeus and his 
daughter to take a litde stroll in a 
Sort of arcade walk parallel vriih the 
highway, and formed of a doulile 
line of old sycamores. 

Here they were walking to and tro 
^pon ihe thick and rustling carpet 
^r fallen leaves, conversing about 
Jerusalem and the aflairs of their 
*^ounir)', when their attention was 
attracted by the sound of wheels 
^om the south-west. 

** It is along the by-road from the 
^Oast lower down/' salrl Issachar, 
** Carriages but seldom travel that 
*<iad. It leads nowhere, save to the 
c coast ; or there is another south- 
d bend from it toward the Cir- 



Cdcan promontory (Monte Circello), 
and a carriage went past early this 
morning aitended by horsemen \ it 
may be the same returning/* 

As he spoke, the roll of wheels 
became louder, and a vehicle drawa 
by a couple of horses, which seemed 
much blown, approached at a rapid 
pace. Four horsemen (two a side) 
rode by the carriage. As this last 
came better into view, it was appa- 
rent that one of the animals harness- 
ed to it, and drawing it at a labor- 
ing canter, was seriously lame. The 
little group in the sycamore arcade 
could observe all ihis without them- 
selves being at first discerned by the 
travellers. When nearly opposite the 
wicker- gate leading into the grounds, 
the i^nncipal rider, who seemed to 
have the whole of the small expedi- 
tion under his charge, uttered two \>x 
three classical curses, in which the 
pleasing alliteration of pcrcam pejus 
often recurred, and cdled a halt. 

^* This horse," said he, '* will not 
hold out ten minutes longer; here 
is a habitation, we will change the 
brute; whoever lives here must give 
us a steed for love, or money, or — ** 

He then went to the hom-window 
of the carriage', opened it^ and, using 
much lierceness of voice and manner, 
was heard by the group in the syca- 
more avenue to say, " How is she 
now ?" 

** She is insensible,'* answered a 
female voice ; " she will die if you 
do not give her some rest and encou- 
ragement.** 

** It would not," replied he, **b€ 
executing my orders, or accomplish- 
ing the end \Xi view, to let her die on 
uur hands. Once she is in your 
mistress's house at Rome, she may 
die as soon as she likes. Out with 
her ; we must carry her into yonder 
house, while I get a horse changed." 

Issachar, followed by Josiah Mac- 
cabeus and EstheFj had meanwhile 



* 



Dhn and ike Stbyh* 



shown themselves, and were soon 
lending their assistance to a harsh- 
featured woman in supporting, across 
the little lawn which separated the 
ro^d from the house, a poor young 
damsel who had partially revived 
from a death-like swoon. Once 
across Issachar*s threshold, she was 
laid gently over some cushions on 
the floor, in the room where the fa- 
mily had just dined, and where a fe- 
tnale slave had already lighted seve- 
ral little saucerdike lamps of scented 
or sweet burning-oil. The daylight 
had not quite gone, or these lamps 
would hardly have enabled Esther, 
who was compassionately bending 
over the young girl, to recognize the 
wonderful likeness between her and 
the youth in command of the party 
who had come, a few weeks before, 
to Elea74ir*s house in the Suburra for 
the military treasure. 

She hastily expressed her sense of 
this likeness in a muttered cxcbma* 
tion, in which the name of " Paul us " 
occurred. At the sound of that 
name the damsel opened her eyes, 
and feebly cried, " Where is he ? 
Where is my brother Paulus ?" so 
feebly, indeed, that none save Esther 
distinguished the words; and even 
she with difficulty. 

Esther had the instinctive good 
sense to perceive that brutal and law- 
less violence were rulers of the pre- 
sent occurrence, and could alone ac- 
count for the situation of the young 
lady before her, who was in the midst 
and in the power of persons evident- 
ly not her friends. How could she 
have fallen into their hands ? 

Just then the woman who had ac- 
companied the young lady in the 
carriage pushed Esther aside, and 
peered close into the pale, still face 
of the former. " 1 fancied she spoke. 
Did she speak ? Is she again in a 
swoon ?" were her words. 

•* I will get some wine,** said Issa- 



char. And a servant who h< 
brought ample store of 
drinking'Vessels; whereupon t 
er of the travellers, who now 
the room, glanced at the mo 
figure of lier whom he was alt 
and said to Issachar: " Mj 
am in the service of potent p 
and must request you to ftim 
w iih a fresh horse. I will I 
lame one and a sum of 
you till your own horse 
turned to you." 

** This poor damsel " replii 
char, " is clearly in no state to 
If you take her away now, y 
carry her into Rome dead. 
I can furnish for your ncc^ 
the tenns you mention, althou 
state not who the potent pcit 
whom you sen e," 

**I wonder at you, L^gd 
marked the woman. '* It matl 
whom we serve/* continued 
dressing Issachar; ** we will pi 
for anything we need, Thaji 
the wine. Yes, we will take 
wine; only a little, mind, I-ygd 

Lygdus having poured out 
wine on the ground, with a j 
helped himself to three cyaihi. 
cession. He then smacked hi 
poured out a fourth measure fr< 
testa, and, standing astritle, wai 
hand to and fro, and said : *' 
a man who knows how to do i 
say I shall do, and in fact xkh 
I am told to do ; that is ** — ^h 
drank off the wine, refilled the j 
planted his free hand with the 
clinched upon his hip, ami s 
his head in a defiant mar 
glanced at even.' person iji 
successively — "that is, if it I 
right kind of person who id 
and none else would dare, 
afraid of nothing. That is w 
derstood Men whisper as I 
There goes lygdus! V 
is! He's afraid of n* 



JDian and the Sibyls, 



Here he frowned and drank off his 
wine. And as he was now again 
stretching his hand toward the am- 
phora* or ampulla, or testa, the wo- 
m^n said : 

'* Beware! you have taken much 
lo-day; you took some at ihe sea- 
roast ; you have taken some since ; 
you won't reach Rome," 

" Sea-coast !" cried he, witli the 
iame attitude antl gestures as before j 
**this next goblet is for the fainter, 
the fainting one, the pale damscL 
hnam ffJHS^ why does she faint ? I 
don't mind stating, here or elsewhere, 
that whatever 1 do, Cneius Piso, the 
great Cneius Piso and Sejanus, the 
«till greater Sejanus, will say is well 
done, They will say, when I get 
'iatk to them, Eug€, Lygdus; eugCy 
good Lygdus ; you are the man, be- 
cause you arc afraid of nothing." 

Here the woman seated herself 
opon some cushions, shrugging her 
shoulders ; and the other continued : 

** Right ; rest there. Let refresh- 

'uents be brought ; let the horses be 

fci outside. I halt here for half an 

'^our and half that again. Let that 

Minting damsel have something to 

*^vive her! Ho! Who lias got a 

'^Utc ? I can play the flute as well as 

^y of the strolling female flute-play- 

Here Esther stole swiftly up to her 
'^Iher, took him aside, and whisper- 
^U to him that it would be wise to 
'"^Umor this murderuus-looking guest; 
^nd asking Josiah Maccabeus whe- 
ther he did not remember tlie youth 
"*^'ho had come to Eleazar's house with 
^-^cnnanicus*s ring for the public mo- 
^ey, she bade her (;^ther look closely 
^t ihe features of the beautiful and 
'*>anifcstiy high-born damsel, who 
^*ls under the escort of so ruffianly 
** party. Issachar glanced at the 
Mc face and started. 

**What a resemblance!'' he whis- 
P^ed. 



In the same cautious tone, Esther 
replied by informing him that the 
young girl had only that instant call- 
ed for her brother Paulus; for she 
was obviously distraught with ilLus- 
age and her own terror, and thought 
that Paulus could be summoned to 
her rescue. 

After interchanging a few more 
whispered remarks, Esdier took a 
salver with some wine and bread 
on it, and returned to where the 
young lady was lying. The sour- 
faced woman, on hearing Lygdus 
ejipress his intention of resting awhile 
where they were, had already attend- 
ed to her own comfort. Seeing the 
damsel on whom she seemed to have 
thj duty of waiting to be in such 
good and tender charge as that of 
Esther, she rose from the cushion 
where she had been sitting, took it 
up, and placing it in a comer, with a 
smaller one for her head, settled her- 
self at the angle of the two walls, in 
the altitude of one who is determin- 
ed to have a slumber, 

**Ay,'* quoth Lygdus, to whom 
Issachar had actually handed a tibia 
simstnt, or melancholy dcep-tnned 
flute, and who had tlung himself on 
a pile of cushions, crossing his legs 
like a Hindoo, ** sleep you, and I 
will soothe you with a sad and so- 
lemn ditty." 

And forthwith he began a most 
funereal and monotonous perform- 
ance, with which he himself seemed 
to be ravished. He interrupted it 
only to sip a little wine, after which 
he proceeded again, rocking his body 
in tune to his strain, and producing 
over and over again about a dozen 
notes always in one arrangement. 

It was a curious and fant:islic scene 
in Issachar's dining-room by the dim 
lights of the Utde lamps for nearly an 
hour. 

Meanwhile, Esther, by the tender* 
est and most soothing sympatliy, had 



atsuaged and revived the spirits of 
her who was apparently a prisoner 
to this horrible gang. Some earnest 
conversation passcrl between the friir 
girls in whispers, which ended in Es- 
ther's saying solemnly to the poor 
damsel : 

" Yes^ I promise it most sacredly ; 
but I do not need ihis gold orna- 
ment; my grandralher has money/* 

'* Keep M/or me, then," replied the 
other. " How can I be sure they will 
not take it from me ? Besides* the ob- 
jects in the case will prove to Velle- 
ius P*iterculus that your tale is true." 

** Be it so/' said Esther; **bin now 
I must at once leave you. The first 
requisite as well as chief difficulty 
will be to trace you in, or follow you 
now through, the immense labyrinth 
of Rome. To secure this end, mea- 
sures must be taken without the loss 
of a moment ; great energy is need- 
ed» Trust to Esther's love and Es- 
ther's zeal : as if Esther was your sis- 
ter* And now anger not these per- 
sons by exhibiting your terror and 
grief lie ctalm ; and appear, if you 
can, more than calm, even cheerful. 
Heaven has sent you in me and my 
lather friends who wvll watch and 
strive for you outside ; and who will, 
t)csides, inform your brother Paulus, 
your uncle the triumvir, and your 
well-wisher Velleius Paterculus, the 
powerful tribune of the Praetorians, 
into what a situation you have been 
cruelly and violently hurled." 

•* Oh ! how kind, how good» how 
like a dear sister you areT* replied 
Agatha, while silent tears streame<] 
down her fair young face* and she 
lirtssed almost convubively in both 
her own hands the hand of the beau- 
tiful Hebrew maiden. 

"There," returned Esther, gently 
wiping away the tears with her palm, 
and kissing Agatha — ** there, smile 
now : drink this wine, and try lo rest 
till you go.** 



And, leaving her, she retired from 
the apartment, beckoning to her Ci- 
ther and Issachar to follow. Good 
and evil powers, angels calm and 
mighty, angels tierce and terrible, 
were contending now for the destruc- 
tion or deliverance of a poor littJc 
maiden, with all the wit and all the 
resources at the disposal of one of 
these in the old Roman uorld, and 
with such weapons as the other found 
it necessary to wield. 

Josiah Maccabeus, upon teaming 
what his daughter had to communi- 
cate, hesitated not one inoraent to 
give up their journey to Palestine 
in order to return to Rome and try 
every means for the liberation of^ 
Agatha. 

Issachar placed a small house whid^ 
he possessed in Kome at the dispo 
of his counlr)*man, and lo this hoi 
it was rcsolveti the}- would retin — i 
that night* But the most neccssair^ 
operation of all, because every ult' 
nor measure depended upon it, wi 
to watch and track Agatha lo ifcn 
place in the enormous city (mo 
populous than London is now) 
which her captors sli 
Without a knowledge ' 
thing could be accomplished cilh" 
by fair means, or by contrivance, • 
by force, should force become po$^^ 
ble under any circumstances. 

For any of the friends then hol^^ 
ing council to follow the carriage wi 
its escort of four horsemen woul 
be to throw away the last chaoca^ 
The pursuer would be remaiicctl Is 
sachar had in his service an active 
intelligent, and tr Tebrc* 

lad, generally cm: a ooi 

of-doors and on crratub t»ctween thc^ 
great city and the lonely house wfcertf? 
he lived. Tills lad now lecci^ 
his orders, and set fonrard tovtivt 
Rome, riding a mule hare^bscked, 
and with a wallet containing a few 
refreshments slung loimd his aeck. 



Merry Ckrutmas. 



463 



kad perhaps half an hour's erabic an inroad, departed uttering 



lien Lygduswas informed that 
borso, in lieu of tlie lame one, 

tossed to the carriage, that 
thers had received a feed, 
It ever)lhmg was in readiness, 
jreupon nodded, drew a final 
from his tilna simstni^ flung 
that instnimentt sprang to his 
Heeling his party, and, without 
ig Issachar for the hospitality 
ich he had made so consid- 



curses similar in number and gravity 
to those with wliijh he had called a 
halt. 

Josiah Maccabeus and Esther al- 
lowed an hour to pass, and then, as- 
cending a carriage of old lssachar*s, 
drove back to Rome to the small 
house already mentioned as the pro- 
perty of Issachar, where they arrived 
late at night, and found their messen- 
ger ex pecti n g th e m . He had succeeded. 



ro UK CONTWUKD, 



MERRY CHRISTMAS. 



na.s e\'c the bells were mng ; 
I donned licr kirUc sbcen ; 

rthe wogkI did merry men go 

i«r'tatlic mistletoe, 

ir with roses in his shoes 

(hi might village pATtner chusc ; 

ed with tincontroliccl dcHii^ht 

1,^..., ....,.,- ,^^ happy ni^ht 

til '1 the crown, 

t I, niion down. 

^ ImI^ . 11 {ȣ9^ 

d till u. :iy to grace, 

rn up4i!j bo^Td 

k iQ pa ft the b4{uue and lord^ 

tC (J rim hoar's head frowned oa high, 

rwith biysntul rosemary. 

piil roiiiKT, in golden bowls, 

pd with ribbons, blithely trowh; 

le huge liurloin reeked; hard by 

porridj^c ?toatl, and Christmas-pyc ; 

ed of Scotland to produce 

high tide her Mvory g^oose. 

rt was merry England, wkea 
* ' ' :. lit his sports agalo^ 

-^ched the mightie^it 9.\e^ 
I the merriest talc; 

LJiiAi ^'^aibul oft would cheer 

n inan'» heart through half the year, 

iractice of using green branches 
decoration of churches and 

sit Christmas lime is of very re- 
In early carols the holly 

fare both spoken of, but the 
^re frequently than the latter; 
irerjjecamc one of the plants 
f used with holm and bay» to 
Ddly company the mistletoe 
Itra^d added. Rosemary and 



laurel were also among the favorite 
Christmas evergreens, and chaplets 
of them were made and worn on the 
head — whence came the exjircssionsi 
**To kiss under the rose/' and '* Whis- 
pering under die mistletoe/' 

The yule log is of very ancient use. 
Before chimneys were invented, the 
fire was built in the middle of the 
room, the smoke escaping through 
the roof. On Christmas eve, a huge 
log, the yule-lag, was put u]>on the 
fire, and each member of the family 
in turn sat down upon it, and sang 
a yule-song, and drank to a merry 
Christmas and happy new-year. The 
sitting on the log had to be abolish- 
ed when fireplaces were invented, 
and in these days the log itself has 
fallen into disuse by reason of ihemo- 
ilcrn improvements of Latrobe stoves, 
furnaces, etc. Herrick, in his Cere- 
monies for Chnsimasse^ mentions the 
yule-log : 

Come, brings with a noise, 

My raerrie, merrie boyes, 
The Chri&lnias-log to the hrcin^; 

While my good dame, abe 

Bids ye all be free. 
And driok to yi>ur hearts' destriai^. 

With the last yeeres brand 

Light the aew block, and 




'One of the earliest customs was 
the wassail -bowl, and one universally 
patronized. The first wassail is said 
to have been as follows: Rawena, 
the daughter of Hen gist, presented 
the British king Vortigern with a 
bowl of wine, saluting him with, 
** Lord king, wies-hcil," to which 
the king (as previously instructed, 
the legend says) refill ed» ** Drinc 
heile," and saluted her after the then 
fashion. Being much smitten by her 
< harms, the king marriitl the fair 
cup-bearer, to her and her fa therms 
great satisfaction, and the Saxons ob- 
tained what they wanted. This form 
of salutation is found, however, to 
be much older than this romantic 
scene, and to have been used by the 
Saxons years before. Some accounts 
say that the Britons had their wassail- 
bowl as late as the third centurj'* 
The followers and worshii>pers of 
Odin and Thor drank deeply in ho- 
nor of their gods and when convert- 
ed continued the practice ni honor 
of the one God and his saints, and 
it required much patient labor among 
the early missionaries to abolish it. 

Dancing was a favorite Christmas 
amusernenu William of Malmesbu- 
ry tells us quaintly of a jjarty of 
young folk who were dancing; in the 
churchyard, one Christmas eve, and 
hy their laughter and songs disturb- 
ed a priest who was saying his Mass 
in the church. He begged and en- 
treated them in vain to desist and 
allow him to complete his duties 
undislurl>cd ; they only danced the 
more and sang the louder, until, the 
priest's patience becoming exhausted, 
he pmyed that they might never 
cease dancing. This prayer was 
heard, and they continued their dance 
all through the year* Neither heat 



nor cold, hunger, thirst, nor fatigue^ 
affected them. Their friends made 
every effort to stop them, A brother 
of one of the girls took her by the 
arm, and tried by force to bring her 
away ; the limb came off m his hand, 
without apparently causing any pain 
or distress to the dancer, who lost 
not a single step of the performance, 
and went on as steadily as liefore. 
At the end of the year, Bishop Hu- 
bert came to the place^ and, absolving 
the party, the dancing ceased. Some 
of them died right away ; others, after 
a sleep of three days and nights, 
went round telling of the miracle. 

From the earliest times, the kings 
of England celebrated Christmas and 
the succeeding holidays with royal 
feastings. In the titne of Henry II., 
they had dishes with queer- so undiDf 
names, whatever their actual menl 
may have been. Crane W3S tk 
bird of the season, just as turkey » 
with us; but besides that tliey had 
dillegrout, karumpic, and maupigy- 
rum. These names convey to w^ 
dem ears ver)^ little idea of what ira> 
the real nature of each compouft<i' 
Dillegrout must )iave been some- 
thing ver>" remarkable, for tlie teuii^^ 
of the manor of Addington, in S*^ j 
rey, held it by the service of maki**"^ 
a mess of the delicacy on the day ^ 
the coronation. With what anxi^^ 
must not the ingredients, which w€^ 
almond-milk, the brawn of capo^^ 
sugar and spicc% chickens parboil^ 
and chopped fine, been put togethc?^ 
A little too much of one, too little ^ 
another, an instant*s too long cookir^ 
perhaps, and the goodly manor w^ 
bestowed upon a greater art^ rf 
more lucky individual Mawjiigynif^ 
was the same dish with the addition 
of fat* Of the Christmaji driAlc;^ 
were hippocras, ale, mead, and cbn^ 
The English in early flavs were ccle^ 
brated r»drink-^ 

ing* L _ la 



Merry Chrishnas. 



c: "Your Dane, your 
[1 your svvag-bcllied Hoi- 
lothing lo your English/' 
drank wincj mead, cyder, 
t, and morat, to which 
ns added clan6, garhio- 
)pocras. Of course, these 
aside from the wassail- 
still held its own, 
IS made from honey and 
claret, pigment, hippo- 
rhiohlac (from the ^rofle^ 
mtained in it) were differ- 
tions of ^nne mixed i^ith 
spices. Henry III, or- 
ine-keepers to deliver to 
of York white and red 
ke garhiofilac and claret 
t Christmas; and in ihe 
, year of his reign direct- 
ff of Gloucester to cause 
ions 10 be bought and 
s for Christmas, and the 
issex to buy ten brawns 
cads, ten peacocks, and 
ions. Imagine the Lord 
r of either of the above 
•iving such an order now- 
Queen Victoria ! To the 
) Christmas dish, succeed- 
lis lime, the boar's head, 
always brought in with 
lony, preceded by musi- 
,n usher, and welcomed 
and hurrahs. 

Iward ni., Christmas was 
i st)'lc ; there were revel- 
Ings, and dancings, the 
year taking the form of 
ns, etc., and the next of 
id other frolicsome beasts, 
reign of Richard 11. in 
undred tuns of wine were 
:wo thousand oxen eaten 
, to say nothing of other 
icse were royal Christ- 
rd. This king also had 
B or maskings; but, in- 
ds or animals, there is on 
m in tlie wardrobe ac- 

?0L, XII.— 30 



counts a charge for twenty-one linen 
coifs for ** counterfeiting men of th^ 
law " in the king*s play at Christmas, 
1389, Richard was murdered on 
Twelfth-day, 1400, and so ended all 
his earthly Christmases, During the 
wars of Henry V, in France, he 
always ceased hostilities on Christ- 
mas day, and during the siege of 
Rouen offered food to those of his 
hungry enemies who woulcl accept 
it from him* At the siege of Orleans, 
in 1428, a like truce was proclaimed, 
and the English and French ex- 
changed gifts. When Henry VII. 
ended the wars of the Roses, Christ- 
mas was celebrated in a most mag- 
nificent manner. In 1493, on Twelfth- 
night, there was great banqueting 
and wassail The king made the 
usual ofterings of gold, frankincense, 
and myrrh, and in the evening wore 
his crown and royal robes ; kirtle, 
surcoat, furred hood, and mantle Avith 
long train, and his sword borne be- 
fore him ; his annills of gold set with 
rich stones, and his sceptre in his 
right hand. The wassail was intro- 
duced in the evening with great cere- 
mony, the steward, treasurer, and 
comptroller of the household going 
out for it with their staves of ot!icc ; 
the king*s and the queen's servers 
having fair towels round their necks 
and dishes in their hands, such as 
the king and queen should eat of; 
the king's and queen's can'ers follow- 
ing in like manner. Then came in 
ushers of the chamber, with the pile 
of cups — the king's, the queen's, and 
the bishop's — mth the buUers and 
wine to the cupboard, or sideboard 
as it would now be called, and squires 
of the body to bear them. I'he gen- 
tlemen of the chapel stood at one 
end of the hall, and, when the stew- 
ard came in with the wassail, he was 
to cry out three times, *' Wassail, 
wassail, wassail !" to which they an- 
swered with a good song — no doubt 



466 



Merry Christmas. 



a wassall-song or a carol, as they 
were prevalent at that time. Henry 
VJIL, in the early part of his reign, 
iid not neglect the Christmas nier- 
)r-making : plays, masks, pageants, 
mud similar diversions were frequent 
and splendid, for Henry was young, 
gay, and light-hearted in those days. 
In his third year at Greenwich, there 
was a pageant arranged before the 
queen in which he himself took part ; 
but after he grew corpulent, encum- 
bered with his wives and interested 
in the new religion, these merry-mak- 
ings fell off and gradually ceased alto- 
gether at court. 

At this period, the Christmas fes- 
tivities of the Inns of Court had be- 
come celebrated, and afterward far 
surpassed those of the court in fancy, 
if not in^ splendor ; nor is this surpris- 
ing, considering the talents that must 
always exist in these communities, 
some fresh from the universities imbu- 
ed with *: lassie lore, others fraught with 
the knowledge acquired in many 
year^ with w it sharpened by constant 
intercourse with wits as keen as tlieir 
own ; and perhaps few are better able 
to appreciate true wit and humor than 
those who turn to it from de«p and 
wearing mental labor. There was a 
rule which required the attendance 
of &U who lived in the Inns at 
these merrymakings, under the pen- 
alty of being disbarretl, a threat ac- 
tually held out in the lime of James 
I,, at Lincoln's Inn, because the of- 
fenders did not dance on Christmas 
day, according to the ancient order 
of the societ)', and some were indeed 
put out of Commo^ by decimation. 
Imagine a lawyer coming into court 
to attend a trial of importance stop- 
ped at the door ami forbidden to 
enter because he did not dance with 
his opponent's counsel on Christ- 
mas eve! Dugdak gives a pro- 
gnunme of the pcrfommces tt one 
time: 



" First, ihc solemn revel Is (a/tcr dinster 
and ihe play ended) arc begun bj the 
whole house ; judges, serjcants-at-la^w, 
benches, the utter and inner harr. and 
they led by the master of the revel Is ; one 
of the gentlemen of the utter barr is 
chosen to sing a song to the judges, Ser- 
jeants, or masters of the bench* which 1 
is usually performed ; and in default | 
thereof there may be a amerciament. | 
Then the judges and benchers take their 
places and sit down at the upper end of 
the halt. Which done/ihe utter barrister* 
and inner barristers perform a second 
solemn revel I before ihcm. Which ended, 
the utter banisters take their places and 
sit down. Some of the i;enttcmen of the 
inner barr do present the house with 
dancing, which is caUed the post ie\'ells, 
and continue their dances till the judges 
or bench think meet to rise and dcpait*" 

Lincoln's Inn celebrated Christ- 
mas as early as the time of Henry 
VL ; but the Temple ant I Tnn 

after\^'ard disputed the ] it, 

and indeed on some occastuns seem 
to have surpassed the other Inm of 
Court. The first particular accooot 
of any regulations for conducting one 
of these grand Christmases is in the 
ninth of Henry VHI., when, beside* 
the king for Christmas day, the mat- 
shal and master of the it^vels, if ^ 
ordered : 

"That the king of the cocknep ^^ 
Christmas day should sit and hmw ^ 
senrjce« and that he ind all hb 
shoutd use honest matiner and good 
der, without any waste or destnict^ 
making in wines, brawn, chetr. or 
Y'iiails, and also that he and bis 
butler, and coastabtcaursiiall 
have their lawful and booe^ 
ments by delivery of all the 
Christinas ; and thit the s^id kii^ o^ 
cockners ooi none of his officers aivdiHc 
the butt err, nor tn the steward of 
mas, his office, apoo paia of lofiy lAu- 
lings for every sodi mcddlkog. . . * Th'^ 
Jack Straw and all liis ftdhereats should 
thenceforth utterly k 
be used in ibis bouse upon p^a of U 
for evety tine j£'5 to be levied mi 
fellow luippe&i«f tn 
rule." 





Merry Christmas, 



467 



Jack Straw was, or what 
were, does not appear, 
to divert the mind of the 
^ Edward VI,, from the 
: at the condemnation of 
f Somerset, the most mag- 
filings on record were pre- 
orge Ferrers, of Lincoln's 
tmanofrank^ was appoint- 
in isrule, or master of the 
ime, and acquitted him- 
as to afford great delight 
id some to the king, but 
►portion to his heaviness." 
10 have been well adapted 
onsible office, being not 

of rank, but a person of 
1 determination to carry 
fough in the proper spirit 
Y^ He required of the 

the revels, Sir Thomas 

that John Smyth should 
him as his clown ; besides 
Biiblers, fools, etc. A new 
with a hood was made 
nyth, who, from his being 
by name, must have been 
m court fooh The dress 
frn will show that no ex- 
ipared even about the of- 
is grand lord of misrule, 
long fool's coat, of yellow 
d, fringed with white, red, 
:lvet, containing 7} yds., at 

garded with plain yellow 
d,4 yds,, at 33s. 4d., with 
id pair of buskins of the 
d gold, containing 2 J yds., 
a girdle of yellow sarcenet, 

; i6d. The whole value 

Id., a goodly sum for the 
ester. The dresses of the 

ule himself must be men- 
pve some notion of the 
ich this celebrated revel- 
irried on. On Christmas 
tring that week, he wore a 
lite baudekin (a rich stuff, 
ilk interwoven with gold 

taining 9 yds., at 16s. a 



yd., garded with embroidered cloth 
of gold, wrought in knots, 14 yds., at 
lis. 4d. a yd. ; having a fur of red 
feathers with a cape of camlet thrum. 
A coat of Hat silver, fine with work*, 
5 yds., at 5os.y wnth an emliroidered 
gard of leaves of gold and silk, con- 
taining 15 yds,, at 20s. A cap of 
maintenance, of red feathers and 
camlet thrum, very nch, w ith a jjlume 
of feathers. A pair of hose; the 
breeches made of a yard of em- 
broidered cloth-of-gold, 9 yds. of 
garding, at 13s. 4d., lined with sil- 
ver sarcenet, one ell^ at 8s. A pair 
of buskins of white baudekin, r yd., at 
16s., besides making and other char- 
ges, 8s. more. A pair of pantacles, of 
Bruges satin, 3s, 4d.; a girdle of yel- 
low sarcenet, containing i yd., at i6s, 
He had different but equally magnifi- 
cent suits for New Year*sand Twelfth- 
day. These dresses w^ere supplied 
from the king's stores, and must have 
satisfied any one. Taking, too, into 
account that he was attended by the 
members of his court, and all hand- 
somely dressed, it was enough to turn 
any moderate man^s head. His 
suite was composed of his heir-appa* 
rent, John Smyth, counsellors, pages 
of honor, gentlemen ushers, a ser- 
geant-at-arms, private marshal, under- 
marshal, lieutenant of ordnance^ her- 
alds, and trumpeters, an orator, inter- 
preter, jailer, footman, messenger, an 
Irishman^ an Iris/nannan^ six hunters, 
jugglers, etc. The lord of misrule 
chosen in the fourth year of Eliza- 
beth's reign was Mr. Henry Helmcs, 
and his title was as follows: *'The 
High and Mighty Prince, Henry, 
Prince of Purpoole. Archduke of 
Stapulia and Bcrnardia, I)uke of 
High and Nether Holborn, Mar- 
quis of St. Giles anrl Tottenham, Count 
Palatine of Bloomsbury and Clerk en- 
well. Great Lord of the Cantons of 
Islington, Kentish Town, Paddington 
and Knightsbridge, Knight of the 



p 



most licroical order of ilie Helmet 
and Souvereign of the same." 

The revels of these grand Christ- 
raases continued thro tig bout the 
wliole twelve days ; Christmas dsi\\ 
New Years* da}% and Twelfth-day 
being more panicularly distinguished. 
On Twelfth 'day, the lord of niLsrnlc, 
with one hundred followers, made his 
progress through London in the 
morning, and arrived at the temple 
111 time for breakfast, at which were 
served brawn, mustard^ and malm- 
sey. The dinner, of two courses, was 
served in the hall, and after the first 
course came the master of the game, 
dressed in green velvet, and the rang- 
er of the forest, in green satin, bear- 
ing a green bow with arrows, each 
of them having a hunting-horn about 
his neck ; after blowing three blasts 
of vener)% they paced three times 
round the fire, which was then placed 
in the middle of the hall I'he mas- 
ter of the game next made three 
courtesies and knelt down, and ficti- 
tioned to be admitted into the ser- 
vice of the lord of tlie feast. This 
ceremony having been performed, a 
huntsman came into the hali with a 
fox and a purse-net with a cat, both 
bound at the end of a staff, and nine 
or ten couples of hounds, the horns 
blowing* The fox and cat wxre then 
set upon by the hounds and killed. 
This charming sport being finished, 
the marshal ushered all in their pro- 
per places to the dinner, and, after 
llie second course, the oldest of the 
masters of the revels sang a song, 
with the assistance of others present; 
after some repose and further revels, 
supper of two courses was served; 
and, when finished, the marshal was 
borne in by four men, on a sort of 
sc4iffold, and taken three times round 
the hearth, his bearers crnng out '* A 
lortl, a lord T' after which he came 
down and danced. The lord of mis- 
rule then addressed himself to the 




lianquet, which ended with minstreUr, 
mirth, and dancing. There was a 
cessation of sports from Twelfth-night 
to the first of February, the prime 
being supposed to be absent in Rui»' 
sia on public aftairs. On that day, 
he wa5 received at Blackwall, as if 
on his return, and that and the fol- 
lowing day were spent in revelling 
and feasting. 

Christmas w^as always, however, 
considered the com meui oration of a 
holy festival, to be observed with de- 
votion as well as cheerfulness. The 
services of the church were attended 
before the merr>'*makings began. But 
in 1642 the fiat went forth that thcfc 
must be no more celebration of Christ- 
mas ; peofjle were to go to heaven af- 
ter the fashion of godly Puritans, with 
long faces and short hair, In 1647, 
some parish officers were fined and 
imprisoned for allowing ministers to 
preach on Christmas day an<l for 
permitting the adorning of ihediurch. 
The p.irliament, liy an order dated 
24th of December, 1652, directed 
*' that no observation shall be had 
of the five-and-twenticth day of De- 
cember, commonly called Christfna^ 
day; nor any solemnity used or ex- 
ercised in churches upon that da^^ 
in respect thereof/' Evelyn stjit 
in his memoirs tliat, as he and hi 
wife, with others, were taking the sa 
crament on Christmas day, 1657, th< 
chapel was surrounded by soldiers, an 
the assembly taken into custody foi 
celebrating the nativity of their Sa— -* 
viour against the ortlinance of thi 
commonwealth. 

When the " Mcrrie Monarch'* cam< 
back to his good subjects, the revivi 
of the Christmas festivities was at 
tempted, with but ill success. Thcs^ 
spirit had been checked, and could 
with ditficulty be resuscitated. Neith- 
er were the court displa)^ as splen- 
did as before; the spirit was waai- 
ing there as elsewhere. But the 



Mtrry Christmas. 



469 



Inns of Coiirt still kept up their re- 
vels. Evelyn describes several as rol- 
licsomc as any in b)'gone years. 

The observation of the festival in 
England is now confined chiefly to 
family reunions. In the reign of the 
second Chades, turkeys and capons 
tiecame the regular Christmas dish, 
:h plum-puddingi the old name of 
lich is said to have been ** hackin/* 
"ttie north of England is still famous 
far Us Christmas- [Hcs^ comjiosed of 
turkeys, geese, game, and various 
small birds, weighing sometimes half 
a hundredweight and upwards, and 
calculated to meet the attacks of a 
large Christmas party throughout the 
twelve days. 

In this country, the observation of 

the festival is left to the feelings of 

the family* In New England, the 

grim spirit of the Puritans prevailed 

so long that until lately little notice 

of the feast was taken. lndcc<!, there 

are some people from that section of 

the country who even now do not 

iciiow what Christmas means,* In 

^he daj's of Southern slavery, the ne- 

Sroes had special privileges at Christ- 

*ilas \ they took possession of them- 

l^^lves and their time, and their own- 

; ^"rs had no claim upon them. The 

^^^bscrv^ation of the festival is very 

*^^omraon in the Western and Middle 

i^itates^ and most denominations keep 

.-^^ as a rehgious one. 

We cannot close without saying a 
(•^^ord about the children's Christmas. 
^^Ve have borrowed this feature of 
^he festival rather from the Germans 
%haii the English — especially the 
Christmas-tree, that delight of infan- 
tile hearts. In many parts of Ger- 
txiaiiy this is called the Children's 
Feast ^ and about ten days before its 
^vc PcUnichel, Knecht Rupert, or St. 
Kiklas, as he is indifferently named, 
makes his appearance at every house. 

"A fkot of the vrtitcr'f owa experience. 



The children have been on their 
good behavior some time before, and 
every dereliction from duty through 
the year is met by a threat of Pelzni- 
chel's anger. H is coming is heralded 
by a great ringing of bells, jangling 
of chains, and stamping of feet, and, 
when he enters the room, he informs 
all that he has Ijeen sent by the good 
Christ-kindschen (ivrist Kingle) to 
make inquiries as to their behavior 
Kach one is interrogated, beginning 
with the oldest; they are asked if 
they have been studious, obedient, 
truthful ; quarrelsome, revengeful, or 
ungenerous. The little ones generally 
try to propitiate him by a verse 
taught them by their nurses : 

*' Christ-kindschen komm ; 
Mach mich frotiim ; 
Das icb£u dir in himmcl komm.^' 

Which literally translated is, ** Christ- 
child, come ; make me good, that 1 
may come to thee in heaven." Pelz- 
nichel, who is armed with a rod, 
shakes it savagely, while he holds 
forth to those who have failctl to give 
satisfaction, then passes it to the 
father, with directions to use it if all 
other means fail. He then tells them 
that Christ-kindschen will not forget 
them on the Christ mas- tree, and 
leaves, after giving from his bag ap- 
ples, nuts, and cakes, and telling them 
what he will do next year to those 
who have not a better account to 
give. In the country, Pelznichel goes 
about on a donkey, and sometimes 
actually chastises the children of the 
peasants. On the eve itself, 1 )er gliick- 
liche Abend, or Happy Evening, 
as it is called, every house, be it pal- 
ace or cottage, has a Christmas-tree, 
The Germans would not believe it 
Christmas without one. Few who 
have not seen it can imagine the 
glory of a real German Christ- 
mas-tree. In Rhenish Bavaria and 
the Catholic states of Germany, 



the Christ-kindschen is represented 
by a young person dressed in white, 
with a gilt crown upon the head, a 
wand in one hand, and a bell in the 
other, whose post is behind the tree, 
where he or she is but dimly seen, 
owing to the glare of the lights upon 
it. In other parts of die country, the 
Christ -child is never represented ; the 
children are told that he has provid- 
ed the Christmas-tree, and knows 
through rel/niehel of the conduct of 
each^ but his existence is an article 
of faith, not an ocular demonstra- 
tion. 

As most of us can testify from ear- 
ly recollections, however, St. Niklas, 
or St. Nicholas, as we call him, is not 
unknown to the childrL-n of thiscoun- 
try^ — only here he generally puts his 
good things in little stockings hung 
up for the purpose, instead of arrang- 
ing I hem on a Christmas-tree. Just 
when this custom of hanging up little 
stockings and these visits of the good 
old saint began on this side of the 
Atlantic we leave to learned anti- 
quarians to decide. The following 
jolly description,* however, of what 
a httle New Yorker witnessed about 
the year 17S4, puts beyond doubt the 
fact that he used to go his rounds, in 
this city at least, long before any of 
us ever received 



A V\Str FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 



' Twms the n*iffct twforc Christmss, mhen all 

through the bouse 
Kot m. CTrtiturc wm« stirring:. nn% even ft mause ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney mith 

cmre. 
In hope« that St XichoIJi i-re ; 

The children were ncsth J*. 

While visions of «»g»r-4*,-i».^ ,x*,..... ». liicir 

besiis ; 
And mAininft in her kerrhlef aqiI I in mr ot|» 
Had JVM «icleii our bniits Cor m loaf winter 



* By Clvmeat C. Moom, bora in New Vork« 



When out on the 1ft mm thers mrose mtch • dit- 

icr, 
I spninf^ from my bed to »ee what wm» the 

niAtler. 
Away to the window 1 flew like a fl^stt. 
Tore open the «hutter% and Ihr- ^ * %k. 

The moon, on the breast of the r - ^w. 

Gave a lustre of midday to objci.- ..^ 

When what to my woaderlns eye» shouUt ap> 

pear 
But A miniature sleif^h atuT . ' -it. 

With ft liUlc oid driver, ^ 
I knew in a moment it luu-i 

More rapi.I than eagles hiscvturwi^ »ht=y oam^, 
Aud be whittled and fthouted and c«Ued lh«ai 

by name: 
'Now, Dasher! now. Dancer t now, Pnactt 

and Vixen ! 
On \ Comet, on ! Cupid« on! Donder aad tlllt* 

jtcn— 
To the top of the porch^ to the top of the wrnfl i 
Nt»vip% daiih away, dash awav« dash away, altT 
A% dry leaver that before the wild htarricafle 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to liht 

sky. 
So up to the house-top the coumrn thr|f ftev. 
With the sleigh fuU of toys— and SL NichoUft 

too. 
And then in ft twmklin)^ I heard 
The prancini; and pawing^ of ea 
As I drew in my b<»d and was tuiicMh- K^vrw^t. 
Down the dumney SL Nicbolms came with a 

bound : 
He was dressed alt in fur from hia head to hi* 

foot. 
And his clothes were ftll tarnished with ftfthef 

and «oot ; 
A bundle ol toys he had Hunir on hia baek, 
And he looked like a pedlar jttst, ofieniof llli' 

pack. 
Htseyca, how they twinkled! hb dimplaa, ho"^ 

merry ! 
Hift cheeks were tike roees, kb mem tBok m 

cherry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn op ttlte * 

bow* 
And the beard on hif chin was ai whttf b» ^** 

snow. 
The stump of a pipe he held tiithl In histi 
And the smoke it encircled h\% head III 

wreath. 
He had a broad Cice and a little round N I 
That shook, when be laughed, like a tww*^— ^ 

of lelly. 
He wRft chttbbj and t>luitip— « ikglil >otl< 

elf: 
And 1 laughed when I saw htm^ intpitc of 

self. 
A wink of his eye and a twi«t of bis 
^ooTi ^ave me to know I had 
He spoke not a ward, but went stsatf bt 

work. 
And fiUed aU the tlockinfa % tben tsmed e 

■ ierk* 
And. Uyinj? his finfer aside of bt« rK»at. 
And eiriuf a nrul, up the chimney ha roai 
He sprang to bis sic^b« t» hii teaa* fa% 

H hi&tle. 
And away they aU ftew tike lb* 4o«» e^« 1^ 

tie; 
But 1 heard bliD enrUbiL, »s be *ove e«t 

siifht: 




^am 




ISCHIA 



After the close of a winter iia 
Rorae and Naples, where so much 
of interest centres, invalids and tra- 
vellers nm away at the first approach 
of wami weather, unknowing or un- 
thinking of the many charming re- 
treats which Italy itself presents for 
the hot months— 'mineral baths» the 
seaside, and mo un tain regions in 
numberless variety. Of all these, 
not one seems so little known as this 
lovely and wonderful island, afford- 
ing within a circumference of twenty 
miles over twenty-five varieties of 
inineral springs^ which seem to pro- 
tnise relief to every ill that flesh is 
heir to. No spot of earth is so rich 
in hot mineral waters ; what here 
tnins to waste would make the for- 
tune of a do/ en towns in America. 

Their chief characteristics are sul- 
phates and carbonates of soda, com- 
bined with salts of magnesia, lime, and 
I>otash, with a great deal of carbonic 
«icid gas. They issue from the ground 
^t so high a temperature that they 
^ust be cooled before using them. 

Besides these waters, there are also 
liot sand-baths of great power, and 
lot-air and vapor baths varying from 
T40' to 1 80' Fahrenheit. 

The ancients knew of these springs, 
^ts Strabo, Pliny, and other writers 
mention them. 

In 1588, a work was published 
describing about forty springs^ includ- 
ing those nnvv in use. Since then 
various scientific men have endea- 
vored to bring them into notice, yet, 
strange to say, few English or Ame- 
ricans visit the island, or seek health 
in a region which has everything to 

commend it The most efficacious 
tliese waters is the Ourgitella, 
mhkJi nses to the temperature of 



167* or 168* Fahrenheit, and is used 
with great success in gout, rheuma- 
tism, scrofula, paralysis, etc. An al- 
kaline water, called Aajua del Oahio^ 
is used in affections of the eyes, and 
by the ladies to whiten their hands. 
The Cappone^ — so-called from its re- 
semblance to chicken-broth — is taken 
for dyspepsia, 

The sea-bathing is also excellent. 
Add to all these a climate wliich is 
perfection, the mean tern jie rat ure 
never exceeding 79'', or the greatest 
heat 90', with lofty and picturesque 
mountains, flowers and fruits and 
vegetables of every variety, good 
hotels, fine shooting and fishmg^ and 
most interesting excursions, and it 
may really be esteemed a paradise. 

Bishop Berkeley, writing to Pope 
in 1717, describes a summer he pass- 
ed here as the most delightful of his 
life. He says : ** The island is an 
epitome of the whole earth, contain- 
ing within the compass of eighteen 
miles a wonderful variety of hills, 
vales, rugged rocks, fruitful plains, 
and barren mountains, all thrown 
together in most romantic confusion. 
The air is in the hottest season con- 
stantly refreshed by cool breezes from 
the sea ; the vales produce excellent 
wheat and Indian corn, but are most- 
ly covered with vineyards interspersed 
with fruit- trees. Besides cherries, 
apricots, peaches, etc., they produce 
oranges, limes, almonds, figs, pome- 
granates, melons, and many other 
fruits unknown to our climate, which 
lie everywhere open to the passen- 
ger. The hills are the greater part 
covered to the top with vines, some 
with chestnut groves, and others with 
myrtle and lentiscus. But that which 
crowns the scene is Monte Epo- 



meus» Below, it is adorned with 
vines and otlier fruits, the middle af- 
fords pasture to flocks of sheep and 
goats, and the top is a sandy pointed 
rock, from which you have the finest 
prospect in the w*orid, sur\'eying at 
one view, besides several pleasant 
islands lying at your feet, a tract of 
Italy about three hundred miles in 
length, from the promontory of An- 
tium to the cape of Palinurus/* 

Another traveller of later date, 
1863, si>caks of the island in the same 
gjowing strain, and adds, **The in- 
habitants are peaceable ; indeed, such 
a thing as robbery, much less brigan* 
dage, is seldom heard of in Ischia." 

In fine weather, the voyage from 
Naples is delightful. The boat crosses 
to the point of Posilippo, thence 
across the Bay of Pozzuoh, with beau- 
tiful views of that town where St, 
Paul landed on his perilous journey 
to Rome, past Nisida, Monte Kuova, 
jCaic, the caj>e of Misenuni, the Ma- 
rina of Procidn at the foot of its pic- 
turesque castle, and, finally, the island 
of Vivara, distimt about two miles 
from the landing-place and castle of 
Ischia. 

Before Vesuvius resumed its acti- 
vity in the first century, Ischia was 
the principal site of volcanic action 
in South 1 taly. The Monte Epomco, 
the Epopos of the Greeks, the Epo- 
pcus of the Latin poets, rises grandly 
in the centre of the island. On the 
north and west, the island slopes 
gradually down to the water's edge, 
while on the south it plunges into 
the sea, forming lofty and abrupt pre- 
cipices. 

According to Livy, a Greek colo- 
ny from Chalcis and Eur\'thea set- 
tled on the island previous to or 
about the time of the foundation 
of Cumx; but, being disturbed by 
cartliquakes, they were obliged to 
quit the island and settle on the op- 
|Kisite coast. Timieus, who lived 



B.C. 262, mentions that bcfi 
time Mount Epomeus vomit 
and ashes, and Pliny relati 
same. Julius Obscquens m^ 
an eruption b.c. 92, and the f 
was active in the reigns of 
Antoninus Pius, and Diocletian^ 
last eruption took place in 
when a stream of lava issuei 
the north-east base of the roc 
and ran into the sea near thl 
of Ischia. Its path may be 
traced at this day. 

The volcanic action of Irt 
intimately associated with itM 
history, and its connection yt 
mythology of anti«|uity inve 
island witfi a charm peculi 
own. 

The more remote volcani 
bursts w^ere poetically ascrifa 
Pindar to the struggles of thi 
soned giant Typhccus, Homi 
scription of the struggles 
pha:us in An mi b» a perfect 
of volcanic phenomena. \ irgil^ 
ing Homer's tradition, gave Ty 
to Ischia and Encdadus to 
The name "/Enarin," accordl 
Pliny, was derived by the |joe| 
its having been otic of the 9 
of the fleet of -^neas. 

Ischia is a corruption of xhi 
" Iscla," under which name 1 
land is mentioned in ecclcsiasl 
cords of the eighth ctntur}*, ] 
history, Ischia has been the so 
many interesting events, aiM 
known the same a 
changes of fortune as 

At the fall of the K 1 
it followed the fortune:* ui' lUc 
In 813 and in 847 it was Al 
by the Saracens, and in iij 
ed by the Pisans on iheir 
Amalfi. Inii9i,Ilcnry VI^Ei 
of Germany, only son of Ff 
Barbarossa, succeeded to the 
cilics by his marriage % ith Coi 
daughter of Roger the Greati 






d took possession of Is- 
e reign of his son Fre- 
arniciola, his general, al- 
If to be burned alive in 
ther than surrender it to 
; under Otho IV. In 
t joined Sicily in the 
n as the "Sicilian Ves- 
t the usurper, Charles of 
er of St. Louis. In 1 299, 
ecovered the is! and , and 
people by cutting down 

> and vineyards, 
^dislaus, son of Charles 
1Z20, defeated Louis IL 
L battle fought on Mount 
xr the crater of Mount 

ienth century, Alfonso I., 
anna, sister of Ladislaus, 

adoption, and through 
Id Norman kings, seized 
fortifted \tj building the 
pel ling Rcnato of Anjou, 

heir by a second adop- 
his death, it was taken 
le adherents of Ren^to, 
! against Ferdinand L, 
10, till 1463. 

Ferdinand 1 1, retired to 
ioning Naples to his rival, 
L 

tiis uncle and successor, 
his kingdom by the trea- 
a, which divided Naples 
lis XII, of France and 
he Catholic of Spain, 
hia with his queen and 
:ompanied by bis sister 
liey remained in the cas- 
till the king siirrcndercd 

> LouiSt so that Ischia 
to have witnessed the 

' the Aragonese dynasty* 
^uis of Pescara, one of 
r Ravenna, and the con- 
rancis L at tlie battle of 
wn in the Castle of Ischia 
lis sister Costanza de- 
ring the war which pre- 



ceded the treaty of Grenada, and 
refused to capitulate to the forces of 
Louis XI L, although commanded to 
do so by her king, to whom she af- 
terward gave shelter in the same 
castle, the only spot in his kingdom 
which her heroism had enabled him 
to call his own. As an acknowledg- 
ment of her services, the government 
of the island was settled upon her 
family, who retained it till 1734. 

In 1525, Vitloria Colonna, the 
most famous woman of her time, the 
widow of Pescara, came to Ischia 
to mourn his loss and to celebrate 
his achievements in verses which 
won for her the title of "• Divine." 
Her genius, her virtues, her piety, 
her beauty, are immortalized by 
Michael Angelo, Bembo, and Ari- 
osto. 

In 1548, Mary of Aragon, the 
cousin of Pescara, widow of the Mar- 
chese del Vasto, followed the exam- 
ple of Vittoria, and sought a home 
in Ischia at the close of a life which 
seemed never to grow old. 

We occupy a charming villa upon 
the slope of Mount Epomeo, which 
rises behind us 2,610 feet above the 
sea. Hardly can there be found 
ground level enough for the erection 
of houses. The graceful villas seem 
to hang upon the mountain-sides, 
and below and above and about us 
are vineyards, orange-groves, and po- 
megranates, the vines trained from 
tree to tree or making continuous ar- 
bors under which one may walk 
miles, screened from the rain or sun, 
while through the openings are re- 
vealed glimpses of the blue sea be- 
low or of the lofty mountain above. 
The streets of the towns and the ro- 
mantic roads about the island are 
inaccessible, however, save upon don- 
keys. Not a wheeled vehicle is to be 
seen on the island. 

In one of our rambles, following 
a beautiful path bordered by high 



474 



Ischia. 



banks^ from which hung bloorakig 
shrubs and flowers, we came upon a 
pretty village after a steep ascent 
The people came out and invited us 
into their clean houses with the usu- 
al pretty phrase, ** Favonscataellepjza^^ 
or by graceful gestures; for they 
speak a curious dialect, a mixture 
of Creek, which even the Italians 
find it difficult to understand, A 
young man pointed to his wife and 
child sitting by a gate, and prayed 
us to enter. It was such a charming- 
looking dwelling, reminding us of 
the Moorish houses in Spain» that 
there was no refusing him. We found 
that the interior corresponded with the 
exterior. The stone stairway fresh- 
ly whitened, the balcony filled with 
flowers, running along the house, the 
shining tiled floors of the rooms, 
rhose windows gave a succession 
*of charming views, were shown with 
great pride; but the crowning glory 
was his chapel, most tastefully ar- 
ranged, where he has Mass twice a 
week. 

We are between the villages of 
Casamicciola and Lacco, The for- 
mer is a most picturesque town, and 
contains the mineral springs of most 
importance. These rise about half a 
mile from the town at the base of 
the mountain. 

Here are two large establishments 
on the source of the Gurgitello, with 
private baths handsomely fitted up. 
One of these has a covered way 
from an adjoining hotel, so that inva* 
lids may not be exposed to the air 
coming from the baths. Oppo- 
site the springs is a large hospital 
founded in 1601 by the " Misericor- 
dia " of Naples for poor padents 
either from the city hospitals or else- 
where* It has So baths and accom- 
modations for 400 patients. The Sis- 
ters of Charity, the only religious 
order of females left in Italy, go 
each summer to attend it* The tem- 



perature of this water is 168* Fj 
heit. 

The Cappone, of which we Usted 
at its source, is only 98' Fahrenheit 
The Acqua di Bagna Frtuo^ called 
also del OcihWy rbes here near the 
Cappone. 

Lacco is a fishing-village beautiful- 
ly situated in a litde cove on the 
sea -shore below us. It has the 
church and convent of St. Restituta, 
the patron saint of the islaml, who 
was cast ashore here on her voyage 
from Egypt, and is said to have 
plantetl a lily which can never be 
made to bloom elsewhere. 

In this town, large numbers of tun- 
nies and sword-fish are caught. Near 
the convent is the principal spiing 
of Lacco, where are also the famous 
sand-baths, for the cure of rheuma- 
tism, paralysis, and diseases of the 
joints. On the sea-shore the sand is 
so hot diat a hole made in it becomes 
instan dy filled with water at a tem- 
perature of 1I2^ 

As we come out of the pretty 
church » the village children strcvr the 
fragrant acacia blossoms in our path — 
a delicate attention constantly shown 
to strangers by the j>ea&ani5 of Italy. 

Another day we made an excur- 
sion to the town of Ischia, on the 
opposite side the island, which has & 
charming little harbor formed by Fer- 
dinand IL, father of the late king of 
Naples, out of a small lake suppos-* 
ed to have been a xolcanic craters 
He also built a beautiful villa hcre^ 
where he spent two months of c\'ct^ 
yean The people speak of htm witl'^ 
love and respect, show the roads 
oilier improvements he pUn nod foi 
the advantage of the island, and 
how good he was to the poor. 

Below the villa on the shore is 
pretty modem churcli and the baths 
the waters of which are very mu( 
the same witli those of llie other si( 
the island. 



i lOPl 

leidl 

^thcdj 




^%»7.S^ 



Ischia. 



\ the end of the town is the *' Acqua 
iglione." The sand on the shore 
near it is so hot that it raises the ther- 
mometer in a few momciils to 212*, 
and there is a hot spring in the sea 
I itself a short distance from the beach. 
[The Casdglione is a tonic aperient 

On the hills above the spring are 
the ** Stufe di Castiglione/' vapor- 
baths which issue from holes in the 
ilava at a temperature of 122* and 
^ I jj% Beneath the rocky surface one 
may hear the noise of the boiling wa- 
ter from another ** stufe ** near by^ the 
"■• Caccinto,*' where the water of the 
same character is i6o\ 

The castle of Ischia stands on a 
^ lofty rock rising out of the sea, con- 
knected with the land by a narrow 
nole. It was built by Alphonso I. 
Aragon. Well might the brave 
* Costanza have defended it against 
the great King of France, so strong 
does it appear even now, when time 
has rusted the great portcullis and 
. broken the iron-studded gates which 
I meet us at e^ery turn as we make 
the steep ascent. From the summit 
is, a grand view over the Hay of Na- 
ples, with Vesuvius, the heights of 
'Sorrento, Procida, Miscnura, and the 
I town and island of Vivara below. 

As we looked upon this scene, we 
Recalled the various vicissitudes which 
old castle and the kingdom of 
»Japles have known. Nothing re- 
nains the same as in the great days 
r old stronghold, save the change- 
^^ss and glorious ocean at its base. 

It waik in vain to ask where had 
3wclt the learned Vittoria, the beau- 
Mary of Aragon — in what cham- 
er the great Pescara had first seen 
fehc light. The stupid soldier who 
fehowed the place knew none of these 
liings, so we had to fancy how on 
hese lofty ramparts Costanza stood 
defiant, and how sorrowful a farewell 
tiust her king have taken of a scene 
l%o much beauty when he quitted it 






n 



for imprisonment^«m4^ 
eign land, 

Forio, another town on the western 
coast, is in a most j)icturesfiue situa- 
tion. The ritlc to it leads over tlie 
lava current, half a mile in width and 
black and barren, on which grow only 
stunted pines and the Spanish broom. 
The town has some pretty villas and 
churches, and several old towers which 
the people declare were built by the 
Saracens, who are known to have had 
a settlement on the mainland. 

As we ritle along the beach we find 
the people collected to honor the 
fisia of St. Gaetano, the patron of 
the port. A g ay ly -decked vessel is 
near the beach, on which is placed a 
statue of the saint. Fishermen with 
their red caps, boys, and soldiers are 
firing guns and petards j for the Nea- 
politans have no idea of zfesta of any 
kind without noise and gunpowder, 
and it is said in thus mingling festivi- 
ty with their religion iliey show their 
Greek origin, The return of the pro- 
cessions from the Madonna del Arco, 
which we saw on Whit- Monday in 
Na]>les, was like an ancient Baccha- 
nal i.in feast. Horses and wagons 
and people were decked with llowers 
and vines; men and women danced 
and sang by the way, seemingly wild 
with joy. Nowhere are there such 
light-hearted, happy people. 

We return from our excursion for 
the beginning of a triduo, a three 
days' yriAr, for St. Anthony of Padua, 
Our little church at the gate is gayly 
dressetl with flowers. During the IJe- 
nediction, the usual noise is made ; 
guns are fired, petards sent oHT out- 
side the church, and bells rung, 
while organs, mandolins, and other 
instruments chime in. And this morn- 
ing at High Mass the same startling 
noise takes place at the Elevation* 
In the evening, we have a sermon 
upon St. Anthony, and we are ex- 
horted to follow his example. Whea 



I 
I 

I 



47^ 



Mr. Fronde's History of England. 



the preacher itpeaks of tlie love of 
God, with the peculiar vehemence 
and enthusiasm of this people* the 
audience weep and cry aloud in 
ejaculatory prayers; and it is 
not easy for one to withstand the 
contagion of such an affecting ex- 
ample. 



There are several other towns ; 
Ischia. The ascent of Mount Ep 
meo is usually made from Paiua, 

The >iew from its sumnut embraces 
a panorama extending from beyond 
Paistum to Monte Circcllo, while on 
the north may be seen tJic snowy 
mountains of the Abruzzi 



AIR. FROUDE^S HISTORY OF ENGLAND* 

FOURTH AND CONCLUDING ARTICLE, f 
*' WTial li wonderful history it ii V^Mr*, Mulvch Cfmik. 



4 



We resume our remarks on Mr. 

Froude's history at the i)eriod of the 
narrative just before the murder of 
Darr.ley (vol. viti. p. 375). 

At page 37 9 p vol viii,» we have a 
word-painting in Mr Froude*s best 
style, profuse in the i)icturesque, but 
sober in authenticated facts. In it 
Mary Stuart is very hateful^ and 
Dnrnley very lovely ; all with such 
rubbish as tlae queen*s sending back 
to "fetch a fur wrapper, which she 
thought too pretty to be spoiled, "f 
and Darnley's opening the English 
Prayer-book to read the Fifty-fifth 
Psalm — " if his servant's tale was 
true/* What servant's talc? All 
Darnley's servants who were with 



• HhUrf 9/ Emgfintdffvm fAf Fait 9/ W^try 
§9 the Detitk fi/ Eti^ahcth. Hy James Anthony 
Froudc, late Fellow of Kiet«r C'ollcge, Oxford. 
w vols. New York : Charles Scribncr & Co. 

t Kor procedinjf ftrttcles^see Caimolk: Woiud 
for June. August, Oclobcr, fcnd December, 1870. 

I An English writer remarks: "This Is malc' 
tug her not the most wicked oi wooien, bui an 
iocariiAte tiend ! Where is the proof thai her 
reason for sendinjr H back was not sicnpfy that 
tke uJght WAS cold V* 



him perished that night except Nel- 
son, who tells some surprisiing sloricf 
in his deposition, but docs not get w 
far as the prayers. 

In the opening ]>ages of his ninth 
volume, the historian deals his rcA* 
ders this staggering blow : 



(A 



" As the vindication of the conduce 
the English government proceeds on 
assumption of her ^uilt, so the detecr 
nation of her innocence will equatly* ' 
the absolute condemnation of Elual 
and Elizabeth's advisers." 



torian, for that is precisely tlic < r^ 
elusion reached by those who ]ir^-^J 
most thoroughly studied tlie qucstj^s^^ 
We really wonder at Mr. FroudJ. ^^ 
imprudence in drawing attenttoa 
Elizabeth in this connection. 

There was not a plot or con«i[»ir.i«^ 
against Mary to which Elizabeth w 
a stranger, ^ 

There was not during all Mai^r^ 
reign a traitor or a murderer deeoKi 



Mr. Frovdvs History of England. 



A77 



from Scotland to England whom 
Elizabeth did not protect. All the 
Riccio murderers were safe there* 
Ker of Faudonside, who held a cock- 
ed pistol at Mary during the Riccio 
muider, and who was excelled from 
the general pardon, found sure re- 
fuge in England during all of Mary's 
reign; and Mr. Froude infonns us 
that ** to Morton she (Elizabeili) sent 
an order a copy of which could be 
shown to the Queen of Scots to leave 
Ihe country; but she sent with it a 
J>rivate hint that England was wide, 
and that those who cared to conceal 
themselves could not always be 
found/' 

Complicity in both the Riccio and 
ihe Darnley murder is directly brouglit 
home to Elizabeth and Cecil. I'hc 
fet is proven by the correspondence 
of that day yet in the Record Office. 
The second is sufficiently made out, 
'Notwithstanding the fact that the vo- 
luminous reports of the English agents 
*^ Scotland a month Ijcfore and a 
'*Vonth after the Darniey murder 
^ve disappeared. This important 
*^t has lately been made known by 
-^Ir, Caird* (p. 12S). Nevertheless, 
^ letter from Drury to Cecil survives, 
I it certain (with aid of other 

^ ! ny) that Darnley was stran- 

Jed. His body was found eighty 
^rds from the spot of assassination, 
'^"ithout bruise or scratch upun it. 
^Vnox intimates the same thing* So 
Iocs Buchanan, and these two wore 
^ell informed. 

Kcr of Faudonside, the outlaw and 
''^'om enemy of Marv^ Stuart, was 
*rcsent at the murder with a party to 
^*nd aid. Was he, too, Mary Stuart *s 
^complice ? 

To the attention of readers who 
•lave studied the philosophy of history, 
"Xi.- 'omcnend the following entirely 



Akajukt McNeet C«ird. 



By 



new method of getting at the heait 
of a mystery : 

** It is tbcrcfore of the highest ijupor- 
tance to ascertain ihu immcdialc beliuf 
of the time [It which the murder took 
place, while party opinions were still un 
shaped and pany action undetcrmin- 
cd. The reader is invited to follow the 
story as It unfolded itself from day to 
da}'. He will be shown each event as it 
occurred, with the impressions wliich i: 
formed upon the minds of those who had 
the best means of knowing the truth *' 
(vol. jx, p. 3). 

We are asked to receive as proofs 
contemporar)^ impressions concerning 
the nature of a plot shrouded in dark- 
ness, where those ** who had the best 
means of kuowing the truth " were 
precisely those whose lips were close- 
ly sealed; and, finally, to accept as 
evidence contetnporary impressions 
fabricated and juggled by vile assas- 
sins seeking to throw the infamy of 
their crimes upon others. 

Will some one take the ** impres- 
sions which each event ' ^ connected 
with the Nathan murder " formed 
upon the minds of those who had the 
best means/' etc., etc, and tell us 
who killed Mr. Nathan ? Mr. Wiese- 
ner thus accurately characterizes this 
discovery of Mr. Froude : " To pene- 
trate the deep mystery of a wicked 
plot," stop the first man you meet in 
the street — ox park z an concierge. 

But if, as Mr. Froude asserts, it be 
true tliat it is of the highest impor- 
tance to ascertain the immediate be- 
hef of the time, why does he not tell 
us that a published rumor accused 
Queen Elizabeth of the murder ; that 
another one ascribed it to Catherine 
de* Medicis; that Buchanan states in 
his Detection that public report in 
England pointed to Murray, Mor- 
ton» and their friends as the assassins, 
anil a far better authority (Camden) 
tells the same story ? 

Mr. Froude tells us that on iba 



i 



478 



night of the murder " Mar>' Stuart 
had slept soundly/' This is on Bu- 
chanan's aulhorily, but his lang\iage 
is not cited. \Vc insist on producing 
it. Buchanan says that, when Mary 
Stuart heard that Darnlcy was killed, 
" she settled herself to rest, with a 
countenance so quiet and mind so 
untToiiblrd that she sweetly slept till 
the next day at noon.*'* There neetl 
be no doubt now as to the expression 
of Mar)^'s features on that occasion. 
To be sure, there exists a trifling dif- 
ficulty in reconciling Buchanan and 
Paris. The first says Mary slept till 
noon; the second^ that he saw her 
awake between nine and ten o'clock, 
Mr P'roude places implicit faith in 
both— which is proper and consis- 
tent, any testimony against Mary 
Stuart being good testimony. Our 
historian goes on : ** The room was 
already hung with black and lighted 
with candles." This w^as between 
nine and ten in the morning. The 
explosion took place at three o'clock. 
Now, either Mary Stuart must have 
suspended the sound sJcep, of which 
Buchanan and Mr. Froudc, of all 
the peo]jIe in the world, appear to 
know anything, or else she — " the 
keenest wilted woman living ** 
(Froude, vol viii. p. :2c) — was foul 
enough to order the room hung with 
blark before Dirnley w:ls killed. 
Will Mr Froude explain ? We place 
at his service a few friendly hints. 
" Sim lict tcndu dt no r," docs net 
mean, as he translates, "The room 
was already hung with black." It 
means that the bed was hung with 
black. Lkt or /// means bed ; cham- 
bn means a room. The word kcIU^ 

• Mr. Froudc himscir h&s a m«ch finer picture 
%\ p, 370, vol. viiK : ** WiUi tfa»e thoughts in hcf 
mind, Mary Stuart Qu«en of Scotlirtd, Uy down 
upflfi her bed— lo sleep, douhllcsa ilecp with 
the 10ft tfanquilHtv nf an innocent child." The 
wader must remember that Mr. Froude claims 
to wrke history ia ipiviitf ua U)i« sweetly pretty 




in his note at page 5 (val. \x,\ <U)ci 
not make sense. It is ciidcnily a 
misprint for la rurilr^ meaning the 
space left between the bed anrl the 
wall Paris illuminates this m^iU 
with "de la chandelle/' Mr Fruude 1 
improves this, and lights up the 
whole apartment, 

** Eating composedly, as Paris oh- 
served." But there is no such thing 
as ** eating composedly '* in the text 
as furnished by Mr. Iroude. 

At pp. 5 and 6, vol. ix,, Mr. Froudc 
— to use a legal phrase — ^sums up in a 
manner which perils his case and ex- 
poses its weakness. Every line of 
the two long paragrajjhs commenc- 
ing wiih ** Whatever may or may 
not/* at p, 5, and ending with *^of 
all suspicion of it/' p. 6 (vol, ix.), con- 
tains either a misstatement or a mis- 
representation, 

Some are their own best answer* 
The others we proceed to dis^pose of. 
The self-possession which Mr. Froudc 
finds so remarkable was simply the 
prostration of despair. In ihe Eng* 
lish Record Office, tJiere is a letter 
written the day after the murder, l>y 
the French aml>assador in .Scotland* 
which was intercepted by the Eng- 
lish officials, M. de CIcrnauk wtote: 
**Thc fact [namkys death] l)tring 
communicated to the queen, one can 
scarcely think what distress and ^f^m 
ny it has thrown her into,** ^^| 

The Scottish lords league*! with Mti^^ 
ray and with Boihwell for the murder 
of Dandey were among the worst mm 
known to history, and are thus f<mk- 
bly portrayeil by a late English irrit* 
er : ** 1 hey were barefaced liars, ihey 
were ruthless foes, they were Judas- 
like friends. To garble evidence, to 
forge documents, to put awkw-snl 
witnesses out of the way by ihe poi* 
son-cup or the dagger— these weft 
familiar acts to men who freqiteotcd 
the Scottish court, who wer^ iKlbk 
by birth and dignided by office.** 




Mr, Frond/s History of England. 



479 



And these were the men • to whom 
Mary roust look in such an emergen- 
cy for advice and aid* Can it be 
wondered that this young woman, 
the vicilm of the three atrocious 
plots of 1565, 1566, and 1567 — sick 
and heart-broken — was not capable 
of acting with the wisdom of a judge 
and the decision of a high-sheriff? 
If Mary Stuart had been a hypQcrite^ 
she would have filled Holy rood with 
clamorous sobs. The council was 
full of the assassins; she was assailed 
by treason, secret calumny, and Eng- 
lish plots, and without a single friend 
on whose advice she could rely, or a 
single minister on whose counsel she 
could lean. The anonymous {Jacards 
could not help her to any knowledge. 
She knew herself to be innocent, and 
it was natural not to beheve Both- 
well guilty. Wliy should she ? Of 
all the noblemen about the court 
he had never shown any enmity to 
Damlcy. and they had always been 
on friendly terms, 

** She preferred to believe that she 
was herself the second object of the 
conspiracy, yet she betrayed neither 
ttiTprise nor alarm/* And at the next 
page Mr. Froude tells us of a dis- 
jmch containing ** a message to her 
from Catherine de' Medicis that her 
huihand'i life was in danger." Mr. 
Froude is really incorrigible. Cathe- 
rine had nothing whatever to do with 
^e warning, did not even know that 
It was given, and of course sent no 
Utessagc. Mr. Froude is never at a 
'% for an occasion to couple Mary 
Stuart's name with that of Catherine 
"V Medicis, although he knows full 
*ell there never was any sympathy 
between them, and that, next to Eli- 
zabeth, she was Mary's most pitiless 
eocmy. 
The dispatch ^from Archbishop 



(Ituntly, the chmnrcllor, and Argyll, the lord- 
^ were bolb Ui Use plot 



Beaton in Paris) did not advise Mary 
that her husband's life was in dan- 
ger, but that Mary Stuart herself was 
in danger. It reads : ** The ambas- 
sador of Spaigne requests me to ad- 
vertise you to fitk had to yourself. I 
have had sum murmuring in like- 
ways be others, that there be some 
surprise to be transacted in your con* 
trair,** etc. And when later the arch- 
bishop thanked the Spanish ambas- 
sailor in the queen's name for the 
warning he had given, the ambassa- 
dor replied: ** Suppose it came too 
late, yet apprise her majesty that I 
am informed, by the same means as 
I was before, t/uit there is still some 
notable enterprise in hand aj^ainst her^ 
ri* hereof I wish her to beware in timeP 

" She did not attempt to fly/' If 
she had, Mr. Froude is ready to say 
that she could not support the pre- 
sence of her victim. 

"She sent for none of the absent 
nol>lemen to protect her/' and ** Mur- 
ray was within reach, but she did not 
seem to desire his presence !'* 

Mr. Froude, who makes these 
statements, knows perfectly well that : 
Firsts Drury wrote Cecil at the time, 
** She hath twice sent for the Karl of 
Murray, who stayeth himself by my 
ladie in her sickness." Seeomf^ Mel- 
ville also wrote to Cecil that ** Mary 
has summoned Murray and all the 
lords/' and that, " the Eari of Athol 
and the comptroller of the royal 
household having gone away, the 
queen ordered them back ^n penalty 
of rebellion.^* Thirds The papal legate 
in France wrote to the Duke of Tus- 
cany that ** Murray, summoned by the 
queen, would not come.** 

But, nothing daunted, Mr. Froude 
continues : " Lennox, Damley*s fa- 
ther, was at Glasgow or near it, but 
she did not send for him/' This 
statement gives the lie to Drury, who 
at the time reported to Cecil that 
Mary sent for Lennox^ and fiatly 



cuntradicts " the stainless/' in whose 
diary, filed as a part of the evidence 
against liis sister, is found an entry 
of February ii (day of the mur- 
der) to the effect that die queen sent 
for Lennox. 

"She spent the morning in writ- 
ing a letter to the Archbishop of 
(Glasgow, " Positively, she did not. 
Maitland wrote the letter. The queen 
merely signed it, 

Crawford's testimony. 

In introducing the evidence of 
Crawford, who was sent by Lennox 
to spy and report upon the queen 
wlfile in Glasgow, Aln Fronde in- 
forms us, in a note at p. 364, vol. viil., 
timt ** the conversation as related by 
Darnley to Crawford tallies exactly 
with that given by Mary herself to 
Jiothvvell in the casketdetters." Tal- 
lies exacdy ? Why, it tallies miracu- 
lously. The conversation between 
Mary and Darnley occurred in tlie 
last week of January, 1567, Craw- 
ford*s deposition was not taken until 
the summer of 156S, when it was 
given at the solicitation of Lennox 
and Murray's secretary (Wood). 

Crawford's deposition gives the 
ronversatioQ between Darnley and 
Mary as he (Crawford) had it from 
Darnley. The casket-letter is pro- 
duced as Mary's relation of the same 
interview. The conversation was 
very long, and yet these two versions 
present the astonishing coincidence 
of perfect unanimity of three memo- 
ries. 

That they should perfectly agree 
in substance would of itself be some- 
what remarkable, but that they should 
be almost identical in words and 
phrases is yet more wonderful 

I'he explanation is simple. The 
casket'letter was manufactured from 
Crawford's deposition by a careless 
forger. Here is a specimen of both : 



Crawfokd's Dsfosi* 

TION. 

** You asked me VfhaX 
I metint by the cmcUy 
^pedljed in my letters ; 
that procectlclh of you 
only, that will not ac- 
cept my offers nuJ re- 
pcntdncc. I confess* 
tbjit 1 have fill led in 
stune thins^^, tixxd ycl 
greater faults have bccrt 
made to you sundry 
itmcis which you have 
fi>i given. I ttin liut 
younp, and you will say 
you have forgiven mo 
divert times. May not 
a man of my ajre^ for 
luck of counsel, of whiih 
I am vcTy destJtutc^ 
fall twice or thrice, notl 
yet repeal, and t»c chfts- 
Used by cjEpeneiice?** 
etc. 



7um Qti% 

" Vou asked . 
I mean bv the 



rrrtts or ) 



t'A ittal 

tv cd; 

• i< ;led 

to '.UMiirv .'J . ir '.ul^- 
JOCH, %tLlkh V u !: I . 
for;*lvCll, I13311 ,1 ui;j 

Vou vcilt ftay Uial you 
have furuivcn me all- 
tlme«, and {l»at yet t re* 
turn U>my faults. Mar 
nal a mun of mv age, 
(<r. ' ■ :., fall 

tv. ' ill 

U and 

ai . hiu^elC, 

ar cd bftar 



THE DEPOSITION OF PARIS 

{ Nicholas Hubert) is «' ti- 

cally introduced by Mr. 1 . 1 p. 

4, vol. ix. Details are pru<k'nUy avoid- 
ed. " Paris made two depositions, the 
first not touching Mar>% the second 
fatally implicating ben'* Very true. 
The first deposition was a voluntary 
one; but he was tortured before the 
second was taken. 

" This last was ffad over In his preseiiccu 
IIesig:ned il, ond was ihcfi executed, that 
there might be no rctractian or contn- 
diction." 

Surely the precaution was ndjcaL 
But Paris could not have signed the 
depimfion^ nor known what it contain- 
ed, for he could n< lor 
read. ** The haste an^: if/ 
continues Mr* Froude, '• were mere- 
ly intended to baffle Eli/abctk/* 

Then there wai " haste and coo- 
ceahnent ^M Let us sec. ' * re- 

presented that Paris was . m 

Denmark and brought to SuHUdd ill 
June, 1569, that his firet dcpositioii 
was taken August 9, the secofid An* 
gust io» and that he was executed 
August 16, 1569. 7%en is n& rtcml 




&f his inal^ no statement as to who m- 
icrr^gated htm^ nor tty what court he 
was condemned ; nor is there any judi- 
cial or other proper legal authentica- 
tion of h is d ci>osi t i o n . M u rray w ro te 
10 Elizabeth that Paris ** su fife red death 
by order of law " — ^law here, we sup- 
pose, standing for '* Murray.** All oth- 
ers arrested for the Darnley murder 
were tned and executed in Edinburgh ; 
but Paris was secretly taken away 
from there, secretly tortured^ secretly 
tried, if tried at all, by Murray's or 
ders, and finally executed, all at St. 
♦Andrew's, Murray*s own castle. On 
the scaffold, he " declared before God 
that he never cai^ied any such let- 
ters, nor that the queen was parti ci* 
pant nor of counsel in the cause" 
(Tytler, vol i. p. 29), But, more than 
this, Mr, Hosack, in his late work* 
<ai Mary Stuart, proves, from a docu- 
ment lately discovered in the Danish 
archives, that Paris was delivered to 
Murray, not in the summer of 1569, 
as Murray represented, but eight 
months earlier, namely, on the 50th 
October, 1568, before the Westmin- 
ncr proceedings had yet opened, Paris 
is the only witness made to charge the 
queen directly with adultery and mur- 
ilcT. Murray could easily have produc- 
ed him at Westminster, and was not 
prevented by any delicacy of feeling, 
for these were the very charges he 
Himself brought against his sister. 
Meantime* the fart that Paris was 
then in Murray*s prison was kept 
^ profomid secret until long after the 
''ommission had adjourned. The pa- 
P<?r called the second deposition of 
^3ri5 was written by a Robert Ram- 
*3yJ and witnessed by two of Mur- 
fsy*s dependants, both, Hke himself, 
pensioners of Elizabeth and promi- 
flcot among the worst enemies of 

* Hm*y Qim^m «>/ StHs a»d her A ccusrrs. By 
t"' Witter of Ihis dcclainLion, semot to my 

\OU XII. — 31 



Mary, When the depositions were 
sent to London, the first was made 
known, but the second was conceal- 
ed, filed away among Cecil's papers, 
and not made public until 1725. 
A distinguished English historian is 
of the opinion that a charge of crime 
kept back or concealed for twenty- 
five years cannot be relied upon as evi- 
dence. What, then, are we to think 
of one concealed for one hundred and 
fifty-six years ? The historian we 
refer to is Mr Froude, who remarks, 
upon the accusation brought against 
Leicester of the murder of his w*ifc, 
Amy Robsart : 

" The charity of later years has inclin- 
ed to believe ihat it was a calumny invent- 
ed, [etc., etc] ; and tf/ // wax not published 
tin a quarter of a ctntury after (he aime — 
if crime there was — had been committed, 
it witl not be rttied upon in this place for 
evidence*' (vol. vii. p. 288). 

You see, we must draw the line 
somewhere. Against an edifying Pro- 
testant gentleman like Leicester, we 
cannot admit anything after, say, 
twenty years J but it will give us great 
pleasure to receive any evidence 
against Mary Stuart to the end of 
time. 

Ihe second deposition, taken Au- 
gust 10, was secretly sent up to Cecil 
by Murray on the 15th of October, 
1569, ** gif furder pruif be rcquirit.*' 
Cecil at once saw that he could make 
no public use of such a document 
taken by and before such notorious 
agents of Murray as Buchanan, 
Wood, and Ramsay, and, says Chal* 
mers, " he desired the hy|>ocritical 
regent of Scotland to send him a 
certified copy of the same declaration 
of Paris. Whereupon a notary, one 
Alexander Hay, obliges Murray by 
certifying a copy as true, but, unfor- 
tunately for the credit of the docu- 
ment, omitting the names of the wit- 
nesses to the original paper, and re- 



482 



Mr, Frand/s History of England. 



presenting himself as sole witness to 
the decUiration of Paris I" Hay was 
cleric of Murray's Privy Council, 

Referring to this deposition of Pa- 
ris, Uie A^ifrth Amerkdn I^evitiv (vol. 
xxxiv.) says it was ** wrung from him 
by torture » by those most deeply inte- 
rested in finding Mary guilt>% , , . 
under circumstances so suspicious 
throughout that such evidence would 
not now be admitted by a country 
justice in case of trover." 

" Such testimony as that of Paris 
is justly rejected both by the Roman 
and our own Scottish laws/' say Bi- 
shop Keith, Primate of the Scottish 
Episcopal Church. 

But not all ** the charity of later 
years" nor Mr, Froude's lofty views 
of the mission of the historian have 
been able to induce him to give any 
intimation to his reader that the au- 
thenticity of this incredible narrative 
of Paris was ever questioned. 

On the contrary, as with the cas- 
kct'Ietters, Paris is so interwoven with 
Froude in the text that the read- 
er must be specially attentive if he 
wishes to distinguish one from the 
other. 

THE CASKET-LEITERS, 

denounced from the first as forgeries, 
are rejected by such writers as Goodal 
(1754), Gilbert Stuart (1762), Tytlcr 
(1759), Whitaker (1788), Dr. John- 
son (1760), Lingard, Chalmers, Sir 
Walter Scott. Aytoun, Miss Strick- 
land, Hosack, and Caird. Hundreds 
of scholars, fully the equals of Mr. 
Froude in ability and acquirements, 
are tlioroughly satisfied of the forgery 
of these letters. 

Mr, Froude has, therefore, no choice 
but to recognize the niccssity of es- 
tablishing their genuineness. He 
makes this recognition, but proceeds 
without ceremony to use tlie letters, 
quieting his readers with the assur- 
Wttcc that their authenticity ** will be 



discussed in a future volume 11 

nection with their discovery," 

meantime, weaves the tainted | 

so ingeniously into his narrativ 

it is not always easy fur the rea 

distinguish ** Froude " from ** ca 

In the same paragraph with hi 

raise, the reader will remarkA 

mation that the historian ma^ 

bly, not ke^p his word : ** The ij 

at the time appears to nie tqH 

sede authoritatively all later ij 

tures." As might be expect* 

reaching the point fixed for th 

cussion, our author totally fa 

redeem his pledge, and falls ba 

contemporary opipion and thi 

tounding note : ** That some < 

was discovered cannot be de«i< 

tho most sanguine dcfcnderjl 

queen." Further, instead of a sB 

forward ** discussion," Mr. Fi 

keeps up a desultory mutterii 

occasional notes, avowing his I 

in the casket. ** One of the let 

he says, '* could have been inv 

only by a genius equal to ihi 

Shakespeare." We arc not told 1 

is that letter, nor can wc under 

the precise signification here at 

ed to ** invention." If be.mty o 

tion is meant, we : t 

although the two pt ^ -c 

letters of Mary Stuart amoii| 

eight are — like everything from 

pen — admirable in feeling an 

style, still the genius of a SI 

spearc would not be required to 

duce them. If he means invc 

in tlie sense of imitation or L 

of counterfeiting, wc must , 

it is ability of a very low orde 

history of literature aboun4ls 

cessful imitation of even cb 

ers by ver)^ inferior talent, ac 

speare's name naturajly rt* 

history of the halfcducated 

attorney's clerk,* who for Dc 

• WQUmi Ueorf trcUad. 



Mn Fraufie*s Hisiojy of England, 



483 



years imposed upon all England with 
Shakespeare prose, poetty, sonnet, and 
tragedy, all of his own manufacture. 

We have long been of die opinion 
that atieniion has not been sufiitient- 
iy drawn to the external history of 
these famous casket -letters. This 
portion of its history should alone 
be sufticient to consign the plattd 
dicat to ©blivion as the most impu- 
dent and flimsy of impostors, and is 
so clear as to render sujierfluons any 
argument on the internal evidence, 
which is, if possible, yet more over- 
whelming. 

The story of Mary's accusers is 
that, four days after the flight at Car- 
bciTy, Both well sent his retainer Dal- 
glcish to Edinburgh Casdc to obtain 
from Sir James llalfour (in command) 
1 certain silver casket, his (Bothwell's) 
property ; that Balfour gave the cas- 
ket to Dalglcish, notifying the con- 
federate lords " underhand," who in- 
tercepted Dalgleish, June 20, 1567, 
and took the casket, in which they 
ihund eight letters, written by the 
queen to BothwelU several contracts, 
tonneis, and bonds. Now, those who 
are at liberty to believe that 
h, well-known as a follower 
wl iiuihwelb was allowed to pass 
through more than four hundred arni- 
cd enemies and sentinels to reach the 
castle ; that Balfour, an open enemy 
of Both well, an acute lawyer, an un- 
imncijiJcd man (" the most corrupt 
m^n in Scotland/' says Robertson), 
than whom no clerk in the kingdom 
conhl better appreciate the imjiort- 
*ncc of such papers, gave them up 
^ a messenger, without receipt or 
lowledgment of ajiy descnpiion, 

lUs running the risk of their loss or 
destruction by Dalgleish, or his es- 
rape with them, and thus placing 
himself and all his confederates at 
Bothwcirs mercy. They are, fur- 
ther, free to believe that such a man 
as Balfour would have had the slight- 



est hesitation in appropriating the 
papers; for he must have already 
broken open the casket, inasmuch as 
it is claimed that he knew what were 
its contents before delivering it to 
Dalgleish. 

But let us accept the story. What 
then ? Arrested June 50, Dalgleish 
was interrogated June 26, His ex- 
amination and replies are preserved, 
and contain not a solitary word con- 
cerning the casket, or letters or pa- 
pers of any description found upon hrm 
as alleged. The examination took 
place before die Privy Council Nei- 
ther then nor at any other time did 
he make any statement concerning it. 
He w;is executed January 3, 1568, 
and his name was ficvtir maiiwned in 
comtectkm unik the casket sf&fy until 
after he was dead. None of the ser- 
vants of Morton who arrested him 
were examined. 

But, it may be said, the Privy 
Cuuncil may not have been aware of 
the finding of the casket. But Bal- 
four, who gave it to Dalgleish, and 
Morton, in whose hands the casket 
is claimed then to have been, were 
both present at the examinadon, 
Morton as a member of the council. 

It will be borne in mind that the 
casket-letters were produced as the 
letters of the queen to Bothwell. 
But they were all ttndated^ undirect- 
ed, unseaied, and unsubscni^ed, and 
might as well have been written to 
anybody as well as to Bothwell. 

Are we to be told that the most 
able and astute lawyer in all Scot- 
land could not see the vital neces- 
sity of tracing, by evidence, these 
letters to Both weirs possession — ^let- 
ter^j which would prove their writer 
guilty of adultery and murder ? With 
the testimony of Balfour and Dal- 
gleish, Bothwell's ownership of the 
papers is clear. Yet Balfour not 

* Except ooe, "* tbiA Salordmy momimij** 



4S4 



Mr. Fronde's History of England. 



only dedined to examine Dalgleish, 
but did not even profter his own poor 
testimony. No curiosity concerning 
this capital point in their case ap- 
pears to have been manifested by 
those interested, and we hear not a 
word from them on the subject until 
months after the death of the only 
person whose testimony couhl have 
helped them. On the scaffbkl, Dal- 
gleish asserted the innocence of Mary, 
charging Murray and Morton as the 
authors of the murder 

But how is it possible that Morton 
and Balfour should have neglected 
.so essentia! a precaution as that of 
taking Dalgleish's testimony as to the 
casicet ? 

The answer is very plain. Balfour 
never received such a casket from 
Both well ; he delivered no casket to 
Dalgleish ; and, finally, the so-called 
casketdetters were not then {June 20. 
1567) in existence. The first public 
announcement as to these letters is 
in the famous Act of Council, De- 
cember 4, 1567, an act signed by 
Morton, Maidand, and Balfour, all 
accomplices in the murder. 

This act charges 

•' ihat ihc cause and occasion of the tak* 
jtig of the queen's person, upon the I5lh 
day of June last, was in the said queens 
i»wn dcfauil, in as far as by n'tvers hfr pre- 
vie letttrs iiTitUn and subscriht't wi(h h^r 
(TTiwV/ -4rtWi/, and sent by her to James, Earl 
of Both well, chief executor of the said 
horrible murder, it is Tnost certain ihat 
she was privy, art and pari, and of the ac- 
tual devise and deed, of the prenientioncd 
murder of the king her lawful husband." 

Not a word of casket, stanzas, son- 
nets, contracts, and bonds. This is 
fatal Laing, the acutest of the for- 
gery advocates, makes an effort to 
show that the term ** previe letters '* 
m;iy also be* taken to include other 
papers ; but he fails to show, remarks 
Mr. Hosack, that, ** either in Scotch 
or in any other language, the term 



* previe letters * ever meant 

except private letters and 
Thus, the letters declared, 
4» 1 567, to be snhcriheJ tuifh \ 
hami^ were aflenvard claimet 
been discovered six months 
without any siptatmr u*hatft% 

The explanation is, that !y 
of December the forgery pP 
framed, and letters were to be p 
ed sti^N^d t>y the qtuen, Now» f 
was no new thing to these gent 
Murray produced forged pa] 
tended to have been found J 
Earl of Huntly, and with 
pused upon Mary. 

They forged a letter frv^m ; 
Both we II, which Morton shoi 
kaldy as the excuse for the 
treatment of the queen on the 
June. This letter, of course^ j 
ly disa[»i>eared, never agaii 
seen. 

But these casketdetters mi| 
to be pul4icly produced Mi^ \ 
ted to some sort of srrutinf 
made forgery of the royal 
a serious piece of business^ \ 
mnn was not found who 
it, the more so as he would " 
could not tru¥.t his own con( 
all scoundrels like himself, 
the sudden right-about face i 
the conspirators ; for their act 1 
liament, passed a few days ai| 
act of council, describes thc| 
not as signed* but as ** hailly \ 
with her aw in hand," and i« 
sha])e, that is, unsigned, 
produced at Westminster. 
that neither before the cotl 
before the parliament in qucstl 
these letters pmduced, and /if] 
nn^er slunvn in Si^ottartil, 

Another argument Uisj 
that Bolhwell, in his hurric 
took no papers with hinu 
from Scotland was not hur 
might have been pursued 
berry or taken at Dunbar. 4 



fr. Fronde's Histaiy of En^ana 



485 



ifler the destruction of the Craigmil- 
lar bond, by which they were com- 
[>romised, did the lords move against 
bim, and eveii then, by proclaiming 
a reward for his apprehension, gave 
him ample warning to save himsclC 
liothwelt was arrested on the coast 
of Norway as a pirate, and to prove 
who he was had taken out of the 
hold of his vessel where he had it 
concealed a portfolio full of private 
letters am I important documents. This 
portfolio or desk was fastened with 
several locks, the keys of which were 
obtained from one of his servants. 
The magistrates of Bergen found in it 
numerous ms. letters and papers, and 
a letter from Mary Stuart, ^' not of 
iffeciion, but one of complaint, la- 
menting her hard lot/* which produc- 
ed \\. very mifavorable impression con- 
ctrming Bothwell, who was retained a 
prisoner. 

Finally, if Mary Stuart had ever 
written any such letters to Bothwell 
"of infinite importance to him/* as 
Mr Froude truly says, would Both- 
well have parted with them ? If he 
consented to part with them, would 
ke have left them at the mercy of 
^ch a man as Balfour ? And grant- 
itig even that, can it be believed that 
James Balfour, of all men in Scotland, 
^•ould have loosened his grip upon 
^em, and delivered them, gratuitous- 
ly, to the servant of an absconding 

*' Crcdat Judaciis apdU 
Kon effo ;** 

^r Balfour was not a man to give 
^mething for nothing. He was 
lx>ught over to join tlie confederates 
licfore Carberry, he was well paid for 
the '* green velvet desk ** transaction, 
ftnci Murray afterwards gave him 
j^5,ooo in money, Pittenwcem priory 
aad another valuable tract of church 
kuidf ajid an annuity for his son. This 
Balfour is the man Murray " attempt- 



ed to arrest" (Froude) for the mur- 
der of Darn ley, and whom Murray, 
as soon as he had the power, appoint- 
ed to a post of honor and responsi- 
bility. 

On the 1 6th of Septeii^ber, 156S, 
Morton delivers the casket to Murray, 
against a receipt certifying that Mor- 
ton had kept the casket " faithfully 
(since June 20, 1567), without in any- 
thing changing, increasing, or dimin- 
ishing its contents," Is this the lan- 
guage of an honest transaction? How 
did Murray know whereof he certi- 
fies ? No matter! Morton's word 
is just as good as Murray's. Thus, 
the casket should contain on the 20th 
of June all that Murray afterward pro- 
duced as its contents at Westminster 
Let us apply a test. On the very 
day Dalgleish was interrogated, the 
privy council ordered the arrest of 
Bothwell for the crimes of the murder 
of Darnley, and for having '* traitor- 
ously ravished the queen." And yet, 
of the eight casket- letters, three should 
prove the queen's consent to Both- 
welTs carrying her off. 

Mr. Froude says it cannot be de- 
nied that some casket was discovered. 
Certainly not. But when and where ? 
Mr. Froude has no testimony on this 
j»nint but the assertions of Morton, 
Murray, and himself 

We freely grant that ** some casket 
was discovered." We admit, more- 
over, that it was the very casket pro- 
duced by Murray at Wcstminster^ — a 
small silver-gilt casket belonging to 
Mary Stuart, given her by Francis, 
her tirst husband. It was discover- 
ed among Mary's effects at Hulyrootl 
when they were plundered by Mur- 
ray and his friends, and when, as Mr. 
Froude tells us with calm delight, the 
queen's chape! w^as **■ purged of its 
Catholic ornaments." 

We have a theory that Mr. Froude 
does not himself believe that a casket 
was found on Dalgleish, as the story 



^rmtd^s History of England 



runs. And our reason for holding it 
is that he bases his strongest state- 
ments concerning it on facts which 
are incapable of demonstration or his- 
torical proof. At p. 39, vol. ix,, he 
draws a fancy sketch of Bothwell 
%olus^ who, like a villain in a melo- 
drama, is seen to ** put the bond 
away in a casket, together with his 
remaining treasures of the same kind, 
In case they might be useful to him 
in the future" (how our historian 
reads the villain*s thoughts I) — among 
the rest, the fatal letter which the 
queen had written to him from Glas- 

>w, etc, 

I How can the reader have any doubt 
after this ? Does he not here see the 
casket — almost touch it ? 

Here is another casket appearance 
(p, I iS, vol. ix.) : 

"The E*irl of Bmhwcll, on leaving 
Edinburgh for the border. b.nt kft in 
Balfour's h.-intl5 ibc celebrated casket 
which contained ihe queen's letters to 
hiRiscIf, same love sonnets, the bond 
frigned at Seton before his trial, and one 
odier, pritbahiy that 'vkich was drawn at 
Cmi^mi/^ir," 

Deep, sir, deep I The Craigmillar 
bond really was in Balfour's hands, 
and if Mr. Froude ran but manage to 
get it into die casket, //i^n aha is thf 
casket in Balfour's hantis. But wait ! 
he has ai^other card at the next page : 

** They (Maittand and the other lords) 
might have experienced, too, some fear as 
well n$ some compunction ii', as Li^rd 
Ifcrries said, thf casket oyHtaincd thf Ciisig- 
miihtr bond, to which their names remain* 
ed atEjted," 

Mr. Fruude*s probably and if are 
mere grimace. He knows perfectly 
well that the Craigmillar bond never 
had any connection with the casket, 
knows when and where it was found, 
how it was destroyed^ and who de- 
stroyed it. Tlxis it was : When the 
other murderers of Damley confede- 



rated against Bothwell, the pi 
the latter were in the castle 
burgh. AVord was sent Balfc 
if he did not join them» he si 
denounced with Bothwell as 
derer of Dandey, iialfour 
protecting himself with the 
** bond '• of that day, to whid 
quired the personal guarantee 
kaldy of Grange — ** in case the 
lity might alter upon him.*' 
they were all as unprincipled 
self, but he had faith in Ihc 
word. 

I'hiis made safe, he broke ^ 
^reen desk in which Bothwell U 
valuable papers, and amuuji 
found the Oiiipmlhr bofut, TS 
limony on this jjoiiit is full and i 
pulable. Iti 17S0, Morton 
and found guilty as aiding 
murder of Darnley, Balfour 
witness in the case, Sir 
singham wrote (February 3, 15S 

*'Thc said Sir James Balfour f<0 
a green velvet desk* late the 1 
BoihwelPs, and s^aw and had 
hands, the principal bond uf tli 
spirators in that murder, and c|| 
declare and wilness who were ihol 
and executors of ihc 5*mc '* (CW 
braiy, 0\lt^uh 6), 

And here is the testimony o( 
Froude's favorite, Randolph 
writes to Cecil, October 15, ii 

" To name iuch as are yet , 
mott notKmousty knikwn U hav* 
emfsfftti*is tff the king's deatk^ I mU 
Only I will 5ay that the u 11 i vers 
comes upon three or four personiL 
subscribed into a bond, pn>tnisin^ tc 
cur and assist each other in dotAj 
same. Tfth bond vhis Jtr/i in tk ~ 
in a Httlt coffer or desk cpr^rfd rw'l 
and, after the apprehension of the 1 
queen at Car berry Hill, was ukea 
the place where it lay by the Latid 
d ington , i n presence of M r, Jarars J 
then clerk of the rcgisier and k« 
the keys where lUe tegisiers ate^ 
h^^ vol. vii. p. 346, and Ms, in 
Officf). 



u\ with this clear testimony be- 
hkw> Mr. Froude seeks to per- 
suade his reader that the Craigraillar 
bond was in the silver casket ! But 
" ifj as Lord Herries said, the casket 
cooiaincd the Craigmillar bond?*' 
suggests our historian, who is well 
advisetl that Lord Herries said no- 
thing of the kind. 

Lord Herries, on the contrary, 
slates that Balfour did not find any 
alleged letters of the queen among 
Bothwcirs effects in the casde, but 
that he did find the bond for the 
Damley murder; and he adds that, 
tf the queen's letters had been genu- 
ine, her enemies would only have 
been too glad of such an opportuni- 
ty to Ir}' and con tie inn her. 

In the face of all this testimony, 
Mr. Froude has yet the nerve to re- 
peat his poor invention at p. 200, 
vol* ix. : " /fy as there is reason to be- 
lifVft the Craigmillar bond was in the 
casket also," etc, Then follow two 
pages which we commend to the se- 
rious attention of any admirer of 
Mr. Froude who claims the posses- 
sioii of moral principles, 

THE IN\^ENT1VE rACULTY. 

But Mr. Froude has a still more 
ingenious device in reserve, namely, 
tg show that Mar)' Stuart herself ad- 
milted the existence of the casket- 
letters in August, 1567 {when they 
were not yet forged, and before the 
conspirators had even determined 
upon tlie shape in which to put 
them). Truly a dazzling tour deforce. 
Give it your attention. At p. 159* 
vol, XV i,, we have a recital of the 
first interview in Lochleven prison 
between the Queen of Scots and 
Murray. This recital is based on a 
letter to Elizabeth fi-om Throckmor- 
ton, who repeats Murray's account of 
Uic intcrvicvv. We have not room 



to expose the garbling and patching 
of Throckmorton's text by which 
Mr. Froude makes up his narrative^ 
but desire merely to point out two 
passages which we are plainly given 
to understand are quoted from 
1 hrockmorton's letter, but whkh are 
not there, 

" Her letters had betrayed * the 
inmost part of her* too desperately 
for denial" There is no such state- 
ment in Throckmorton^ nor are the 
words ' the inmost part of her,* given 
by Mr. Froude in quotation marks, 
anywhere to be fotmd in his letter. 
We presume they are a merely lite- 
rary citation fiar ornament. "He 
[Murray] told her [Mary J that he 
would assure her life, and, if possible, 
would shield her reputation, and 
prevent the publkation of her tetters,^* 
The words in italics are not in 
Throckmorton, the idea conveyed 
by Mr. Froude is not there, nor is 
there in all of Throckmorton *s letter 
anything to warrant Mr. Fronde's as- 
sertion. // is pure invention. We 
know whereof we do affirm. There 
need be no question of conflict of re- 
ference. 

Mr. Froude cites *' Throckmorton 
to Elizabeth^ Au^, 20, Keith,'* and by 
that authority we stand. See Keith ^ 
vol. ii. p. 734 et seg,^ Edinburgh edi- 
tion, printed for the Spotiswode So- 
ciety, 1845. 

As to Balfour*s '* frank confession/' 
we should first like to know some- 
thing more of the Simancas Ms» referred 
to by Mr. Froude in that connection. 
There appears to be such " fatal ne- 
cessity of mistake '* in Mr. Fronde's 
citations that we must ask to be ex- 
cused from accepting any of them 
without preliminary verification of 
their existence and their accuracy. 

To return to the casket letters. 
While Mary was imprisoned at Loch- 
leven, Villcroy and l)u Croc, the 
two French ambassadors, demanded 



■ 



Mr> Froud^s History of England. 



interviews with the queen, but were 
refused by the lords. A week later 
the English ambassador was also re- 
fused, and in all three cases every 
excuse was alleged but the discovery 

'the casket-letters. On the contra- 
Y^ the lords dwelt upon the violen- 
ces and outrages of Bothwell upon 
the queen — things distinctly contra- 
dicted by the casket-letters. In Hke 
manner, when they seized the qyeen*s 
silver, the casket was not urged in 
excuse. 

July 24, 1567, Lindsay sought to 
force Mary's aljdication, and to ob- 
tain it used bnita! force. Mr. Froude 
(p. 141, vol, ix.) thinks that the story 
that ** Lindsay clutched her arm and 
left the print of his gauntleted hands 
upon the flesh, that, having immedi' 
ate death before her if she refused^ 
she wrote her name," rests on faint 
authority. For Mr. Froude, all autho- 
rity concerning Mary Stuart is faint 
that docs not come from her ene- 
mies. If the casketdcttcrs had then 
been in existence, the menace to use 
them would have brought Mary's sig- 
nature without trouble. Mr. Froude 
appreciates the force of this objec- 
tion, hence his painfully ingenious 
piece of work with Throckmorton's 
letter in order to represent Mary as 
yielding under the same threat from 
^Jurray, 

On the day after Mary was terri- 
fied into signing her abdication, we 
hear the very first hint from the lords 
as to her ** letters." The hint was 
given to Throckmorton; but they 
did not show him the casket-letters 
for the ver)^ best of reasons. 

Throckmorton writes to Elizabeth 
that the lords mean to charge Mary 
with the Darnley murder, " whereof, 
tk^y say, they have as apparent proof 
against her as may be, as well by 
the testimony of her own handi^Tit- 
ingj" etc. But not a word of Dal- 
gleish or the casket. 



yufy 30, 1567, — Now we hear of 
the three sheets of paper — tr^s flk^i 
(it papfL The forgery is e\identiy 
in its infancy; for, when the casket 
ultimately appeared, it contained a 
mass of papers. Murray is in Lon- 
don. According to Mr. Froude, he 
has received special infonnation con- 
cerning this letter of three sheets of 
paper wrillen by the queen to Both- 
well, for as such he describes it to 
Dc Silva, the Spanish ambassador. 
De Silva's report of Murray's state- 
ments concerning Mary's letter — una 
carta — is given by Mr. Froude (vol. 
ix. p. 119) in the original Spanish. 
He is careful, however, to furnish 
the reader no translation of it, hur- 
ries over it as rapidly as possible, 
and abruptly leaves it by plunging 
into some matter about John Knox. 
Our historian^s anxiety to escape m* 
telligible statement of Murray's re- 
port to Dc Silva is very natural, fof 
that report is one of the most fatal 
blows ever dealt the silver casket 
forgery. Murray's description to De 
Silva of the letter ** written by Mary 
to Bothwell '* is that of a letter total- 
ly diflfering in its essential features 
from that which was afterward pro- 
duced, and *'the theory that the let* 
tcrs were forged in the later mattm- 
ty of the conspiracy against the 
queen/* so far from " falling asoa- 
der " under Murray's statementy as 
Mr. Froude would have us bdi 
is here strengthened to the very Vi 
of demonstration. Mr* Froude else- 
where speaks of Murray's account 
as an ** accurate description *' of the 
Glasgow letter* Let us look at the 
accuracy. The very ixifX point is a 
fatal divergence* Murray describe* 
the letter as stated by the queen— 
firmada de su nomhrt. No such let 
ter was produced among the casket- 
letters, which were all wiiliout seal, 
date, address, or si The 

queen is made to say : ^1 ^ 






ng Damley — iria d (raerle — 
, go to Glasgow, while the let- 
ter afterward produced purports to 
be written at Damlcy*s bedside in 
Glasgow; that she would contrive, 
continues Murray's account, to poi- 
son Darnley on the way, and, failing 
that, would bring him to the house 
where the explosion by powder should 
lake place; that BoUiwcll, on his side, 
should get rid of his wife by divorce 
or poison — and other atrocitics^none 
of which appear in die letter iubse- 
quentl y prod uced. H o w do es i t h a p- 
pen that Murray's informant saw 
them, if they were not there ? And 
if they were there, how came they to 
disappear? It should be remarked 
that the horrible programme in this 
JettCT is not put forward by the 
queen as something to be considered 
and decided upon by Both well, but 
as the plan already agreed upon be- 
f^^cen them — to qiu faitan ardinaiio. 



I 



A LATE DISCOVERy, 



<jutnian de Silva listened atten- 

ti'V^ly to nil that Murray had to say 

(Jxaly 3o» 1567) conceniing the letter 

*^>" which Mar>' was said to have to- 

*^-lly compromised herself, as though 

^^ had not already heard of it, De 

^O-va was always well informed as to 

'^^ny secret movements of the Scot- 

r^^h lords, and it is very evident that 

^^ could depentl upon at least one 

^r them for early intelligence, Here- 

^^forCj the first recorded historical 

Mention as to the existence of Mary's 

^legcd letters has been found in 

Throc.lcinorton*s letter of July 25 ; 

but a paper at Simancas proves that 

De Stlva had heard of them before 

that date. This important discovery 

was made by M. Jules Gauthier, 

whose Jftitoire de Mark Stmrt we 

noticed in our April (1870) number, 

cid reveals the important fact that 



the casket-letters, yet to be produc- 
ed, were already discussed in Eng- 
land and hwtim to Elizabeth before 
the Scottish lords had made any pub- 
lic allusion to them. Here is the 
language of the document. On the 
2 1 St of July, 1567, De Silva writes to 
Philip^we translate : 

** 1 told the queen (Elizabeth) that 
I had been informed tliat the lords 
were in possession of certain letters 
from which it appeared that the 
queen of Scodand knew of the mur- 
der of her husband. She answered 
me that it was not true, and, more- 
over, that Lethiiigton was therein 
badly employed, and that, if she saw 
him, Jshc would say a few words to 
him which he would find far from 
agreeable," 

Here is De Silva's letter : 

" Apunte 4 la reyna que avia sido 
avisado, que en poder de los senores 
estaban ciertas cartas per dondc se en- 
tendia que la reyna de Escocia oviese 
sido sabidora de la muerte de su ma- 
rido \ dixomc que no era verdad, 
aun que Ledington avia tratadd mal 
esto, e que si clla le viese, le diria 
algunas palabras que no le harian 
bucn gusto " [Archives of Simancas ^ 
leg. 819, fob loS ; Gatiihier, vol. ii. 
p, 104), ^ 

Mr. Fronde's labors at Simancas 
have been referred to by his admirers 
as one of the triumphs of modern 
historical research. But although, as 
he states, he had " unrestricted ac- 
cess " to that important collection, he 
does not seem to have made himself 
acquainted with this important letter 
of De Silva. 

It appears that Elizabeth mani- 
fested no surpri^ at the ambassador's 
announcement, and this goes far to 
show thai the forged letters were al- 
ready under consideration in England 
as a means of inculjuting the unfortu- 
nate Mary Stuart. It is equally cvi- ' 
dent that Elizabeth herself looked 



Frond? 



I 



upon the letters as forgeries perpe- 
trated by Lethington, 

And this agrees perfectly with the 
intimation given by Camden, who 
evidently knew more of Cecirs se- 
crets than he consigned to his pages, 
that Lethinglon (MaitJand) was no 
stranger to their fabricalion, with the 
frequently expressed suspicion of 
Mary Stuart herself, and with the 
opinion of several historians. Eliza- 
beth*s answer leaves but little doubt 
that the directing hand in the for- 
gery was Maidand's, and we know 
that^ next to Murray and Morton^ he 
had the greatest interest in fixing 
upon MdkVy the odium of Darnley*s 
murder. 

As to the internal evidence of for- 
gery, the argument is com|jlete« 
Goodal nnd VVhitakcr have written 
exhaustively on this point. The lit- 
tle that is said by Dr. Lingard on 
the subject is yet so compactly logi- 
cal as to dispose of the (lucstion. 
TyUer and his reviewer Dr. Johnson 
expose the forgery in the clearest liglil, 
and, without stopping to do more 
than mention in this connection the 
names of Professor Aytoun and Miss 
Strickland, and the two latest writers^ 
Hosack and Caird, we desire to draw 
attention to an exr client article on the 
casketdetlcrs and the Paris confes- 
sion, to be found in the JVo/ih A me* 
matt /tntloiff vol xxxiv. 

THE KILLIOREW LETTER. 

Early in March, 1567, Elizabeth 
sent an ambassador (Killigrew) down 
to Scotland to carry out certain in- 
structions and "to inquire into the 
truth " concerning Darnley*s murder ; 
and we ask the reader's special atten- 
tion to the account given by Mr, 
Froude of Killigrew 's mission. It is 
one of the most remarkable of his 
many perversions. A twDlder piece 
of invention, a more reckle^ tamper- 



ing with a historical docum^ 
have never met with. On th 
day of his arrival at Edinburg 
ligrew was invited to dinner bj 
ray, and the distinguii.hed 
bidden to meet him were Hi 
Argyll, Bothw^il, and Maitlaa 
deeply implicated in the D 
murder. He was thus in a f)| 
'" to inquire into the truth.** 1 
grew himself states the facts 1 
invitation and the dinner, wil 
name5#of die lords he there ini 
letter to Cecil of March 8. N] 
a sensitive mind like thai c 
Froude, these statements of Ki 
are very unpleasant. The ^ 
less *' Murray, w iih full knowledj 
Doth well was Darnley's niui 
and that HunUy, Argyll, and 
land were in the conspiracy, sel 
these men as the choice and \ 
of the Scotch nobility, to hofl 
their presence the ambassador < 
queen of England, "sent doi 
St-otiand to inquire into the t 
of the murder ? The " pious '• 
ray extending the right hand \ 
lowship to assassins? It mil 
be. Such a scandal must b( 
pressed. Killigrew was rash tc 
such a letter. And Mr. Frou< 
the audacity to tell his rcadcE 
ix. p, 24)— referring to this va 
ter of Killigrew as his^ authq 
"/^ was entertained at dimmer' 
cliijue wha had attended her fa J 
A few pages earlier, Mr. Froii 
presents Mary Stuart going t 
ton ^"^ attended by Boiiiwcll, II 
Argyll^ Maitland, Lords Fl| 
Livingston, and a hundred oih<^ 
tlemen;'* so that the reader 
fmd out for himself who r^ia 
the clique. 

The ** clique " entertained 
Not a whisper of Murray* 1 
Froude goes on with his tmva 
Killigrew's letter. Then, at d 
of the next page^ witli a iledd 



fistory of Efigland. 



49^ 



of *^o connection with the establish- 
meal over the way," he informs us — 
casually, as it were — ** On^ Either per- 
mn if tiote he smo^ and that was the 
Marl of Murray .'' Murray could not 
leave his wife, in compliance with 
Mary Stuart*s repeated entreaties to 
come to Edinburgh, but he hastened 
thither instantly when advised of 
Killigre^'*s coming, Murray's mas- 
ter, Cecil, in a letter written just be- 
fore Killigrew*s arrival, throws an in- 
teresting light on these movements 
of our '^ noble gentleman ot' stainless 
honor." He writes to the English 
iimbassador at Paris : " Morton, Mur- 
ray, and others mean to be at Edin- 
burgh very shortly, as they pretend to 
scardi out the malefactor." (Origi- 
nal in English Record Office^ Ca- 
bala, 126.) 

Eor his edification, we give the 
reader Kilhgrew's letter of March 8, 
and by its side Mn Fronde's account 
H>f the contents of the letter. We 
tnark with italics the passages in Mr. 
Fronde's version which he says Killi- 
^rew v\Tote, and which innnot if e found 
in KiUigrew*s letter : 



Mil. F»iot*DK** /icc*>i'»r 

or Tim CUprTEKTS of 

Stic H. Kit-ucmiew** 

LETTKll or CUCU, OF 

M A II c K S, 1567. 
(K'roudc Tol. It- pp. 

**Kmigrew TeAched 
Edinburgli on the &th 
of Marcb, nne day be- 
UAdbcT, He w&s enter- 
ti&IucJ ae * dinner hf 
thf €tifvf tohe A^d nt- 

b ' ^ 

dic: • '*'' 

Wrrw (4rt//-«i*»ir/l"» ihc 

rooms were daikencd, 

KAri in tAf /rt*/iPHnti 
^tuf/ft the F.nglisd urn- 
buMdor uw; nttnblfi 
to «te ih* ' c, 

tnH by h '<>c 

She rJf>msca her« .f 
wmumi^ grait/ut (or 

ka Hkid tmi* !•/ Mr 



Sjh H. KiLticmw's 
LRrrcK TO Cecil , 
March 8, 156?. (In 
Chatiner!»,vi)l. I. p. 3^4, 
London cd. ; Anicri- 
cari camion, PhUiidel- 
phia^ 1S33. p. 154.) 

Six: AIiKoukU 1 trust* 
to Uc &liortly with vou, 
yet, have 1 thought 
good to write some- 
i^hat, in the mean time. 
I liad no audjence be- 
Tore this day (8 1 h 
Manh, 156^-7), which 
w»^ after I hud dined, 
wjth my Ixrfd of Mur- 
ray« who was accompa- 
nied w»ih my Lord 
( kfliMJellor (Ituntleyji, 
the liarl of Argyic, my 
LetTd nitthwcU, anci the 
toiird of LliUiiglotj (Se- 
cretary >t4itUnil^ 

I found the line en '5 
tnaic^iy* in « dark 
chatntier, so os I cotjid 
not lec her f»ce t but 
by her wi^rds she aeem- 



murdrr^ anti turmed 

en jh>iftus. Sht $f^vk* 
0/ Jrtiamtiy and vndrr^ 
ttHfk fi> frrv^tnt k^r suh- 
j4€ix/ri>m giving trau- 
hU thtr* : ih4 r*ptaitd 
h4r wiiiitign^SM ta ra- 
ti/y the treaty of Lcilh, 
and p*o/^t$td k**ruif 
gttt^r^Uy 4t»A/flM^ to 
fHfft Eiii.atHith''t whh- 
tt. 

** IVftA these gvHtrat 

kffifd thnt Kiiiigr^^tt 
fVitn/d Aav* Arrw f<«/f- 
ttnUds hmt ^m &nt ^eini 
ki^ ardtrt wtrf /•'//- 
ti7»i. Itf rtf^rtirntid 
/*) her ihc uMnHiiutty 
vvitA tifhiih Both lite H 
had bf(H ftMiened t*pi*H 

AS 0*it <*/ th€ tnurti^r- 

trt 0fihf king : attdt'*- 
fart hr iffok his Uni^ 
he iHCCerditd im fxtfrt- 
tHg tit frem isf fr in A .-r 
fhitf the e^rt shffuld he 
/tti ufiiH A it triit L His 
stay in ScoiLtnd was ta 
ee trie/, and the Uttte 
xvhick he trusted him- 
set/ to "write was ex- 
tremefy guarded, 't he 
people^ he ra/idiy 
/aund^ ^vere in h& hn- 
mttr ifi enter tain ques^ 
tions fi/ fhttrch fn'Hcy. 
The mittd f./" er>ety fine 
*vf4 riveted fH tke i*ne 
alt - iihorf^ing fsii{/trt. 
As to the pcrpclraiors, 
he said there wktu 
* great suspicions, but 
no proof/ and %o far 
** na fine hitd heen et^- 
prthended^ * He 4a vr 
no present appearance 
of trouble, but a gene* 
ral mi^Ukiiig umonj; 
the couiin<>«N and !ifjmc 
olbert whicfi abhorred 
the detestable murder 
of their king asa shame 
to the whole naiio*)— 
the preachers praying; 
openly that God would 
pleaM« both to reveal 
and revenge — cjilwrl- 
iog all men to prajcr 
and repcQUkDce."* 



ed T«ry doleful; aod 

did accept my sover- 
eign's letter?!, ^w\ mes- 
sage, to very thankfu4 
manner ; a«i I trust, will 
appear, by her answer, 
wliich 1 hope to receive, 
within thc^ic two days; 
and I think will tend 
to satisfy the queen's 
majesty, as much a&this 
present can permit, not 
only lur the enallers of 
Ireland, but also the 
treaty of Leith. 

Touching news,] t»n 
write no more, than Is 
written by others. I 
hnd great su<ipicions« 
and no proof, n^r ap- 
pearance of apprehen- 
Sitoti, yet, although I 
am made believe, I 
shitU ere t depart hcocef 
receive some infotma- 
lion, 

Mv Lord of Lennox 
hath scnt^, to request 
the queen, that surh 
persons, a& were nam- 
ed J n the bill [pl«card| 
shmdd be taken. An- 
swer IS made him. that 
if he. or any, will stitnd 
to the acctiMlion of any 
of them, it shall be done; 
but, not by viriue of 
the bill, or his reqtiesL 
I look to hL^arwhat will 
come from him to that 
point. His lordship is 
among his friends, be- 
side (ilnspow, where 
hethinketh himseirfafe 
enough, as a man of hta 
told mc. 

I see no troubles at 
present, nor ai)pear> 
ance thereof; but a ge- 
neral misUking, among 
the commons, and sonio 
oihcT&, w hich the detes* 
table murder o( their 
king, a shame, as ihey 
suppose, to the whole 
nation* 

The preachers say, 
and pray^ of>en|y to 
God» that it %vlll please 
him, both to repeal, 
and revenge it; e)(hoil« 
ing all men to prayer 
and repentance. 

Your most bounden 
to obey, 

IL Kru.VGaacw 



And now» althoitgh we have not* 
ed in Mr. Froude*s last three vol- 
umes numerous cases of perverted 
citation ijuilc as bad as that of the 
Killigrcw letter, we do not think it 
necessary to continue their expo- 



England. 



sure, faise in me, f*7is€ in ali^ is a 
rule whose Application might have 
warranted us long since in dropping 
Mr Froude*s booL We must there- 
fore decline to accompany him any 
furthex, although, rising with his 
subject and increasing m bitterness 
with Mary Stuart*s every successive 
step toward the prison and the scaf* 
fold, our historian fairly surpasses 
himself, and lays his production more 
than ever open to criticism and re* 
buke. The calm judicial spirit of 
the historian is nowhere visible in his 
pages. He holds a brief against 
Mary Stuart. He is ever on the 
strain to produce a sensational page, 
and his work has therefore been 
justly characterized as a piece of 
** masking and mumming, with in- 
ference» supposition, and insinuation, 
with forced citations and patched 
references.** Where citation is not 
available for abuse, a playful fancy 
is ever ready to supfily material. In- 
stances of this arc foun<l in the " pas* 
sionate kiss" at Carbcrry Hill, the 
words put into Mary's n)outh when 
carried off by Both well, and the ia- 
blratt^ ** peasants, as she (Mary] strug- 
gled along the liydancs, cut at her 
with their reaping-hooks." • 

Mr. Froude^s account of the con- 
ference at York is not only involved 
and confused, but incorrect. Mis- 
quotation is ever present, I'hus, he 
rej^rescnis Norfolk (vol. ix. p. 296) en- 
dosing to Elizabeth extracts from the 
casket-leilers, leaving her to say whe- 
ther, if they were genuine, "u^hich ht 
and his companion a hf linked (hem to b^^ 
there could be any doubt of the 
Queen of Scotland's guilt. The pas* 
sage in italics is put by Mr. Froude 
in inverted commas^ as though quoting 
it from Norfolk*s letter. The old story 1 



There are no such words lit tr, 

NOR ANVTHINO LIKF. THFM.* Thc 

impression is conveyed by Mr Froude 
that Murray produced the casket-let* 
tersat York.f He did not; he gave 
Scotch copies* He ;'i* '0 one 
to see the caskctdettcr » Scot- 

land or at York, and at Westminster 
their production was forced by a run- 
ning trick of Cecil. 

Mr, Froude*s Henies and Huni- 
ly theory is worthless. These two 
lords had already publicly denounce 
ed the casket -letters as forgeries. 
Why did not Murray pro<iure thc 
originals at York ? If genuine, no 
sane man could for a moment hesi- 
tate as to the guilt of the Queen of 
Scots» York was too near Scotland^ 
and there were then jtresent too ma- 
ny Scots to whom Mary*s writing was 
familiar. And yet Mr, Froude tells 
us of ** strictest scrutiny *' in Scot- 
land, where mortal mani outside the 
circle of conspirators, never saw the 
letters. 

As to the generally suspiciotis 
course of producing copies instead 
of originals, wc are happy to offer 
the opinion of a distinguished Eng- 
hsh historian, whojn commenting an 
the case of the Blount letters in Eng- 
land, says r 

*' But in ihat case, and in <v«rr /«#ir, it itr 

mains to ask why he produced copies of 
the letters if lie was in possession oi the 
originals ; unless ihtrc was ^< ' in 
the orij^inals which he wns < 10 

show?** (St*C fihf*fry itf /-.u/.an,;^ bf 
James Anihony Fioude, vol. vii. p. 29a) 

As to thc conference at Wcsimin* 
ster, it is clearly Mr. Froudc's inten* 
lion that it shall not Ik; understood. 
He gives no connected account of 



i. 



••*Ncrcr wHliin buntan memory." 9»vs Mr 
Hosack* '* did resiiinic comfpcncc In Scoil^nd in 
May, ftiid Ltuigtidc xvii* ft^Kht oa Uie ijtb <or 

tll«t lOQRlb " 



• Ci«/r^« prefucc to »<* ed, p, ^4. 

+ ♦• He illowed the 

prir»t« t»kat he xt'tt* 

Frond** And with »iii 

■« ihit, Mr, Kiumle'ft rtidcr i» koi^dwUikeil j 

t«d Uiruuph twelve irot& 



Frauds s History of England, 



I 



it, does not appear to be aware 
of the existence of the important 
bistorical documents which Mr. Ho- 
sack so ably presents, he breaks 
in upon its narration with a joy- 
ous picture, fairly illumined by his 
insular pride» of the lovely deeds 
of Messrs, Hawkins, Drake &: Co., 
Queen Elizabeth's partners in piracy 
and the slave-trade, and at last con- 
ceals from his innocent reader the 
result of the examination* We sup- 
ply the void. The result was an- 
nounced by Cecil in person to Mur- 
ray and his associates: "There had 
been nothing sufficiently produced 
nor shown by them against the queen 
their sovereign, whereby the Queen 
of England should conceive or take 
any evil opinion of the queen her 
good sister for anything yet seen/' 
Mary Stuart's seventeen long years 
of suffering and imprisonment afford 
Mr. Froude unalloyed delight, and 
when, with insinuation steeped in ve- 
nom, our historian is not busy mis- 
representing the unhappy captive, 
he indulges in the vulgar insolence 
of referring to her as ** the latly of 
Tutbury" or *' the lady of Sheffield*" 
Imagine a dignified historian — Sir 
Archibald Alison, for instance — speak- 
ing of the once Emperor of France 
as ** the gejideman at St. Helena /" 

As we know Mn Fronde's treat- 
ment of the casket-letter question^ 
one can easily foresee what work he 
makes of the loul plot by which Ma- 
ry wras murflered. How his unfeel- 
ing sophistry vanishes into mist be- 
fore tlie opinion of such a man as 
Sir Jaraes Mackintosh : " There are 
few judiciary proceedings, passing 
over the question of jurisdiction, so 
&iispL::ous, and, it may be said, so 
tainted, as the case and proceedings 
Against the Queen of Scots *' ! No 
less sternly is Mr. Froude's bigotry 
rebuketi by the simj)ly eloquent words 
of John Wesley : " The circumstan- 



ces of her death equal that of an an- 
cient martyr/' 

Touching Mn Fronde's narrative 
of the last moments and the execu- 
tion of Mar}% Queen of Scots, noth- 
ing need be said by us. Already it 
stands on a *' bad eminence ** in mo- 
dern literature. In that effort, Mn 
Froude has dealt a murderous blow 
to his character as^a man and to 
his standing as a historian. Of Ca- 
thohc opinion we will not speak. 
But in all Protestant Europe and 
America there is but one voice of 
indignant reprobation, of profound 
horror and disgust, concerning it. 

On this subject, we would rather 
not trust ourselves to say what» in 
common uidi those of our faith, we 
must necessarily feel, and therefore 
seek some f;iint expression in the 
words of a Scotch Protestant writer, 
who, while declaring that " he does 
not share the belief of Mary*s parti- 
sans, and who differs from the gene- 
ral sentiment in Scotland in regard 
to her/' yet shares the outraged sen- 
timents of insulted humanity. He 
says : 

*' As she comes forth, stately and calm, 
to the scaffold, is it possible that any man 
caa look on and jeer at her? And the 
knowledgK of all ihat woman has ij^onc 
through — does it not pcnciralc with a 
yet profounder tljrob the heart of the by- 
siandcr? liut not Mr, Froude's heart. 
No dii^giist seizes him when the two 
lords, in iheir bnnal curiosity, silently 
consuh each other about the scars on her 
bared shoulders. The voice of that Dean, 
whom we woutd fain ihroitle in his hid- 
eous profane impertinence, sounds dig- 
nified and seemly in the historian's ears, 
and it is onl}' the woman about to die 
whose prayers are an impertinence to 
him. A certain rage that she should es- 
cape him, and stand once more supreme 
on the edge of her R^rave, seems to seize 
upon him. No doubt he would, in point 
of fact, grant to any ruffian at the gallows- 
foot the priest he chooses to aid him ; 
yet he can actually find words to tell us 
that Mary's confessor was denied to her 



* for fear of some religious melodrama/ 
And when the last act was over, and the 
crimson gown which she has put on with 
pitiful woman ishness is dyed double 
crimson, and the false hair falls off the 
dead head along with its other coveringSt 
is it possible that even then a Christian 
gentleman can utter a snail of contcmp* 
tttous triumph over that honor of blood 
and death ? It would seem a positive 
pleasure to him that now at the last even 
her boasted charms have yielded. She 
knelt down at ihe block ' in the maturity 
of grace and loveliness •/ but the head 
held up before the crowd * exposed the 
withe rud features of a grizzled, wrinkled 
old woman.' This ghastly sneer haunts 
the imagination like a blasphemy. Otic 
feels that one must have dreamt it, and 
that no man could have written such 
v/ords in the calm of his study and in 
cold blood. 

'*The executtoner*s formula, ' So die all 
enemies of the ijuccn,' rises to the height 
of historical dignity after such a com- 
ment '* {BkcJtuH^'s Mti^aiine^ January, 
1870), 

Of one thing wc may rest assured. 
There will be no more writing of his- 
tories of Mary Stuart after the man- 
ner of MM, Miguet and Frouclc. 

With them, calumny of the Scot- 
tish queen has culminated. And, 
having said llius much, we yet ven- 
ture the opinion that Mr Froude, as 
an intelhgent gentleman and as one 
who has had before his eyes the 
clearest proofs of Mary Stuart's inno- 
cence, does not assuredly believe her 
guilty, nor does he attach the slight- 
est credit to Buchanan's falselioods 
concerning hen 

This view of Mr, Froude as a his- 
torian may excite some surjirise. 
Nevertheless, we are satisfied of its 
correctness, and we thus explain it. 

Mr. Froude, evidently^ does not 



approve of the humdmm ploddoiig 
honesty of the conscientious histo* 
rian who, in statements concerning 
the great dead of bygone ages*, b 
profuse in authority* sober in impu- 
tation of motives, antl totally nb- 
stemious in Bights of imagination* 
Mr. Froude is disgusted with the 
blameless inanity of sincerity, with 
the imprudent weakness of telling all 
the truth, with the silly hesit^ition to 
be unscrupuloui: where a point is to 
be made, and with the slow pace of 
a style unadorned by fancy fetches 
and sensational pictures. Worship- 
ping art more than truth, he therefore 
resolved to give the world^ a historv- 
which should be read for its piquancy 
and its brilliancy— which should be 
at once better than a novel and aji 
good as a play« 

Such, it seems to us^ was Mi, 
Froude's high purpose. An<l if any 
object that wc attribute to this di*- 
tinguished historian a i|uestionable 
motive, we reply that we have the 
best authority for so doing, and thstl 
we frame our opinion on a principle 
which Mr. Froutlc himseJl openly 
declares to be his. Speaking of 
Queen Eliiabeth, our historian says 
(vol. xi. p, 27) : 



" How she worked in dctalljiow uncet- 
tain, how Vftcillating, how false and un- 
scrupulous she could be when occasfon 
tempted, has appeared already* and wiU 
appe.ir more and tno? e ; hut Tie? nbjeK't fto 
itself w;i5 e^cclleiM O 

PURSUE HIGH / 7 

CROOKED WA VS / / # 

MANKIND, ON TttE V 

THOSE tVHO PICK 3 V 

BLAMELESS f NAN/TV^ a ,\,\ ,y /\ NO- 
CENT OF ILL^ AKE EQUALLY iSS'O^ 
CENT OF GOOD,** 




The Onondaga Teardrop. 



495 



OUR WINTER EVENINGS. 

III. 



THE ONONDAGA TEARDROP. 



^- the happy Christmas-time 
bed, our young invalid was 
;ly busied in the most mys- 
vvay with a great variety of 
tides, her own handiwork, at 
le ailroit Httle fingers wTOUght 
imparting a finish of unri- 
eatness and perfection, 
s her custom, upon every re- 
; of the season in which she 
flighted, to provide some to- 
3ve for each of her numerous 
as a memento prepared by 
ent hands that might be fold- 
eir lasting rest before another 
ippear. 

we treasured those tokens ! 
»w vividly the sight of the 
bead-embroidered watch-case 
ts skilfully arranged compart- 
br jewelry and other toilet 
—toward which my eye is 
1 anon glancing while I write, 
ack the pale face of that gen- 
all beaming with love and 
is she moved joyously among 
ensing these gifts from her 
as-tree, on that wintry eve- 
ne twenty years ago ! 
eve of the great festival fell 
ednesday in the year which I 
id she had summoned a full 
ice of her coterie upon the 
I. An intensely cold and 
snow-storm without added 
charms to the expression of 
ity and good cheer within, 
i by a blazing wood-fire, 
Tackled and sparkled merrily 
learth, bathing in warm eflful- 
e gorgeously bedecked Christ- 



mas-tree in the centre of her apart- 
ment, and sending its ruddy glare — 
through windows over which no in- 
hospitable curtains had yet been 
drawn — far out into the darkness and 
the storm to welcome us as we ap- 
proached. 

This evening, our host being pre- 
sent at the entertainment, an indul- 
gence he could seldom allow him- 
self, owing to the crowd of profes- 
sional cares and duties which pressed 
too constantly upon him to admit of 
his leaving the office, our young 
friend said : " As my father can give 
us this evening, I have persuaded 
him to furnish his quota for our 
amusement, by relating cne of his 
adventures among the scenes of his 
early life on the St Lawrence." 

" Since my daughter desires it, I 
cannot refuse," he said, addressing 
us, " though my later years have been 
devoted to framing briefs instead of 
* spinning yams ' — two occupations so 
widely different that 1 fear I shall 
prove but an awkward stor)'-teller." 

Not so was it with me when, in 
the heyday of youth and hilarit)', I 
was a madcap student in the office of 

Judge H , in Northwestern New 

York. I could then hold my own in 
whatever came uppermost, whether 
it was to cram my head with legal 
quiddities, chop logic with my fellow- 
students, sing a song, dance a jig, 
bear my hand in a " bit of a fight," 
build a " casde in Spain," or get off 
a will-o'-the-wisp story with a mar- 
vellously long bow. In short, for 



any emergency I was then up and 
coming — as wc say — on the spur of 
the moment. As I look back upon 
what I ttias, and contrast the picture 
with what I am, it is not easy to be- 
lieve that the hard-wrought old pro- 
fcssional hack of the present can 
bear any relation to that harum-sca- 
rum, nee k-or*no thing fellow of the 
olden time, 

Willie I was still a student, I was 
sent on a distant collecting tour up 
the St» Lawrence to various places. 
In the course of the excursion, I was 
detained most unwilUngly for some 
days at a dreary <* tavern" in the 
woods, with little to do but w^ait pa- 
tiently, which, for one of my irrita- 
ble, restless temper, was more than 
enough. There were no books, pa- 
pers, or people to break the dead 
monotony, and the place, taken alto- 
gether, was so utterly dismal that even 
my usually exuberant spirits, which I 
had thought were equal to any pos- 
sibilities, played me false, and left 
lUe glum as an owl. The very ele- 
ments seemed in league to assist in 
adding darker tints to the woc-bc- 
gone features of the region, for it 
rained incessantly. Not one of your 
honest, down-pouring, sjjiashing rains 
that scr\'e to wash the face of nature, 
and keep bright and clean the hope 
of a happy clearing up by and by, 
but a sullen drip, drip, which only 
sufficed to drown all expectation that 
the sun would ever shine again, and 
make every object upon which the 
eye rested look bedraggleil and for- 
lorn. Even the ducks in the yard en- 
tered a vigorous protest by their con* 
tinued and doleful quacking against 
such nim and doll proceedings. 

While I was sitting in a mood be- 
tween sulkiness and absolute exasper- 
ation, mine host of the backwoocb 
entered an<l tried to open a chat. 
He began with a hint at politics — no 
response J a touch upon the weather — 



only a glower; he glanced al hunti 
sports in the vicinity, w ith no bctli 
success. Finally, he remarked ca- 
sually, "Guess the young folks is 
having an all-fired jolly time on'l, 
over to the Jibway r 

" How so ?" I asked, somewhat 
arouseil from my apathy. 

" \\'hy, here, not long ago, a whole 
lot on 'em went over there to see 
some settlers that's jest moved in 
from Varraount, and they do say 
such doin*s was never heard on*s 
they're havin'; 'tween the fiddlin* and 
the dancin', the feastin' and frolick* 
ing, it does beat all natur*, I 'xpect. 
Them Injun hunters is cur'us kind o' 
critters ; they ain't aj)t to take notice 
of such sort o* doin*s, as a gin'ril 
thing, but they consorted there for 
the good eatin*, I guess; ihtn'rc lar- 
nal hands for that, I warrant ye. 
One on *em's here now, and told roe 
all *bout it. He's a-goin* back to* 
day." 

" How will he go — on foot ?*' 

** Lord bless you, no ! Catch an 
Injun goin' a-foot where a canoc'U 
carry him ; leastwise, if 'uin't to a- 
hunt. Hc*s a-goin' in his cam^.*' 

" Do you suppose he would lakc^ 
me ?** 

" Ouess so ; can ask him any- 
how.'* 

He went out, and soon returned 
with an athletic Indian, who agreed 
to take a passenger with him to the 
*^ Jibway." 

I wrapped my '^Macintosh" around 
me, and bade defiance to the driz- 
zling rain. Anything was 1 1 
the gloomy silence of that a -,. . ^ 
litnde. 

Our voyage was not a long one. 
I found the party to which I inlro* 
duced myself as merry " ' 1 1 
sire, and disposed to pr >rdfc 

welcome to the new-comer, AQ l 
circumstances of that festive 
in the woods^ llie agreeable i 




ances I fonncd in the family and 
among their guests, the sports, the 
merry- ma king, the surprise and no- 
velty of the whole, contrasted with 
the joyless place from which I was 
a fugitive, increased my enjoyment 
immeasurably. During the days I 
was detained in the neighborhood, 
I passed all the time I could spare 
with my now friends. That I after- 
wards wooed and won a bird from 
that nest in the greenwood pertains 
not to this narrative. When my busi- 
ness in that vicinity was completed, 
I left it with greater reluctance than 
I had at first experienced on lieing 
detained there. 

My Indian navigator and his bark 
canoe had given such satisfaction 
tliat 1 engaged him to convey me to 
a place some miles above the exten- 
sive bay on the shore of which I had 
first halted, where a merchant resid- 
ed with whom my employer had 
some business relations. After ac- 
coraplishing my ermnd there, we 
started on our returning voyage. 

Twilight was just stealing over tlie 
surface of the waters, whose ripple 
reflected the rays of the harvest moon 
in m)Tiads of sparkling forms, as we 
passed through the intricate mazes 
of the *' Thousand Islands," invested 
by the soft illumination with new and 
manifold charms, surpassing those 
which surround them at noonday. 

I had never before glided through 
the windings of that lab>Tinth at such 
an hour, and it seemed like succes- 
sive glimpses of fairy-land, 

** There/' said the Indian, *• is the is- 
land of the spirit- voices, the shrine of 
the Onondaga Teardrop/' pointing to 
a lofty island a short distance in ad- 
vance of us, which seemed to have 
been reft througli its centre and sepa- 
rated by some sudden convulsion of 
nature, leasing a chasm, a few feet only 
in widths through which tiie waters 
flowed silently, but with a depth that, 

VOL. XIL— 32 



he assured roe, was unfathomable. 
As we looked, a sheet of white foam, 
not unlike a small canoe in form, 
glittered for a moment in the moon- 
beams, and swept suddenly into the 
narrow channel. 

** See!" the Indian exclaimed. ** It 
is the white canoe of the spirit-mat- 
diin: let us follow!" And before 1 had 
time for objection or remonstrance, 
we wxre swiftly taking the direction of 
the phantom canoe. My heart throb- 
bed with excitement as the impetu- 
ous current carried us through the 
pass, which must have been but dim- 
ly lighted at noonday^ but was now 
involved in utter darkness ; so dense 
was the shade formed by the trees 
and bushes that bent over the preci- 
pice on either side, and mingled their 
foliage far above our heads. 

Upon our entrance, the Indian 
lifted his paddle, leaving the canoe 
to float with the current, and bowed 
his head reverently, breathing some 
expressions softly in his own tongue, 
which I understood sufficiently to 
know that he was reciting an invoca- 
tion to the spirit-maiden. I shudder- 
ed to hear that invocation repeated 
more distinctly than it was uttered, 
in plaintive, almost musical cadences, 
on one hand, and in sighing intona- 
tions of regret and fear, on the other — 
above, below, far off from the deep- 
est recesses of the island on each 
side, far up among the tangled thick- 
ets of die forest above, and all around 
us, as if countless voices were re- 
sponding to the appeal. 

" Surprising !'* I exclaimed in a 
louder tone tlian that of the Indian, 
when immediately the word wa.s 
caught up and sent bounding, as it 
were, back and forth, above and be- 
low, in accents of reproof, sorrow, 
interrogation, mockery, and terror, 
as if the sounds were vibrating over 
innumerable chords, and each one 
attuned to a distinct emotion, while 



498 



Tlie Onondaga Teardrop. 



the ripples caused by the motion of 
our canoe breaking against the rocks 
on either side, with their echo, per- 
formed an accompaniment resembling 
successive peals of half-suppressed 
laughter. 

So startled, and even terrified, was 
I at this strange manifestation, that 
I was not sorry when our canoe 
emerged in safety from the dim re- 
cesses of that channel into the clear 
moonlight again. 

As I looked back upon that lovely 
island, reposing calmly under the 
pale moonbeams, it would be impos- 
sible for language to paint the pecu- 
liar beauty and weird loneliness of 
its aspect, clothed in dark foliage, 
and bending in silent sadness, as it 
were, over the green waters. 



' Ah ! that such beauty, varying: in the light 
Of living nature, cannot be portrayed 
Hy words, or by the penciVs silent sicill, 
But is the property of him alone 
Who hath beheld it, noted it with care. 
And in his mind recorded it with love !" 



Know^ing that his people fondly 
cherish and carefully transmit the 
traditionary legends they always at- 
tach to places remarkable for any 
such natural peculiarity, I importuned 
the Indian to give me some account 
of the spirit-maiden who was sup- 
posed to inhabit this solitary island. 
But he obstinately maintained the 
grave silence characteristic of his 
race, condescending to utter at inter- 
vals only a guttural " Ugh !" in tok- 
en of his consciousness that 1 was 
addressing him. 

At length I was fain to offer an 
occult chann which seldom fails to 
act upon tlie savage, as the '* Open 
Si'samc " (lid upon the cave of the 
'• Forty Thieves," in the form of a 
copious drau'^^ht from a certain non- 
descript wickerwork affair that had 
i)een slyly stowed away under the 
seat 1 occupied in the canoe. This 
suddenly dissolved his taciturnity, and 



loosened his tongue to relate in brok- 
en English — which I shall endeavor 
partially to correct — but in tolerably 
graceful .«!entences, the history I 
sought. It is impossible for mc to 
give, in their full force, his highly 
figurative expressions, which in com- 
mon with all his race, and especially 
those of the Onondaga tribe, to which 
he belonged, he used and applied 
with a singular skill and effect that 
baffle imitation. Undoubtedly my 
interest in it was also greatly enhanc- 
ed rather than lessened by his im- 
perfect articulation, and the circum- 
stances under which I listened, as we 
floated lazily down " the moonlit 
flood," to the legend of the 



ONONDAGA TEARDROP. 

In the days of past years, when 
the red man was still king of the for- 
ests, and the footsteps of our pale 
brethren had never yet awakened 
their echoes, there dwelt far up the 
waters of this Cataraqui River,* even 
unto the borders of the great lake 
which Indians call by that name, a 
brave and good chief of the Onon- 
dagas, beloved by the allied tribes, 
and feared by their enemies, whose 
name when inteq)reted signific<l 
Stormcloud. 

Lower down those waters dwelt 
the young Snowpath, chief of the 
Oneidas. He had seen the fair 
daughter of the Stormcloud in the 
wigwam of her father, when the In- 
dians assembled there in council. 
To see the bright Sunbeam was to 
love her, for she moved not amoni; 
men like a thing of earth. Her step 
was as the young fawn's, the tender 
grass arose unbent beneath its light 
pressure, and her voice was like the 



* The Iroquois called Lake Ontario and the St 
Lawrence by this name. Other tribes gmrc botb 
the name of Oatario. 



The Onondaga Teardrop. 



499 



soft notes of the wild- wood bird 
which cometh not within sound of 
the habitations of men. 

The Snowpath of the Oneidas 
loved and wooed the maiden, whose 
father, after long persuasion, consent- 
ed that the Sunbeam should shine 
upon the wigwams of the Oneidas 
(when he found such was her wish 
also), notwithstanding her absence 
would leave the Cloud alone and cold 
to the Onondagas. For though she 
had an older brother, who was call- 
ed the young Stormcloud, and who 
would pass into the place of his fa- 
ther as chief, yet she was his only 
daughter; and, when her mother died 
while she was but an infant, the old 
chief had vowed he would never 
take another wife to rule his wigwam 
and to dim the light of his Sunbeam 
there. The wise men of his tribe 
could have told him, had he sought 
their counsel, that he could not chain 
the Sunbeam, and that the time 
would come when others would love 
and lure its Hght away from his 
abode — a thing which he thought 
not of until the Oneida chief came 
upon that errand. 

When ten moons had passed after 
the marriage of the youthful pair, a 
band of the fierce and powerful Mas- 
sasaugah Indians, with their allies, 
came to make war upon the five unit- 
ed tribes who lighted their council- 
fires by the lodge of the Onondaga 
chief as their head. 

The allied Indians met them, and 
after a fearful fight were victorious; 
but when the Sunbeam sought her 
love among the surviving warriors 
she found him not. Tremblingly she 
bent her tottering steps toward the 
place where lay the slain of the bat- 
tle. There, all bathed in blood, and 
disfigured by the cruel scalping-knife, 
did she find her Snowpath. She ut- 
tered no plaint of sorrow, no tear 
moistened her pale cheek, as she 



gently raised the lifeless form of her 
beloved, and bore it to the burial- 
place of her people, where her 
brethren, in grief and silence, buried 
it out of their sight for ever. 

She returned to her father's lodge, 
and on that night gave birth to a 
daughter, whom she named the Tear- 
drop — and died. 

You have seen, my brother,* how 
the scanty waters of small rivers bab- 
ble noisily over their beds, revealing 
thereby to all their exceeding shal- 
lowness; but look upon this great 
stream of the Cataraqui ; strong and 
almost resistless is the sweep of its 
fathomless flood, while the deep si- 
lence thereof may well hush the 
bravest spirit into the same subdued 
stillness while contemplating it. 

Even like unto the resistless rush 
of the Cataraqui was the flood of 
anguish that enveloped the Storm- 
cloud when the light of his Sunbeam 
was extinguished for ever. Like 
the sweep of that stream in its silence, 
too, was the grief which buried his 
soul in its unfathomable depths. No 
ripple disturbed its surface, no sigh 
or moan gushed up from the profound 
abyss I 

When they brought the tender 
Teardrop to the old chief, he folded 
it lovingly to his bosom in a long 
embrace, as if he thought it had ab- 
sorbed the soul of its mother, while 
it dissolved his own; and hoped even 
then that the Sunbeam, shining 
through the Teardrop, might yet paint 
with rainbow hues the darkened path 
of the Stormcloud. 

Solemnly and reverently did his 
children of the forest note the course 
of their loved chieftain's griefs and 
thoughts, while none dared to utter 
a word in his presence ; and when 
the medicine-women came to take 



• Indians usuaUy address those of their own 
nffc as " brother ;" their seniors, by the title of 
" liither." 



50O 



The Onondaga Teardrop. 



the child, to bind her, according to 
custom, on the tiny couch her mo- 
therms hands had embroidered and 
prepared with great care for her re- 
ception, he waved them away by a 
motion of his hand, and would not 
allow the infant to be fettered in 
body or limb. 

From that time, he devoted him- 
self with the tenderness of a mother 
to the care of the young Teardrop ; 
and when she began to reward his 
attentions with the bright smile of 
the Sunbeam, full of intelligence and 
love, were not the first tints of the 
rainbow seen in those smiles ? 

The young Stormcloud had now 
become a valiant youth, endowed, 
moreover, with wisdom, prudence, 
and discretion beyond his years, so 
that his father called a council of the 
Five Nations, and told them it was 
his desire to resign their affairs into 
the hands of his son, and place them 
under his charge and control, as 
their chief. 

*• Behold the young Stormcloud!" 
he exclaimed. ** Like the well-temper- 
ed bow of the warrior chieftain, he is 
strong and supple, while I am like 
the bow that hath lost its spring, and 
lies all unstrung, after having been 
bent to the utmost in many fierce 
struggles. Take him, my children, 
to be your guide and chief I will 
give him the aid of my long experi- 
ence, should he need it ; and may the 
(ireat Spirit rule his councils and 
protect his i)athwayl" 

The men of the nation, when they 
heard the desire of their beloved 
chief, bowed in deep respect to his 
decision, and laid their tomahawks 
in silence at the feet of the young 
Stormcloud in token of their sub- 
mission ; thouL^h their hearts were 
clothed in mourning with the thought 
that they could look no longer to the 
hand of their father for direction and 



As the grandchild of the old chief 
advanced in age, she increased in 
charms, year by year, until the bright- 
ness of the lamented Sunbeam was 
surpassed in beauty by the more pen- 
sive loveliness of the Teardrop. 

She was the pride of the old man's 
heart and the Hght of his eyes, nor 
did she ever stray far from his 
side. 

Fourteen summers had passed 
since the Sunbeam disappeared from 
the path of the Stormcloud, when a 
great number of canoes landed near 
the council lodge of the Ononda- 
gas, from a country far down the 
waters of the Cataraqui, from which 
some roving Indian hunters had not 
long before brought strange reports 
of the arrival there of white-winged 
vessels, immensely large, and painted 
in brilliant colors, having eyes along 
their sides from which the lightnings 
flashed, accompanied by frightful 
thunder that shook the rocks and 
woods; that they came flying with 
the speed of the wind, bearing a mul- 
titude of men whose faces were very 
pale, who bought lands of the In- 
dians, and gave them in return an 
endless variety of articles wonderful 
for splendor, with which to adorn their 
persons and wigwams, surpassing 
the jewels of the mine in their ex- 
ceeding value, and the flowers of the 
field in their matchless beauty ! 

The Indians had listened with great 
interest and much doubt to their 
tales; but, when they told of a mi- 
raculous glass which the strangers 
had held up before them, and which 
revealed their exact images — smiling 
when they smiled, moving when they 
moved — far more plainly than the 
Indian maiden could behold hers in 
the clear fountain where she went 
to see herself when she had plaited 
her hair and painted her face, it was 
too much, and they would listen no 
longer, but turned away, exdaimii^ 



The Onondaga Teardrop, 



" Ugh ! behold haw our roving breth- 
ren excel in lying! They had well- 
nigh made fools of us; but the bad 
spirit always leads his children too 
(ar, and they are betrayed !" 

Now, these canoes of which 1 have 
told were of marvellous size, and paint- 
ed in many colors. And they brou ght 
a bantl of pale-faced men such as 
the hunters had described, arrayed 
in robes of dazzling splendor, all 
shining with gold and jewels. Among 
ihem was one of a mild countenance 
and majestic carriage, who wore no 
gold or jewels, but was dressed, in a 
long black gown. He had learned 
enough of the Indian tongue to make 
known the errand of his companions, 
by the help of signs and motions. 

This was to beg permission of the 
Five Nations to build a strong house 
on the border of the great lake, 
where the pale-faces might come to 
trade with the Indians, and might 
also protect them from the fierce 
tribes of the interior. 

A council was called, and the old 
Stonn cloud was prevailed ufjon tn 
preside over the solemn debate. 
Many speeches were made for and 
against the proposal, and its possible 
benefits and evils carefully weighed. 
Most of the old men advised a firm 
resistance to this change in their an- 
cient habits and customs, urging that 
ihc measure was a knife with two 
edges that might cut both ways — 
the strangers might protect their red 
brethren, or they might subdue and 
oppress them. 

The young men thought the per- 
missiun required would be more bene- 
ficial than dangerous, and their voices 
overruled in the council, so that the 
request of the strangers was granted. 

While the other visitor were mark* 
ing out the place for their strong 
house and making preparations for 
tlie building, their commander pro- 
dveed the presents he had brought 



in great store for the chiefs and their 

people: and the Black (iown I have 
mentioned called the old chief a^tide, 
and told him that he had brought a 
message from the Great Spirit to the 
red men, and wished to deliver it; 
that he was a messenger of their 
Father in the land of spirits, and had 
no concern with the matters which 
engaged his companions, only to see 
that they obeyed the commands of 
his Master in their dealings with his 
children of the wilderness. 

Old Stormcloud listened w ith deep 
attention, and sent out youths swift 
of foot in every direction, with orders 
for the red men to assemble imme- 
diately to receive a message from 
the Great Spirit, through his servant 
the Black Gown, 

They soon came, flocking in great 
numbers to the council lodge. The 
messenger, after lifting uj> his hands 
and solemnly invoking the blessing 
of his Master upon thern^ drew a cru- 
cifix from his girdk% and they listen- 
ed in breathless silence, while he un- 
folded to them in t^w and [>lain words, 
with the aid of |iictures showing forth 
each scene, the wonderful history of 
man*s creation; his iidl and its con- 
sequences; the infinite mercy of the 
Great Spirit to his fallen children in 
preserv^ing them from des|iair by the 
promise of a Redeemer; ami the 
miracles by which that promise was 
kept in the memory of men, as well as 
tiie record of tliem preserved through 
all the wars and tempests of the ages 
and their changes. 

As he lingered upon the thriving 
tale of the Angel (iabriers message 
to the knvly Virgin ; of the humble 
crib at Bethlehem, with its attendant 
throng of exulting angels revealed 
to the sight ; of the awe-stricken shep- 
herds, entranced with the harmony 
of heaven when the words of the 
trium[)h song fell upon ihetr ears; 
of the Star which guided the Wise 



i 



The Onondaga Teardrop. 



Men, through all the perils and fa- 
tigues of their long journey, to the 
manger where lay the Enimanuel^ — 
(lod-with-us — of the poverty, ingra- 
titude, and scorn which hautited the 
steps and embittered the cup of the 
meek and lowly Jesus during his 
suffering lite^ — who» being the Sover- 
eign Lord of heaven and earth, yet 
sai<l of himself, ** The foxes have holes, 
and the birds of the air have nests; 
but the S<^jn of man hath not where 
10 lay his head ** — of the bloody sweat 
in the lonely garden, the desertion 
of all his friends, the scourgings^ the 
crown of thorns, the fain tings under 
the burden of the cruel instrument 
of torture; and, finally, of the awful 
clo<ie, amid the terrific dark ness^ agony, 
and ignominy of the cross, whereat 
the sun hid his face in dismay, the 
earth trembled and quaked with dread* 
and the heavens thundered forth their 
indignation and horror— the hearts 
of the bravest warriors were melted, 
tears flowed in torrents from their 
eyes» sobs were heard in every part of 
the vast assemblage, while they arose 
as by one motion to their feet, and 
with united voice addressed the ea- 
ger question to the venerable mes- 
senger^ ** Was it for us ? Did he, the 
Great, the Merciful, the Good! suf- 
fer and die for the red man ?'* 

Hie soul of the teacher Was stirred 
to its profaundest depths by tlieir car- 
nest appeal, and he answered » in a 
voice broken by emotion : ** Yes, my 
children, it was for you, for me, for 
all who will come to the foot of his 
cross to seek him." 

When, at the dose of his instruc- 
tion, he knell and lifted up his hands, 
the Indians knew he w^as about to 
pronounce the blessing of the great 
Redeemer upon them, and instantly 
the whole multitude prostrated them- 
selves to the earth to receive it, 
while he poured forth a fer\"ent pray- 
er that they might all be embraced 



in redeeming love, and become the 
true children of God. 

Nut a soul in all that cro»-d drank 
in so eagerly the story of divme Io%*c 
and compassion as that of the aged 
and afflicted Stormcloucl For here 
was opened a fountain of consolaliotu 
where his thirsty spirit might drink 
freely of the waters of comfort and 
repose In peace. ( )ften, in his dreanw, 
had he been visited with sweet \nsions 
of its gushing streams, bul he had 
never hoped to taste llieir sweeine» 
until he should join his Sunbeam in 
the land of shades. During the 
night after he had listened to the 
words of the Black Ctown, he slq)t 
not, but in the silent hours of dark- 
ness pondered over the awful yet con- 
soling tidings which had becD deliver* 
ed to him and his brethren. As \a% 
soul feasted on this heavenly food, it 
see [lie d as if he had at some fomicf 
times been blest with mysterious 
glimpses — even tasterl crumbs— of the 
banquet now spread in all tts fulncsi 
before him. 

When the strangers were jireijaring 
to depart, the old chief, with the cid- 
ers of his tribe, besought the inesefl- 
ger of the Great Spirit to take pity 
on their ignorance, and rematti with 
them for a season to explain to them 
still further the message he had deli- 
vered, and what they must rlo to se- 
cure the benefits offered by their Hca- 
venly Father to the red man as well 
as to his pale brother, lliey assured 
him they would convey him in safety 
to the place whence he came, aod 
would endeavor in all things to follow 
his clirection. 

The compassionate teacher could 
not refuse their request, and his com* 
panions deported witliout him. 

The council lodge was prepaitd, 
and an altar erected therein^ u[ioci 
which he might offer, in thr f»Tr«rfH:c 
of astonished m ;^. 

tian sacrifice — hit 



The Onondaga Teardrop. 



50J 



1^ 



those wilds — after having carefully 
cjtplained to them its solemn and 
touching mysteries. 

And now they came thronging from 
all pans, men with their wives and 
litUe ones, rejoicing that men and 
women, old and young, might dl 
hliarc equally in the blessings of the 
heavenly message. 

Day after day did the venerable 
Black Gown instruct his simple spir- 
itual children in the truths and pre- 
c»^>ls of the (jospel of Christ, apply- 
ing himself diligently, at the same 
time, to learn their language, that he 
might be more easily understood. In 
this \vz succeeded so well that they 
t)iougiit he must have received some 
gift of speech from the Great Spirit 
not conferred on other men. 

On their part, they received and 
kept in their hearts his instructions 
with such fidelity as greatly surprised 
and consoled their teacher. After 
many days, he announced to them 
that he would bestow the waters of 
holy baptism at a certain time upon 
all wlio desired to receive them, di- 
recting such to come to him and 
make their wish known, that he might 
instruct each one sepiarately in prepa- 
ration for the solemn act, and select 
a name that each should bear» as a 
sacred token of the new character 
thus assumed. 

The Black Gown was constantly 
employed for some weeks in these la- 
bors of love; and when he departed, 
followed by the tears and lamenta- 
tions of his children, he promised that 

would come again, or send one of 
liis brethren to dispense the gifts of 
the Great Spirit from his holy altar. 

Among the first who presented 
themselves to receive the Christian 
waters was the good old Stormcloud 
— who was called in baptism Simeon 
— and [lis Teardrop, who received the 
name of M>Ta, which, in tlie language 
of the older Scriptures, hath the same 



signification as her Indian name. At 
her baptism, she enrobed herself in 
snow-white vestments, the materials 
for which had been presented by the 
companions of the lilack Gown, and 
it was noted that she laid them not 
aside from that time. 

With these came old Summerdew, 
the medicine-woman, and Cornkeep- 
er, her husband, who had taken care 
of the lodge of the chieftain and 
watched over the Teardrop from her 
birth ; and who, having no children, 
loved the child as if ^\^ were their 
own, while they felt for her all the 
respect which Indians cherish for the 
families of their chiefs. 

Soon after the departure of the 
Black Gown, a mighty warrior-chief 
of the Tuscaroras, whose name was 
Big Thunder, having heard of the 
beauty and loveliness of the gentle 
Teardroji — and doth not the very 
wind bear upon its teil-tale wings the 
praises of such ? — came to woo the 
youthful maiden^ and to ask her of 
the old chief in marriage. 

When he told his errand, the soul 
of the Stormcloud was filled with 
darkness ; for it brought to his mind 
the time when the Snowpath sought 
his Sunbeam, as if it were but yester- 
day, and the renewed pangs of that 
sorrow were added to the anguish of 
the thought that he might now Ije 
called upon to part with the joy of 
his old age. 

Not long w\i5 he left to suffer ; for, 
when the wish of the stranger was 
disclosed to Teardrop, she refused, 
gently but firmly, to listen to a tale 
of earthly love, though it were uttered 
b y th e 1 i ps o f a C h r ist ia n . For at h er 
baptism she had offered her young 
heart to her Redeemer, and had laid 
the offering at the feet of her spiritual 
father, with a firm resolution never to 
be united in an earthly marriage ; in 
token whereof, she had assumed the 
white vestments as the bride of hea- 



a, which she would never lay aside. 
f oy, like a ray from Paradise, lighted 
up the face of Storracloud when he 
heard of her determination ; but the 
stranger chief departed greatly enrag- 
ed, cursing the holy Black Gown, and 
threatening to come with a company 
of his braves, and carry oft' the love- 
ly treasure by force. 

This threat greatly alarmed all her 
people for the safety of the cherished 
daughter of the nation, and they re- 
solved to seek some place in which 
they could hide her from the fierce 
warrior -chief. 

The Summerdew and her husband 
started without delay in their canoe, 
to go down the lake and the Catara- 
qui River in search of some such re- 
treat for their beloved child, followed 
by the constant prayers of the red 
men that they might succeed* As 
they were passing among the " Thou- 
sand Islajids " for this purpose, a ter- 
rific and rushing tempest suddenly 
arose, and they had to struggle, as 
with the angel of death, to keep their 
canoe from being upset in the white 
foam of the wild, tumultuous waves. 

They lifted up their souls in fer- 
vent prayer to the Great Redeemer, 
and besought the protection of his 
Blessed Virgin Mother in their ex- 
treme peril ; for the canoe was rapid- 
ly drifting toward an island whose 
lofty head frowned upon them over 
rocky prefzipices, on the sides of which 
they could see no place up which 
they might climb for safety, and they 
had no control over their frail vessel, 
or power to prevent it from being 
dashed against the rocks, now fear- 
fully near to them. 

Even while they were lost in pray- 
er, a bright and dazzling light sud- 
denly enveloped the whole island, 
swept for an instant over the surfact? 
of the water, and vanished just be- 
fore them, as it seemed, through the 
very centre of t]ie island. The 



next moraeni their canoe was drawn 
powerfully in the same *lirection, and 
what was their surprise when they 
found themselves at once passing 
through a chasm which rent t]ic is- 
land in twain, sheltered from the 
stonn in still waters, though impelled 
downward by a strong current I They 
exerted their utmost strength to resist 
its force and move slowly. Wbei) 
they had passed about half- way 
through^ they discovered a small ope- 
ning on one side of the cha5,m jiisl 
before them, into which their canoe 
might pass if they could but turn it 
at the right moment. They prcpai- 
ed to use all the skill which Indians 
gatlier by long practice in managtog 
these vessels, breathing a prayer lo 
Heaven for success. To I heir great 
joy it was granted, their canoe was 
turned, and in another moment shot 
suddenly into .in extensive caveni 
under the island, where it lloated 
quietly, undisturbed by storms or 
currents. 

After resting a short space la rt* 
cover breathy they uttered a fcrvcnf 
ejaculation of praise for their deliver- 
ance, which, to their a.st nt, 
was caught up and rept cl 
were by a hundred %'oice^, near by 
and far off, in every directiOD and m 
different tones, even as you, my bro- 
ther, have heard the same thih night 

They dared not speak atrnin, but 
when their eyes became • d 

to the dmi light, which I . nd 

to their first bewilderment like bljck 
darkness, they began to move Uic 
boat gently around, to di^icover if 
possible the size and extent oC the 
cavern. They proceederl in tlus way 
very carefully for some tirne^ when a 
ray of light seemed to cofoc 0on 
above upon a spot a little bdbir 
them, to which they guided tlidr ca* 
noe, and were again lost m suTpmc 
to find a shelving rock oi -:,\c 

of the cavern, just above .vT, 



Tlte Onondaga Teardrop. 



upon which they could easily moynt 
jmtl thaw tlie canoe after them. 
Having done this, they found ihat 
the hgUt came through an opening 
^ above their heads, and that there 
was a path up the side that might, 
by removing some stones and other 
things which had fallen from above, 

, .he made safe for their easy ascent 
'Tdrough the opening. They moved 
with great care in this work, lest the 
loosened rubbish might fall upon 
their canoe and unfit it for use. In 
a short lime, they prepared the path 
sti that they could climb to the top, 
where they found themselves upon 
one of the largest and most beautiful 

' irtands of the Calaraqui. It was cov- 
ered with a close forest, mostly of 
evergreens, and on the ground was 
a carpet of low bushes which bear 
sraall berries, tailed by Indians ** ber- 
ries of the sky," because of their blue 
color. 

As ihey looked around them upon 
the broad stream flowing down among 
its lovely islands, upon its shores on 
each sidct which could be reached in 
a few minutes with their canoe, if 
ihey wished to take any wild game, 
or make a fire to cook their food 
(for a smoke on the island would at- 
tract attention), but especially when 
they found that there was no place 
by which the spot they had reached 
could be gained except through the 
path they had found, so easily pro- 
tected against all intruders should 
such discover it, which ray brother 
can sec was not likely to happen — 
when ihcy saw all this, they bowed 
themselves to the earth in adoration 
of the Great Spirit whose hand had 
surely guided them to the very re- 
fuge where they might hide their 
Teardrop in perfect safety. 

As soon as the tempest was hush- 
ed, they lost no time in returning to 
the loijge of the Stormcloud, and, af- 
ter gathering the few supplies neces- 



sary to satisfy the simple wants oi 
nature's children, they took their de- 
parture again, with their venerable 
chief and his beloved Teardrop* 
Great were the lamentations at the 
parting, and united prayers ascended 
before the throne of the Eternal that 
he would protect and guide the wan- 
derers, and permit them to return \x\ 
peace when the danger should be 
past. 

Scarcely had they departed when 
the warrior-chief came with his 
braves, as he had threatened; for 
he had given no rest to the sole of 
his foot since he left the lodge of 
the (Jnondaga, so impatient was he 
to obtain possession of its richest trea- 
sure. 

Has ray brother seen the wild rage 
of the whirlwind, when it spreads 
ruin and desolation in its couns^c, up* 
rooting mighty trees, tearing the very 
earth from its path, and hurUng it in 
wratiiful fury before its face ? 

Even hke the furious madness of 
the whirlwind was the storm that 
rent the bosom of the stranger chief 
when he found the bird had tlown 
and the nest was empty \ lie 
determined to pursue and cap- 
ture her if possible — for a roving 
hunter from a hostile tribe had told 
him the course they took — and, if he 
could not find her, he would wreak 
his vengeance upon the whole coun- 
try of the Five Nations* 

Seizing canoes enough for his pur- 
pose, he set out with his companions 
tlown the lake. Before they reached 
the islands, they met a party of Mas- 
sasaugah Indians, who had been 
down the waters, even unto the 
abodes of the pale-faces, and of them 
Big Thunder inquired if they had 
met or seen the white canoe of the 
Teardrop. They said they had in- 
deed seen such a canoe, and had 
pursued it, when suddenly it disap- 
peared froiti their sight, they knew 



not whither; adding, with mysterious 
signs rather than by words, their de- 
claration of the beUef that the Great 
Spirit had hidden it. They would 
not assist his seai-ch, and urged him 
to refrain from pursuing it, lest the 
anger of Heaven should be aroused 
and vengeance should fall upon 
thera. 

Long and fruitless was Big Thun- 
der*s examination of the islamls, 
among which he was sure the maid- 
en v\ as concealed ; for even as ** the 
sparrow cscapeth out of the snare of 
the fowler/* so had she escaped from 
his pursuit. 

At length, being forced to believe 
ihey were right who thotight the Great 
Spirit had hidden her, and to give 
up his attempt, he returned to his 
people, breathing vengeance against 
the Onondagas and their allies. 

He hastened to assemble all the 
warriors of the Tuscaroras and their 
allies, who were many and powerful, 
panting to seek revenge with the 
same impatience that ruled his spirit 
when he prepared to steal the Tear- 
drop from her people. 

Who, my brother, shall presume to 
number or to measure the countless 
means by which the Father m heaven 
protects his faitliful and praying chib 
dren ? From the hour when Big 
Thunder went in pursuit of the mai- 
den, her jieople had not ceased to 
fast and pray, and to implore th^ 
protection of the Blessed Virgin and 
all the saints for her and for them- 
selves against the threats of their 
mighty enemies. 

And now, behold^ he who is not 
slow to answer the prayers of his 
afflicted children did so appoint 
that at ihc very time when Big'l'hun- 
der had finished his preparations, and 
was about to visit upon the Five 
Nations the desolating storm of his 
wrath, he was stricken suddenly with 
a sore sickncss^ the pangs of which 



passed ail that had ever been 
or known by the oldest and wisest 
of the medicine men and women. 
In vain did they exert all their art 
and skill to turn away the hand of 
the destroyer. Four days the strong 
man struggled in its grasp before he 
was subdued by the resisticas con* 
qucror. While he was still living, 
the braves who were with him in 
his unhallowed search for the Onon- 
daga maiden were struck V»y tbe 
same f:ital arrow, and soon followed 
their chief to the land of shades. 

And now came messengers, hofrur- 
struck, from the ^T '. to tell 

that the destroy in Npread 

its wings over that u », and 

that hundreds were tl} ;^ iy* It 
was the men who had been down 
the Cataraqui, and were met by the 
chief and his party on their way to 
the islands, who were first struck 
down, and the medicine-men said 
they brought back with them that 
scourge of the fed man wliich our 
pale brethren call the smalbpox. 

Long did the Five Nations expect 
the return of tlie Tuscarora chief, afid« 
when the news of his ^1 ' :h 

reached them, the you id 

hastened to bear the ttdrng^ tu tbc 
island of prayer, and to bring back his 
father and the maiden to the lodj^j 
for the heart of the faithful son be* 
moaned in loneliness the atiscnec of 
his father, and he longed to recrcive 
his blessing ajid covmsel. 

I'here were such rej 
tivitics among his pe'>| ^ .. : ..ir 
return, as were never known before 

or since* nor did they forgr* - *r 

in praises to God for their 
liverance. 

From that period, it was ihe cw- 
tom of the Tearrlrop to pass miich 
time on the island of praycr» acoomi' 
panied by Summcrdew, wht)«e bitf* 
band passed to the spirtl-lajid ^oon 
after their first return. S>o[U!tiii»cs» 



The Onondaga Teardrop, 



moreover, her grandfather went with 
her. 

The Indians built a house of pray- 
er in commemoration of the events I 
have related ; and to their great joy, 
their venerated Black Gown came to 
Slay with them. 

The pale- faces, also, built their 

strong house on the Cataraqui Lake, 

acrcording to the permission they had 

ot>tained, and a party of their braves 

T^^re stationed there. One of these 

^'•^^ts a youth of noble presence and 

^<eat power, being their commander, 

tio saw and was captivated with 

^^ lovely Teardrop. He sought her 

f^ marriage, but when she refused to 

^^^€en to his proposal, and told him of 

^ ^T holy vow, he took measures to en- 

*^ cire and carry her away — when she 

"^"■^d her people heard with horror for 

P'^e first time that there were some 

J^Vio called themselves Christians, 

^Ut would not obey the instructions 

^t Go<rs messengers or respect the 

'^Ows of his chosen servants. 

The resolution of the maiden was 
^ow taken, under the permission of 
her spiritual father, to make her con- 
stant abode on the dear island, and 
^etum no more to the lodge of the 
Onondagas. Her faithful Summer- 
dew went with her, and, when they 
had prepared their home on the is- 
land, they busied themselves, for 
greater security, in planting bushes 
and vines on the borders of the 
chasm, across which they had fram- 
ed a little bridge, and, drawing the 
branches of the trees together, inter- 
laced them so closely overhead as 
to shut the light almost entirely from 
the pass below. They also construct- 
ed a frame of wickerwork to cover 
the opening by which the pathway 
from the cavern emerged to the top 
of the island. 

The commander of the pale-faces 
sought her long and diligenlly, but 
in vain ; though he and his spies 



caught glimpses of her white canoe 
many times when her nurse had been 
abroad for supjilies or to bring her 
grandfather to see her, and were fill- 
ed with amazement at its sudden dis- 
appearance, even w^hile they were ia 
pursuit of it. Once or twice, too* 
they saw her white dress by moon- 
light, floating upon the evening breeze 
as she passed for a moment from un- 
der the shade of the overhanging fo- 
liage on the island ; for she chose the 
evening obscurity for the walks which 
were necessary to preserve her health ; 
but, Avhen their closest examination 
could not discover any way by which 
the height of the island could be 
reached, they became sure diat both 
the canoe and the maiden were phan* 
toms; and all but the allied Indian 
navigators avoitled approaching the 
island from that lime. 

While she lived, when any danger 
threatened her people, I hey iiad re- 
course to her prayers ; and after her 
death, even unto this day» the rem- 
nant of them hold her memory in 
veneration, for her intercession was 
never known to fail of bringing aid or 
relief. 

While the dews of the morning 
were yet upon her head, w^ith the 
sweet jierfume of her young life ga- ^J 
the red in its full freshness around her, ^^k 
and the purity of her holy consecra- 
tion all unsullied, she was taken to 
join the company of virgins who sur- 
round their queen, and to receive the 
crown prepared for such. Her grave 
was made on the island she loved, 
and often does the Indian voyager, 
as he passes down the river, see her J 
white canoe glide into the chasm, as 1 
we did this night, when he never fails 
to follow it, that he may invoke the 
prayers of the Teardrop of the Onon- 
dagas. Our brethren have also often 
thought they could catch j^limpses of 
her white dress by moonlight on its 
heights when they were oassing the 



Sayings af t/u Fatlurs of the Desert. 



island, hut I do not know how that 
may be, 

Thu faith of the Christian and the 
hope of a speedy reunion consoled 
the aged Stormcloud under the sepa- 
ration from his Teardrop. 

Not long after her death, he depart- 
ed» with a number of his pious breth- 
ren, down the river to a place near 
Montreal, to form a community of 
brothers there who were called " Pray- 
^ ing Indians/* 
^H The Suramerdew went with them, 

^^ and was received into the house of 



some holy women who had lately ar- 
rived in Montreal, where she rematn- 
ed until her death. 

And now, my brother, I have told 
you all 1 know concerning the Onon- 
daga Teardrop and her white canoe. 

Soon after the close of his narra* 
tive, we reached the pilace of our des- 
tination, and parted, never to nie« 
again ; but a peculiar interest has al* 
ways lingered over my recollecdoQs 
of this excursion and the Indian %*oy- 
agen 



SAYINGS OF THK FATHERS OF THE DESERT. 



4 



Two monks, being tempted, fdl 
into sin, and returned to the world. 
But afterward they said one to an- 
other t What have we gained, \\\ 
that we have left our angelic state, 
and have come into this defilement, 
and must go hereafter into fire and 
torments ? Let us go back to the 
desert, and do penance for our sins. 
And coniing into the desert, they 
asked the fathers to receive them, 
being penitent and confessing the 
things which they had done. And 
the old men shut them up a whole 
year, and to each was given in equal 
quantities bread by weight, and wa- 
fer by measure. Now, they were 
simitar in aj>pearance. And when 
the time of their penance was com- 
pleted, they came forth. And the 
fathers beheld one of them pallid and 
sad exceedingly, but the other robust 
and bright ; and they wondered, for 
they had received food and drink 
alike. And they asked him who 
was sad and afflicted, saying : With 
what thoughts didst thou exercise thy* 
self in thy cell ? ;Vnd he said : For 



the evils which I had done, I thoui;ht 
of the punishments into which 1 was 
about to come, and my bones t leav- 
ed to my flesh for fear. And they 
asked the other» saying : UjK>n what 
didst thou meditate in thy cdl .> And 
he said : I gave thanks to God, be* 
cause he has rescued me from the 
defilement of this world, and the 
pains of the world to come, and hat 
recalletl nie to this angelic slate; 
and assiduously remembering ray 
God, I rejoiced. And the old men 
said : The penance of both is equal 
before God. 

A certain man asked Abbot An* 
tony, saying : Ry what observanoo 
shall I please God ? And the old 
man, answering, said : Wliat I tcB 
thee, keep carefully. Whithersoever 
thou gocst, have God alwaj-s I>ef6rt 
thy eyes ; and whatsoever thou doc*l, 
bring thereto the tef^timony of Holy 
Scripture ; and in whatever pbce 
thou sitlest down, be not tjtitckly 
moved. Keep these ihnre things 
and thou shalt be saved. 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



509 



CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM. 



NUMBER TEN. 



THE SUPERNATURAL OR SUDLIMATIVE MOMENT OK GOD'S ACTION. 



In the hypostatic moment which 
terminates in the Theanthropos, creat- 
ed personality is absolutely left out; 
for that moment is limited to uniting 
only human nature to the infinite per- 
sonality of the Word, in the bond of 
his single divine subsistence. Be- 
cause, if the hypostatic moment had 
united also created personality to the 
infinite subsistence of the Word, tlie 
former would necessarily have ceased 
^^ exist ; since the finite supreme prin- 
^'ple in a being which is conscious of 
^^iiig its own, and of bearing the at- 
^bution and solidarity of its own acts, 
'^^^en united in the closest possible 
'*^^nner to an infinite personality, 
'^^ v^st necessarily yield its supremacy 
^^^^ cease to exist; and in the two 
''^^ures united, one only can be the 
^^^jDreme and independent principle 
^ ^ action — the infinite personality. 

It was, therefore, in order to pre- 
^^^^*\e whole and entire created per- 
^'^^ality, that the hypostatic moment 
^^Vs limited to uniting human nature 
^^^ne to the person of the Word, 
^^t this necessary limitation causes 
^^> other dualism in the cosmos: on 
^^^>e side, all the natures of substan- 
^^1 creation, as recapitulated in hu- 
^^*in nature, elevated in the Thean- 
^*>topos to an infinite life and dignity ; 
^fl the other hand, all created person- 
alities, the highest and the best ele- 
ment of substantial creation, remain- 
ing in the same natural state, and 
by no means partaking of the uni- 
versal elevation of the cosmos con- 
sequent upon the hypostatic moment. 
lliis dualism, which mars the har- 



mony and beauty of the cosmos, which 
opens an abyss between one element 
and the other, must be reconciled and 
brought together. The moment which 
effects this, and which brings together 
the Theanthropos and created person- 
ality, is the supernatural or sublimative 
moment. 

In this article, we shall define what 
is meant by the supernatural, show its 
metaphysical possibility, vindicate its 
imperative necessity in the plan of 
the cosmos, study its intrinsic essence 
and properties, and, finally, point out 
the relations which it bears to the 
'ITieanthropos and to substantial crea- 
tion. 

And in the outset we cannot but 
be aware that we undertake to grap- 
ple with a legion of would-be philoso- 
phers, who admit of nothing more 
than i)ure, unalloyed nature ; who re- 
ject peremptorily whatever is above 
or beyond the sphere of nature and 
the reach of the short span of their 
reason; who are startled at the very 
utterance of the word supernatural, 
as something too imaginary, too ar- 
bitrary, too groundless, in fact, too 
absurd to claim any serious attention. 
We beg of such as these to read the 
article through, and to do nothing 
more than use their vaunted reason, 
and perhaps they will find that the 
supernatural is something too lofty 
and sublime, too necessary to the 
exigencies of the cosmos and the dig- 
nity of human personality, to be re- 
jected. 

What, then, is meant by the su- 
pernatural ? So far as it is necessary 



510 



Catholicity and Pantfuism. 



now for the understanding of what 
follows, we may define the supernatu- 
ral to be — a principle of action impart- 
ed to atid elevating created persofialities s 
in its cause, in its intimate nature and 
properties, in its acts or development, 
and in its end, superior to and above 
any principle of substantial creation, 
vin&ed in all these different relations. 

We shall in the course of the arti- 
cle explain every element of the de- 
finition. At present, we inquire, Is a 
principle of action, such as we have 
described it, intrinsically possible ; or 
otherwise, is there any intrinsic con- 
tradiction in supposing such a princi- 
ple ? We find here, as we have sup- 
posed in all these articles, that there 
is and can be no particular error; 
that there is only one universal error, 
panthtism; and that there can be no 
medium between pantheism and Ca- 
tholicity : either universal error or uni- 
versal truth, all truth or no truth. 

Rationalism cannot logically hold 
the impossibility of the sui)ematural, 
except on pantheistic grounds ; for 
the impossibility of the supernatural 
can only be supported on the ground 
that there is no possible distinction 
between the infinite and the finite ; 
that all finite phenomena are but the 
intrinsic and necessary natural deve- 
lopment of the infinite. On this 
ground only is it evident that the su- 
jiematural, as we have defined it, is 
intrinsically impossible ; for, if there 
be no possible distinction between 
the infinite and the finite, if one only 
is the universal natural principle of 
action, the germinal net essary activi- 
ty residing in the bosom of the infi- 
nite, it is a contradiction to suppose 
two print iples, antl a worse contra- 
diction to su])p()so one superior to 
the other. If, as Hegel maintains, 
one is ihosui»reme, absolute, solitary, 
universal j)rinciplc of action — the/*/f'<7 
which is iilentified with the Mvc, 
which idea by unfolding itself be- 



comes nature and humanity ( 
expression and form of panthei 
is evident that we cannot suj 
principle superior to any othe: 

From these remarks, it folio 
the supernatural supposes the 
mental distinction between t 
nite and the finite, as two 
substances and acts, one absol 
other relative; the one cau 
other effect; the one suprei 
first, the other dependent and 
dary. 

How, then, the fundamen 
stantial distinction between tl 
nite and the finite establishes t! 
sibility of the supernatural, w 
point out as briefly as possible 

The fundamental distincti( 
tween the infinite and the fini 
admitted, it follows that on o 
we have an infinite activity, \\ 
not exhausted by the effecting 
stantial creation, and its ne 
principles of action ; and whi< 
consequently effect another 
pie of action, sui)erior to any 
substantial moment. On tht 
side, we have the finite ess( 
and necessarily indefinite in it? 
lopment, and capable, thercfi 
receiving a higher princi}>le of 
engrafted upon its own naiuri 
ciple, and elevating its energ 
widening the sphere of its 
This higher principle would 
supernatural. Therefore, the j 
lity of the supernatural logii a 
lows from the fundamental dist 
between the infinite and the 
In all these articles we have 
this distinction. Therefore, the 
natural is possible. 

In other words, between the 
and the finite there is the ind 
that is, a possibility on the pan 
infinite to increase the amount 
er^y of the finite, and on the \ 
the finite a capacity of recei\ 
When this increase of activitv 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



511 



yond and above every principle of 
action of substantial creation, it is 
called in Catholic language the super- 
natural. Therefore the supernatural 
is possible. 

We pass to the next question — the 
imperative necessity of the supernatu- 
ral in the plan of the cosmos. This 
necessity arises from all the laws 
ivhich govern the exterior action of 
God, and especially from the laws of 
oonlinuity, unity, and communion. 

First, the law of continuity. This 
laiw implies that, between one mo- 
relent of the action of God and every 
c> ther, there should be a kind of affi- 
x:i.ity and proportion, not so strong as 
tc3 alter at all the distinctive natures 
c>f the moments, but strong enough 
tio establish a certain agreement and 
I>Topinquity between them. Now, 
"^^ithout the supernatural this law 
>fv-ould not be observed ; since without 
it we should have only two moments, 
the h>T>ostatic moment and the sub- 
stantial moment ; and between these 
two there is no proportion or affinity. 
l^or the first terminates in an indi- 
viduality, the Theanthropos, who is 
o.bsolutely, and in all the force of the 
t^rm, Crod; the second terminates 
iri numberless individualities, which 
o.re absolutely, and in the strictest 
^orce of the term, finite. Hence we 
•should have the usual dualism, the 
infinite and the finite, and no propor- 
tion between them. It is true that, 
no matter how high the finite might 
\>e exalted by an increase of activity 
superior to any activity of substantial 
Creation, we should always have finite 
and infinite, and no proportion or af- 
finity between them. Yet the super- 
natural, as Catholicity teaches, causes 
this difficulty to vanish, and estab- 
lishes a real proportion ; for, without 
at all altering the two natures of the 
moments to be brought together, it 
makes the finite partaker of the infinite 
at the same time that it effects in it a 



superior principle of activity, and thus 
establishes the proportion required 
between the Theanthropos and creat- 
ed persons. Created persons will not, 
in that case, remain in their natural 
state, but will be raised to a union 
with the infinite, as close and as high 
as possible, .short of the hypostatic. 
Thus we shall have all created natures 
raised to a hypostatic union with the 
Word, and resulting in the Theanthro- 
pos ; all created persons raised to as 
close and high a union as possible, 
short of the hypostatic, thus forming 
one universal cosmic harmony. 

The law of unity, also, would not 
be fulfilled without the supernatural; 
for this law requires a union between 
the moments of the cosmos, which is 
not apparent or fictitious, but real 
and living. Now, such a union is 
impossible without a principle which 
can bring together terms not only 
distinct, but separated from each other 
by an infinite distance. Hence, to 
unite the Theanthropos and created 
personalities, a principle of union is 
necessary; and this principle is the 
supernatural. 

Finally, the law of communion 
claims this moment; for this law 
requires an interchange of acts be- 
tween one moment of the cosmos 
and another. Now, it is evident that 
such interchange of acts is altogether 
imi)ossible when the actions of the 
respective moments that are destined 
to this interchange are wholly dis- 
proportionate. 

A principle therefore is necessary 
which may establish this proportion, 
and thus render the communion of 
acts possible. This principle be- 
tween the Theanthropos and created 
persons is the supernatural. 

In the second place, the super- 
natural is required in order to enable 
finite personalities to attain that su- 
preme end to which they were des- 
tined, in view of the hypostatic mo- 



512 



Catholicity and Pantheism, 



xnent. We must explain this at a 
certain length. 

God, in acting outside himself, has 
one universal end in view — the mani- 
festation of his own infinite excellence. 
To attain this end, he is bour.d to 
effect a variety of moments, subject 
to those laws so often alluded to in 
these articles. Each one of these 
moments, and each species and indi- 
vidual within each moment, expresses, 
as it were, a side of the infinite com- 
prehensiveness of God. And all tak- 
en together shadow forth his whole 
infinite excellence in the most per- 
fect manner possible. 

Hence each moment, and every 
species under each moment, and every 
individual when the moment allows 
this variety, has a particular end — 
that side of the infinite which they 
are destined to express, subject to 
the universal end of the external 
action. 

Now, because the terms of the ex- 
ternal action are progressive and in 
the way of development,* it fono vs 
that both the universal end of the 
cosmos and the particular ends of 
each moment are subdivided into two 
moments, the germinal and inchoa- 
tive end, when the terms are effected 
and launched into action; the final 
and supreme end, when the terms 
reach their highest and supreme 
stage of development. 

In force of the existence of these 
two ends, one universal and cosmic, 
the other particular and subjective, 
it follows that, in order to determine 
the last and supreme end of each 
particular moment and of the spocies 
and individuals within each moment, 
we must lake into consideration not 
only their nature and specific facul- 
ties, l>iit also their relations to all the 
other moments of the action of God, 



•Ot' the hvp'^static moment this is to be un- 
denitvK)J in a particulir nurnacr. 



and consequently to the u 
end of the cosmos. 

For a moment, viewed in it 
and specific faculties, and cor 
in itself, and as it were isolate 
all the other moments of the < 
might point as its destinatior 
kind of end; whereas, if cor 
concretely, and as forming a 
the universal cosmos, its en( 
be different from what it wc 
if considered in the abstract r 
lated; for the evident reaso: 
when considered as an elem 
the cosmos, it bears altogethe 
ent relations. 

Hence a moment, considere 
nature, and as it were isolate 
the rest, might point, as its fir 
tiny, to an end inferior to that 
it would have when looked t 
an integral element of the ui 
cosmos. 

This is the case with creatt 
sonalities. Viewed in themselv* 
in the extent of their nature : 
culties, their final and supren 
would be that perfection to 
the highest possible develoj;n 
their essential faculties woulc 
rally bring them. But if we 
them as forming a part of th 
mos, and one of its most im| 
parts ; if we regard them in co 
and as belonging to the actu; 
of the cosmos chosen by Gc 
find that their end is no lont; 
highest natural development i 
faculties, but an end of a di 
and much superior nature ; for tl 
pie reason that the cosmos, ] 
l)een elevated, not to its hi^he: 
sible natural development, but 
highest possible sublimation ; 
sj>here of the possible, and c 
personalities forming an inte^. 
thereof, it follows that they 
necessarily be exalted and e;< 
along with it. The cosmos 
God selected includes the hv 



tic moment which was effected, as we 
have seen in the preceding article, in 
order to elevate the whole cosmos, 
asxd especially created persons, to a 
society with the thr^e persons of the 
Trinity, consisting in the immediate 
ill tuition and the closest i>ossible 
possession of the infinite next to the 
hypostatic. In consequence of this, 
tHc end of created persons is no 
longer natural but supernatural ;♦ 
tHat is, above and beyond the high- 
e^st possible natural development 
w^Hich Lliey could attain in its cause, 
irt its nature, and in its properties. 
I^rom all we have said, it follows that 
th^ end of created persons, in its final, 
^*»«t, and supreme moment, is altogeth- 
c*" supernatural. Now, an end super- 
natural in its last moment must be 
supernatural also in its inchoative 
Jitidgenninal moment. Consequent- 
V, the existence of the supernatural 
*^ imperatively necessary to enable 
^eated persons to* attain their final 
d supreme end. In other words, 
*» the final end of created persons be 
*'^perior to that to which their natu- 
f*il energies would bring them, it is 
fvi^ient that they could never attain 
^^^ Mithout being endowed with ener- 
^^s superior to their natural facul- 
^^s, and proportionate in nature to 
^H^ end to be attained. 

Before we conclude this part of 
^e subject, we wish to make a remark 
^^ avoid misunderstanding. We have 
I* roved the supernatural to be impe- 
ratively necessary. Now»to this the 
^ell-known axiom might be objected, 
^hat the supernaturaJ^ or grace, is ab- 
^^lutely free and gratuitous on the 
part of God, How, then, are the 
two qualities of necessity and gratui- 

* There hai been a great dispute among llico- 
l'>'itns whether the end of roan is nalur;ii or su- 
r -TiiiiumK The reader cansee th»t ihc qticstioa 
t, crlc"^ 'vhen we couisidtT man in his reUtions 
I I ilic universal cosmos. For the end of ihc 

, M- ri'4 supernatural, the particular end of 

! I alsa be supcmaiural, if the cosmos 

I nne harmonious whole, 



tousness reconciled ? Does not the 
one exclude tlie other, and i/zV^r versa/ 
It does not. In what sense do we 
hold the supernatural to be necessa- 
ry ? We proceed from these princi- 
ples — 1* The external action is abso- 
lutely free; 2. The amount of perfec- 
tion to be efTected is absolutely free; 
3, God chose 10 make the best pos- 
sible manifestation of his grandeur, 
as more agreeable to the end of his 
action J 4. This best possible mani- 
festation is attained by the hyposta- 
tic moment, and by created persons, 
united in the Theanlhropos in one uni* 
versal palmgenesiac society with the 
three divine persons; 5. To effect this 
society between created persons and 
the infinite, the supernatural is ab- 
solutely necessary. 

Now, who does not see that the 
necessity of the supernatural is here 
hypothetical and conditional, found- 
ed on the supposition that God 
chose the final end of the cosmos to 
be this universal palingenesiac so- 
ciety with himself? 

He that wills the end must will the 
means. On the other hand, the Ca- 
tholic principle, that the supernatural 
is free and gratuitous, by no means 
clashes with this hypothetical neces- 
sity ? For what does that principle 
impjort ? Does it imply that the su* 
pernatural enters into the system of 
the cosmos arbritarily, and as an after- 
thought, a correction or addition, 
having no possible relation with all 
the other moments ? Decidedly not. 
The principle means this much. 

1. The supernatural is free and 
gratuitous, because not due to creat- 
ed persons, as an essential element 
of their nature ot as an attribute or 
property claimed by the same nature. 

2, That it cannot be attained by 
any eHbrt of activity in the whole 
sphere of substantial creation, and 
therefore cannot be claimed as a 
merit. 



fil 



Catholicity and Pantheism, 



3. It is gratuitous in the sense 
tliat, though in the general plan of 
the cosmos the supernatural is neces- 
sary, because God chose a cosmos, 
which necessarily demanded it^ yet 
no single individual person has, in 
force of this necessity, any right or 
daim to be the object of it. 

The same takes place in substan- 
tial creation. This, including the 
existence of created persons, is neces- 
sary in the plan of the cosmos, yet in 
force of this necessity no individual 
person can claim existence as a 
right. 

4. The supernatural is gratuitous 
also in the sense that God is abso- 
lutely free to dispense it to each creat- 
ed |K'rson, in the tijne and degree 
which he may choose, and no created 
person has a right to object to the 
time, mode, or extent of such dispen- 
sation. The metaphysical reason of 
all these principles lies in the fact 
that the necessity of the supernatural 
springs altogether from the choice of 
God, and nowise from any right in- 
herent in any created person. 

It is evident, therefore, that the im- 
perative necessity of the superna- 
tural in DO way clashes, but perfectly 
agrees, with its gratuitousness and 
freedom. 

We come to the study of the in- 
trinsic nature of the supernatural, and 
first of its cause. We said in the dc- 
finitioii that the supernatural is a 
principle of action superior in its 
cause to t^>t^t^ principle of substan- 
tial creation. In what sense is this 
to be understood? God's action is 
most simple and infinite. From thc^e 
two attributes of the action of God 
springs the possibiUty of the number- 
less variety of the effects and of the ab- 
solute oneness of the action. Because 
the action belnir infinite, and the effects 
finite, wc t jsc a numberless 

variety of > > terras of the ac- 

tion, and yet neither dinde nor multi* 



ply the action ; because ii 
absolutely simple. And 
lect were as infinite in ib^ coi 
sion as the action is mhms 
energy, we should be able 
comprehend how one simple] 
can effect a variety of tenns 
being divided or mulii 
our mind, being finite, mi 
rily conceive that action, 
oneness and sin^plidtyy but p 
and mentally distinguish it, ifl 
to grasp the causality of all tb 
it effects. This is the first 
tion which we attach mentally 
simple action of God; a disi 
which gives rise to what 
called moments. 

Again, variety implies 1ti< 
that is* a superiority < 
the action of God over 
our mind, contCJifjl: ill : the 
chical variety of tcru.^ luat 
riety of perfection of being 
ly imagines in the catj 
fort of energ)^ in the ; 
superior term than in Llie pr. 
of an inferior one. 

This is another four 
tal distinction in i. 
God. 

According to these 
follows thnt when we say th- 
natural is superior in its 
ry principle of action of 
elation, we do not me. 
it has a cause distinct 
rior to God, or that lite 
in itself is distinct or di 
that which %-imtA suhsuml 
tion, but we 
that partial 

of the same intiaiie aciioa 
corrcspondiDg to the 
term, which it effects^ and 
distinct and superior, nol 
is so in ft^lf, bul bec^ti^ 
ing its r 
bend it 
out of course detracting 



solute simplicity of the action in it- 
self* 

The supernatural, therefore, is a 
moment of the action of God dis- 
tinct from the substantial iiiomenl.and 
superior to it inasmuch as it causes 
an cITect in perfection superior to sub- 
stantial creation. 

But what is the intrinsic and sub- 
jective nature of this moment ? In 
order to acquire a complete idea of it, 
it is necessary to premise a few remarks, 
I. As the supernatural moment 
is an integral part of the cosmos, it 
ai ust be governed by the same laws 
^Hich rule over all the terms of the 
*?Xtemal action. Consequently, in 
^^^i ting created persons to the Thean- 
^ropos» and through him to the Tri- 
^^ ty, it must not destroy the variety 
^^ the moments to be united, but, 
^hilst it establihhes a continuity be- 
^'ecn them, must at the same time 
P*'e^en*e their distinct natures and at- 
^butes. Hence, because it is n mib- 
"^nation of created persons, it can- 
not destroy or injure their essence or 
'^tributes or personality. For, as eve- 
V one can perceive, if the superna- 
^^*"al were to do so, it would no 
'^T\gcr be a sublimation, but a de- 
®^**Uction of created persons. Hence, 
^V'^fy QQg Q^j^ ggg how far from un- 
"^^^tandtng it are those who attack 
^^ supernatural on the jjlea that it 
°^<2[ids and injures nature. Cadiolic 
^^ology teaches tliat the supernatural 
'f ^^Uld be impossible on the supposi- 
"*>ri of \i^ at all oftending the na- 
^^^, attributes, or rights of created 
l^^*^ons; because its possibility rests 
P***^<:isely on the supposition that it 
"^*^t establish a continuity between 



If; 



^Tihn prnMbrl IntdTi^fttim nostrum ititelUg^en- 

I iul id quod est in 

; JK suH mukiplici 

,, jiltquifl est ma|G[i3 

Vkft. innio est ma|i*rt;s virtutia vt principium 

tic per hoc mtilrJpllcius rcbtkir.c consi- 

j tkut puactum pliitium rst principium quam 



the substantial momeiu and the hy- 
postatic union. Destroy nature* and 
one term only is left ; and what union 
or continuity can then be establish- 
ed ? The system of the cosmos ap- 
pears to the eye of the Catholic 
i'hurch like a lofty and sublime py- 
ramid, consisting of the base^ the pin- 
nacle, and the middle part. The base 
is substantial creation ; the pinnacle 
is the Theanthropos ; the middle part, 
uniting nature and the Theanthropos, 
is the supernatural. Take away the 
base of this lofty structure, and what 
remains of it but scattered fragments ? 

The particular law, therefore, which 
governs this moment is as follows: 
7lf eshiN'tsh a continuiiy ami contuc- 
iioH b^twffiitht Theanthropos and sub- 
siantiai crcathm without destroying ^r 
flffcmiittg the variety of the distinctive 
natures, propertie^^ and rights, of each 
moment to be united. 

2, We remark, in the second place, 
that created persons arc of twofold 
nature : purely intelligent sjjirits or 
angels; spirits hypostatically united 
to a body — men. A glance at the na- 
ture of these beings. The blessed 
Trinity creates, in the first moment of 
his action, a spiritual substance en- 
tlowed with intelligence and will — 
that is, an apprehensive faculty and 
an expansive faculty, wdiich by their 
explication unfold and perfect the 
substance. This general idea of spi- 
ritual beijigs admits an endless varie- 
ty (»f species and a variety of gra- 
dations within the species. Hence, 
revelation and theology teach that 
there exists an immense number of 
angelic species, an<l perhaps an im- 
mense number of gradations with- 
in the species,^ The human species, 

• The qu«**;tion rieperuls upon Uie pihiciple of 
iniJIvsdualiwtion, whicli rnrics according to pt*i- 
lo^aphiciil *,yjtteuji. St. Thymus, ^v ho hoM* th»t 
the principle ot in^IividUJiluHtion b injiUcr. Jid- 
niil« that ^s*rTv an??"! form"^ n <p<fricf?, a part, b©- 
caiii- " ' " ' i * fo a body, c»n- 

1101 1 fVotu aautiicr 

ej£«.'-i ; ... i.Miself. 



which is the lowest in the sphere of 
spiritual beings, and connecting the 
spiritual world with the inferior ele- 
ments of substantial creation, admits 
;i great variety of gradations within 
the species. 

Wc remark, in the third place, that 
the first moment of God's action, 
which w*e have called substantial 
creation, is aJso a union and commu- 
nication. For it implies a necessary 
and essential relation between God 
and the terms of his action; and 
what relation can there be closer and 
more intimate than that which exists 
between the cause and its effects ? 
Now, relation and union are one and 

same thing. 
_ ubstantial creation implies, more- 
over^ two subordinate moments be- 
tween God and his creatures, neces- 
sary that they may continue in exis- 
tence and be able to unfold and de- 
velop their nature. These are pre- 
servation and concurrence. The first 
implies the immanence of the crea- 
tive act, without which the creature 
would fall into nothingness. 'J'he 
second is the immanence of the crea- 
tive act in relation to the faculties 
and activities of the creature, which 
must be excited, moved, and direct- 
ed by the action of God, otherwise 
their development would be impos- 
sible. These two subordinate mo- 
ments of the creative act, being re- 
lation!i» must also be consi<lercd a^ 
unions. 

Finally, we call upon the reader lo 
remember — i. That the Incarnatioa 
is the highest possible communica* 
tion of the eternal Word to liuman 
nature, constituting of both terms 
one single individual Christ ; 2. That 
human nature, thus elevated to the 
personal union of the Word, was there- 
by exalted to the highest possible 
likeness of God. partaking of all the 
attributes and perfections of tlie Word. 
For as a piece of iron, as various fa- 



thers remark, when put into fire be- 
comes so heated as to partake of 
all the qualities and assume the very 
appearance of fire, so likewise the hu- 
man nature of Christ, united so close- 
ly and so intimately to the \ 
the Word, is as much coin] il 
by him, ami made to share in hi* 
divine attributes, as it was possible 
without destroying its distinctive na- 
ture. Keeping these remarket always 
in view, we arc able to approaiA 
nearer to the subject of our inquiry: 
What is the intrinsic nature of the ^ 
suj>ernatural ? 

It cannot be a new suMan^^, For, ^ 
in the first place, it wouhl be con*^ 
founded with the term of the sub — < 
stantial moment. 

Secondly, the object, for 
it is required, is to elevate u 
persons to a union with the 1 henn 
thropos, and through him with ihi 
Trinity, and thus maintain the law of^ 
continuity and unity of the cosmof- 
Therefore, if the su[>crnatur^l were £ 
new substance, there \\ 
the cosmos a new speci 
and the result would not be am ete 
valion of the substances already ci " 
isting, a continuation as it were be- 
tween human persons and the llican- 
thropos, and thus the object woiiM 
be frustrated. It must* the: 
nna principk of acHvify rn^^ 
the stibstcmcf of cr^aUd fentftti. 

For, substance excludedj m : 
else could be communicated cv 
a new principle of ari 
to, and leaning upon i i 

created personalities, higher than all 
the activities of which created ijii- 
rits arc essentially possessed. 

And as the communication of sodi 
activity implies a new rdaivnifi fif 
created personalities w 
lows that it impUes a n 
union with God. Hence the % 
natural as to its term muM 
new prim:iplc of activity imd t new 






Catholicity and P^^ntkeism, 



iWth God, higher than all the 

rnd unions of substantial 
We may now give the full 
on of the supernatural in its 
lenn, and properties. It runs 

m 

^mnontfnt of ike a<t'wn of Gt^d^ 
HK from the substantial and 
WBixttc moment^ reqmrrd in or- 
Mng created persons into union 
t 77ie<inthropos^and through htm 
€ hkssed IVinity ; l>y which mo- 
ft^ three divine persons eommu- 
^muelves to created persons^ and 
^B them a nno permanent ger- 
Wk'it}\ superior to ait the acti- 
^hich created persons possess in 
^ their nature ; an activity itself 
SjTg/' three subordinate faculties^ 
^gkr the concurrence of God^ 
^^mmuning with their proper 
Wflfc^ld that germinal activity^ 
mg it to that final completion^ 
s assigned to it in the order and 
f &/ the cosmos in the state of 
ntsh. 

us now explain each term of 
initton* 

nature, then, of the term of 
jment consists in its being a 
tivit)% a more perfect likeness 
I than that which we natural- 
ess. Every one is aware that 
S in every substance an inter- 
Iciple of action, which springs 
iC essence, and which is called 
re. Now, the supernatural is an 
I principle of action superior 
naUire, and engrafted upon it, 
Ig, strengthening, and corrobo- 
the latter. It is, therefore, 
ere, a superior nature added 
natural internal principle of 
pulse to action, 
light be objected to this doc- 
lat what we call nature in a 
is the necessary consequence 
)eing a substance ; and conse- 
', by admitting the supernatu- 
;)e a new nature, we must ne- 



cessarily admit a new substance. We 
grant that a nature is a necessary 
consequence of substance; in other 
words, that a substance must have an 
internal principle of action ; but wc 
do not grant that an interior princi- 
pte of action, the consequence of a 
substance, may not be strengthened 
and elevated so as to endow the same 
internal principle with a definite, per- 
manent, higher energy of action, em- 
bracing a wider range of activity 
and grasping higher and more com- 
prehensive objects, without multiply- 
ing the substance. For we see no 
contradiction in the supposition, nor 
to a close observer will there appear 
to exist any. God, who created the 
substance, produces also in it that 
internal principle and impulse to ac- 
tion called nature. Now, who would 
attempt to prove that the same God, 
by a moment of his action distinct 
from the .substantial moment, could 
not elevate and increase the energy 
of that internal principle, and make 
that elevation and growth habitual 
and permanent without multiplying 
the substance ? 

Ontologically speaking, this ]>rinci- 
[ile of action, the term of the sublima- 
tive moment, is nothing else but an ha- 
bitual penuanent modification. Now, 
it implies contradiction to suppose 
that a modification could exist in 
itself without leaning on a substance 
or having any support whatever. 
But it is no contradiction to suppose 
a modification leaning on a substance 
of which it is not the necessary de- 
velopment or attitude. Hence, if the 
term of the sublimative moment did 
not rest on the internal principle, 
the consequence of the substantial 
moment, hut existed in itselC then 
it could not be conceived without 
supposing it to be a new substance ; 
but, leaning as it does on the substan- 
tial principle, resting upon it, elevating 
and strengthening its energy, one can 



I 



I 



I 
I 




^L easily conceive its possibility without 
H 4.u|Jposing a new substance. 

The term, iherdbrc, of the sub- 
Jimative monient is aji internal and 
permanent principle of action, supe- 
rior in its cause and its esficnce to 
thai which in created persons is the 
term of substantial creation»and con- 
tjuently it is a higher and better 
likeness of God's infinite excellence.* 
However, we cannot determine how 
uch more superior to the substan- 
tial jmnciple of action is this tenn 
f the sublimative moment* 
For^ in the first place, the terms 
m which we try to obtain an idea 
( the medium term are mysterious 
o us. No philosopher luis ever de- 
termined and fathomed tlie depth 
d extent of the nature of created 
irits. Our very csjience, so present 
to us, is known only by its acts. Then 
re are the lowest on the ladder of 
atcd spirits. WTio ran ascend so 
4igh as to determine the extent of the 
■nergy of the least of those pure in- 
'5 which form the angelic 
nd who can soar so high as 
to obLtm an insight into the energies 
of those high sera|>hs who hover in 
endless rapture around the throne 
of the infinite and evcrdivmg tntdli- 
^encc ? 

The other term, by which wc try 
-lo obtain aii idea of the nature of 
this moment, is the Incarnation, which 
js by far more hidden to us and mys- 
erious. Again, this moment is sub- 
ject to the law uf variety, and admits 
of an endlcjiS number of degrees 
withm its sphere, beyond the reach 
of every finite comprehension. M'c 
cannot therefore determine the hier- 
archical suj>criority of the sublima- 
tive moment over the it-rm of sul>* 
stantial creation, but must rest con- 
tent with knowin.^ that it ib distinct 






ma} 
th^ 



m Its cause, m its esseni 
tributes, from the substantial 
far superior to it 

In the second pilace, wc 
in the dctinition, that ihi 
this moment is a x^rminal a 
For every created activity is 
finite, and, however high and 
it may be supposed to be, il 
ways capable of further dcveki 
God's activity alone, bv 
excludes all i»rogrcss am 
fection. If, then, tl 
minal, it must be [ 
ordinate faculties, which 
it to its final perfection. 
is the nature of these si 
faculties ? A glance at th< 
the sublimative moment wilt 
the answer. The object fur 
this term is effected is in ord< 
created persons may be pb 
real communication %vith 
thropos. and tlirough him 
Now, a being cannot be ; 
communiration with .innt! 
in a manner cunfor 
cihc faculties of j 
question here is about cteaietl 
who are to be put in real cut 
cauon with Christ, and throng 
with God; and as ' 
ties of spirit «i are ini 

it for ■ -iiv ^ 

and will 

Therefore, Ujc immsrfM 
which ele\ates the nature 
spirits must be possessed of 3 
ordinate faculties in ordoi { 
the intelligence and 
riis* Thes>e are super 
gencc ami supernatural 
natural faculty of i*^' ^'■ 
destined, in its in 
affr^kend \\\fi whole sv^itciii o? 
ex I ernal w o rks, tog e tli er 

: rur genesis uf his life, j 
iiui' .It the apprehension < 
momesit of die eiitemal 





^MS substantial creation^to fit it for 
final and supreme state, which is 
immediate intuition of the infi- 
nitCj must necessarily be elevated. 
l^^For naturally, our intelligence being 
^^khc term of the substantial moment, 
^Bts power of apprehension is limited 
^KviUiiD the boundaries of this moment, 
^^and cannot go beyond it by the law 
cjf hierarchy. Now» the whole sys- 
tctn of God's exterior works, includ- 
ig all the moments, is far superior 
the substantial moment, and con- 
jtutes a higher and wider object 
than that of the substantial moment, 
vonsequently, if our intelligence were 
;>t strengthened and elevated by a 
nor light habitually and perma- 
lly residing in it, it would never 
ipprehend its supernatural object. 
T/iis habitual and permautnt light,^ 
€^^mmttrikate(i t& our naiuml inkUi- 
mce and distinct from , though kaning 
Jt^ and superior to it in its caust, in 
^eme^ in its oi'ts, in its object, and 
in^ from the primary germinal 
£iixnty^ the first term of the superna- 
Mrui moment, is called supernatural 
n/elligence, or^ in theological Ian- 
supernatural ftiith. Faith, 
cause that supernatural Hght, as it 
tiables us to apprehend the whole 
stem of the cosmos, with its cause, 
not and cannot be so high and so 
^werful as to make us comprehend 
The reason is most simple: 
S'en our supernatural intelligence is 
inite, therefore it cannot comprehend 
fie infimte and everything related to 
Supernatural intelligence, there- 
are, in the germinal and inchoative 
Me, enables us to apprehend the 
system of the external action. 

• We lake lite irord perizi»nent here not in 

I llie scn*c Uxal il cannut be lost, because this could 

f'bc done l>y a poiUivc acl contrary to it, but in 

Vthe sen*^ «>f Sf. Thomrts »ti4 other Uicologians. 

'- '. en when not 

«^aiiJ of other 

III' IV itself, whlcb 

}w»f tic iii-J, h\ a cj4.auJ |^er&uji Uceiy renouuc' 

I la; the buitcrnattirai 



Yet it is like a twilight, we see enough 
through it to admit it, to be attractedl 
by it, to be in raptures with it, yet^ 
we see a dark and mysterious ground 
lying beyond our apprehension which 
we cannot reach. That part of the 
object which w^e cannot comprehend 
we admit on the authority of God 
revealing, and consequently superna- 
tural intelligence takes also the name 
of faith. 

What we have said of our natural 
intelligence must be said also of the 
will. Our natural will in its inchoa-^ 
tive state is destined to seek and love ^| 
an object outside of and superior to 
its natural energy. It becomes, there- 
fore, necessary to endow it with anS 
habitual and permanent energy of V 
expansion, corresponding to the ob- 
ject it is destined to embrace, This\ 
halnfual and permanent energy of exA 
pansion communicated to our natural \ 
willy and distinct from^ though leamng\ 
on it^ and superior to it in its cause^ i/$ \ 
its essence, in its acts, in its object, and 
springingfrom the prima fy activity ami 
from supernatural intelligence, is called h 
supematural will or charity^ in thea^^M 
logical language. 

By it alone we are truly put in that 
communication with the Theanthro- 
pos and the Trinity which is called 
sanctijication — a term which no philo- 
sopher ever understood before the 
advent of Christianity. 

To understand the metaphysical! 
reason of this, it is necessary to give a ■ 
glance at that which constitutes the 
supreme practical transcendental reali- 
zation of morality, because sanctifica- 
tion imports the subjective realiza^j 
tion of morality. 

Morality, in its highest transcenden- 
tal acceptation, is the perfection to ' 
which a being is destined, wrought 
by the voluntary exercise of its ac- 
tion. It embraces a twofold clement, 
an objective element and a subjec- 
tive. The objective clement is the 



I 



I 
I 



Catholicity and rantkeism. 



typical idea of the highest perfection 
of a btfing. The subjective is the 
rcaliiraiiou of that type as existing in 
the subject. 

In created persons, for persons 
alone are capable of morality, it is 
the perfection to which they are des- 
tined in the plan of the cosmos, to 
be acquired by the voluntary and 
pre development of their iaculties. 
It is also objective and subjective. 
I'hc objective is the type of perfec- 
tion to which they are destined, re- 
siding intelligibly in God. The sub- 
jective is the realization of that type 
as residing in tliem. Antl because 
created persons are finite, the sub- 
jective clement of morality in them 
is divided into tvvomoments^ — the in- 
choative and the final. The inchoa- 
tive moment of morality takes place 
when a person, by a voluntary and 
free development, performs a moral 
act, or begins to realize the typical 
objective morality. The final, when 
the persons reach its supreme realiita- 
tion» 

Having premised these few no- 
tions, it is evident that the supreme 
t -ntal realization of moral it\' 

i - Infinite and in the eternal 

genesis of his Hfe. For in the life of 
God we have the following elements 
which establish transcendental mo- 
rality : 

First, the infinite essence of God, 
! all possible tran- 
>' on, under the sulv 

stance of pnmary unbegottcn intelli- 
gcut activity conceiving that same 
infinite perfection — the Father. Sec- 
ond, the whole perfection of the 
Godhead, under the subsistence and 
^ It of conception or ideal 

' f of the Infinite, objective 

moraiuy ~ the Son. Iliird, both 
the Father and the Son — the 
one as first principle, tlie other as 
medumng pr ' — lidh act- 
ive^ realmiig , y and voltm- 



tarily* the whole perfection of the God- 
head under the subs 1^ 'love — 
the third person, the i it, who 
completes the cycle ul aUiUjiKj life, and 
exhibits all the elements of tran.scen- 
dental morality, the practical reali- 
zation of infinite ]>erfection, subjec- 
tive morality. Hence the Trinity is 
called in the Scrijiture three limes 
holy, because they arc the suptcme 
transcendental morality. 

Now, in order thatcreatetl piersonf 
may be sanctified, they must become 
assimilated to and must r^ '^' ■ • ric- 
tically this supreme tr tal 

realization of morality, w ' ^. 

as we have often remarks su- 

preme and last s.u|>crnaiural cnii. Ami 
it is supernatural will which makes 
them voluntarily and freely embrace 
and love this supreme reali/atio^ of 
raoralit>% which takes hold of it amt 
is united to it in an i iic 

The supernatural nci « ing 

this supreme realizaijon uf niamli- 
ty through supernatural inteiligcAce, 
would not be sufficient to sanctify 
created persons, because it would noi 
unite or assimilate them to ihat rciM< 
nation, and would n 
jcctive. For there i - 
between apprehensi%'e iacnliics and 
expansive faculties^ that the first are 
not assimilated to the object wlbch 
they apprehend, but Assimilate the 
object to themselvd ;♦ hefir^ inleUi* 
gencc is not degra«i 
the apprehension oi 
rior nature, or even evil Hut exfoa- 
sive faculties are united ami o&finii* 
bted to the object irhich they lore, 
and pi' f the dignity or inie* 
riority ict J hcn€3t ih^lSenp- 

ture says of i«eo thai they were made 



God« Wt no less roLactvy , 






tin it 



Catholicity and Pantheism, 



$21 



ible as the objects which they 

^metaphysical reason of this 
^ \ti is that apprehensive facul- 
ifiy as it were, and mould, 
:t to fit them* But expan- 
uJties give themsdves^ and are 
icntly moulded to fit the ob- 

fore the infinite life of God, 
epreme realization of morality, 
jhended by our supernatural 
ace, must lake a form fitted 
ature of the intelligence, but 
crnatural will, in loving this 
lUe^ is drawn toward it, exalt- 
assimilated to it, and thus rea- 
ibjectivcly the supreme Iran- 
ttai morality, its last perfection 
I is thereby made holy and 
1. 

\ the supreme transcendental 
is iJie life of the infinite, and 
Jso the supreme supernatural 
created j^ersons. When they 
bjectively and in inchoative 
iranscendental morality, or 
ttiilated to it, they are sancti- 

it is supernatural will and not 
mce which unites and a^ssimi- 
?tn to this transcendental mo- 
lt is therefore by supernatu- 
alone that we are sanctitied, 
g spoken of the supernatural 
aKe and will, we must s|)cak 
ttJ faculty, which springs fi-om 
in al activity of the superna- 
pmcnt, caJled in theological 
t the virtue of hope. 
' finite beingj being con tin- 
ists as long as the creative 
inues to preser\'e it in exist- 
Moreover, the sublimative 
Eing essentially progressive, 
developed by movement, 



m lo FohtnUte eilstit nt inclintns, et 
if»do Impelleiii in(rin«ecua amanteia in 



This, as we shall Bee» requires the aid 
of God, wliich must excite, direct, 
and complete the movement to ren- 
der it possible. 

Finally, no finite being can arrive 
at its final completion without an ex- 
traordinary^ action of God, as there is 
a necessary leap* between die in- 
choative and the pahngenesiacal mo- 
ment. 

These three diflerent moments of 
the action of CJod, which the spirit 
elevated to the sublimative moment 
needs in order to develop itself and 
reach its end, though necessary when 
viewed with reference to the other 
moments of the cosmos, are free on 
the part of God, respectively to the 
individual spirit. 

In order, dierefore, that a created 
spirit may be morally certain that 
God in his infinite goodness and ex- 
ceflence will preserve its being, aid it 
in its development, and bring it to its 
final completion, the same three di- 
vine persons, in effecting the superna- 
tural being in the spirit, draw from its 
essence a third faculty, which consists 
in an habitual and permanent sense 
of its dependence upon God in all 
these tl-Jings, joined with a power of 
trust and reliance upon his infinite 
goodjiess.f 

As these three faculties are be- 
stowed upon created persons in an 
habitual state, which not only implies 
a permanency but also a facility and 
use to action, it follows that they can 
with reason be called virtues. We 
conclude; the essence of the hypo- 
static moment implies on the part of 
the blessed IVinity a particular com- 
munication distinct from and higher 
than that of the substantial moment, 
and resjjectively to created persons it 

* Wc can 5nd no other word bo express the 
iHea. It wUI be explttjned in the ajticlc on ** Pa- 
ling:enesiA." 

t Aswe HFC considering' the supernatural mt^ 
mcnl independent of sin. the iheory of ttic&c three 
faculties is acct&sarUy Uicompkle. 



Catholicity and Pantheistn. 



implies closer union with the Trinity, 
aiid consequently a partaking of the 
Godhead, together with a higher h'ke> 
ncss, truly inherent in the spirit — a 
likeness \\\\wh breaks itself into three 
permanent and habitual powers of 
supernatural intelligence, supernatu- 
ral will, and supernatural reliance, in 
the state of habits or virtues. 

la complete the idea of this mo- 
ment, a few more remarks are ne- 
cessary relative to its presena- 
lion, and to the manner according 
to which it can act and develop 
itself. 

And 5rst as to preservation. We 
have ofien observed that the super- 
natural, comprehending a principle of 
activity dividing itself into three su- 
pernatural faculties, is fmite; and con- 
sequenUy, as such it requires the im- 
manence of the effective action of 
(tod to maintain its existence. This 
is evident. Every finite being, by the 
mere fact of its existence, does not 
change its nature of contingent* and 
l>ass into that of the absolute ; but 
iu essence being immutal)le, it remains 
always contingent, that is, of itself, and 
in force of its nature, indifferent to be 
or not to be. Consequently, in order 
that it may maintain and keep its ex- 
istence, it is necessary that the same 
action which caused it to exist sub- 
jccrively keep its existence in all the 
moments of time or extra time ; that 
is, it is necessary that tiie same action, 
which deter minai the native and es- 
sential indifference to be or not to be 
to the fact of being, keep it always so 
determined. In other words, the ex* 
istence of a contingent being does 
not originate in an interior and essen* 
tial principle, as it is in the absolute, 
but arises from an exterior and inde- 
jiendent principle. Therefore, that 
same exterior principle which caused 
its existence must maintain it, else 
the contingent, having no interior 
principle of preservation, would ne- 



cessarily cease to have any su 

existence. 

We pass to the last queslioi 
ing the supernatural momcnl 
can it act and clevclop its facai 
how and under what conditio! 
development of the suijernati 
culties possible ? 

The answer is, that God 
cite the supernatural faculticsr 
tion, aid them in the cour&e 
action, and aitt them in corn 
the action. These three moni 
the action of God required to 
the development of the sup( 
faculties possible, Is called 
rence. Now, this concnirenc 
not be of a moral n. 
presenting before the 
telligence reasons and motiv 
tion, and before the superaati 
attraction to act ; but it m 
an efficient nature, cflc 
consecutively exciting and 
faculties in their dcvclo] 
one w*ord, God must cfic 
the action. This most roon 
statement, fraught with **a irui 
sequences, we are going to prof 
three decisive arguments. 

The first b drawn from th 
of finite beings. A finite liein 
sentially potential ; the infinii 
alone is essentially actual. 
fore, in order that Ignite bcinj 
act, it is necessary that ihcy 
pass from the power to the a< 
no being can pass from the p 
the act widiout the cfTcirtivc ; 
being not already in ac% 11| 
no finite being can act withi 
effective aid of a being already 

But thesupematuraJ term is 
being. Coase(iuently, it cani 
without the effective aid of 
already in act. This beij^g 
in act is God. Therefore* thi 
natural term cannot act with 
eficctive aid of God. 

W^e are to prove two tilings 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



523 



^.plctc the argument; i. That no be- 
ing can pass from the power to tlie 
aa without the effective aid of ano- 
, iher already in act; 2. Th:it this be- 
ting in act in the case must be God, 

As to the first. It is a contradic- 
, tion to suppose a being at the same 
I lime to be in potentiality and in ac- 
I tion with regard to the same action. 
Because, if with regard to any par- 
, ticular actinu I am in potentiality, I 
i cannot at the same time be acting it; 
Mor, in that case, to be acting would 
L exclude my being in potentiality in 
\ leference to it. 

Now, if a being passing from the 
L power to the act were not aided effec- 
»ti%cly by another already in act, this 
^contradiction would take place, be- 
cause it would be in potentiality with 
egard to the action supposed ; it 
vould be in act with regard to the 
6at:!e action, because it would be mov- 
ing itself, and not be moved by ano- 
lier. 

It implies, therefore, a contradic* 

kion to suppose a being passing from 

be power to the act without the efli- 

cienl aid of anotlier being already in 

J; That this being already in act 
the present question must be God 
; evident when we consider that this 
being already in act, moving the su- 
pernatural term to action, is cither 
Snite or inlinite. If finite, it needs 
self a being already in act to move 
to act ; and this one again, if sup- 
[)ased finite, would require another, 
md so on ati injinitum, 'J'hercforc, 
must be infinite or pure act.* 
The next argument is as follows : 
If the terra of the supernatural mo- 
ment r.ould art of itself without the 
tflfcctive aid of God, God would no 
longer be the first, the universal, the 
iiidependent cause of everything. 
Por fi a finite being could act of itself 



independent of God*s effective aid, 
is evident that it would be the fi; 
cause of its action ; it is hkewise evi 
dent that it would be the only cause ol 
its action, and the independent causi 
thereof Now, this is in contradictioi 
both to the essence of finite being ani 
to the essence of the infinite bcing.^ 
The finite being is essentially second- 
ary and dependent cause j to make it 
first, only, inde]:>endent cause is noi 
to suppose it finite, but infinite ; fo] 
to the infinite essence alone belongs! 
to be first, universal, independen 
cause. Consequently, it is absoluti 
ly impossible that a finite being could 
act of itself independent of the effect 
tive aitl of God. We say effective, 
because if this aid were not effective, 
but only moral, the same result would 
follow — because a moral aid is no- 
thing else but the presenting of mo- 
tiv^es or reasons. When an agent is 
determined to action by the aid of , 
moral influence, it is the agent, after JH 
all, which efficiently determines itselQ^B 
and not the motives or reasons which 
determine it. Consequently, if the aid 
of God were only of a moral nature, 
the finite would still be the first, only, 
independent, cause of its action, be- 
cause it would determine itself, P inal* 
ly, if the finite could act independent- 
ly of God, God would have no know 
ledge of the free actions of his crea- 
tures. Because, in the first place, Goi 
knows things distinct from himself 
only inasmuch as he is the efficient 
cause of them. For his infinite pnw 
er, which he perfectly knows, is the^ 
only medium whereby he can kno^ 
things distinct from himself* But 
in an especial manner he could not 
know the free, contingent, and future 
actions of his creatures if he did not 
cause them. 

For there are three possible medi* 
urns of knowledge— identity, ideality^ 



♦5. Tk.,fmt9tm. 



*S, Tk, Sttmma^ part I. qu, t4» art. v. (m *#f* J 



524 



Caihaliciiy and Pantheism. 



or perception, and causality. Know- 
ledge implies three elements : a sub- 
ject knowing, an object known, and 
a relation between them — a certain 
contact by which the object is appre- 
vhended by the f>ul (ject. Now, this re- 
lation or medium of knowledge may 
be either identity, when the object 
is identical with the subject^ — God 
knows himself through this relation; 
or it may be a relation of causality, 
as an architect knows his building ; 
or it may be a relation of perception, 
as we know bodies or anything that 
comes under our perception. 

Now, if we exclude causal ity» God 
could never know infallibly and cer- 

inly the future contingent acts of 
is creatures, because he could not 
know them through the relation of 
identity. Nor could he know them 
through the relation of perception, be- 
cause such actions, being future, could 
only be percei\ cd in their cause, and 
thecause, being contingent, could only 
give a possible conjectural knowledge. 

A contingent cause* says St. Tho- 
mas, 1*5 equafly inclined to opposite 
things, and thus the contingent, as 
future, cannot be tlie object of any 
knowledge with certainty. Hence, 
whosoever knows the contingent in 
its cause alone, can have but a con- 
jectural knowledge of it.* 

It follows, therefore, that if we do 
not wish to deprive God of an infaJ- 
lible aiid certain knowledge of the 
free contingent acts of his creatures, 
we must admit that he knows them 
through the relation of causality, and 
say of God only what Vice errone- 
ously said of man also: God only 
knows what he does respectively to 
things distinct from htm. Two objec- 
tions are to be resolved before conclud- 
ing die article. The first is that, if it is 
God who must effect the action in 



•Tlik iM the opinion of nne tcliotM. Atif«ther 
craa sdiool linldi A quiL« aitfcieiit oi>iniiin.~ 

So. a w. 



finite beings, it b impossible to per- 
ceive how they can be agents. In 
order that they may really ht vai^- 
posed to be agents, the actir* 
to emanate radically from the 
of the being, and consequently the 
being ought to be able to develop 
itself. We should grant the force of 
the objection if the question related 
to the first cause ; but the objection 
has no value when we consider that 
it has reference to secondary causes^ 
For what means a first cause ? 
That agent who, of himself, ^^thout 
the aid of any other, am act WWi 
regard to him, his action must ema- 
nate from his essence, and from that 
alone. But it is not so witli seconda- 
ry causes, A secondary cause means 
a cause essentially dependent iipOD 
the first — dependent nut in any uitde- 
fined sense, but dependent as cattfe, 
as active principle, in < ' 
depending on the fir^t < 
action. An<l tins <! 
not at all destroy th< 
cause, as Hossuet profoundly rensarts; . 
as a create* 1 being does not c^l&e lo - 
be being because it belongs to an- 
other, that is, to God, but, on the 
contrary, it is what it is became it 
comes from (iod, so likewise circated 
acting does not, M> to speak, ceise 
to be acting because it conies from 
God ; on the contrary, the greater tJie 
being God gives it, the greater is iJic 
acting. It is so far * jih, 

then, that God in < loo 

of the creature ;dii 

or causality, thji rue; 

it is action because God efibcts It iB 
the creature.* 

1 he second objection is that our 
theory does away with tli " " of 

will. Now, the same ixw^ l»e 

given to tliis objection, tor • ! 
effects in everything ilie bciii^ i i i 
its perfection, if to be free is 



Qd a perfection in every act, 
effects, in such acts, what 
ill freedom ; and the infinite effi- 
[his action extends itself, so to 
fven to this formation. And 
[not be objected here that the 
[exercise of free will must on- 
only in free will ; because 
aid be true if the free will of 
fcre a free will first and inde- 



pendent, and not of a free will de- 
rived.* 

God then causes the supernatural 
actions in created ]>ersons, and, in 
doing so, far from Injuring their ele- 
vated free will, causes it in its first 
act and in its exercises, and it is free 
will just because God makes it so. 

The consequences of this moment 
in the next article.! 



HAND IN HAND. 



IS a fire in our neighbor- 

Srst night I passed at the 

[ids'. The alarm rang me 

sleep ; and the next minute 

^nes rattled past. Scarcely 

ground ceased to tremble 

[leir passage when the dark- 

st, like tlie dusky calyx of a 

flower, and bloomed out 

Raymond came into my 

-ilh a Kub Roy tartan thrown 

her night-gown. It was 

and tlie nights were chilly. 



! not be ktniss to pfiint out In this note 
imon theological terms of the supcrniLtu- 
aenL 

t io our theory wo have called primary 
si axrtivitv is called in tlicolngital lunguaj^e 
ce of exAltation. Tbe three supernatural 
m, virtues of faith, hope, and charity. Wc 
lacfd io the virtue of chaiity the essence 
fir. ,,,-r f-race, 

<tion of the germinal actiyity &nd 
ciilleti habitual jjracc. 
ctiHr-urreocc which enable*! the germinal 
If Eo develo|;i its facultiea i« called actual 
firhich IS of various kitn5s. If it only 
^pciwer without the action, it is called 
H|race. If it gives the action, efficacious 
^when it eiciies to action, preceding 
graJtA pTiSKtiifHs ; when it aids during 
ion, accomptanyinK ^race. gratia t&ncemi* 
When it complete* the action, surreedlnjf 
^tttta iu^trifurns. When il 15 di reeled Io 
and intelligence^ grace of illunnriatton ; 
upernAtural trust and will, grace of in- 



*^ Yes, the fire is on Cone Street,** 
she said. *' I thought so; but we 
couldn't see from our chamber/' 

As she stood, her stately form was 
defined by the illumination beyond 
it, anil a glimmering nimbus curved 
around the silvery hair over her fore- 
head. I lay and looked at hen I 
could willingly have looked at her 
all night, that beautiful old woman ! 
— whose age waii as the age of wine, 
and meant perfection, bouqud of cha- 
racter- 
She looked out a little while in 
silence, then breathed a faint sigh. 
** It would be beautiful to see if it 
caused no sufftrring,*' she said. 
** Yes!" 1 replied. 
She stood a moment longer, thtn 
turned away from the window, Would 
she come to me? Yes, she came, 
laid a hand on my hair, bent down, 
and kissed my forehead. ** May the 
Lord bless us all, my dear 1" she said. 
" Good-night f 

Mrs. Raymond seldom omitted 
that leave-taking with her friends, 
even when the parting was but for 
an hour. ** An hour may mean for 
ever," she used to say. ** I have 
found that out in seventy years." 



Hand in 



As she went, like a peaceful \n- 
sion, I thought of Leigh Hunt's 
Ah0u Hen Adkem, to whose room the 
angel came at night» making the 
moonlight in it ** rich, and hke a lily in 
bloom/' Then thought grew dreamy ; 
and, as the rose outside changed to 
a passion flower, I fell asleep under 
its trailing shadows. 

The Raymonds lived in a charm- 
ing suburban nuuk, among stce(> 
banks that shut them in from sight 
of neighl)ors, but not from hearing. 
With nothing visible but rocks, and 
trees, and gardens^ listening there, 
one could hear the pulse of human 
life beat to and fro without. They 
had a gem of a cottage, pretty %^x- 
dens crowded with (lowers, a grapery, 
a Norway spruce-tree balanced by a 
catalpa, and an avenue of elms reach- 
ing from the terrace-steps, close to 
the portico, down to the gate. There 
were fifty elms» twenty-five on a side, 
and they all sprang high and clear 
from the ground, then bent and 
twined together in the air. 1 dream- 
ed about them after 1 went to sleep 
the second lime that night; or, rather, 
my dream reproduced u real (ucture. 
I saw again that perfect pair as they 
walked down to welcome me when I 
came, the trees letting fall over them 
a slow, golden sprinkle of leaves, one 
by one. Both husband and yi\^^ 
were tall, nobly formed, healthy, and 
stlver>' -haired, both beautiful with 
that beauty which comes from a 
checrtiil piety, perfect love and sym- 
pathy with each other, and the re- 
collection of happy years. They had 
grown to look alike during the 
fifty years they had walked hand in 
h*and, and only the wonian*s soft 
brown eyes, and the man's blue 
ones, showed that in youth one hud 
been a blonde, the other a brunette* 
Again the sunset shone in their faces, 
bringing out the 6ne stippling that 
time had drawn there — lines for laugh- 



ter sweet and merry, lines for ihouglit, 
for patience, for sadness, for sorrow, 
but not one for hate, or wrath, or 
envy had the truthful gra^'cr left 
And ever as he wrought, the softer 
touch of faith and love bail half ef- 
faced the marks. So in my dream 
they came down again under the 
lofty arch of elms, with the light in 
their facets and in their shining hair 
A peaceful vision I But, s^lretching 
out my hands to it, it dissolved, and 
1 awoke. 

It was sunrise, glorious with color 
and stillness, and a faint haze over 
the landscape made it look leses like 
a morning than the picture of a 
morning. But, looking on i ! 

the elms, instead of their s i 

en leafage, stood bare agamst the 
sky, bold sweep of sinewy limb and 
trembling hair-line of twig findy 
drawn on the azure bn* ' l In 

the stillne??s of the rii_ v Ic.if 

had dmpj>ed as plumb as ii it had 
been a guinea, and under each tree 
its vertical shape was glowingly em- 
bossed on the greensward. 

Going down-stairs, I found my 
friends standing under n swcel-brirt 
trellis just outside the door. Tlicv 
turned immediately, with a plr4^.^nt 
welcome. How gentle and tender 
their ways were! And yet tbff 
were never indolent. ** Without hastf* 
and without rest," seemed to be their 
motto. 

** It was the Willis house, on Cane 
Street, that was btirncd," ^Irs. Raj- 
moml said. **The family have not 
yet returned from their surnTiicr vbit- 
ing, and only one servant was there, 
so no one was much inconvenienced 
but the firemen. f «. 

insured. Did you set [/ 

husband was just cjuotmg^ <? /f^^^ 
from that |>oem on old age yon rvai2 
us last night : 

* And ieaX'M HiTt Iktt, »na tct tW Uvlllftill 
tifitit throQgb.' 



Janet in Hand, 



%»7 



the moniing-glory trellis! 
iurple, this morning. I like 
best when this fine chill 
tjthe air. Pink is a spring 

not speak of the fire, since 
dropped the subject, for I 
^t in the house that had 
ned she had spent ihc first 
her married life, that there 
children had been bom and 
, But after breakfast she 
^ to walk round to Cone 
%\\ her. 

^ymond had an arm-chair 
in g- tabic in an eastern bay- 
>f the sittingToom, and there 
ings were always spent, read- 
friting. ** Fortunately, one's 
ideiice drops off a little when 
\ to be seventy-five years 

said. '* I find that 1 can- 
If dispose of more than one 
Z day. But our friends are 
Te have piles of little notes 
lire no answer." 
^ iiini while Mrs. Raymond 
attend to some household 
ffore going out. " How im- 
^t is to tell just why people 

ing !*• I said, as she left us. 

y that Mrs. Raymond is 

is good, that her nature is 
>tjs» still I have not describ- 

t try to," he replied, wnth a 
e, leaning back and folding 
fls together. *' Indeed, I 
like to describe, or hear de- 
Ejne I love, any more than I 
e to sec analyzed a flower 1 

I would rather know of 
■B only what they generously 
what I involuntarily jier* 
fo j>arposely study a cha- 
ae must be intrusive and in- 
must penetrate into re- 
bd reserves which should be 

There is a certain coarse- 
beling in it. Mrs. Browning 



says that * being ooserved when ob- 
servation is not sympathy, is just 
being tortured/ and she is right. To 
me, there is no companion more obnox- 
ious than a person of that peering* 
unscrupulous sort* who scans my 
form and features as if there were no 
sensitive, observant soul behind them, 
notes every word, act, impulse, and 
expression, and is, I know, all the 
time engaged in summing up my 
items, and labelling me as belonging 
to a certain class and genus. Be- 
sides, those are not the persons who 
understand human nature. That 
knowledge is best acquired by intui- 
tion, not inquisition. Souls are to 
be seen, as some stars are, by looking 
a little away from them. So treated, 
their shy beams become visible to 
you unawares,** 

I did not reply ; and, as if recol- 
lecting that he might, unintentional- 
ly, have seemed to include me among 
the ** obnoxious," he turned with a 
gracious smile* that w^as half for me 
and half for her, " Elisabeth is sin- 
cere,'* he said, pronouncing the last 
word with a fulness and emphasis 
that arrested my attention to it. In- 
stinctively, I glanced up at the genea- 
logy of a word so impressively intro- 
duced, Sifid cen^^ without wax ; 
therefore, pure honey. It was a 
crown for a wife*s head, that word 
spoken with such tenderness aJld 
honor. 

She came in then, lying on her 
bonneL A wreath of purple velvet 
pansies lay in her hair, a full black 
veil fell around her shoulders, and a 
rich-hued cashmere shawl was wrap- 
ped about her. 

She came to the window, laid her 
hand on her husband's shoulder, and 
said, *' Good-by, dear!" 

He echoed the word, they looked 
at each other widi a momentary smile, 
then we went out. 

The ruins of the fire were still 



Hand i/s Hand, 



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>.- .. ^> X \ r..:c, how 
.: ?.:-:. >..-.v cluirs 

. :_::> v:.;:uc baik 
' ■ . ^.,;r:a:::j w^ivotl 
. V . : I'-.t* wirul. She 
>:, .:: :!:e floor, the 

• ;. >.iw che mirrors 

.7 \:r•^ ci thought 

>:"x :".:'i.T:i\ 1 couUl 

.'.■•.'. \\ I'cU. and they 

I'u: the shock was 

X <olomn one. She 

>.iMvonward, with a 

•^>s. and her mouth 

: :.:kvtion of a glad- 

• '.xc is sweet and 
^!.nvly. " 1 have 
i'lOil. antl one 
:u> earthly trial 
.ue with fortitude 
;:;:*.ess. It is the 
I ^Mrth, tliat coni- 



.: J ^•^| >••■*'' 



i !:..-:v.,-n:, then went 

. .■:c: j^iy that they 

^ ' ."'. \*iih their hus- 

» 'c-.r *. hildren. I 

I >v.v!!is to me that 

is.Ni have been dis- 

j!v:»r hu:M.'ands. Our 



children are given us to train up, 
then to send forth into the world to 
live their own lives. However gruat 
may be the mutual love and care, 
^liil they have their own separate 
lives; and the time comes when, c^.«. 
Clod himself ordained, they leave ii>. 
and cleave to some one else, somi- 
one nearer to them than we arc. 
But our partners we clioose when 
both are mature, knowing; why wc 
choose, and it is our tluly as well as 
our desire to be first with eaih other, 
to love and confide fully, an<l never 
to be separatetl. The most exacting 
love cannot ask for more than (lod 
permits and enjoins in the married 
cou[)le. 'i'hey are one, he says* 
Vet no one loved their children mor»-r 
truly than 1 did mine," her voicc.^'^ 
growing tremulous. ** I had my " 
hopes and dreams about them. S> 
was a fond mother, liut (iotTs wi! "3 
is better than our wi^h ; and, though — » 
I grieved, 1 was not made desolal«=— * 
when I was matle chiKlle.*;s, for m _ ■ 
husband was left to me. If he ha< » 
been taken — " She sloj)ped. a bli^h ^ 
motion expressive of sinking ant_ ^ 
faintness passed over her, a tlcathlik^^*^ 
l)alencss chased the t olor from he ^ 
face. "Thank Ciod!' she exclaim 

e<l, drawing a <iuick breath. •' He 

knows what we can bear. And now 
chihl, forgive me for making you^^' 
weep." 

She stret( hed her soft hand, aniE 
laid it on mine. That always seem- 
ed such a tavor from her I 

"Hut your case was a hajipy ex- 
ception." 1 said. *• Most i»eople are 
disappointed in love." 

" I am afraid it is often their own 
fault," she answered with a sigh. " I 
am sometimes astonished and terri- 
fied to see how ])eiple mi<;ise il.:! 
most sai ret 1 of gifts, I lie iir-t afiivii-.Ti 
K^i a human heari. 1 1 mv often is l'.»vr 
made a subject of je>l, even by iho^ 
who would shrink from being though i 



Hand in Hand, 



or thoughtless 1 No aflfcctbn, 
rf misplaced or unreasonable, 
be ridiculed. It may be wrongs 
ible, or tragical, but never 
3lr. How often the knowledge 
e possesses such a powtfr over 
rpiness of another touches the 
instead of the heart, or wins 
pt instead of gratitude ! H o vv 
bat was eagerly pursued, when 
il, becomes worthless when 
lot because it is really worth 
n it seemed, but because the 
or is incapable of appreciating 
icJ VV'ith what cruel selhsh* 
me desire and hold an aflfec- 
ich they can never reciprocate, 
\ the heart that helps to warm 
^es as they treat the stove that 
their rooms, never thinking of 
pt when they miss it. What 
' if such find human affection 
Tying ? Why, the world is cn- 
*ed and embittered with waited 
iulted affection \" 
oted Longfellow : 

tot of wutcd affection; mffecUoo never 

t wmsCed : 

iricti noi the heart of AaoUier, lis war 

I, returning 

o their spriogt, fhall fill Uieia full of 

>eahnicnL* ** 

>hook her head gently : ** For 
fie poet missed his figure, and 
'h. The affection that rises to 
ke mist from water, does, in- 
:turn in refreshment. Hut hu- 
vefiows out like a stream, and, 
fc'n back upon iis source, car- 

Kion. That thought is con- 
ature and to Holy Writ. 
s mutual love of man and wo- 
the great harmonizer of life, 
;cs faith involuntary, not a 
L It elevates, it docs not 
If we truly love one, we are 
r ever after of all others. Is 
ivcd better, do you think, be- 
there is so little harmonious 
earth ? No ! but less. I do 
in the positing fancy of a su- 
VOL. XII. — 34 



perficial admirer, nor the fitful sym- 
pathy of one who comes and goes, 
nor the divided friendship of one 
whose O-iendships are many, nor the 
flimsy romance thai for an hour sees 
in you its visionary ideal; but the 
steadfast affection of one whose na- 
ture is like your own, who loves you 
next to God, and whose eyes are 
anointed to see the ideal you are ca- 
pable of being, through all the faults 
of what you are. It has never seem- 
ed to me that the primary thought of 
God in creating men and women 
was that the earth should be peopled, 
but that they should be companions 
for each other. What <lid the Crea- 
tor say ? ' If is not ^ood fur man O 
be alone. Let us make him a help 
like HHto himsdf, ' So h u m a n 1 o vc was 
the crowning gift, without which even 
Paradise was not perfect. Since God 
was loo immense for the heart of man 
to contain, and would scorLh him to 
ashes if visibly possessed by him, as 
Jove did Semele, an eejual being was 
given, that they might see, * as in a 
rose-bush, love's divine J* " 

When she stopped, with her head 
raised, and a color as rich as that of 
a June rose trembling in her cheeks, 
1 bent and kissed her hand* 

She smiled upon me: " If I were 
but sixteen years old, my dear, some 
might call what I have been saying 
romantic folly. But I am seventy, 
and 1 know. Trust me ! Do not 
hse ftiith in your giriish dreams. 
They are true somewhere, if not here. 
Helieve in every lovely and noble vi- 
sion you ever had. If you must re- 
nounce them for a time, do it brave- 
ly, but trust the hereafter.** 

After a while, I ventured a ques- 
tion : »*Will you tell me something 
of your marriage ?" 

** 'Tts the old stor)%" she said smil- 
ingly ; "only simpler and hajipier 
than most. Of course, 1 expected 
some one — girls always do — but I 



I 

I 
I 




expected him seriously, I used to 
•ay for him, whoever he might be, 

id I studied, and acted, and kept 
mysdf with lefercnce to him. I 
shrank from all jesting about love, 
and from girUsh flirtations. 1 must 
go tti him with a fresh heart. It 
never occurretl to me to deceive him. 
If I had done wrong, I would have 
told him first Well, I made one or 
two mistakes, thinking that the right 
one had come; but 1 soon found 
them out, and there was nothing to 
regret. At length, when I had begun 
to ask myself if there really was any 
such person, he came» When I first 

w James, I knew at once that he 
was what I wanted. There was a 
season of terrible doubt as to whether 
I was what he wanted. Then, thanks 
be to God ! I knew that I did suit 
him. And so we w ere married. How 
little it is, and how much !" 

*♦ How much !" she repeated pre- 
sently, and looked up the road, as if 
some one there had spoken to her. 

1 had not heard a sound, but, fol- 
lowing her glance^ 1 saw Mr. Ray* 
mond coming to us. 

She smiled, her face turned immo- 
vably his way. But, as her gaze 
dwelt, it lost its outward expression, 
and w hen he reached us she seemed 
to be more aware of his spiritual than 
his bodily presence. He was about 
to speak, liut, glancing in her face, 
rem-iined silent. He seated himself 
besitie her as I rose, and held the 
hand Sihe placed in his, The light 
October breeze became a living 
touch and a whisper, the sunshine 
a l>enediction, the overhanging pine- 
tree, with its rubric of vine, was a 
ficroll written with a glad promise. 
The two sat there, gn^ng at the ash- 
es of their early home, and mentally 
Uod that path again, from the com- 
ing of the bride, ilown through joyful 
and sorroii\'ful times, till they reached 
their present selves. She felt insiinc- 



lively when he came down and found 
her with white hair, and faded cheeks, 
and she sang sofdy, in a voice which 
had yet a tremulous sweetne<i9 : 



* Sovf we mftuti totter doun^ John ^ 
Bvil hand Ui hiiad wcUl go ; 
And w« U sleep ihcteither Ml the foot, 
John Aodersoa, ray ^ V 



Her voice died to a silvery threail, 
her head drooped a little, till her 
withered cheek rested on his shoul- 
der. The eyes of both were over- 
flowing, but the skies on which they 
gazed touched their tears with light 

The next day I left them. 

A month passed ; and it was draw- 
ing toward the last of Ko\^ n 
I received a call to tlie Rj s I 
must come quickly, the dear lady 
wrote. Her husband w as ill, and li 
the point of death. 

By some accident, the letter waa 
delayed, and two days had passed 
before I stepped out at the familiar 
gate, and, with a trembling heart 
hurried up the avenue. A friend met 
me at the door, and 1 did not nccsl 
to be told that I was too late. 

" Mrs. Raymond ts very quieir ^ 
said, "but seems rather bewildcfti 
and a great deal older. She docs 
not weep, but says continually^ * Th* 
Lord knows ! The Lords knows hctt I* 
as if something hail suq>rised her* ao^ 
happened differently from what ih^ 
had expected. She is with him no^* 
She sits there nearly all the time. ^ 
wish she woul<l not, it is su cold!" 

1 waited restlessly for her to con** 
out. It was too cold for her to stay 
long, and now a light snow, the tirSt 
of the season, was falling ; not from 
thickening skies, but in sunliijhtcfl 
flings, out of detached dow^ sailiPg 
over. 

When I could wait no lociger, I 
opened Uie door of the great dully 
room where the dead lay. There 
were flowers all about, and die as^ 



Salve Mater Salvataris 1 



S3I 



tains were up, letting in a light so 
bright that the candle-flames were 
almost invisible, and a large white 
crucifix standing there glowed as if 
wrought in gold. The upper half of 
one window was open, and before 
that lay stretched the husband, his 
peaceful face uncovered and touched 
with light. The wife knelt beside 
him, her face hid in the pillow on 
which his head rested, her hand put 
up over his breast and clasping his 
hand. 

I had opened the door gently, and 
she did not stir. I crossed the room 



with noiseless step, and stood beside 
her, not daring to speak, not having 
the heart to speak, but looking tear- 
fully into that silent face. The light 
snow-flakes had drifted in and settled 
in his hair, scarcely seen in its white- 
ness. I glanced at those two hands, 
his and hers, clasped together on his 
breast. The floating snowflakes had 
settled there, too, over the fingers of 
both, and they had not melted on either. 
So peacefully, so joyfully, they had 
both gone out, hand in hand, 

" Into the land of the great deputed ! 
Into the Silent Land." 



SALVE MATER SALVATORIS! 

The sunset skies of Galilee 

Were flushed with ruddy gold, 
And sofdy sighed the evening breeze 

O'er dusky hill and wold. 
Hushed was the murmiu: of the brook, 

No sign of life was there. 
Till up the grassy slope there came / 

A mother, young and fair. 

Sofdy she came — with downcast eyes, 

And cradled on her breast. 
Hushed by her gentle lullaby, 

An infant lay at rest. 
His dimpled cheek was flushed with sleep, 

And knotted in her hair. 
Still clutched with all their baby force. 

The tiny fingers were. 

The sun had veiled his golden beams. 

Yet on her visage bright 
And on the sleeping babe there fell 

A more than earthly light. 
The lilies sprang beneath her feet, 

And, as she moved along, 
Bright spirits hovered o*er her head, 

And filled the air with song. 



532 Salve Mater Salvatoris I 

" Hail, Mary ! full of heav'nly grace, 

'Mongst women ever blest ; 
Full blessed is the baby fair 

That lies upon your breast." 
She hardly heard the joyous hymn, 

Nor ever looked around, 
Nor saw the radiant blossoms spring 

Before her on the ground. 

She had no ear for heav'nly sounds. 

No eyes for nature's charms ; 
She only saw, she only heard, 

The babe within her arms. 
What love, what worship, filled her heart, 

No mortal tongue can tell ; 
Nor if the shadow of the cross 

Upon her spirit fell : 

Perchance she saw the distant hill. 

The blood-besprinkled sod. 
And, nailed on high, a dying man, 

Her offspring — and her God ; 
And she, with torn and bleeding heart, 

His mother, standing by. 
Waiting — in, oh ! what speechless woe — 

To see the Saviour die. 

Long years have passed, and now men weigh. 

With nice and grudging care. 
The claims upon their filial love 

That mother ought to bear. 
They are too proud, too wise, to bow 

Before a humble maid — 
Too virtuous to worship her 

Whom Jesus once obeyed. 

These wise logicians of the world 

Can prove with reasoning clear 
How He, in heaven, will welcome those 

Who scorn his mother here ! 
How he who lay upon her breast, 

And, ere his life was done. 
Confided her to well-loved John, 

Saying, " Behold thy son !"— 

How he, the best of sons on earth, 

Will honor those on high 
Who dare, with small, ignoble pride. 

His mother to deny ! 



Our Lady of Lottrdis. 



533 



Ajid tliis is reason ! — this is light I — 
A light that blinds the eyes, 

And leads to the fire of endless night, 
And the wonu that never dies. 

1 hrough Mary, Jesus came to us, 

And died a death of pain ; 
So we through Mary go to him 

To heal our souls again. 
When, sunk in sin, we dare not raise 

Our eyes to God^s high throne, 
Who else but she will hear our cry, 

And bear it to her Son ? 

Oh t lilies fair of Palestine, 

Your snowy petals wave ! 
Ye blossomed 'neath a virgin*s feet — 

To her your perfume gave. 
And blessed be the grassy vale 

That Mary genUy trod, 
Bearing with more than mother's love 

Her infant— and her God. 



OUR LADY OF LOURDES. 



FKOU THE PfiENai OF HKKSI L.ASSKRtl|:. 



VI. 

M spite of the uneasy and suspi- 
IS attitude of the official world, 

fame of the recent events had 
:ad through all the neighboring 
titry with wonderful rapidity. 
Jl Bigorre and Beam, previously 
ted by the first rumors about the 
arition, had become still more so 
[le news of the fountain and the 
leulous cures. All the roads of 

department were covered with 
cllcrs coming up in hot haste, 
m all directions, by all the roads, 
It and small, which led to Lourdes, 
pic were continually arriving in all 



kinds of carriages, on horseback, and 
on foot. 

Night itself hardly interfered with 
this movement. The mountaineers 
came down by starlight, so as to be at 
the grotto before morning. 

The travellers who had previously 
arrived had also, for the most part, 
remained at Lourdes, not wishing to 
lose any of these extraordinary scenes. 
Hotels, inns, and even private houses 
were swarming with people. It be- 
came almost impossible to give them 
any kind of accommodation, and 
many passed the night before the 
grotto, so as to have a better place 
when the morning should come. 




534 



Vur Lady of Lourdes, 



Thursday, the 4th of March, was 

the last day of the fortnight, 

When the dawn began to light up 
the eastern sky, a more prodigious 
multitude than on any previous day 
was assembled in the neighborhood 
of the grotto. 

A painter like Raphael or Michael 
Angelo might have found in it the 
subject for an admirable picture. 

Here, for example, an old moun- 
taineer, bent by age and venerable as 
a patriarch, was leaning with his trem- 
bling hands on an immense iron-shod 
staff, the weight and movement of 
which fairly shook the ground. 
Around him is grouped all his 
family^ from the old grandmother 
with her sharp features and wrinkled, 
sunburnt face, wrapped in a great 
black cloak lined with red, down to 
the youngest little boy standing on 
tiptoe to get a better view. The 
young girls of the Pyrenees, their 
hands joined with fervor, beautiful, 
quiet, and grave as the magnificent 
women of the Roman Campagna, 
were praying here and there alone or 
in groups; some were saying their 
beads, while others were silently read- 
ing a prayer-book. Others, still, car- 
ried a pitcher in their hand or on 
their head, reminding one of the Bib- 
lical figures of Rebecca or Rachel. 

At a little distance, one might sec 
the peasant of Gers, with his enormous 
head, bull neck, and face as apoplectic 
and violent as that of Vitellius ; and 
at his side, the fine head of the Bear* 
nesc, which the innumerable pictures 
of Henry IV. have made so well 
known and so popular. 

Of medium height, but seeming tall 
on account of their ivonderfuliy erect 
carriage, die full-cliested, siiuaxe- 
shouldered, and agile Basques stood 
gazing at the grotto. The distinct 
type marked by their high foreheads, 
narrow and prominent chins, and thin 
and V-shaped faces indicates the pri* 



mitive purity of this race, perhaps the 
most ancient of all those inhabiting 
France, 

Men of the world of all professions, 
magistrates, merchants, nutariea, law- 
yers, physicians, with Jess distinctly 
marked and more polished features; 
than those of the peasants, wxre also 
mingled in great numbers with 
heterogeneous multitude. 

The ladies who were present foi 
themselves, notwithstanding their pre- 
cautions against the cold, somewhat 
chilly in die frosty morning air^ and 
had to move about in order to keep 
warm. 

Impassible and dignified, standing 
erect and wrapped from head to fogt 
in the majestic folds of their mantles, 
some Spaniards might be seen here 
and there, waiting with statue-like 
tran<|uillity. 

They looked toward the grotto am! 
prayed. The little incidents that 
would occur and the movements of 
the crowd did not chsturb their con* 
templatiun, and could scarcely make 
ihem turn their heads ; for an instant 
only they would direct the dark flaroc 
of their eyes to the cause of the 
disturbance, and then resume their 
prayer. 

In some places, the pilgrims, tircJ 
by the journey or by their nighv 
watches, were sitting on the groufn^^^ 
Some had been provident cno«igh to 
bring haversacks of provisions or * 
gourd containing wine. Some of tlif 
children had gone to sleep, and wefc 
stretched on the ground, covered by 
the capuict which the mother had de- 
prived herself of in order to protect 
them. 

Some cavalry soldiers belongiog 1^ 
Tarbes or Lourdes had come on honv* 
back, and remained by tlic Gave, oul' 
side of the mass of people. Many 
persons, either from devotion or ctirv 
osity, had taken the trouble to 
a tree for a better view ; and 



Oar Lady of Lourdes, 



, hill 

w 



CSC conspicuous persons all the 
idds, roads, rocks, and hillocks were 
vcrcd with an immense number of 
en and women, young and old^ gen- 
lemen, artisans, peasants, and sol- 
(tcrs, close, and seemingly waving 
e a field of grain. The picturesque 
»stumes of the country shone out in 
Uiant colors in the first beams of 
ic sun, a^ it rose behind the peaks 
of Gen Far off, from the Vizcns 
hillocks, for example, the women's 
\pukt$, some of a snuwy white, others 
a flaming red, and the great blue 
b^nts of the B<^amese peasants, ap- 
^Hcared like daisies, poppies, and blue- 
^Hells in the midst of this human har- 
^Hest. The bright helmets of the ca- 
^Ba!ry-men by the Gave sparkled in 
^^ke morning light. 
^" There were more than twenty thou- 
sand persons crowded upon the banks 
^^Df the stream, and this multitude con- 
^^fenually increased with the arrival of 
^Bew^ pilgrims from all cjuarters.* 
^H^ Faith, prayer, curiosity, and scep- 
^^pcism were depicted upon the diffe- 
^^ent (aces. All classes and ideas were 
represented in this immense multi- 
tude. The simple Catholic of the 
early Ti^t?. was there, who believed 
that nothing was impossible to God. 
Others* tomiented by doubt, were also 
there, having come to seek, at the 
fool of these rocks, arguments for 
Uieir faith. Believing women had 
come to beg the Mother of God to 
cure some friend who was sick, or to 

•Tbli estimate is that of several witnesses 
Whom i#if bjive consulted. Ak tor ihc dcU'iN of 
tbe drsrriptlon which wc have jfiven of this scene 
Rtu) of the movement of the country in Renernl, 
fhe erejiter part of them are borrowe<l frotn a 
J«furn«l vcrv ho»liIe to the who]/? ullalr. namely^ 
the E*, ifn^r*iA(e ofTttrbcs, of March a6. 

^ <? wi?tk't nficrwiifti, in April, when 

tl JeinanJed by the •pparilion hid 

Ji- p. .. V cr, lod Hernjiclcttc no Ioniser went 

tV^uiOLrty lo the |*roito, the mayor had » rc^u!*r 
COttflieratiMn made of thp rrrnyd, (in th»t occa- 
*T ' " ' ,s not 

* here. 

U' . 'April 



convert one who had gone astray. 
Prejudiced infidels had also come^ 
with their eyes closed that they might 
not see^ and their ears stojtped that 
they might not hear. The frivolous, 
who cared little for their souls, wore 
there in search only of amusement or 
variety. 

Outside of the crowd and along 
the road, the ser^rtts de vilie and 
^endarfft^s wore running hither and 
thither and shouting out in a state of 
great excitement, rhe adjutant, de- 
corated with his scarf, did not move. 

On a little mound, attentive to 
everything and ready to pounce on 
the least disorder, might be seen Ja- 
comet and the procureur imptYuiL 

A loud but vague, confused, and 
indescribable sound, composed of a 
thousand different elements, words, 
cries, and prayers, arose from this 
mass of people, and seemed like the 
incessant murmur of the waves. 

All at once the cry came from the 
lips of all, ** Here comes the saint ! 
Here comes the saint !" and the crowd 
became extraordinarily excited. All 
hearts, even the most indifferent, were 
aroused, all heads were raised, and 
the eyes of all turned in the same di- 
rection, while instinctively every one 
took off his hat. 

Dcrnadette, accompanied by her 
mother, had just appeared upon the 
path which the workmen had prepar- 
ed, and was quietly descending into 
the midst of this human sea. Al- 
though she noticed the immense 
crowd, and was no doubt happy to 
see this evidence of their sentiments, 
she was herself quite occupied with 
the idea of seeing once more that in- 
comparable Beauty. When heaven is 
about to open, who would look upon 
the earth ? She was so engrossed with 
the hope which filled her soul that 
the cry " Here comes the saint !'* and 
the signs of popular respect did not 
seem to have any effect upon her. 



She was so taken up with the thought 
of the vision, and so perfectly humble, 
that she had not even vanity enough 
to be confused or to blush. 

The gendannfs meanwhile had 
come up, and served as an escort for 
Bcrnadette to the grotto, clearing a 
passage for her through the crowd. 

These good fellows, like the sol- 
diers, were believers, and their synt* 
pathetic and religious disposition pre- 
vented the crowd from becoming in- 
dignant at such a display of force, 
and spoiled the calculations which 
some people had made. 

I'he various sounds of the multi- 
tude were gradually hushed, and 
were succeeded by a profound silence. 
There could not have been more per- 
feet quiet even at Mass on the occa- 
sion of an ordination or general corti- 
munion. Even those who had not 
faith were filled with respect. Every 
one, as it were, held his breath, and, 
if one had closed his eyes, he would 
not have susi>ected the prc-scDce of 
fcuch an immense number of people, 
and would have noticed no sound 
but the mumiur of the Gave. Those 
who were near the grotto heaal also 
the ripple of the little stream a^ it ran 
quietly through the hide v\ ooiicn chan- 
nel which had been made for it 

When Bemadetie knelt, all the peo* 
p!e with one accord did the same. 

Almost immediately the superna- 
tural light of ecstasy shone upon the 
child*s trans6gurcil face. We will not 
agun describe this wonderful sight, 
of which we have already several 
limes attempted to give the reader an 
idea. It was always new, as is the 
daily ming of the sun. The jKJwer 
which produces such glory has infi- 
uite resources at its command* and 
craplov-s them to vary indefinitely the 
extehor manifestations of its eternal 
unit) ; but the pen of a feeble and in- 
competent writer has only limited 
resources. Thougb Jacob wresUed 



with an angel, the artist cannot 
tie with God ; for he comes to a 
point where he perceives his inability 
to imitate or transcribe all the delicate 
details of the divine work, and can only 
fall down and adore. 1 1 is thus I must 
do. leaving those who read this ac- 
count to imagine all the successive 
joys, graces, and raptures whidi the 
l>eautiful vision of the Immaculate 
Virgin^ in whom God himself deUghta, 
caused to pass over Bernadettc's in^ 
nocent brow. Let every one concdnc 
for himself what I cannot tctl, anil 
try to contemplate with mind and 
heart what my inade(|uate Jaculticf 
cannot express. 

The apparition, as on the preced- 
ing days, instructed the child to iJnnk 
and wash at the fountain oi 

the herb which we have d, 

and then repeated 1 the command to 
go to the priests and tell tliem tliat i 
ciiapel must be built on the spot and 
processions instituted. 

The child had prayed the appari* 
tion to tell its name But U]e radi^ 
ant *' Lady " ha^l not answered Uiii 
question ; the lime was not yet come 
It was necessary that it should tot 
be \^Titten upon the eartit and engrav^ 
ed upon alt hearts by innumerable 
works of mercy. The Queen of He^, 
ven wished to be detected by hcf l^H 
ne^ts, and that the grateful sound B^ 
all voices should name and honor 
her, before answering, ••Your hcift 
has not deceived you ; il is indeed L** 

Bbrkadette had Jttsi set o«it lo 
return to Lourdes. Anion^ the jpcat 
multitude m*htch has been deso^itdt 
and whkh was now slowly 
up, the pfincipa] subject of< 

was the m yHe rio m con 

to the child a wce)c befctr* imd Kre^ 
raJ times refiealed, ootsbty on this 
xtTf dif. All the flctaib and cir- 




cumstances were examined and weigh- 
ed. 

The Blessed Virgin, speaking to the 
little girl, and through her perhaps 
also to all of us, commanded her to 
go away from ihc Ciavc, to ascend 
toward the rock, and penetrate even 
to the inner corner of the grotto, to 
eat of the herbs, and to drink and 
wash at a fountain then invisible to 
all eyes. The child^ obeying the hea- 
venly voice^ had done these things; 
she had climbed the steep slope, ha<l 
eaten the herb, and dug the ground ; 
and the spring had gushed out, at 
6rst small and muddy, then more 
abundant and pure ; and as its water 
was drawn it had become in a few 
days a beautiful stream, clear as crys- 
tal — a water of life for the sick and 
the infirm. 

There was no need for profound 
knowledge of symbolism to under- 
stand something of the deep meaning 
of this command, in which philoso- 
phic weakness could see only absur- 
dity. 

What b the great evil of modern 
society ? In the intellectual order> is it 
not pride ? We live at a time when 
man worships himself. And in the 
moral order, is it not the most unre- 
strained sensuality — the love of all 
that is transitory ? What is the cause 
and object of this prodigious activi- 
ty — this astonishing industry which 
turns the world upside down ? Man 
desires pleasure, through and by 
means of all these fatigues, he seeks 
physical well-being, and the satisfac- 
tion of his most material and selfish 
instincts. He places his aim here 
below as if he were to live here for 
ever. This is the reason why he 
does not care about the church, nev- 
er suspecting that there alone is the 
secTCt of his true life and eternal hap- 
piness. 

•♦ O fooiish mortals !" said the Mo- 
ther of the human race, *^ do not 



to quench your thirst at this Gave 
w*hich passes away; with these ephe- 
meral passions which pretend that 
they will always last ; with this appa- 
rent life of the senses which is only 
death in disguise ; w ith these sensual 
joys which kill the soul ; with these 
waters which excite thirst but can 
never assuage it, which deceive you 
for a moment, but leave all your 
evils, griefs, and miseries 1 Tuna from 
these turbulent and restless waters, 
desert this stream which will soon 
desert you, and which is now hurry- 
ing you to destruction. Come to the 
fountain which satiates and calms, 
which heals and gives life. Come 
and drink at the fountain of true joy 
and life — at the fountain which springs 
from the eternal rock on which the 
foundations of the church are laid. 
Come drink and wash in its outgush- 
ing waters." 

** Drink at the fountain ! But where 
is it ? W^cre in the church can we find 
this fountain of unheard of graces ? 
Alas ! the time has gone by in which 
the church could restore strength to 
the paralytic and sight to the blind ! 
Vainly do we look at the immovable 
rock. Our eyes do not behold any 
such miraculous fountain where the 
sick can be cured. ICither it never 
existed, or it has been dry these 
eighteen hundred years." Such is 
the language of the world. 

** Ask, and you shall receive, says 
the Word of God, If miracles do 
not occur in your midst as before, it 
is because, absorbed in the life of the 
senses, and admitting nothing but 
what you see with your bodily eyes, 
you do not seek this fountain in the 
secret places of the Divine Goodness. 
You say that you do not see any 
water in this mysterious comer of the 
sanctuary ! Nevertheless, O Berna- 
dette! O humanity ! believe. Come 
and draw wnth the perfect faith which 
the nursling has when it ties on its 



mother's breast. Providence is a mo- 
ther. See how the fountain flows 
and increases as it is use^l» just as the 
milk comes to the infant's lips.** 

** Drink ? But this water which 
comes from the rock passes through 
impure channels. The clergy have 
a thousand defects, and ideas of their 
own which do not come from heaven. 
Earth has been mixed with the di- 
vine fountain. Wash myself? But 
I am more intelligent, more pure and 
noble than the priest." 

^' Proud one, art thou not thyself 
formed from the slime of the earth ? 
Me me fi to quia puhh es. Eat the 
herb, humble thyself, and remem- 
ber whence thou art sprung. All 
thy food comes from the earth, and 
thy daily lircad is this very slime of 
which thou thyself wert made, 

•* Is the fountain dr\^ ? Humility 
will make it spring up anew. Is it 
muddy ? Nevertheless, drink freely, 
and it will become clear, transparent, 
sparkling; and it will cure the sick and 
feeble. The applicaiion to the faith- 
ful is evident. Do you wish to im- 
prove the clergy, to bring back the 
apostolic virtues, to sanctify the hu- 
man element of the church ? Par- 
take, then, of the sacraments which 
the priesthood dispenses. When you 
become true sheep, you will have 
true shepherds. Wash yourseivcs in 
the soul of this priest ; it will become 
clear by cleansing you. You have 
lost the miraculous fountain by mak- 
ing no use of it. It is only by use 
that you can recover it. * Qminte 
ft im^e metis' — you must knock be- 
fore the door will be opened; you 
must ask if you would receive." 

VII L 

Although the crowd, as has been 
said, was always unusually large in the 
morning at the time of Bemadctte*s 
visits it must not be supposed that 



during the rest of the day there was 
sohtude at the Massabielle rocks. 
All the afternoon people were con- 
tinually going and reluming on the 
road to this grotto, henceforth so 
famous, which everybody examined 
thoroughly, before which many pray* 
ers were said, and from which ^omt 
broke off fragments to keep as souve- 
nirs. 

On this day, at about four oVIock^ 
there were still five or six hundred 
persons occupied in this way. 

At that time, a heartrending 
scene was occurring around a cradle 
in a poor cottage at Lourdes — die 
home of Jean Bouhohorts and his 
wife Croisine Uucouts. 

In the cradle by a child about 
two years old> weak and puny, who 
had never been able to walk» and 
had from his birth Ixren consumed 
by a slow fever which nothing could 
abate* In spite of the intelligent 
care of a local jihysician, M. Pcvtus, 
the little boy was at deaths door. 
The livid hues were spread orcr a 
face fearfully wasted by long sttfier* 
ings. 

'J*he father, calm in his great grict 
and the despairing mother, were 
watching the last agony. 

A neighbor^ Fran<;onnetlc Coi oti i 
was already occupieil in prepari^H 
the grave-clothes, and at the saflB 
time was trying to soothe the poor 
mother with some consoling words* 

The latter was distracted with grwi 
She anxiously and fixedly watched 
the struggles of the little one. 

His eye had become gUved, h^ 
limbs immovable, and his breathing 
was no longer perceptible. 

*^ He is dead.** said the father. 

** If not,*' said the neighbor to 
Croisine, '* he has not mnr ni- 

nutes to live. Go and i ? >y 

the fire ; I will wrap him m the 
shroud," 

The poor mother did not seem to 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



S39 



hear. A sudden thought had just 
occurred to her, and her tears were 
dried. 

" He is not dead/' she cried, "and 
I know that the Holy Virgin at the 
grotto will cure him !" 

" She has gone crazy," said Bou- 
hohorts sadly. And their neighbor and 
he tried to divert Croisine from her 
plan. She, however, took from the era* 
die the seemingly lifeless body of her 
child, and i^ rapped it in her apron. 

** I am going to the Blessed Virgin/* 
said she, hurrying to the door. 

" But, my good Croisine,'* said her 
husband and Fran<;onnette, "if our 
dear Justin is not already dead, you 
will kill him outright*' 

The mother, beside herself, would 
listen to nothing. 

" What diflference does it make 
whether he dies here or at the grot- 
to ? Let me at least ask the help of 
the Mother of God." And she left 
with the child. 

She went very quickly, praying 
aloud as she ran, and seeming to 
those whom she passed indeed like 
a madwoman. 

It was about five o'clock. Seve* 
ral hundred people were still at the 
Massabielle rocks. 

Carrying her precious burden, the 
poor mother passed through the 
crowd. At the entrance of the grot- 
to, she prostrated and prayed for 
same lime, and then went on her 
knees to the miraculous fountain. 
Her face was flushed, her eyes full 
of tears, and everything about her 
showed signs of the disorder caused 
by her extreme grief. 

She was at the side of the reservoir 
which the workmen had dug. *' What 
is she going to do ?" said the people 
to each other. 

Croisine took from her apron the 
naked body of her dying child* She 
made upon herself and upon it the sign 
of the cross ; and then, without hesi- 



tation, with a quick and determined 
movement, she plunged him up to 
his neck in the icy water of the spring. 

A murmur of horror and indigna- 
tion rose from the crowd, ** The wo- 
man is crazy,'* said every one, and 
they pressed around her to stop her 
proceedings. " You want to kill your 
child, I suppose,'* said some one se- 
verely. 

She seemed to be rleaf, and re- 
mained fixed as a statue — a statue 
of grief, prayer, and faith. 

One of the bystanders touched her 
shoulder, upon which she turned, 
still holding her child in the water. 

** Let me alone," said she in an 
earnest and entreating voice. " 1 want 
to do what I can ; the good God 
and the Holy Virgin will do the 
rest." 

Several persons noticed the still- 
ness of the child and his cadaverous 
features. **The bal)y is already 
dead/* said they. " Do not disturb 
the poor mother ; she is so overcome 
with grief that she does not know 
what she is about." 

No; her grief had not crazed her, 
but on the contrary had raised her to 
the most exalted faith — that absolute 
and unhesitating faith to which God 
has promised that he will always 
yield. The earthly mother felt that 
she was speaking to the heart of the 
Mother in heaven. From this came 
that boundless confidence which over- 
came the terrible reality of the dying 
body in her arms. No doubt, she 
knew as well as the rest that the icy 
water in which she was holding the 
child would naturally only kill the 
poor little one at once. No matter ! 
her arm was firm and her faith did 
not fail For a whole quarter of an 
hour, before the astonished eyes of 
the multitude, in the midst of the 
reproaches and abuse which were 
cast upon her, she held the baby in 
the mysterious fountain which had 



sprving at the comraand of the pow- 
erful Mother of a dead and risen 
God. 

Certainly it was a sulilime illustra- 
tion of Catholic faith, the specta- 
cle of this woman holding her child, 
already in his death agony, in a posi- 
tion of the most imminent danger, in 
order to obtain from the Blessed 
Virgin a miraculous cure. She of- 
fered him to death that he might 
supernaturally recover life. Jesus 
praised the faith of the centurion, 
but that of tliis mother really seems 
even more extraordinary. 

The heart of God could not but 
be moved by this act of faith, so sim- 
ple and yet so grand. lie as well 
as the Blessed Virgin was attentive 
to this touching scene, and he blessed 
this Christian woman, so like those 
of the ages of faith. 

The child during its long immer- 
sion had continued as still as if dead. 
At last the mother again wrapped it 
in her apron, and hastily returned 
home. 

I'he little body seemed frozen. 

•*You cannot doubt now that he 
is dead/* said the father. 

** No/' said Croisine, " he is not 
dead. The lllessed Virgin is going 
to cure him," And she replaced him 
in the cradle. 

He had only been there a few mo- 
ments when the attentive ear of his 
mother caught a faint sound. 

** He is breathing !" said she. 

Bouhohorts, at this, threw himself 
down at the side of the cradle. It 
was really so, Justin's eyes were 
closed, and he was sleeping soundly. 

The mother, however, did not 
sleep. Throughout the evening and 
night, she was continually stooping 
to listen to the breathing of her baby, 
which all the time became more 
and more strong and regular; and 
she waited anxiously for his awaking. 

It came at daybreak. The child 



was still thin and wasted, but his 
color bad returned, and his features 
were calm and beautiful. His smQ* 
ing eyes» turned toward his mother, 
beamed with the light of life. 

During this sleep, deep like that 
which God cast upon Adam, the 
mysterious and almighty hand from 
which all our good comes had re- 
vived, not to say resuscitated, this 
body, lately frozen and motionless. 

The child sought the breast of his 
mother, and then, though he had 
never before walked, he wanted to 
toddle around the room. But Croi- 
sine, who had been so bold and full of 
faith the day before, did not dare to 
trust in his cure, and trembled at the 
idea of the past danger. She resisted 
the attempts of the hillc fellow, acd 
would not take him frbm the cradle. 

The day passed, and the nigh^, 
which was as quiet as the preceding 
one. 

The father and mother both went 
out at daybreak to work* Justin was 
still asleep. 

When his mother returned, » 
sight presented itself which almost 
made her faint. The cradle was 
empty; Justin had got out without 
help ; he was on his feet, and mov* 
ing about, disarranging the chairs 
and other furniture. Tlie little para* 
lytic was actually walking. 

What a cry of joy Croisine uttered 
at this sight, the mother's heart caz» 
easily imagine. She wanted to rufi 
forward to him, but could not; her 
emotion had for the moment lakeo 
away her strength, and she wai 
obliged to lean against the walL 

A vague fear was, however, min- 
gled with her radiant joy, 

"Take care, you will fall,*' sh« 
cried anxiously. 

But he did not fall ; he ran with a 
firm step, and threw himself into the 
arms of his mot^cr^ who embraced 
him, weeping. 



Lourdes. 



"He was cured yesterday/' thought 
she; ** for he wanted then to get up 
and walk, and I, like one that is with- 
out faith, would not let him." 

•*You see now that he was not 
dead, and that the Holy Virgin has 
saved his life/' said the happy mother 
to her husband when he came home, 

Fran^onnette Gozos, who had pre- 
pared the shroud for his burial, also 
came in, and hardly trusted her eyes. 
She could not believe for some time 
that it was the same child, 

** It is he, sure enough," said she at 
last "It really is he; poor little 
Justin !'* And they knelt down. 

The mother put the iitUe boy's 
hands together in the attitude of 
prayer; and all returned thanks to 
tJic Mother of Mercy, 

The disease never returned. Jus- 
tin grew, and has had no relapse in 
these eleven years. The author saw 
him not long ago. He is strong and 
hearty ; the only trouble with him is 
that he sometimes plays truant, and 
is rather dangerously active. 

M. Pcyrus, the doctor who had 
attended him> acknowletlged most 
fhutkly the entire impossibility of at- 
tributing his extraordinary recovery 
to the power of medicine. 

Drs. WTgez and Dozous also ex- 
amined this affair, of so great in* 
terest to science and truth, andj 
like M. Peyrus, could not but see in 
it the all-powerful hand of God. All 
recognised in this cure three specially 
retiiarkablc circumstances which gave 
it an evidently supernatural character; 
namely, the length of the immersion, 
its iramctliate etTect, and the power 
of walking which the child suddenly 

quired straightway on leaving the 

aidle. 

The remarks of Dr, Vergez are 
most distinct to this effect. In his 
opinion, a cold bath of a quarter 
of an hour in the month of Feb- 
ruary given to a dying baby would 



certainly, according to all accept- 
ed medical principles, be sure to 
result fatally. " For," adds this able 
practitioner, ** though cold baths, es* 
pecially if repeated many times, are 
sometimes very beneficial in cases of 
debility, yet their use is subject to 
rules which cannot be violated with- 
out great danger. In general, also, 
the time should not exceed a Xt\<r 
minutes, because otherwise the chill 
would destroy al! the reactive power 
of the system. 

" Now, this woman held her child 
in the water of the fountain more 
than a quarter of an hour ; thus seek- 
ing to obtain his cure by a proceed- 
ing absolutely opposed both to all ex- 
perience and to medical science, and 
nevertheless the cure immediately fol- 
lowed ; for, a few moments afterward, 
he was enjoying a sound sleep, which 
continued for about twelve hours, 

'* And, as if to show the fact in the 
plainest possible light, and to remove 
all possible doubt regarding the 
completeness and suddenness oi the 
cure, t!ie child, who had nnwr been 
abte to wtjlk, gets out of his cradle, 
and walks with all the ease and con- 
fidence of one quite accustomed to 
it; showing thus that his restoration 
took place without convalescence, 
and in an entirely superftatutul way J* 

tx. 

Other cures continued to be work* 
ed on all sides. It would be impos- 
sible to relate them all In detail, both 
on account of their number, and also 
on account of the principle which I 
have adopted to present no fact in 
this book which I have not person- 
ally verified, not only by the evi- 
dence of eye-witnesses, but also by 
that of the recipients themselves of 
the miracilous favors. However in- 
teresting, then, any such accounts 
might be, I must abstain from giving 



A^ 



them. I have thus been obliged to 
strike out reluctantly from my narra- 
tive many wonderful cures, perfectly 
well attested even by my own inves- 
ligations, and to confine myself to 
giving a minute account of the most 
striking ones. Some, however, which 
took place about this time, and which 
were authenticated by the commis- 
sion which subsequently examined 
into the affair, may be incidentally 
mentioned, as everybody had heard 
of them throughout that part of the 
country. Blaise Maumus, a restau- 
rant-keeper, had an enormous ulcer 
on his wTist disappear before his very 
eyes on plunging it into the fountain* 
The widow Crozat, who had been for 
twenty years stone-deaf, sud<lcnly re- 
covered her hearing on making use 
of the water. Auguste Bordcs, who 
had for a long time been lame in 
consequence of an accident, saw his 
leg restored to its shape and strength. 
All these live at Lourdes, and any 
one can satisfy himself by consulting 
them. 



The authorities, if they were right 
in Uieir unquestioning opposition, 
had in these publicly attested mira- 
cles an excellent opportunity to make 
a searching examination, and to pro- 
secute the originators and propaga- 
tors of such stories, which were evi- 
dently calculated to mislead people 
and disturb the public mind. Noth- 
ing could be easier than to delect the 
imposture. These cures did not 
elude investigation, like the visions 
of Bemadette. And there were not 
merely a few cases, but twenty-five 
or thirty ah-eady, and any one who 
wished was free to make inquiries 
concerning thenu Ever)' one could 
verify, study, and analyze them, ac- 
knowledge their reality or prove the 
opposite. 



sUiMp 



The supernatural had ceased to 
be invisible: it was now material 
and palpable. In the persons of the 
sick restored to health, and of the 
cripples to strength, it said to ail, like 
Christ to St. Thomas: "Sec my 
hands and my feet. Look at these 
once blind eyes restored to sight, at 
the dying who have returned to life, 
the deaf who hear, the lame who 
walk." The supernatural had, as it 
were, become incarnate in these in- 
curables thus suddenly cured, and, 
attesting itself publicly, deman* 
examination. It had become 
blc now, as we may say, to seixe 
collar it. 

Here, as every one could sec, 
the turning-point of the whole a^iir. 
Some explanation would have to be 
given of the extraordinary events 
which had recently occurred. So 
there was no one who did not w< 
der what able and energetic taci 
would now be employed by that lit" 
tie ofhcial world which had all aloi^ 
showed such a resolute detemuiiar 
tion to crush fanaticism. 

What steps would the police take? 
What process would the law iasli- 
tute ? What severe measures wodkt 
the administration resort to ? The 
administration, bench, and police c£d 
nothing, however, and did not seem 
to think it worth while to risk their 
reputation by a public investigatios 
of facts so well known throughout 
the whole country. 

What was the meaning of such re- 
markable quietne^ on their part in 
the midst of such startling ercots? 
It meant that infidelity is not derood 
of prudence. 

Even in the height of their eaciie- 
ment and passion, parties hare some* 
times a sort of instinct which nmms 
them of the escteot of the danger Kk 
ward which tliey are hastening, and 
coakes them recoil. All at once, they 
cease to carry out the logic of their 



50 




► 



situation, and no longer dare to at- 
tack that important position of the 
enemy toward which they were just be- 
fore rushing so thoughtlessly with pre- 
mature shouts of victory. They sud- 
denly jjerceive that absolute and ir- 
remediable defeat alone can await 
them there ; so they retreat, and con- 
duct the war on a smaller scale and 
on less dangerous ground. 
^ This is all very well in the con- 
'iftct of arms, but in that of ideas this 
sort of prudence does not seem quite 
consistent wnth good faith. It im- 
plies, perhaps, a vague uneasiness as 
to the truth of one's own side of the 
question, or even a presentiment of 
the certainty and solidity of the views 
which one is combating. Not to 
dare to risk the examination of an 
alleged fact the existence of which 
would be the overthrow of so|iae doc- 
trine which one has confidently ad- 
vanced is to confess an interior doubt 
as to that which one so loudly as- 
serts, to show that one is afraid of 
the truth ; it is to run before fighting, 
to fear the light. 

Such considerations were naturally 
suggested to tlie most intelligent per- 
sons in the vicinity by the holding 
ofl' of the opposing force before the 
facts which were coming out. 

The infidel party ought to have 
been converted j but it was not. It 
was only disconcerted and borne 
down for a time by the sudden and 
violent attack of the supernatural. 
We can have but a slight knowledge 
of human nature, if we imagine that 
even the most conclusive proofs will 
suffice to bring a thoroughly preju- 
diced man to an humble acknowledg- 
ment of his error. Our free-will has 
the terrible power of being able to 
resist everything, even God himself. 
The sun may indeed enlighten the 
world and fill With its beams the 
whole space of the planetary system ; 
but to resist its influence, to counter- 



act its effect on ourselves, we need 
only shut our eyes. And the soul as 
well as the body can in the same 
way make itself insensible to light. 
The darkness in such a case is not 
due to want of understanding; it 
comes from an obstinate will which 
chooses not to see. 

Nevertheless, a man in such a case 
has to deceive himself with a certain 
semblance of sincerity. He is not 
obdurate enough to deny or resist 
the known truth clearly and resolute- 
ly. What, then, does he do ? He i 
endeavors to remain in a sort of dim ^M 
light, which enables him to fight ^ 
against the truth without seeing it 
very plainly, and which serves by 
its dimness for a sort of excuse. For- 
getting that voluntary ignorance re- 
moves none of his responsibility, he 
has in store the answxr : " But, Lord, 
I did not know your will !*' This is 
the way in which he manages to de- 
ny without examining, and merely J 
shrugs his shoulders without taking } 
the trouble to iiivcstigate. 

He has a secret dread meanwhile 
of being confounded by events, and 
keeps out of their way as much as 
possible. The exterior contempt 
v»hich he affects is only a mask for 
his interior fear. 

llius it was that, in the face of the 
miraculous cures which were being 
worked on all sides, the opposition 
declined all examination and would 
risk no inquiry. In spite of the in- 
vitations given and the raillery of 
the believxrsj it turned a deaf ear to 
all attcmiUs to open a public discus- 
sion on the subject. It pretended 
to take no interest in these startling 
phenomena, though they came with- 
in the sphere of the senses, were no- 
torious, and attracting universal at- 
tention, and easily studied ; but con- 
tinued to come out with theories 
about hallucination, a vague and 
misty topic on which one could de- 



i 



544 



» 



claim at ease vinthout being tripped 
up by an ungcntlenianly fact which 
could not itself be overthrown. 

The supernatural had then chal- 
lenged its enemy to combat; but 
** free thought " refused and beat a 
retreat; which was equivalent to de- 
feat and self-condemnation. 

3CI. 

Thk learned philosophers, how- 
ever, irritated by the facts which 
they tried to despise, but against 
which they did not dare to employ 
the decisive test of public discussion, 
sought other means to get rid of 
them. They had recourse to an 
extremely able manccuvre» the Ma- 
chiavelism of which shows with what 
ingenuity the free-thinkers were in- 
siJircd by their hatred of die superna- 
tural Instead of examining the true 
miracles, they invented false ones, in 
order to detect their falsity at a fu- 
ture period. Their journals said no- 
thing about Louis Boumette, nor 
about the child of Croisine Ducouts, 
Blaise Maumus, the widow Crozat, 
Marie Daubc, Bernarde Ssoubie, Fa- 
bien Baron» Jeanne Crassus, Augusle 
Bordes, and a hundred others. But 
they perfidiously trumped up an im- 
aginary legend, hoping to spread it 
by means of the press and refute it 
afterward at their leisure. 

Such an assertion may seem strange, 
but we do not make it without the 
proof in our hands. 

** Do not be surprised,'* said the 
organ of the Prefecture, the Ere Im- 
pirialcy " if there are still some people 
who [)crsist in maintaining tliat the 
child is a saint, and gifted with prc- 
teniatural powers. Tlicse people be- 
lieve the following stories: 

** 1st. That a dove hovered the day 
before yesterday over the head of the 
child during the whole time of the 
ecstasy. 




Our Lady ofLmm 




child I 



** 2d. That she breathed upon the 
eyes of a tittle blind girl, and rcsEtored 
her sight. 

** 3(L That she cured another child 
whose arm was paralyzed. 

** 4th. *rhat a peasant of the v 
of Campan, having declared that 
could not be duped by such scenes 
of hallucination, his sins had, in ai>« 
swer to her prayers, been turned inta 
snakes, which had devoured him, 
not leaving a trace of his impiots 
body.*'* 

As to the real cures and miraciK 
lous events of which there was im- 
answerable proof, the able editor said 
nothing about them. With equal ad- 
dress, he gave no names, thai the lie 
might not be given him. 

** This, then," said he, ** is what we 
have come to, but what we should 
not have come to if the parents of 
this ^\t\ had followed the advice of 
the physicians, who recommended 
that she should be sent to the ItiDatic 
asylum." 

It must be understood that no 
physician had as yet given any such 
advice. This was simply a straw 
which the organ of the arlminis^tra- 
tion threw out to find whicJi way the 
wind was blowing. 

After having concocrted these fa^ 
bles, the jiious and sagacious writer 
became alarmed in the interest of 
reason and faith. 

"This is,'* continued he, "the 
opinion of all reasonable people who 
have tnie piety, who sincer ii 

and love rehgion, who [ :f 

mania of superstition as ver>' du - ' 
ous, and who hold as a principle liui 
events should not he regarded as mi- 
raculous until the church has declar- 
ed them to be so." 

This dew)ut faith, and especially 
the respectful genuflection with which 
it concludes^ accorib very well with 



the remarkable diplomacy evinced 
throughout this piece of writing. 
Such are the ordinary formulas of 
those who wish to confine God*s 
sphere of action in the universe with- 
in the limits of their own narrow sys- 
tems. It is, perhaps, needful to re- 
mark concerning the last assertion of 
the article, that its binding force is 
equal only to the Jurisdiction of its 
author, and that miracles derive their 
dbtinclive character not from the 
church, which only recognizes their 
existence, but from God, by whose 
almighty power they are wrought. 
The decision of the church does not 
create a miracle; she merely testi- 
fies to its occurrence; and, on the 
authority of her examination and as- 
surance, the faithful believe. But 
no law of faith or reason can hinder 
Christian witnesses of supernatural 
events from recogniicing and acknow- 
ledging their miraculous character. 
The church never demands the ab- 
dication of reason and common 
sense. 

The article proceeds to state in 
conclusion that ** it seems that no- 
thing has yet transpired wliich the 



religious authorities consider worthy 
of serious attention/' 

The editor of this official organ 
deceived himself with regard to this 
latter point, as the reader has already 
seen. Nevertheless, the paragraph is 
valuable on one account : it shows to 
the future and to history how com- 
pletely the clergy had abstained from 
taking any part in the events which 
had up to this time occurred; and 
that these events were continuing to 
take place without their having any- 
thing whatsoever to do with them. 

Thrown into the vortex of these 
occurrences, the poor Ijnedan^ the 
newspaper of Lourdes, felt iUelf sud- 
denly crushed and almost annihilate 
ed by facts which it could not deny. 
It kept silence for several weeks. It 
said not a word about the strange 
events that were happening or the 
presence of the immense multitudes. 
One might have thought it a publi- 
cation from the antipodes, were it 
not that its columns were filled with 
clippings from various periodicals 
directed against " superstition " in 
general. 



TO BE COKTlNUU>. 



X = Y, 

Ormooox Prolcstanltsm, while fldmittingf the unuen oivinitv in the Babe* will scoff at the wnscen 
k^mauiiy In the Host ajt absurd— bec^tuse unseen. Coosistcacy^ thou jewel ! To sny the least, mys- 
tery equals my site ry, x=y. 

Believe you the babe who 'fore us lies 
On his couch of straw — ^whose opened eyes 
Now look on us in mute surprise — 
A hidden God ? 



In yonder monstrance, 'neath what seems 
But bread, mitlst gold and jewel gleams 
Lies hid — so faith consistent deems^ — 
The liiDJjEN God ! 
vor« xiL— 35 




MRS, GERALDS NIECEJ 



Lapv Georgian a Fltllf.rton is 
no stranger to our readers, nor to 
either the Catholic or the noR-Catho- 
lic public. She is a convert to the 
church from Anglicanism, and a lite- 
rary 1 ady o f d is ti n g u i sh e d m eri L Sh e 
stands, for her rare ability, rich and 
chaste imagination, high culture, and 
varied knowledge, elevation and de- 
licacy of sentiment, purity, strength , 
and gracefulness of style, and the 
moral and religious tendency of her 
writings, at the head of contemporary 
female writers. She loves and writes 
for her religion, and seeks, through 
rare knowledge of the human heart and 
of the teachings of the church, com- 
bined with the graces and charms of 
ficrion, to win souls to the truth, or at 
least to disarm the prejudices and 
disperse the mists of ignorance which 
prevent them from seeing and loving 
it* Her works have done much ia 
this direction, and deserve the warm 
gratitude of Catholics. 

hi general, we do not like modern 
novels, though our duty as reviewers 
requires us to read not a (c\\\ The 
hulk of our more recent novels or 
popular works of fiction compels us 
to form the acquaintance of very dis- 
agreeable people, with w*hom one 
cannot be intimate without losing 
something of the chastity and deli- 
cacy of the soub Evil communica- 
tions corrupt good morals. Our 
yoimg men and maidens cannot as- 
sociate even in the pages of a novel 
with rogues and villains, the licentious 
and the debauched, without having 
their imaginations more or less taint- 
ed, and their sensibility to virtue 

•JW«, Gfrml^t Nitet. A Nof^cL Bf L»dy 
GeorgUna FiiUerton. New York: D, Applelon 
ft Co, 1B70. Sro, pp, 17S. 



more or less blunted. Tory Trol- 
lope, one of the most popular of con- 
temporary English novelists, in his 
Barchester novels, especially in his 
Can You Forghc Her f forces us, if we 
read him, to associate through weari- 
some pages with people whase mo* 
rals and manners are of the lowest 
tyiie, and whose acquaintance in rati 
life we should as carefully avoid as 
we shun persons infected \riih the 
smaliqiox or the plague. We may 
say as much of his brother's LinMs- 
famt, and not less of the works of 
such writers as Holme Lee, Miss 
Braddon, Mrs. Henry Wood, Wilkic 
Collins, Amelia Edwards, Charles 
Rcade, Charlotte Bronte, Mrs, Gas- 
kell, the mistress or wife of the Posi* 
livist Lewes, and otliers too numc* 
rous to mention. 

We know our modem novelists 
profess to be realists, and to paint 
men and women as they azic, and 9C^ 
ciety as it is ; but this, even if it were 
true, as it is not, would be no excuse: 
or extenuation* Vice and crime lo*c 
much of their hideousncss by fami- 
liarity, and our horror of them is not 
a little lessened by t!ie habit of asso- 
ciating with them even in imagina 
tion. We lose the flower « '' V t 
from our souls \\ hen we ii . 
them for pastime or distraction. Lien 
they whose duty it is to make them- 
selves acquainted with tlic diseasei, 
moral and physical, of individuals or 
society, in order to learn and apply 
the remetly, unless strictly on thdr 
guard and protected by didnc grace, 
are in great danger of losing thdr 
virtue. What must be the danger, 
thenf to those who seek acquaintance 
with them from a morbid cwiossty, 
the craving for excitcmcQt« or simple 



I- 

'4 



Mrs. Gcrafd's Niece, 



amusement ? What judicious parent 
regards the Poike Gazette^ the Chr(h 
ntclet of th^ Old Bailty, or the re- 
ports of criminal trials published by 
our rcspcclalile dailicii, as harmless 
reading for either sex ? Yet the cha- 
racters they present are real, such as 
are actually found in real life. 

Wc make no account of the poeti- 
cal jtistii e the writer administers to his 
characters at the end of his novel or 
romance. The mischief is done long 
before the end is reached, and done 
by association with the immoral and 
the criminal characters introduced — 
often the most attractive characters 
in the book — the familiarity acquired 
with scenes of iniquity, dissoluteness, 
and dissipation. The scene in which 
Fa gin teaches young Oliver the art 
of pocket-picking has made more 
than one bright boy emulate the Art- 
ful Dodger Nobody is deterred 
from house-breaking or street-walking 
by the horrid death of Bill Sykes or 
the tragic fate of Nancy. 'I'he evil 
of associating with such an accom- 
plished hypocrite and scoundrel as 
Scott's Ncfl Christian, the dissolute 
and thoroughly unprincipled Duke 
of Buckingham, or the meny mo- 
narch, Charles II., with his mistresses, 
15 imperfectly neutralized by the tem- 
perance of Julian and the modesty, 
purity, and fidelity of Alice, The 
ret^'ard of virtue and the punishment 
of iniquity in novels cannot abate, 
and can never undo, the harm done 
by association with evil-thinkers and 
evil-doers, 

Nor do we concede that our mo- 
dern novelists, realists as they claim 
to be, who treat us to any amount of 
intrigue and rascality, flirtation and 
coquetry, seduction and adultery* 
s\rindling and fraud, speculation and 
gambling, drunkenness and murder, 
whether in high places or low, give 
us a true picture of life or of society 
as it is. Their pictures of society arc 



as false to real life as were those of 
the old mediaeval romances so unmer- 
d fully and yet so justly ridiculed by 
Boianlo and C^ervantes. Society is 
corrupt, rotten, if you will, but less so 
in reality than in the pages of a Bul- 
wer or a 1 Vol lope. Virtue is still the 
rule, vice the exception, and society 
couhl not exist if it were not so. 
There is corruption enough in pub- 
lic and othcial life, we grant, to 
make Satan laugh and angels weep ; 
but not all, nor the majority, of the 
men in otiice or connected with gov- 
ernment are peculators, swindlers, 
tricksters, villains^ intent only on " the 
pickings and stealings " or their own 
selfish ends. They may often lack 
capacity, and fail to asj)ire to heroic 
virtue, but the evil-intentioned bear 
a small proportion to the whole. In 
domestic life, no doubt, there are un- 
faithful husljands and unchaste wives, 
but there are few countries in which 
they are not the exception. In the 
business world, there are rash specu- 
lators, fraudulent dealers, swindling 
bankers, corrupt railroad and odier 
corporation presidents, <Jircclors, trea- 
surers, and agents, but the great ma- 
jority arc, according to the standard of 
the business wodd, fair and honest in 
their transactions. Their standard may 
not be the highest, but they who do 
not live up to it are the exceptions 
to the rule. There is imperfect vir- 
tue in the world, but no total depra- 
vity ; and rarely do we meet one, 
however hardened, who has not 
somewhere a mellow spot in his 
heart. 

In addition to the faults of novels 
in general, novels written by women 
have the grave fault of tending al- 
most uniformly to degrade woman* 
Women, of course, are the principal 
personages, and men only play se- 
cond-fiddle in female novels, but 
of this we complain not; what we do 
complain of is, that women — who 



■ 



must hn presumed lo know, and to 
wish to write up, their own sex — de- 
pict women in their novels such as no 
honorable or high-minded man can 
love or esteem. We do noi recollect 
a single heroine of a feminine novel 
that* were we young and a m.irrying 
man, we could love or desire to have 
for a wife. Women are almost inva- 
riably cruel to woman, ihey lay bare 
al! her faults and imperfections, de* 
J net her as a weak and whimpering 
sentimentalist, deluging us with an 
ocean of tears; as an unprincipled 
intriguer and manager, a heartless 
flirt, a heartless coquette, playing 
i»ith her victim as the cat with the 
mouse ; or as a cruel despot, grecrly 
of power and of its display, thorough- 
Jy unscrupulous as to the means she 
adojits to acquire it, and reckless of 
the hearts she crushes or the ruin she 
spreads in displaying it. Even when 
her purposes are laudable, tliey repre- 
sent her in her ctforts to realize them 
as artful, untruthful, diplomatic, ne- 
ver open, (tank, straightforward, and 
honest. The whole plot of feminine 
novels turns usually on feminine 
dissimulations. The reader sees 
that a single word spoken when it 
might be and ouglu to be would pre- 
vent or clear up all misunderstand- 
ing, and make it all sunshine and fair 
weather for the lovers. I'he heroine 
sees it too, and would say it, but fe- 
minine modesty, feminine delicacy, 
or fear of misconstruction compels 
her to be silent and suffer, and so 
the plot thickens — misconstruction 
follows silence, comi>lications of all 
sorts arc created, distress caused and 
deepened to agony, till a happy ac- 
cident near the end of the novel clears 
up the mystery, and ushers in a wed- 
ding and a honeymoon which might 
have come much sooner, if the lady' 
had been frank, and had not insisted 
on being trusted on her bare word 
while shrouded in a very suspicious 



mystery, with all the appearances 
against her 

Women's novels are very damag- 
ing to our respect for woman by the 
recklessness with which they reveal 
the mysteries of the sex, expose oil 
her little feminine arts and tricks, lay 
bare her most private thoughts at^d 
interior sentiments, rend from her 
the last shred of mystery, and ex|)osc 
her unveiled and unrobed to the 
gaze of the profane world, and leave 
nothing to the imagination, llicy 
divest her of the mystic veil nilh 
which man's chivalry covers her. 
There are passages in yaftc Eyrt^ far 
instance, which show that woman 
can enter into and ilcscribe with mi- 
nute accuracy the grussest passions 
of man's nature, and which men could 
not describe to their own sex witltout 
a blush. Men arc naturally more 
modest than women. Toc\ rg 

man not yot corrupted 1>, x, 

there is - i* 

vine, in ^ \ 

fdls him with awe of woman, and 
makes him shrink ftom the bate 
thought of abusing her as a sacrilege. 
This awe is both his i : .A 

hers. Your fcnuninc cl 

the illusion, antl prove to hui* ik^t 
there is nothing; more mvMic in no- 
man's nature than in man's, dial her 
supposed divinity is only Uie f»rojec- 
tion of his chivalric imagination, ami 
that, after all, she is only ordinary 
flesh and blood, kneaded of no finer 
clay than htmselt* It is . v 

for her as well as for him v _ . ,.xj: 
illusion is dispelled, and man is, as 
die French say, dhiiluswn/, Wi 
alone can dispel it, and make 
henceforth regard her as a toy 
druflge. St. l*aul knew what he 
when he forbade women to teach, 
commanded them to be veiled and 
silent in public, and to stay at home 
and learn of their husbantU. 
Lady Georgiana FuUerton h a 



IS, as 

r or ^H 
iediM 



Mrs. GeraWs Niece, 



549 



proman, and is occasionally woman* 
fish, but her women do not make their 
Itoileite in public. She respects as 
liar as a woman can the secrets of the 
[sex. She escapes the chief faults of 
[modem novels, whether written by 
|TOen or women. She does not draw 
IcD the Old Bailey, nor employ the 
Ctive police to " work up *' her 
We are not introduced, in Mrs. 
leraWs NUcf^ to a single downright 
riUain or a single genuine coquette; 
lland are not treated to a single case 
af seduction^ adultery, bigamy, di- 
iforce, or even an incipient ilirtation. 
t^e are not led to a single place of 
ianiuscmcnt and temj>tation. We are 
not required to associate with disre- 
putable or even offensive characters, 
and the acquaintances we form are 
at least well-bred and respectable, 
and some of them distinguished for 
their intelligence^ amiability, and emi- 
nent virtue. We renew, and are 
pleased to renew, our intimacy with 
some old friends from Grantiey Manor. 
Edmund Neville, now a worthy Ca- 
tholic priest, and the sister of -his de- 
ceased wife, and her husband, Walter 
Sydney, become earnest and devoted 
Catholics, Among the new acquain- 
tances v\e form, if two or three are 
a litde below the average, they are 
never brought prominently forward, 
and are never associates dangerous 
to one's manners or morals. Through- 
out, the moral and religious tone is 
high, and the atmosi^here the reader 
breathes is pure and invigoraiiJig, 
Lady Georgian a is a gifted and high- 
ly cultivated Christian lady, who 
knows and loves her religion, and 
whose very presence is a joy and a 
blessing. 

The plot, if it can be called a plot, 
of Mrs. GeraliVs NkcCy is not much, 
and the story, though a little im[)ro- 
bable in j>arts. is simple, and apparent- 
ly told not for its own sake, but as an 
occasion for ihe writer to introduce 



and develop the controversy betweeu 
Catholics and the Catholicizing jiarty 
in the Church of England^ in which 
heart and soul are absorbed. Mrs. 
Gerald, whose husband died while she 
was still young, had an elder brother, 
Robert Derwent, the proprietor of 
Holmwood,one of the most beautiful 
places in England, whom she loved 
more than anything else on earth, 
I'his brother, who married late in 
life, was lost off the coast of the Ri- 
viera^ by the colliding with another 
in a storm of the steamer on which 
he had embarked, with his young 
wife and infant daughter, at Leghorn 
for Genoa, on his return to England, 
and which went down at the entrance 
of the bay with all on board, as it 
was supposed, except a poor cabin- 
boy and a female infant, who were 
saved in a boat. Mrs, Gerald is very 
anxious to believe that this infant is 
Robert Derwent's daughter, her own 
niece, not only because of her great 
love for Robert, but also because, if 
so, she is the heiress of Holm wood, 
and would prevent it from going to her 
younger brother, Herbert, who has 
no attachment to the place, and 
whom she dislikes for his dissolute 
character, for having made what his 
family regard as an improper mar- 
riage, and who has threatened to sell 
Holm wood if he ever gets possession 
of it. It is not easy to identify an 
infant only four months old; but the 
rescued child was found wrapped in 
a night-gown which Mrs* Gerald re- 
cognizes as one that she had herself 
worked for her niece, little Annie 
Derwent, and marked with the letters 
A* D., the initials of her name. Two 
witnesses from Florence mho knew 
the child swore, too, that it was the 
child of the Derwents, and further 
evidence was judged unnecessary, 
and Mrs. Gerald takes the child, 
l>rings her up as her niece and the 
heiress of Holm wood, and lavishes 



upon her all the wealth of her affec- 
tion, which the child seeais to take as 
a matter of coun>c, and for which no 
extraordinary return is needed. 

One thing troubles Mrs, Gerald. 
As the little Annie grows up, though 
a very good child^ she bears no re- 
semblance to either Robert or his 
wife, or any one of the family, and 
appears much more like an Italian 
girl of Mentone than like an English 
girl. Could it be possible^ after all, that 
she is not her niece? Might it not 
be that her great anxiety to find in 
her Robertas daughter had made her 
loo ready to beheve her so ? Yet 
the proofs seemed conclusive — were 
thought so by others besides herself. 
So she stifles her doubts, cherishes 
her as her niece, and spares no p>ains 
with her education, till she is of age, 
and betrothed to Edgar Derwcnt, 
the only son and child of her brother 
Herbert, who had died a few months 
after his elder brother. Mrs. Oerald 
does not visit her dislike of the father 
upon the son. Edgar is ahnost 
brought up at Hohnwood, and be- 
comes nearly as great a favorite with 
his aunt as Annie herself. He is 
about four years older than Annie, 
and, as both grow up. Mrs, Gerald 
had nothing more at heart, though 
Edgar is poor and Annie a great 
heiress, than their marriage. Annie 
loves Edgar, and has loved him from 
a child, and he at least appears to be 
fond of her, and certainly is fond of 
Holm wood, and warmly admires its 
beauties. So by the aunt's consent 
and approval they are engaged to be 
married, and there seems no obstacle 
in the way of their union. 

But before the wcilding-day is fix- 
ed. Lady Emily Hendon, an invalid, 
and an actjuaintance, returns to the 
neighborhood of Holm wood » from 
Mentone. where she has resided for 
thirty years orover^brin^^ing with her 
an adopted daughter, Ita or Mar- 



garet Flower, a young lady of great 
vivacity and rare beauty, a fouridliiig, 
picked up by a fisherman of Spcdalctti 
tloaiing in a boat at sea very near 
the spot where Annie herself had been 
rescued, aiid probably about tJie same 
lime. She and Annie are apparently 
very nearly of the same age, and they 
become warm friends as soon .is ihcy 
meet ; but Mrs. Gerald no sooner 
sees Ita than her trouble rettrnis. 
Ita bears the most striking likeness to 
Robert Derwent's young wife, whik 
Annie resembles her not in the least. 
When Mrs. Gerald learns the mys- 
tery that hangs over Ita's birth and 
parentage, and that she had also 
been picked up at sea on the cnast 
of the Riviera, she is almost certain 
that she, not Annie, is her niece* 
But how can she bear to think of 
disinheriting Annie, and telling the 
gid she has brought up as her niece 
and the heiress of Holmwood that 
she is not her niece, is the child of 
nobody, and inherits nothing ? Thcii, 
if Ita is her niece, i>he has a right to 
Annie's place, and cannot witliout 
great wrong be left out of it. Poor 
Aunt Gerald is greatly troubled, be- 
comes nervous, irritable, ami very ca 
pricious in her treatment of lia, now 
showing her the most ardent affection 
and now repulsing her with aversion 
from her presence; falls seriou&ly ill; 
and thinks it would be a great relief 
if she were a Catholic and could tell 
her troubles to a priest and ask his 
advice. She can place no confidence 
in her Protestant minister. 

Edgar, who sides with the so-call- 
ed Catholic party in the E^tablt&b* 
ment, and had taken Anglican or^ 
ders before his engagement wj 
Annie, in the meantime enters u 
the great task of instruct) i 
lieving the poor and of C. ig 

the Churc h of England, or devciopuig 
the Catholic doctrines and church 
principles which he fancies she lioldi 



m* 

m 



without knowing it, and even whiJe 
denying them. Annie did not much 
like his becoming a minister — jmest, as 
she said ; she had been trained by her 
Anglican pastor as Protestant, and 
beheved nothing in the Catholicity 
of the Church of England, and in- 
deed took no great interest in any 
of the religious questions of the day. 
She was not imaginative nor specula- 
tive, was not learned, but was straight- 
forward and honest, with a large 
share of common sense. She had 
believed what her minister, the good 
old vicar, had taught her, and did 
act wish to be obliged to think out a 
religion for herself. But she loved 
Edgar, wished to see him happy ^ 
and was willing diat he should be 
happy in his own way. She also re- 
collected that she had the patronage 
of the living of Holmivood, and 
that on the death of Mr. Pratt, the 
present aged incumbent, she can 
confer it on Edgan So it will do 
very well, and she will interpose no 
objection. In waiting for the vicar- 
age of Holm wood, Edgar accepts 
from Lord Carsdale the living of 
Bramble moor in the neighborhood, 
a poor hving indeed, but aflbrding 
ample opportunity for hard work 
among the poor and for carrying out 
"church principles.'* 

But while Annie takes little inte- 
rest in Edgar's labors and is not 
able to assist him in carrying out his 
ciiurch planSj Ita, who hns been 
brought up among Catholics in Men- 
tone and is rather ijarlial to the Ca- 
tholic service and Catholic usages, 
enters with spirit and ready sympathy 
into his plans, and becomes a zeal- 
ous and efficient helper. What might 
easily be foreseen happens. I la be- 
comes more to Edgar than is An- 
nie; she is constantly with him and 
aiding -him. He has persuaded her 
that the Church of England is Ca- 
tholic; their thougiits run in the same 



channel; their aspirations and hopes 
are the same ; and he, though resolv* 
ed as a man of honor to keep his en- 
gagement with Annie, whatever it 
may cost him^ becomes aware tha* 
if he was free he could love Ita as he 
can never love Annie; and Ita finds 
that her love for him is becoming too 
strong to be resisted^ except by tilght. 
A terrible struggle between love and 
honor commences in the hearts of 
both, and threatens to make both 
miserable for life- Annie perceives it, 
and feeling certain that Ita has a 
power of making Edgar happy which 
she has not and never will have, and 
seeking only Edgar's happiness, she 
generously breaks off the engagement 
and leaves him free to love and mar- 
ry Ita, She herself will never marry; 
during her life, she will provide am- 
ply for him and Ita ; he shall have 
the living, be near her, and when 
she dies Holm wood will be his a; 
next heir, or will go to his children. 
Edgar will be happy, and that is all 
she asks. Mr. Pratt opportunely dy- 
ing, she gives him die living, surrounds 
him with all the comforts and luxuries 
of life her love can invent, and finds 
genuine pleasure in working in his 
garden, and seeing him happy in his 
love and unwearied efibrts to bring 
the Church of England up to the 
Catholic standard. 

Edgar is very devoted, and labors 
hard in his calling, loses his healthy 
is in danger of losing his eyesight, 
and in about two years after his mar- 
riage with Ita is ordered by his phy- 
sicians to seek a more southern cli- 
mate. Ita takes him to Men tone, 
where she still retains the Villa Hen- 
don, left her by Lady Emily, who had 
adopted her. Here and in its neigh- 
borhood Ita obtains a ])ariial clue to 
her birth, loses all confidence in the 
Catholicity of the Church of Eng- 
land, and finds that, cost what it will, 
she must become a rml Catholic. 



Mrs, Gerald^ s Niece. 



Proofs seem to multiply that she, not 
Annie, is Robert Derwent's daughter 
and heiress of Holm wood. This 
gives her pleasure in so far as it 
clears up the mystery of her birth, 
but greatly distresses her for Annie, 
to whose generosity she owes her be- 
loved husband and all her happiness. 
Dispossess her generous and noble be- 
nefactress ! No ; it is not to be thought 
of for a moment. She tries to call 
tlie attention of her husband to the 
discoveries she has made concerning 
her birth and to take his advice, 
but he will not listen to her, does 
not want to know anything of the 
matter, and is perfectly satisfied with 
his " pearl of die sea," without in- 
quiring whether she is the child of 
somebody or of nobody. So she 
tells him nothing, and has a painful 
secret she cannot share with him. 

The otl^er matter she dares not 
broach with her husband. He calls 
himself indeed a Catholic, denounces 
Protestantism as a heresy, and mourns 
over its prevalence in his ow n church, 
but at the same time he cannot en- 
dure that any Anglo-Catholic should 
secede to the Church of Rome, or, as 
Ita expresses it, become ** a real Ca- 
tholic." 1 1 is not that he holds that the 
Church of Rome docs not possess the 
character of the church of Christ, or 
that salvation is not attainable in her 
communion ; but for Anglo-Catho- 
lics to secede and join the Church 
of Rome would be a great scandal, 
would discredit the Catholic move- 
ment in the Church of England, and 
tend to prove, what Protestants al- 
lege, that the movement is a move- 
ment toward Rome» and that those 
who are affected by it have no real 
belief in the Catholicity of the Eng- 
lish national church. Although he 
looked forw^ird to the union of the 
Church of England with the Church 
of Rome as the result of the paovc- 
ment, yet he reganled it as very 



improper and wrong for individual 
Anglicans to seek that union for 
themselves. They would be soMieri 
deserting their post They would 
show a want of confidence in the An- 
glican position, of faith in the move- 
ment, and an inexcusable lack of pa- 
tience and firmness under trial; they 
should stay in the church of their 
baptism, and labor to catholicize it, 
and prejiare the w ay for a corporate 
union with Rome — a union to be ef- 
fected not by submission to Rome, 
but on equal terms, or terms of mu- 
tual compromise. If he so felt about 
persons in genera!, what must he 
then feel to have his own darling 
wife desert him for Rome ? She 
would thus show clearly her want of 
confidence not only in the movement, 
but even in him, her own dear hus- 
band, as a true Catholic priest, which, 
by the way, she never really believed 
him. 

The bare hint that Ita one day 
gave him that her convictions were 
tending Rome ward drove him almost 
beside himself ^nd threw him into a 
rage. He forbade her to think of do- 
ing anything of the sort, and told her 
that if she ever became a Roman 
Catholic she would lose his love, that 
he would leave her, and no longer 
recognize her as his wife. He toid 
her that such a step would be the 
ruin of all his hopes, of his life itsdt 
He was terribly excited, su "' " rt* 
ously in health, and for a ti tic 

actually bhnd, and could sec only by 
the eyes of his wife. She was ^ far 
affected by his excitement as to re- 
solve to delay her union with the 
church till their return to England; 
but at the same time resolves, let 
come what may, to be true to her 
conscience and to do wliat it was 
clear to her God required of her. 
They set out on their journey home- 
ward, stop by the way to coDsnlt 
a famous Gennan doctor^ whose pie- 



Mrs. Gerald'* s Niece, 



SS3 



tions have a wonderful effect on 
ir*s general health ^nA through 
on his eyes, and finally arrive 
lOndon, where he leaves her to 
• out her intention of becoming 
thoUc, if she persists in doing so, 
returns hiinself alone to Holm- 
l, and throws up his Uving, very 
1 to the wrath and grief of An- 
ivho sees in it the defeat of all 
:)lans and sacrifices for Edgar*s 
iness. 

IS. Gerald is more and more con- 
:d that Ita is her niece, and that 
1 ad been too hasty in concluding 
child she had brought up was 
nt Denvent's daughter. Proofs 
mulate in answer to her inquiries, 
oubt is no longer possible. Her 
;ss becomes agony » and she falls 
;erously ill. Annie is inconsola- 
md exceedingly angrjat Ita, not 
ecoming a Catholic, but for not 
Jig Edgar happy, the only rea- 
why she gave him up to her, 
abandoning his living defeats all 
plans, removes him from Holm- 
j, and leaves her no way of mak- 
:iim happy but by dying and 
ng him to take possession of 
nwood as heir'atlaw. Ita car- 
>ut her intention, and becomes a 
olic, which she had always wish* 
} be, informs her husband of the 
who tells her she may return to 
if she is willing to do so. Aunt 
Id grows worse and dies, with 
ast look of love fixed on her true 
r, much to Annie's wounded af- 
>n. Ita has satisfied herself, and 
her husband, when she lays the 
& before him, that she is Robert 
rentes daughter, but they, like 
simpletons, agree to keep the 

§ secret, out of regard to Annie. 
:ing out w^ho Ita is, they have 
up the mystery also of Annie's 
, and found that she is the 
hter of a poor Italian woman of 
tone, who was on board the 




steamer with her child when it went 
down with Robert Derwent and his 
young wife, and who is still living 
and longing for her lost child ; but 
they dare not tell Annie, for fear that 
she will be deeply mortified to find a 
mother in humble life, although re- 
ally refined and respectable. Annie is 
desolate. She will die by refusing to 
live. Holmwood will then be Ed- 
gars, as it would have been if he had 
married her, and he will be happy, 
her only object in life* 

When she is nearly dead, they ven- 
ture to tell her the truth, that Ita, not 
she, is the heiress of Holmwood, 
which secures it to Edgar, and that 
she has a modier living in Mentone. 
This revived her, and as soon as able 
to travel she demands to be taken to 
her mother, whom she longs to see 
and embrace. Edgar and Ita take 
her to Ita's villa in Mentone, and 
bring her mother to see her. who re- 
cognizes her by a mark on her shoul- 
der, and embraces her child after 
twenty- two or twenty- three years* se- 
paration. The mother, Mariana, is 
a ]>ioiis and devoted Catholic ; An- 
nie, or rather Lucia Adomo, her true 
name, listens as a HtUe child to the 
instructions of her poor but now hap- 
py mother, and soon returns to the 
church of her baptism. She is very 
happy ; all has come out just as she 
wished it. Holmwood, through his 
wife, is Edgar*s, and her cares for him 
are no longer needed. She is happy 
with her mother, offers up her life for 
Edgar's conversion, which is accept- 
ed. Hardly have Edgar and Ita 
reached Holmwood when a telegra- 
phic despatch from Mariana informs 
them that Lucia Adomo, their belov- 
ed Annie, is dead. 

Such is a brief outline of the story, 
and it is easy to see that it has capa- 
bilities of being moulded by the pecu* 
liar genius of Lady Georgian a into a 
very charming work of art. The cha- 



racters are marked and truthful, stantl 
out from the canvas with the distinct- 
ness and freshness of life. We much 
like dear Aunt Gerald, with her deep 
love for her niece, but the most lova- 
blc character to us is tlie generous, 
unselfish, and undemonstrative Annie, 
who is, in most respects, an exception 
to the heroines of feminine novels. 
She is. of course, very handsome, but 
not brillrant; has a good share of 
plain common sense, but no genius ; 
she is very amiable, svvcet*tempered, 
healthy, strong, self-poised, has a dis- 
Uke of being pitied or petted, is free 
from vanity, is no coquette, no diplo- 
mate, is straightforward and honest. 
She loves Edgar, has loved him from 
her childhood, and has never sought 
even the admiration of another. She 
has always noted Edgar's fondness 
for Holm wood, and the strongest pas- 
sion of her life has been to place him 
in possession of it ; when, therefore, 
he asks her, with the approval of Aunt 
Gerald, her only guardian, to be his 
wife, her wishes are fulfilled, and she 
is happy. But when she perceives 
Edgar, if free, would love Ita as he 
does not and never wiU love her, and 
that Ita is far better fitted dian she 
to make him happy, she at once, from 
her deep and unselfish love, gives 
him up to her rival, and exerts her- 
self in the speediest and most straight- 
forward way to bring about Edgar's 
and Ita's marriage, and to effect and 
provide for his happiness. Here, 
however, we think Lady Georgiana 
deviates not a little from the truth of 
nature, and ascribes to Annie a pure 
and disinterested love, of w^hich 
boarding-school misses may dream, 
but which is seldom or never found 
in real life. 

Ita is very beautiful, sprightly, 
charming, with firm principles and a 
delicate conscience, which she is able 
to obey, though it cost her her hus- 
band's love and all her earthly happi- 



ness. We should like Lady Georgi- 
ana's novels far better, however, if, in 
making converts, she dwelt less on the 
struggle certain natures, no doubt, 
experience in giving up the world for 
(iod, very unsatisfactory opinions for 
faith, or falsehood for truth- There 
is, very likely, in some cases a severe 
trial in leaving old associations and 
entering, as it were, into a new world; 
but, judging from our own cxperi* 
cnce, we do not believe the trial is so 
great or so severe as the conversions 
made in novels would lead one to 
think. In real life, there arc no con- 
versions to the Catholic faith without 
divine grace moving and assisting* 
and under the influence of that grace 
one is more deeply affected by what 
is to be gained than by what is to be 
lost. For ourselves, we know thai 
with us lliere was nothing of the son, 
and nothing could exceed the joy wc 
felt as the truth flashed more and 
more clearly on us, and wc saw tkit 
there was deliverance for us from the 
error and sin, the doubt and uncer- 
tainty, wc had suffered from fur more 
than forty years of a wearisome life. 
We were the wanderer returning 
home, the lost child returning to lay 
his head once more on his mother's 
bosom. Every step that brought us 
nearer to her was a new joy. And 
w hen we found ourselves in her cm- 
brace, our joy was unspeakable, Wc 
could not recall anything wc had loot, 
or count anything we might yet have 
to endure; we could only sing the 
Miigfiifi^at^ and we have done no- 
thing since but sing in our heart the 
Te Deum, 

Edgar, the Puseyite minisccr, sa 
devotedly loved by both Ita and An* 
nie^ is by no means an elevated cha- 
racter. He is narrow minded and 
cold-hearted, so wra|>pcd up in his 
own theories and so engrossetl with 
his own projects that he has no 
thought or consideration for anything 




else. He takes himself as the centre 
of the universe, and sees all things 
fixxm the i>oint of view of his own Ich, 
Lady Georgiana docs not quite un- 
derstand him. She meant him to be a 
pure and noble-minded man, with 
high and gcncrousaims, simiiiy blind- 
ed by his prejudices, and held back 
from the church by his devotion to 
his own views of Anglicanism, But 
she has made him exacting and sel- 
fish, hard-hearted and despotic — a 
true Anglican, who clainis to be a 
Catholic and priest without being 
even a Christian. Had he been a 
man of princifde, he would never 
have suffered himself to have loved 
Ita while he was engaged to Annie ; 
and if he had been a man of honor, 
he would never have accepted the 
sacrifice so generously offered by his 
betrothed. He could not have done 
it without ever after having despised 
himself. It is a great mistake in 
morals to assume that love is fatal, 
and that a rnan or a woman cannot 
control his or her affections^ or pre- 
vent them from straying where they 
are forbidden, Satan has never 
broached a more damnable heresy 
than this of our sentimentalists, that 
love is fatal and uncontrollable. 

The greater and the more impor- 
tant part of Larly Georgiana's novel 
is devoted to the question between 
Catholics and those who contend 
that the Church of England is Catho- 
lic, if she did but know and own it, 
and are trying to carr>^ out *' church 
principles " in its communion. The 
argument is conducted with spirit, 
courtesy, and ability, and the ques- 
tion is discussed under all its as- 
pects in a manner that leaves little to 
be desired. All is said that needs 
to be said, and well said. Lady 
Georgiana, having been an Anglican, 
and probably a Puseyite, very natu- 
rally attaches more importance to 
the question than we do. For us. 



the Anglican Church is no church at 
all, but simply a Protestant sect or a 
national cstablishraenL Anglicans 
are simply Protestants, and no more 
Catholics than Baptists, Presbyteri- 
ans, or Methodists. The Anglo-Ca- 
tholics, Puseyites, Ritualists, or what- 
ever other name they are known by, 
are the most thoroughly l*rotestant 
section of the Anglican body, for 
they insist on following their own 
private judgment against the authori- 
ties of their own sect. Among them 
our Lord, we firmly believe, has ma- 
ny sheep which he will gather into 
the true fold; but while the great body 
of them are protesting, on the one 
hand, against the Protestantism of 
their own sect, anij, on the other, 
against what they impiously call the 
*' corruptions of Rome," then rjaay 
be addressed in the words of our 
Lord : ** Woe to you, Scribes and 
Pharisees, liypoc rites, who build the 
sepulchres of the prophets, and gar- 
nish the tombs of the just, and say. 
If we had been in the days of oui 
fathers, we would not have been par- 
takers with them in the blood of the 
prophets. Wherefore ye are witnesses 
against yourselves, that ye are the 
children of them who slew the pro- 
phets " (St. Matt, xxiii. 29-31), What 
are ye better than your fathers, so 
long as ye do the deetis of your fa- 
thers, and adhere to the sect they 
founded ? 

Even if these people could bring 
the Church of England to accept in 
tlieory the whole teaching of the Ca- 
tholic Church, to adopt in their be- 
lief all church principles and to carry 
them out in their worship, they would 
be as really outside of the church of 
Christ as they are now. They who 
adhered to the Church of England 
would not be Catholics, because the 
Church of England is not organically 
united to the Catholic Church, has 
no communion with her> and is not 



the body or church of Christ at all. 
You may have faith so as to remove 
nioimtains, may have prophecy and 
know all mysteries, distribute all your 
goods to feed the poor, and even 
give your bodies to be burned (i 
Cor. xlii. 1-3), it profits you nothing 
without charity; and charity, St. Au- 
gustine, even common sense, tells you, 
cannot be kept out of unity. If 
there is a Catholic Churchy nothing 
is more certain ihan that ihe atlhe- 
rents of the Church of England do 
not belong to it ; and it has always 
seemed to us that English-speaking 
Catholics arc in the habit of touch- 
ing Anglicanism with a consideration 
and a tenderness it does not deserve. 
They thus administer to the pride of 
Anglicans, already nearly satanic, and 
encourage ihem to believe that they 
are someljody, not as this Congre- 
gationalist, Presbyterian, Baptist, Me- 
thodist^ S wed e n bo rgi an ^ Unitarian^ 
Dunkcr, or Muggletonian, but infi- 
nitely nearer and dearer to God, 
They may or may not be something 
more or better in relation to natural 
society, but not a whit more or bet- 
ter in relation to the kingdom of God on 
earth or the hfe to come. If we are in 
that kingtlom, diey are out of it. They 
are not one body with us— and that 
says everything it becomes us to 
say. 

Lady Georgiana has certainly man- 
aged the controversial part of her 
book adoiirably well^ and in its way 
Mrs. Gtrahrs Nin'e\sv^\ that could be 
reasonably desired. liut this style 
of novel, half theology and half ro- 
mance, is not to our minds the high* 
est one. We do not place art on the 
same level with religion, but we love 
art, and would encourage every spe- 
cies of it that does not tend to cor- 
rupt morals or manners, 'I'he artist, 
whether painter or sculptor, poet or 
novelist, should be imbued heart and 
soui with the trne faith and with true 



piety. He should live and move in 
a Catholic atmosphere, inspire and 
expire it as the very breath of his 
soul, and then create, so to s}:>eak, 
s]>ontaneously out of his full mind 
and heart. His productions will 
then leach no particular doctrine, 
inculcate no special moral, but they 
will breathe a Catholic spirit, and 
tone the reader to faith and [)icty. 
We do not object to a novel simply 
because it contains a love story — for 
love holds and will always hold m 
important place in most peop!e*s lives 
— if it be a story of true love, and 
told in a true and eaniest Catholic 
spirit. Let the mind, heart, and 
soul be Catholic, and what they speak 
out of their abundance will always 
accord with Catholic faith and mo- 
rals, and will be unobjectionable on 
the score of either. 

Grace does not suppress nature, 
and nature has alwa\^ a great part to 
play; but the trouble with many rf 
our Catholic popular writers is that 
they are not thoroughly Catholics in 
their minds, and nature and grace 
move separately in their works, in 
alternate chapters, so to s|>eak, as 
the beautiful and the grotesiiue in 
Victor Hugo's romances, and some* 
times in opposite directions. They 
love as the world loves from na- 
ture alone ; and when they pray 
or adore they leave nature behind, 
and art from grace alone. *Ilic>* do 
not make grace supplement nature, 
blend it and nature, and obtain real 
unity of life and action. When na- 
tural, they lack grace, and when ihcy 
act from grace they lack nature; 
while grace should elevate nature to 
her own plane, and sanctify love and 
romance, without their losing any- 
thing of their own proj>er natxire or 
charms. When such is the rase with 
our Catholic novel-writers, Christsan 
faith and virtue, truth and sanctity, 
will inform their works, as the invia* 



ble soul informs the body. Then 
they wiJl be able to wTite novels or 
romances as full of charm or interest, 
even more attractive than the popu- 
lar novels and romances of the day, 
and sure, in the long run, to prove an 



antidote to then* poison. Lady Geor- 
giana, though she does not perfecUy 
realize this ideal of a Catholic novel- 
writer, yet comes nearer to it than 
any other with whose works we are 
acquainted. 



EPIPHANY. 

'* Skr haw from far, upon the Eastern roatl, 
The $t3ir4ed wlxanljs baste with odors sweeL'* 



Epit>HANY, or *' Little Christmas/* 
as it is sometimes called, is to us 
" Gentiles *' in one sense a greater re- 
ligious feast than the Day itself; for a^ 
on Christmas the Saviour long prom- 
ised to the Jews was born to tJiem, 
^^d was unrecognized by them, not* 
withstanding the fulfilment of the 
prophecies so exactly under their very 
eyes; so on this day the three Gen- 
tile kings, in obedience to the myste- 
rious leading of the star, though pro- 
fessing no belief in the God of the 
Jews, knelt before the crib, and offer- 
ed to the infant '* wrapped in swad- 
dling-clothes '* tributes, acknowledg- 
ing his divinity, humanity, and sove* 
reignty. 

It was long ago the custom for 
kings, queens, and other royal per- 
sonages to offer at the altar gold, 
frankincense, and myrrh, in commem- 
oration of these three kings ; a cus- 
tom which is still continued in some 
Catholic countries. 

At the time of our Savioiur's birth, 
there was an expectancy of his ap- 
pearatvce among many of the hea- 
then nations. I'he initiated in the 
religious mysteries of the Persians, it 
is saifl, were acquainted witli a secret 
handed down from the lime of Zo- 
roaster, that a divine prophet would 
be born of a virgin whose birtli would 
be proclaimed by the appearance of 



a bright star. The celebrated piO- 
phecy of Balaam also made an im- 
pression on the surrounding nations: 
** There shall come a star out of Ja- 
cob, and a sceptre shall rise out of 
Israel, and shall smite the corners of 
Moabt and destroy all the children of 
Seth.^' 

There are many histories of these 
three Magi (in Persian, signifying 
wise men) all agreeing that there 
were three, but differing as to the 
names. 

Melchior, Jasper, and Balthasar 
are the names given by Bede, and 
are certainly preferable to Galaga- 
lath, Magalaih, and Tharath. Vene- 
rable Bede describes Melchior as old, 
with gray hair and beard, offering 
gold to our Saviour as king ; Jasper 
was young, without any beard, and 
offered frankincense in recognition of 
the divinit}^; and Balthasar was of a 
dark complexion, a Moor, with large 
flowing beard, and he offered our 
Saviour myrrh as man, 

Sandys, the traveller, translates 
from the Fcsia Angla-Romana : 

** Three kings the King of kings three gifts did 
bring, 
Myrrh, Incense, gold, fts Man, God, a King. 
Three holy gitls be lilcewlsc given by thee 
To Christ, even such o&acceptttble be : 
Formyrrha, tears; for frankinccniie, impart 
Submts&ivc prayers; (or pure gold, a pure 
heart," 

The journey from the ** far east ** 



5S8 



lasted twelve days (so the oUl chroni- 
cle says), during which the kings re- 
quired no refreshment, it seeming to 
them one day. 

Afier tliey had presented their 
gifts, the Blessed Virgin gave them 
one of the infant's swaddling-gar- 
ments, which tbey treasured carefully. 

In after-years, tlicy were baptized 
by St. Thomas. In the fourth cen- 
tury, the Empress Helena had their 
bodies carried lo Constantinople; 
thence they were removed to Milai\; 
and when the city was taken by the 
Emperor Frederick, in 1164^ he gave 
these relics to Reinaldus, Archbishop 
of Cologne, Hence they are com- 
monly called the thTec kings of Co- 
logne. 

Picart tells us the feast of the Epi- 
phany was established in the fourth 
century, though Brady says it was 
first celebrated as a separate feast 
in the year 815. It soon became 
very popular, and some of the most 
splendid entertainments were given 
on that day. 

The choosing of the Twclfthdiy 
king is a very early ceremony, and 
pertains to Germany, France, and 
England. The cake and the bean 
arc inseparable from this feast. lier- 
rick thus speaks of it : 

** Kaw, now, the mirth comca, 

With llic cake full of plums 
Where hesiGc** the Itinjf of the sport here ; 

Beside we must know 

The jtea al$o 
Muftt revel tt quoene iQ the court here, 

r ** Itegin. ihen, to cbusc, 
\ This nijrhl m& ye titc, 
1\'ho sh>U lor the prcicnt dcUj^ht Here ; 
Mc m k\n^ hy l^hc lol^ 
And who kHaU not. 
He Twellth-^B)' queen for the night here." 

The adoration of the Magi was a 
favorite subject in the early mysler)' 
plays. Marguerite de ValoLs, Queen 
of France, vncotc one on it, as also on 
ihe nativity, the massacre of the in* 
nocents, and the flight into Fgypt, 
There are said to have been repre* 




Epiphany, 



sentations of the Magi in French 
churches in the fifth century, iuid 
there are French mysteries relating I 
to them in the eleventh. ^^H 

The first feast of the three ltin|| 
was celebrated at Milan in 1336, by 
the friar preachers, and was called 
the Feast of the Star; this festival 
was continued in Germany up to the 
end of the last century, and I (nffmaji 
gives the song of the star, which was 
the carol sung upon this occasion : 



*' We came watkin; with our&tmre« 
Wrcmthcd with Uurcl ; 
We &cek the Lord Jesu», nod would wiih 
To put Uure) on his kDcev'^ 

The above refrain was repealed 
the end of each line: 



i Kc»n, 

In urietit lands he has • throne ; 
We all came over the lofty hill, 
And there we taw the vlar »tjitul itiU. 



li 



la go 



« 



: -Idwn. 
Uuw isui^JiJ iiut^«.lii4il««a4 hvw f reat tbf pDOii, 
A blessed new yejir Uiat gtves u> G<Ht.*' 

One of the legends is that Mel- 
chior offered a golden apfdc, xaid to 
have belonged to Alexander the Great, 
made from the tribute of the world, 
and also thirty pieces uf gold, 

'J'he history of these thirty pieces 
of gold is curious, showing how die 
legends are connecteil. 

J hey were first coined by l*crah» 
the fatlier of Abraham* and taken by 
the latter when he left the Und of the 
Chaidees. Uy him they were paid 
jiway to Kphron as a part of the pur- 
chase-money f^ir the neld and t-wt 
of Machpelah, 

The Israelites then paid thcjn l>a«-n, j 
as the price of Joseph, to hiii bre- 
thren; and as that price was btat 
twenty pieces, the other ten were, 
we will suppose, given for something 
else. 

llic money came back to Joneph 



1 



from his brethren in the time of the 
scarcity, and on the death of Jacob 
his son paid them into the royal 
treasury of Sheba for spices to em- 
balm him. When the Queen of She- 
ba paid a visit to Solomon, the thirty 
pieces of gold were included in her 
other gifts. 

When the king of Egypt spoiled 
the temple in the time of Solomon's 
son Roboam, the king of Ambia^ 
who accompanied him, received these 
pieces of money as his share of the 
plunder, and they remained in his 
kingdom till Melchior presented them 
to the infant Saviour, 

In the hurry of the flight into 
Eg)"pt, the Blessed Virgin drop- 
ped these pieces of money and the 
other gifts, and they were found by 
a shepherd^ who in after -years, being 
afflicted with an incurable disease^ 
applied to our Saviour, who cured 
him, and he then offered these pieces 
at the altar. 

They were afterward paid to Ju- 
das by the priests as his reward, and 
there are two reasons given for his 
requiring thirty pieces of money. O ne, 
that he would have stolen one-tenth 
of the price of the precious ointment 
which Mary Magdalene poured on 
the feet of Jesus, and which was 
worth about three hundred pence; 
the other, that, having been sent by 
our Saviour to provide for the Last 
Supper witli this amount of money, 
he fell asleep by the way, and was 
robbed. In the midst of his distress, 
the rich Jew, Pilate, met him, and he 
then agreed to betray his Master for 



the sum he had lost. When, smitten 
by remorse, he returned the money 
to the priests and hung himself, they 
used one-half in purchasing the pot- 
ter's field, and with tlie other half 
bribed the soldiers who guarded the 
sepulchre to say the Saviour's body 
had been stolen by the disciples. 

After this all trace of them is lost. 
They were of pure gold, the thirty 
** pieces of silver " in the Bible being 
only a generic name for money, hke 
argent in French: on one side was 
the king's head crowned, and on the 
other some unintelligible Chaldaic 
characters, and they were said to be 
worth three florins each. 

The adoration of the Magi has 
been a favorite subject not only for 
poets, but for painters, from the ear- 
liest ages. It is found in bas-reliefs 
in the catacombs as early as the third 
and fourth centuries, and succeeding 
painters have chosen it in all ages. 
In these pictTires the attitude of the 
child varies. In the finest, he is rais* 
inghis little hand in benediction. This 
has been objected to because of his 
infancy. But the Divinity was al- 
ways there; he was from his birth 
the Christ. In others, the Blessed 
Virgin is lifting a veil and showing 
htm to the wise men, and this is 
beautifully en^blematic of the epi- 
phany, or manifestation of a divine 
humanity to sinful man. Other pic- 
tures have the shepherds on one side 
and the kings on the other, intending 
to express the manifestation to both 
Jews and Gentiles. 




When in the fulness of time the 
boundaries of our republic shall be- 
come coextensive with those of the 
North American continent, a consum- 
mation which, in the opinion of ma- 
ny, is not far distant from real ligation, 
the future historian of ihe liven exist- 
ing United States will be obliged to 
devote the initial chapter of his work 
to a consideration of the ancient 
chronicles of the countries which now 
lie between our southern border and 
ihc Isthmus of Panama, He will 
have to go far behind the landing of 
the Pilgrims, the Jesuit missions, the 
conquest of Mexico, and even the 
discovery of the New World by Co- 
Jumbus : all events in American his- 
tory which are only ancient by com- 
parison. Even the Northern sa^js and 
the traditions of anterior European voy- 
ages to the Western continent, so gene- 
ral among the people of the occidental 
coast of Europe in the Middle Ages, 
from Ireland to Scandinavia, sink into 
insignificance before die well-authen- 
ticated and carefully prcserv^cd re- 
cords of the people wJio formeriy rul- 
ed over the territory which is now 
known as Mexico and Central Ame- 
rica. 

It may be said, to our shame, that 
we of this countr>' know less of and 
e less to know the ancient history 
our next neighbors, who in all 
probability are ere long to become 
our fellow-citizens, than we do of 
that of the Greeks, Romans, and 
other ancient races of the Old World, 
widi whom we have very little affini- 
ty, and with whose descendants we 
are never likely to be brought into 
very close relationship. Much of 
this partiality, no doubt, is due to 
our earlier college studies; but for 



practical value, as well as Mr mc 
sight afforded us of coniemplattng 
humanity in its least artificial forms, 
struggling in vain after true civiliza- 
tion, unenlightened and uncontrolled 
by divine faith, the history of the 
Axtecs is as fruitful of striking exam- 
ples as is that of the Copts or Hel- 
lenes. Much of this indifference to 
so attractive a study is also owing 
to the fact that it is not an uncom- 
mon belief among us that the Aztec 
nations had no proper method of 
computing time, that they had trans* 
niitted no records of their nrjgrations, 
settlements, laws, and systems of go- 
vernment, or, if they had, it was 
done in so rude and imperfect a 
manner that their claims to a high 
antiquity and an elaborate civil poli- 
ty are mere fables, imwortby of seri- 
ous consideralion. 

Nothing can be more erroneous 
than this supposition* Wc kooir 
from contemporary writers, and bom 
those wlio wrote of the aifairs of the 
country soon after, that the Mexicans 
at the time of the Spanish cunqucit 
had a most exact and correct manoer 
of recording time, more complex* it 
is true, than our system, but agreeing 
with it in the most minute particulars, 
even to the allowance for the annual 
excess of some hours and mmutes 
over the three hundred and stxly-fivc 
da>^ of the sobr year, winch go to 
make our bissextile or leap-year. As 
late as 1790, while repairing the prin- 
cipal square of ihc city of MexicOi 
upon which the great tcfnple fonner- 
ly stood, two huge stones were dog 
up by the workmen, upon which wss 
engraved the Indian a- 

lendar, showing the 1- . ed 

by the Aztecs for the divuioQ of 



The Sources of American History, 



time, and the regulation by certain 
engraved signs of the civil and the 
solar ycar» and upon which a trea- 
tise was written two years afterward 
by Don Antonio de Leon y Gama, 
a learned Mexican astronomer * The 
Toltec and Aztec nations divided their 
time into days, weeks, months, years, 
epochs, cycles, and ages or centuries* 
Their day, like ours, consisted of 
twenty-four hours, but, like that of 
niost Asiatic people, it commenced 
at the rising of the sun, which was 
originally their sole material object 
of worship, and was not divided into 
hours, but into eight irregular parts 
with four rests, nearly corresponding 
to our astronomical numbers j, 9, 15, 
and 21, Their week was made up 
of five days, one of which was al- 
ways set apart for their public fairs, 
and four weeks made a civil month 
of twenty days. Eighteen months 
composed a year of three hundred 
and sixty, to whicli were added, af- 
ter the last month, five days called 
mefmmtemif or useless, because on 
these days the inhabitants did noth- 
ing but receive and return visils.t 
The epoch consisted of thirteen years, 
and the cycle of four epochs, with 
thirteen days added to correct the 
annual excess of the hours and mi- 
nutes, thus bringing the cycle in com- 
plete conformity with fifty-two year's, 
as marked on the Cresarlan calendar. 
In fact, so complete was their agree- 
ment, and so accurate was the as- 
tronomical knowledge possessed by 
these segregated people, that Clavi- 
gcro, Gama, Huml3oldt, and the later 
chronologists found no difficulty in es- 
tablishing the correspondence of the 
Mexican with the Gregorian method 
of computation, and thus, by the aid 
of llie Aztec tables, easily fixed the 



* iVitfrr/fftf]* HitiffricA y Cron^U^k^ etc. 
Mexico, i«?i. 

i Hi$t*ry e/ Mexico, By the Abb^ D. I'ran- 
ciico Sftverio CUvigcro, 



VOL. XIK— 36 



dates of the most important incidents 
in the history of Anahuac according 
to our calendar. 

But apart from the permanent re- 
cords or annals which were kept 
widi great care in the temples, every 
day, month, year, epoch, and cycle 
had its peculiar mark or sign, and 
its special religious or civic obser- 
vance, which, with a race so supersti- 
tious and so methodical as the Mexi- 
cans, must have impressed them 
tirmly in the traditional memory of 
the people beyond the probability 
of a mistake. The termination of a 
cycle, for example, was a period of 
great importance throughout Mexico, 
as the people were led to believe 
that the world would end with it, 
and, like some fanatics of our own 
day, they prepared to destroy their 
clothing, furniture, and household 
utensils. On the last day, we are 
told, they were accustomed to hght 
fires, and when assured by their burn- 
ing that their fears were untbunded, 
and the earth had yet another cycle 
to exist, they devoted the thirteen 
intercalary days to refitting their 
houses and renewing their gannents, 
prei)aratory to tlic festivals that were 
to usher in the new cycle. 

The Mexicans had no alphabet, 
nor any knowledge of numerals cor- 
responding to our Arabic system. 
Their records were therefore neces- 
sarily a species of picture-writing, and 
their numbers a succession of dots or 
s ni all ci re 1 es . Th e i r ign oran ce o f le t * 
ters, and the combination of syllables 
into words, whicli at first glance 
might seem a fatal objccdon to their 
ability to record past events, present- 
ed in reaHty no greater diiifi cullies 
than did the hicroglyphsof llie Hgyp- 
tians, which, since the days of Cham- 
poliion, are as legible to the antiqua* 
rian of our times as are the writings 
of authors of the blackdctter period 
of our literature to ordinary readers. 



56: 



The Sources of American ffi story. 




Wiih the Aztecs, the idea found ex- 
ssion in the portraiture of some fa- 

iliar object, and a compound word 
15T a sentence by two or more objects 
conjoined, sometliing in the manner 
of our juvenile rebuses. Thus the 
month was represented by a circle di- 
vided into twenty equal parts, corre* 
sponding with the number of days, 
each part adorned by the figure of an 
animal, flower, or other object emble- 
matic of the special religious ceremony 
to be observed, or the particular busi- 
ness usually transacted on that diy. 
*rhe year also was configured on a 

cle, the interior of which contained 

profile of a human face, representing 
tlie moon in retlected solar light, ihe 
periplicry being divided into six equal 
pai'ts, each subdivision having three 
objects representing the seasons or 
the character of the public worship 
to be observed at such times, and 
corresponding, to a certain degree, 
with our zodiacal signs. So likewise 
with the cycle, which was a circle, 
with the sun in the centre, divided 
into fifty-two parts \ but here only four 
absolute signs were used, with the ad- 
dition of cardinal numbers or dots 
from one to thirteen, the end of the 
first epoch, when the second sign in 
order was taken up, and the third and 
fourth In rotation, the numbers still re- 
conimencing vnxh. each epoch. Thus 
the first day of the month was repre- 
sented by a sea- animal {irpactii)^ the 
Jirst month by a picture of water 
spread on a house (ai-a/tua/i^), and 
the first year of a cycle by a rabbit 
(AW////), with the addition cc or one 
dot, consequently the beginning of a 
new cycle, or February 26, would 
be indicated by the hieroglyphs ani- 
mal, water, and rabbit, with one dot; 
and the second day of the second 
month of the second year by the fig- 
ures of wind, or a human head expirat- 
Hng (e/iaaf/), a pavilion [hicaxipe- 
hualitzH), and a cane or reed (acaf/)^ 



with ome or two dots. The signs far 
days, months, and years varied ainofig 
different nations, but the order of di- 
vision and computation was alirtyi 
the same.* 

In this manner, the people of Mciti* 
CO and Central Anjerica were enAbled 
to keep an accurate record of ibc 
passage of time, and to hand down 
to their posterity the exact year and 
date of the occurrence of any interest- 
ing event in their history, with what 
we must concede was marvellous ac- 
curacy when we consider liow com- 
pletely they were shut in from all 
knowledge of the astronomical obser- 
vations and discoveries of the old 
continent — discoveries which recjuired 
so many centuries of labor, and so 
much close and patient observaiian 
by men of \'arious nations, to develop 
and reduce to a perfect system, 
I'hose records of the flight of time 
were generally engraven on stone, as 
being more permanent in its nature 
for the preserv ation of such impofiani 
data, though the Mexicans and their 
neighbors were also accustomed to 
brand on wood, paint on cloth made 
of tlie thread of the i > "^ir 

the p;Um-leaf, on du nd 

on a kind of paper made uf the ma- 

» U, de llutnboMt has coinp«r««lfttMaieSeqgfl 
ihe Asiatic and Acnc-Tlcan ^yMrats fur conptttit^ 
time, iiJid he arr ' ' conclusion that h b 
vinguliirly prol- . £odi*»of Uie TtA- 

tcc5, the Arior . au*\ itic Tlubrtstx^ 

nnd many 9«t 

CJttCOt ot ' ct 

Ihc Asiatic L .„....: _ *cA 

by Gftaia,u|>oti wlucii the > <■■ 

displayed in Anjrr/tr/^ wn nd 

s^ua " ' ' ■ *\ Intlies thick, t>ut trie rjrrj* i«f» 
TQ\t I J Ipture it snmewlut !«•• Ibsfl tM 

feet!' I It Is, acciuMinKto lluaibQl4t«t 



blttckii2]-;;rAy tt 






with b«s«s of 


bamUic %i>ackf, 






thAn trntnly- 


four ttma. The t 


: J . . 




V iitH>Ualic4, 


and the concentnc n 




torn 4n4 


subclirlilon^iiire 


tract 






sbii. It K 






; ^r4- 


ods of a {.' 






^o4 


ser%"cd ti 






iv«ir 


proper cclcbtj: 




■-: <0 


UllkC uf iJkC ^^M 


durinfT iHc two 




'< s\sif 4ar« of ih^H 


rar year, the n 




^.vvetn 


the vefml «iP 



autumnal efjuinoifs* «Cc.~ClBVic«fO« ffds. Mms^ 

abridged. 




gucy or other species of aloe. They 
had» besides, colleges and public 
schools, in which the older men were 
employed to recite for the benefit of 
their pupils the speeches of deceased 
orators, and to recount such of the 
deeds of their warriors as had not 
been perpetuated by the annalists, 
taking great care that the younger 
students should learn them by heart.* 
That the Mexicans and other Az- 
tec nations availed themselves of 
those advantages to preserve the his- 
tory of their race intact, there can be 
little doubt. Las Casas, the benign 
and illustrious bishop » worthily called 
the Apostle to the West Indians, who 
had travelled not only among the 
islands of the Antilles, but had visited 
New Spain and other parts of the 
mainland, in speaking of the preser- 
vation of historical records among 
those p^eoplc, says : " Among the [iro- 
fessors were those who were particu- 
larly charged with the care and cus- 
tody of chronicles and histories. They 
had a knowledge of all things touch- 
ing religion, of gods and their wor- 
ship, as also the founders of towns 
and villages. They knew who had 
commenced to govern, kings as well 
as nobles, their domains, their modes 
of election and succession, the num- 
ber and merits of the princes who 
had departed this life, their labors, 
acts, and memorable deeds, good 
and bad, whether they had govern- 
ed well or ill, who were virtuous 
and who were heroes, what wars they 
had had to sustain and how they 
^urere signalized, what had been their 
ancient customs and their first settle- 
ments, the changes, fortunate or dis- 
astrous, to which they had to submit — 
in fact, aU that appertains to history, 
in order that there should be proof 
and proper recollection of pasfet 

* Tor()iiei»»(laH Mamtrqmm Ind. Hb. u. c. 8 ; 
^«'.->i^rf UistariA Natmraly Mfirai di iax ftsdimt 
Oiti, lib. tI e, J, 



events." The good bishop, while 
averring that not only had he exam- 
ined some of these records person- 
ally, but that his clergy had also seen 
them, expresses his regret that a 
mistaken zeal on the part of some 
of the missionaries had led, in his 
own day, to the destruction of some 
of them. Torquemada, who wrote 
between the years 1592 and 1614, 
and who w^as thoroughly acquainted 
with the Mexican language and liter- 
ature, gives an interesting description 
of the ingenious manner in which 
the early converts to Christianity 
contrived to fix in their memory and 
represent to others the prayers taught 
by the missionaries* '' Others," he 
says, ** render the Latin by words of 
their own language of somewhat 
similar pronunciation, but represent 
them not by letters but by figures 
denoting familiar objects, because 
they have no letters but paintings, 
and it is by these characters they 
understand it. For example, the 
w^ord nearest the sound of /?7/<r/- is 
paniUs a sort of flag serving to repre- 
sent the number 20, and thus they 
place this guidon or little flag for 
Pater, In the place of fiosta% a word 
that to them resembles mk/tfii, they 
jminted the figure of an Indian or 
Luna, of which the name, nochtUy re* 
calletl the Latin word noster^ and 
they continued so \(S the end of the 
jirayer* It was by this process and 
by like characters that they noted 
what they wanted to learn by heart, 
and this continued till their thorough 
conversion." • 

It is to be regretted that so many 
of the original records of the ancient 
settlements of those countries are 
for ever lost to us, but even still there 
are hundreds of ruins in Mexico, Yu- 
catan, Tobasco, and other states that 
not only attest the skilfulness of the 

• Mwrn^rfuim tnd, lib. xiir. c. )fi. 



' 



aboriginal artists in sculpture and 
mosak work, but inscriptions on obe- 
lisks, tombs, pyramids, and temples 
which, if we could decipher them, 
would furnish us with the muniments 
at least of their claims to antiquity. 
In addition to those nmtc evidences 
of i>ast greatness, wc have yet remain- 
ing a large number of manuscripts 
scattered in various parts of the 
globe, some in the original nahitatl^ 
or Mexican language, some partly in 
hieroglyphs and i)artly in the prose of 
that tongue in Roman characters, and 
others translated into Spanish by the 
missionaries. And here it may be 
well to remark, that whatever blame 
may, from an antiquarian point of 
view, be attached to some ectlesias- 
tics for the destruction of many mon- 
uments and records of the Axtec na- 
tions which were considered to have 
a bad effect on the faith or morals 
of the neophytes, it is to the mission- 
aries, and to them almost without ex- 
ception, that we are indebted for all 
our knowledge or attainable sources 
of information we still possess of 
that singular people. The Francis- 
cans and Dominicans, fired by an ar- 
dent zcnl for our holy religion and 
an irrepressible desire to i k' it, 

quickly mastered the un cal 

and unwritten dialects of the indians, 
first frocn a love of their Creatort and 
next for the benefit of science and 
the cause of literature. While the 
soldier of fortune or the bankrupt 
hidalgo contented himself with sub- 
duing his enemy and appnipriaiing 
his treasure, the soldier of the cross 
w*as among the ignorant and afflicted, 
speaking to them in their own ver- 
nacular and leading thera in the 
ways of salvation. ConsequcnUy, 
nearly every printed book on the an- 
cient history of Mexico and Central 
America bears unmistakable marks 
on its title-page of having been writ- 
ten or translated by an ecclesiastic, 



and nearly all the unpubh t** 

ments existing on the siiii.^ ,..j-ct 
have been rescued from dea^tnittion, 
and in most cases annotated or uans* 
lated, by those devoted men. 

A list of some of tiiese inv;tluable 
manuscripts, whiLh we regret to say 
are at present beyond the reach of 
the ordinary student, is given by 
the Abbe lir.isseur de liourbourg* tn 
the introduction to his history, ciX 
which diey partly form the basis.^ 
Those in the Koyal Library of Spain 
are : 

Cotfc:^ LekUUr^ being a Mexican 
MS. in folio, with figures and expta- 
nations in Spanish, descriprivc of the 
periodical feasts of the people of 
Mexico, as prescribed by their ritual, 
with the gene.ilogy < f 

that country, from th< >f 

the monarchy to the conquest^ and 
a later continuation to tlie end ^^f ♦^'^ 
sixteenth century. 

MS. of San yuan Htuxotufh^ ,n 
folio of about three hundred pages, 
containing a list of the noble:* and 
principal inhabitants of Ute towns 
and villages of the repubhcof Uucx- 
otzinco, near I'laxcallan, 1 1 is writ- 
ten on European paper, and is very 
valuable un account of the multitude 
of figurative Mexican n-nnie? wTitten 
over the heads of nur \*jk 

of historical character 1 y\\ 

the roll. It is also accompanied by 
letters and documents in Spanish* re- 
lating to the local divisions of the it- 
public, and at its head is placed a 
tree, with the name of the author 
thereon, support v'^ a 

tiger, mcanmg ^.vi i- 

bol of the people. 

Las Casus' HistariB ApaStfg^.%»^ .u 
five volumes. 

MS, of the irnhfia AmisqmA^ bf 
the Rev, Brother Diego Dimni, a 

ft dt tA m^iqttf Cfmtrtd*^ *U^ |i*r M. l*A^b# 
Orosscur de Bourbauris^. « vols. Kktisiw ttsi^ 



The Sources of American History, 



Dominican, written in three volumes, 
A.D. is^^, 

Rekicioncs^ etc., of Michuacan, an 
anonyhious MS., which bears evidence 
of having been written by one of the 
early missionary fathers. 

In the national archives of Mexi- 
co are still preserved some of the 
primitive records of that people, but 
so carelessly that Humboldt, who vis- 
ited them many years ago, says that 
not an eighth of those catalogued by 
Boturini less than half a century pre- 
viously were to be found, the most 
important remaining being the Re- 
iadon iff Ixtiilochitl, The most val- 
uable, however, are in France, whither 
they were taken by M. Aubin for the 
purpose of examination and transla- 
tion.* These are : 

Historia Toiteca^ annals painted and 
written in the vernacular, covering 
fifty sheets, and ornamented with fig- 
ures representing the important deeds, 
expeditions, and battles, and the lead- 
ing actors therein, with symbols indi- 
eating the days and years upon which 
the events happened. 

Ahmorial de Culhuacan^ containing 
different original histories of the king- 
doms of Culhuacan, Mexico, and 
other provinces, from the earliest ages 
of barbarism down to 1591, in the 
nahnat!^ by Domingo Chimalplain. 
*' They are written year by year," 
says Aubin, **from the year 4 of the 
Christian era, but do not in reality 
commence till a,d. 49, the time of 
the arrival by sea of the Chichimecs f 



•M. Atibtn. a French JtfT'rt«^ k'ft Paris for Mexi- 
co in %ty>^ under the iimplccs of Arago And Thc- 
fiArd. fur the purpose of mukini; obscrvationi oti 
tlie phvffcul and ftstronomical features of th&t 
country, l>ut havin;? unfortunately Lost hts in'itru- 
menis, Klmrtty ufter his arrival, he occupied his 
time fn studying the ancient lan^uii^e?; and ixiq- 
fnjmeats, iu the course o( which he discovt^red a 
number of unedited dot u meats and other records, 
•• whidh/' he *«yK, "" entirely chsnfrc^d his Ideas 
of the bi&tory and n^eof^raphy of Mexico/* 

tThc word Chichimcque, so frequently u*e4 
Mexican history, roust not be nnderstoo^l as 

dic-itiafT anv particular nation or trihe. In Its 
;iflAl •igDiticaiiuii It meant foreii^ncr, stranji^cr^ 



at Aztkn, with a considerable hiatus 
about the year 669." There is also an 
essay on Mexico in the same language 
by this author, embracing the history 
of the i)eriod between the years 1064 
and 1521, which by Gama and others 
is attributed to Tezozomoc, but Au- 
bin is of opinion that it is made up 
of fragments only of that writer and 
of Alonzo Franco, and annotated by 
Chimalplain, whose name is attached 
to it. 

Historical Annals of Mexico, an 
original MS. dated 1520, commenc- 
ing from the eariiest times down to 
the conquest, the probable period, 
says BoLurini, of the author's death. 
It is written on Indian paper in the 
Mexican lan^mage, and is ornament- 
ed with cordeUttes of ichtli. It is sup- 
posed by Gama to have been com- 
posed by one of the Mexican soldiers 
who was engaged in the siege of the 
city. " This," says Aubin, ** is also 
the opinion of an anonymous anno- 
tator, and it is difficult to form any 
other opinion from the peculiarities 
noticed in its composition. From 
a very old copy with interesting ad- 
ditions and narratives, we judge that 
the original was written in 152S, and 
consequently only seven years after 
the capture of the city of Mexico." 

History of the Kings and sovereign 
states of Alcolhuacan, with a map on 
prepared skin, representing the ge- 
nealogy of the Chichimeque rulers, 
from Tlotzin to the last king, Fer- 
nando Cortez Ixtlilxochitzin. It con- 
tains many lines in nahuatL 

Histi>ry of Mexico^ partly in figures 
and characters and partly in nahuat!^ 
written by an anonymons author in 
1576^ and continued in the same 
manner by others down to 1 608. 
Besides these, we have the private 



or last^comer, but it waa afVrrward applied «9 % 
term ordisLlnction, or as imply in^a superior race* 
as the AppelUtion Norman w«<> formerly u»c«l 
iu Eugtaud and Magyar is still in Hungary. 



566 



The Sources of Afnetican Hki&ry, 



coUectton of the Abb^ de Bourbourg, 
which contains many original docu- 
pients ami coi)ies of htstorica] rccort^s, 
written both before and after ihc con- 
quest, and which throw niuih Hght 
on the earlier periods of the history 
of Mexico and Central America, par- 
ticularly the latter. One of these is 
ft copy of a work in ihc nahuatl lan- 
guage, entitled IHsiona de ios Rfy- 
twsdf Cu/huamn, found by the abbe in 
the college Mbrar)' of San Oregon o, 
Mexico, and cadcd by him Codfx lie 
Chimalpopixa. It was compiled be- 
tween 1563 and 1579, and gives a 
history of Culbuacan frora the earliest 
[jcriod to, at least, a.e>. 751^ for after 
that date the translations of Gama 
and Picardo are uupcrfecland unrelia- 
ble. Another is a copy of the first 
volume of a Hhhria del Cieh y de la 
Tterra^ etc., by Don Ramon de Ordon- 
ez y Aquiar, with other historical frag- 
ments by the same author* the origi- 
n.nl of which was formerly in the Na- 
tional Museum, Mexico, But the 
most important of this collection is 
the Quichd ms. De Cltuhkastenaftga, 
containing the history and origin of 
tic Indians of the province of Guate- 
mala, translated from the original 
Quiche into Spanish, for the accommo- 
dation and instruction of the clergy, 
** tul snnAy er^M^/iW* It appears to 
have been com|x>sed partly as a me- 
moir after the ancient original, and 
partly copied from the sacred books 
of the Quich<5s, to which they had 
given the title of Popo-wuh, or Book 
of Princes. 1 1 consists of four distin ct 
parts, the first having for its subject 
the history of the creation, the appear- 
ance on the shores of the ^fexican 
Gulf of the iirsi civiliiers or Liwgiv- 
ers^ and an account of a pre\iotts ge- 
neral inundation, ftsubifig in the de- 
struction of nearfy the cotine human 
race, in which, though distortcil by 
grotesque fables^ we can easily trace 
the recoOcctioaoftbedduge of Mo- 



saic history, so generally found in the 
traditions of the remotest and most 
barbarous races. The second part 
contains the historical epic romance of 
Hunahpu and Exbalanc, preceded 
by the relation of the pri<le and chas- 
tisement of VVucub Caquix ; the third 
describes the original immigratiOD. 
and dispersion of the newly arrived 
tribes in America ; and the fourth ts 
an abridgment of the history of the 
kings of Quiche, w^ith a chronologjf 
of the members of the three royal 
dynasties, an explanation of the va- 
rious tides of the nobility^ and their 
duties at court* This ms,, the most 
precious of those relating to Central 
America of which wc have any kru>w- 
ledge, is said to be written with great 
elegance in the vernacular by a mem- 
ber of the royal family, and bear% 
evidence of having been compiled a 
few years after the arrival of the 
Spaniards. It was first discovered 
alxjut the beginning of the- tih 

centur)' at Santo Tomas < ;e 

nango, a town where at thai time 
were to be found in great nuoibeci 
the descendants of the ancient Qokiie 
aristocracy, Pacire Fr. Fiandaco 
Ximines, provincial of the Domiii] 
cans, the discoverer 'uiatof. 

was niso the author ei . valua- 

ble works on the same su Inject, tiioogli 
de Bourbourg complains tiiat tka 
book has suffered much in ifoe traa^ 
lation by the persistent attempt oC 
the pious Dominican to dbcitvir is 
the Aztec fabks and traditioos m n* 
mihtude to the imtltt d revidstifli 
and the Christian idea of tlie MtSL^ 
butes of the Deity, 

The religious enthusiasm of Xaoi* 
nes might have led faiiii too §Kt la 
that dtrectkm, boi diere oa%£akf ape 
many ver>* strikiog ponfis of teas* 
blance between umae of the Ataec 
traditions and dfee WhKra! accoosK 
of the cnaaMo of laatiec. ^Wk^ea iM 
things rise wot cieated»** sajs 1^ 




T^^o^^ce^^Amertean History. 



ed book of the Quiches, " the sky 
the earth were finished, the sky 
was formed, its angles measured and 
I aligned, its limits were fixed, the 
.lines and parallels were placed on 
the sky and on the earth, the sky re- 
cognized it was made, and the hea- 
ven was named by the creator and 
I maker — by the mother and father of 
\ life and existence — by whom and by 
.which all act and breathe — the father 
and preserver of the peace of the 
people— the father of vesscls^^ — the 
master of thoughts and of wisdom — 
tthe excellence of all that is in the 
heavens or on the earth, in the lakes 
or on the sea. So it was he that 
named them when all was tranquil 
and calm, when all was peaceliil and 
silent, when nothing yet had move- 
ment in the vault of heaven," ♦ The 
account of the creation given in the 
CiMiex Chimaipopoca in the Mexi- 
can language, is nearly the same, 
.though more circumstantial, and fixes 
'the creation of man on the seventh 
day. But in addition to this invo- 
luntary homage to the one true God, 
the people of Mexico and Central 
America in course of time adopted 
for themselves numerous false gods, 
whom they worshipped in their tem- 
ples under the form of idols. These 
represented the sun and moon, the 
seasons, war, peace, and physical ob- 
jects which were supposed to have 
the powers of governing men*s pas- 
sions ami affections, and controlling 
human destiny in a variety of ways 
as infinite as we find them described 
in the mythology of the Greeks. Their 
legislators and heroes, too, after the 
lapse of years, were accorded divine 
I honors, ia gratitude for the benefits 
^they had conferred on their race, 
j Votun, who is said to have been their 
[first lawgiver and the founder of the 



ancient city of Palenquc in Tobasco, 
held the first place in their Pantheon^ 
and the successive kings of his dy- 
nasty look rank according to their 
respective merits. Still, under one 
name or another, the peojile of those 
southern countries internally adored 
the unknown God. " But," says the 
liistory of the Chichi meques, ** he 
had no tetnples or altars, because 
perhaps they did not know how to 
represent htm, and it was only in the 
last days of the Aztec monarchy that 
the king of TeUcuco dedicated to 
him a teo-talli or temple, with sta- 
tues placed on nine courses of stone, 
under the invocation of the * Unknown 
God.' " * The successors of Votan 
had also retained their original idea 
of the existence of the Supreme Be- 
ing, and an indefinite conception of 
his attributes. ** TTiey did not pay 
tribute," says the Quiche Ms,, ** ana 
all spoke the same language ; the> 
worshipped neither sticks nor stones, 
they contented themselves with elc^ 
vating their eyes to heaven and ob- 
serving the laws of their creator; 
they watched with reverence the ris- 
ing of the sun, and saluted with in- 
vocations the morning star, and their 
hearts were filled with love and obe- 
dience." Thus it seems that idola- 
try was unknown among the ancient 
civilizers of America, and was only 
introduced when centuries had elaps- 
ed, and their descendants, corrupted 
by luxury and debased by perpetual 
warfare, had begun to forget the pure 
and wise teachings of their fathers ; 
then also do we begin to hear of the 
introduction of the horrible custom 
of human sacrifices which disgraced 
their superstitious rites and eventual- 
ly led to the utter overthrow of their 
empire and the destruction of their 
nation.t 



« 




Following the autliority of the do- 
cuments above-mentioned, the an- 
cient history of the Aztec nations may 
be divided into four great periods, 
the first beginning from the arrival 
of Votan, neady a thousand years be- 
fore the Christian era and ending in 
the first century ; the second, from that 
time when the Nahuas or Toltecans 
overran Central America and the 
valley of Mexico, and subdued by 
force or superior address the descen- 
dants of his followers; the third, com- 
mencing with the invasion of the 
northern tribes of Mexico and the 
surrounding nation's in the seventh 
centur>' ; and the fourth extending 
from the building of the city of Mexi- 
co in J 32 5 to the Spanish conquest 
in 1521. 

If we except the remnants of sculp- 
ture and bas-rehef inscriptions found 
on the remains of the temples of 
Palenque and other places in Cen- 
tral America, the history of the first 
period rests entirely upon the tra- 
ditions of the people, which, though 
of great antiquity and generally uni- 
form, afford us no certain data, and 
ver>' little information other than the 
names of the most protnincnt rulers, 
who, becoming endeared to the popu- 
lace by their wisdom or bravery, 
were transferred from the domain of 
profane to that of sacred history. It 
is generally admitted that before the 
jirrival of Votan, calculated to have 
been about 955 b.c, the aborigines, 
known as Quinames, were in a state 
of absolute barbarism, subsisting on 
the spontaneous products of the land 
or by hunting and fishing. This Vo- 
tan, or Valum-Votan, who is known 
in some Atzec countries by the name 
of Quelxalcohualt, Gucumati, and 
other appellations, is described as 
coming from the east^ '* from the 
rising sun," and as bringing with 
him a number of companions clothed 
in long robes, and well acquainted 



with all arts, laws, and sciences^ 
Though few in numbers, their superior 
knowledge soon gained thcra the 
mastery over the ignorant naiivest 
whose friendship they also acquired, 
and with whom eventually they in* 
tcrmarried. They built numerous 
towns and cities, taught llie Quinatncs 
the art of agricuiturc and manufac- 
tures, and by a wise code of laups, im- 
partially administered, they extended 
their empire over a vast extent of 
country, including what is now known 
as Yucatan, Tobasco» Chipas, Oxa* 
ca, Guatemala, San Salvador, and 
Honduras, which lasted for nearly 
ten ceiUurics* Those civilizcrs arc 
supposed to have landed on tlic low* 
er side of the peninsula of Vucalan, 
and following up the course of tJie 
river Uzumacenta, made their hmt 
halt at the spot which is now marked 
by the ruins of their great city, Pa- 
lenquc,* A second and similar iro* 
migration followed soon after under 
the leadership of Zama, and landctl 
at Poutouchan, or Champoton, where 
they built the city of Mayapan, It 
was these later arrivals of whom tradi* 
tion says ** God had delivered from 
their enemies by making a road for 
them over the sea/' that " 1- 

tan the name of Maayha ig 

a land without water, a ch : jc 

of that state at the pre- .. ™),t 
The aborigines had been know*Q as 
(Quinames, but after the adient of 
Votan and Zama tliey took thett 
distinctive names from the respective 
capitals of these adventurers, and 
their language became Uiat of their 
conquerors, maja or titntiai^ i^roba* 
bly the former, though the latter b 
still more generally spoken in Viicm^ 
tan. 

In the course of tir I- 

ants of Votan, botli pi ^ -l*. 



And Otaiitm^ thai U, l«i|(i of fftlten TtritMttl. 
t tlc^c^^ Itii, Oi*iJ\ Ubcr 1. c •. 



The Sources of American History, 



5^ 



pie, lost much of the knowledge and 
morality of their progenitors, reli- 
gion degenerated into the grossest 
forms of sii[>erstilion, constant wars 
destroyed the love of industry, and 
luxury begot indolence and effenii- 
nacy, and the countries that were the 
first propagators of civilization began 
to degenerate into their pristine state 
of barbarism. It was at this period 
that the Toltecas arrived, also, as 
j their traditions assert, from the east. 
I They were contained in seven vessels, 
I under an equal number of chiefs 
I clothed in flowing robes and wearing 
' long beards* These new adventurers 
are said to have first appeared some 
time during the first ccntur)^ at Pa- 
nuco, near Taminco, and from thence 
followed the coast line till they reach- 
ed Yucatan or Cam peachy, where 
thev landed. The Abbe de Bour- 
botirgjn speaking of this locality, the 
fertility of its soil and the remarkable 
salubrity of its climate, says : " These 
details present valuable evidence of 
its being the region that tradition 
assigns as the place where the first 
lawgivers of Northern America land- 
ed, which was the original cradle of 
primitive civilization^ and which ac- 
cords admirably with that of the pro- 
vinces of Mexico and Central Ame- 
rica bordering on the Atlantic," They 
were also called Nahoas, and their 
language nahualt, or " know-all,'^ from 
their superior intelligence and know- 
ledge of the arts. But even with 
these superior advantages it was not 
all after many years of warfare that 
they were able to estabhsh their 
doraiuion over the Palencjues and 
Mayas. They did succeed, however, 
ftjid thenceforth their civilization and 
laws became those of the vanquished, 
and iheir language spread rapidly 
from the Gila to Panama, and is still 
a living, spoken language m several 
parts of that extensive region. 

Tliough the incidents of the ap- 



4 



pearancc and progress of this people 
are more authentically recorded than 
those of the preceding race, the re- 
cords are so meagre that they pre- 
sent little more than the names of 
the rulers and short accounts uf the 
leading events of their history. If, 
as is not improbable, the extent of 
their empire corresponded with that 
of their language, they must have 
governed at some lime or another 
many tribes and nations. We know 
that at the time of the irruption of 
the northern Chichimeques into the 
valley of Mexico they found there 
comparatively civilized communities, 
one of whose principal cities, called 
Teo-Culhuacan, was built by some 
Toltec colonists. They are said also 
to havfe invented judicial astrology, 
the art of interpreting dreams, of 
regulating the computation of days, 
nights, and hours, and they were 
wont to call together at stated periods 
their principal astronomers to regulate 
their calendar 

But the great evil of the people of 
the southern part of our continent, 
like that of so many nations of an- 
tiquity, was the muUiplicily of their 
independent states, which, though of ^j 
the same race, seldom acted in con- ^H 
cert or acknow^ledged a general au-" *^B 
ihority, and, consequently, fell an easy 
prey in detail to any adventurous in- 
vader. When the Chichimeques of 
the far north made their entry into 
the valley of Mexico in the seventh 
century, they met but a feeble resist- 
ance, the Culhuans, the advance* 
guard of the Aztec hordes, sweeping 
through it with the velocity and dc- 
structiveness of a whirlwind ; and it 
was only after completely subduing 
the inhabitants that they quietly set- 
tled down on the lands so rudely 
won, and built the celebrated city of 
Tetzcuco. The next tribe of the 
race was equally fortunate. It ap- 
peared in the plain of Xocotitlaii, and 



fmfrican History. 



after a six years* siege captured the 
city of Mamhcmi, thenceforth called 
Tollan, where the seat of govern- 
ment was estabhshed. These latter 
invaders are also known in history as 
Toltecas, cither from the name of 
ihcir capital, or assumed in a spirit 
of self laudation, which at first they 
were far from deserving, for, says one 
of their own historians, ** ihcy lived 
by the chase, they had neither houses 
nor lands, nor decent garments, nor 
other covering but the skins of wild 
beasts, and their food was nothing 
but the fruit of the napal^ wild com, 
and sour figs," They were a diflferent 
race from the Toltecas of Yucatan, as 
they came from the north and not from 
the cast, and, instead of conferring 
enlightenment on the \anquished, 
they seem to have adopted the laws, 
language, and civilization of the peo- 
ple among whom they came. 

Up to the taking of Tollan, the 
government of the Toltecs was a 
mixture of the theocratic and feudal 
systems; there was only one caste of 
nobility, and none but the descend- 
ants of the seven chiefs had legisla- 
tive power. Soon after the establish- 
ment q{ their power, an assembly was 
held, which proceeded to the election 
of a king. I'hc crown was successive- 
ly offered to the two leading chiefs, 
representing the two branches into 
which the Toltec family was divided, 
but was modestly declined by both. 
On the suggestion of their sage, Hue- 
man, a solemn embassy was sent to 
the king of a neighboring nation, re- 
questing him to give them a ruler, 
which he did in the person of his se- 
cond son, Tlatonac, According to 
some native historians, the kings of 
Tollan were seven in number, and 
each reigned in peace and happiness 
for fifty- two years. " It is, however, 
certain," says the Abb^ dc Bourbourg, 
** that the princes who reigned in Tol- 
lan, far from passing a peaceful life 



on the throne, surrounded by revcreo* 
tial and sympathizing sub/jcis^ were 
too often engaged in the horrorB of 
civil and religious strife. The annals 
of the Aztec plateau were more often 
stained with blood through llie jeal- 
ousy of rival altars than for the fjiith. 
In the person of Hueman, the wisest 
of their guides for nearly two centu- 
ries, we recognise the symbol of rtli* 
gious authority to which lljc chicfe 
submitted, li is tlie priesthood who 
directs still in a special manner the 
supreme government, and who pre- 
sided at its head till the moment when 
it became nccessar)^ to separate the 
two authorities, and when the prince, 
impatient of their yoke, thought to 
subordinate them to royalty by %*cst- 
ing the exercise of tlieir supreme func- 
tions in a member of his fanjily. The 
epoch of the death or dLsap|>caraQce 
of Hueman corresponds in a moat 
exact manner with that of the flight 
of Topiltzin, the king-pontiff of ToUaa, 
as we find it recounted in the chroni* 
clcs of the valley. It w*iis the mo- 
ment when the priesthood, isolated 
from civil and military powers, began 
to form a separate caste solely devot* 
ed to divine worship, and it was llicil 
that royal despotism sought to wrest 
the sceptre from the feudal aristocra- 
cy that had reigned in Anahuac from 
the invasion of the Mixcohuas."* 

The Culhuacs also con^lkkted 
their authority^ and established a g^ 
vcmmcnt similar in form to that rf 
the Toltecas, and for roan n-a 

divided with them the so\ i ^ A 
what we will now call Anahuac, of 
the country lying between the 14U1 
and 21 St degrees of northern latttwfe 
and the Atlantic and Taci^c Oceans; 
for, though the word was orii^isaBjr 
applied to the low ns bordt Sc 

lakes, it was eventually a]'; ili 

that territory. With the < 



The Sources of American History* 



571 



of those two kingdoms, the historian 
finds hiniidf entering the region of 
dates ; events commence to be chro- 
nologically classified, some hiatus 
present themselves occasionally, but 
from the eighth century they continue 
to march with order until the time of 
the conquest. The Toltec monarchy 
lasted till 1062, and then fell through 
the vice of its ruler and the general 
demoraJization of the people ; that of 
Culhuac lasted longer, but was ulti- 
mately destined to be eclipsed by the 
superior splendor of the Mexican em- 
pire. 

The city of Mexico and the em- 
pire of that name were of as humble 
an origin and of as doubtful a charac- 
ter-as those of Rome itself. Like the 
Eternal City, their roots were plant- 
ed in an unpromising soil by outcasts 
and bondmen, and, like it^ their walls 
were cemented, if not with fraternal 
bloody at least with that of near kin- 
dred » taken in battle and wantonly 
slain as a holocaust to false gods. It 
grew in power and opulence by the 
same means — unscrupulous appropri- 
ation of contiguous territory, united to 
great bravery and an aptitude for 
adopting and improving on the supe- 
rior knowledge of the conquered. 

About the year 1160, there depart- 
ed from the primitive home in Aztlan, 
*♦ far north of the Gulf of California," 
the last and most remarkable of the 
Aztec tribes, called Tenochas, which, 
with six others, under a chieftain 
named Huitziton, set out on the 
track taken by their countrymen five 
centuries before. Having no settled 
plan or guidance, their wanderings 
were devious and of long duration, 
and their route can only be traced at 
this late day by the ruins of temples 
and mounds scattered on Uie way by 
those nomads, who were the origi- 
nal " mound'builders *' of our conti- 
nent. Having crossed the Colorado 
River, they proceeded south-east to 



the Gila, where they remained for 
some years, and then, advancing still 
in a southerly direction, they reached 
Culiacan, on the California Gulf, 
where they dwelt .about three years. 
We next find traces of them at Chem- 
oztoc, where, the other tribes having 
separated from them, they remained 
some nine years, and, afterwards jour- 
neying through Arnica, Cohula, Sa* 
yula, Colina, Zacatula, and Tuleuca, 
they finally arrived at Tollan in 1 1 96, 
where they rested. But their wan- 
derings were not yet ended. After 
twenty years spent in that city, they 
entered the valley of Mexico, and 
from that time till 1245 led a migra- 
tory life, occupying in succession seve- 
ral unapjkropriated positions on the 
borders of the lake Tezcuco ; but, fear- 
ing the hostility of a neighboring 
tribe, they were at length forced to 
seek refuge on a group of small i!>lets 
in the southern extremity of the lake, 
called Ocololco, where for more than 
half a century they lived in the 
greatest destitution. But their pov- 
erty and isolation were no safeguards, 
for, about a.d. 1300, they were al- 
lured to the mainland by a chief of 
the Colhuas, and by him redticcd to 
slavery* Their new master soon 
becoming engaged in a war with an 
adjacent nation, the Mexicans armed 
themselves in a rude fashion, and by 
their resolute bravery materially con- 
tributed to the total defeat of the 
enemy. Their courage on this occa- 
sion, and their subsequent cruelty in 
sacrificing their prisoners in honor of 
the victory, made them objects of 
Tear and abhorrence to the Colhuas, 
who lost no time in liberating and 
expelling them from their country. 
Once more free, tliey wandered about 
the valley for several years, till at the 
dictation of an oracle, say their tradi- 
tions, they at length found a perma- 
nent settlement on the island of Te- 
nochtitlan in the lake of Tezcuco, and 



laid the foundation of a city called 
after their tutelary deity* the god of 
war, Mexiiii^ one hundred and sixty- 
five years after their departure from 
Aztlan, 

From such small beginnings sprang 
the great Mexican empire, which, at 
the time of the Spanish invasion, only 
two hundred years after, ruled over 
all Anahuac, containing within its 
boundaries four tributary kingdoms, 
four republics^ and a great many mi- 
nor states and quasi -independent 
tribes. From thence also arose a 
city which in less than a century 
rivalled in extent and population, but 
more particularly in wealth and splen- 
dor, in arts and arms, m,iny of the 
most famous cities of the Old WorkL 
The lake which surrounded and cir- 
cumscribed their limits was quickly 
covered with floating gardens of rare 
beauty, and was united to the main- 
land by causeways and bridges; the 
rude watde-huts of the first settlers 
soon gave place to solidly built and 
commodious dwellings; and temples, 
palaces, colleges, gardens, menage- 
ries, and markets, of almost incredi- 
ble extent and magnificence, were 
called into existence, as if by the 
power of magic* One after another 
the neighboring nations were forced 
to submit to the Mexican yoke, and 
what bravery won diplomacy retain- 
ed. Those who submitted cheerful- 
ly were treated with consideration; 

* "The urmndcur > nt«umft*s] p»lA* 

CC5, RjirUcns. and ('1 ub corrcipond- 

cd with Ihc uiJii*ni(r r mrt. Hi* usual 

r««donce yt%% % rant cditii-c ol %toac, which \L%f\ 
twcnly i?ntfitnccs from the public »qua.res and 
itrcets ; thff r fipadotit cnwris, \x\ one of «rhich 
wam& bcaiitirul lounlain ; several )ii1l9i.and moro 
thmo A kundrcd cUambers, So prcat was U« ci- 
tent, th*t a companion of Corier says that he 
went four times to view it* and rani;ed over St 
until he was faliRued, hut could not observe it 
alt He describes one haVl «» sufHcienUy capa- 
cious to contain three thousand txrsuns. The 
wiilla of «ome of the apartments were of marble, 
and others of precious stoon. The bcaimn were 
of cedar. cypre*is, and other cnlorifcrous wo<hIa, 
smoothly finished and eUhoratcly orrrcd/*-* 
CUn^igero, Hit. MfM. 



those who resisted were mercflessljr 
slain in battle, or even marc ruth- 
lessly slaughtered on the altars. Tbctr 
government, from being a sort tif 
theocratic oligarchy^ w*as in 1353 
changed into a monarchy, and final- 
ly into a religious despotism closely 
resembling that of Toll an ; and we 
cannot convey better an idea of the 
height to which the empire had at- 
tained in pomp and di<;play, than by 
quoting the following passage* from 
the abridged history of the Abb^ 
Clavigero, descriptive of the ilt-fated 
Montezuma when he ascended the 
throne in 1502; 

*' The audience-liAll served at so for ill* 
king's diniti^ioom. His Uble wat a 
large pillow, and hts seat n law chait* 
The ubtc-covcr and tiapkins were ot tnm 
colton doth, brilliantly white and scrupo- 
loufly clean ; and ihc dinner set vice fof 
ordinary use was of ihc earthen vrarr oC 
CholuU, which was changed for j^M 
plate on festive occasions. The cup* 
containing his chocolate and uthcr beve- 
rages were of gold, or some beautiful 
sea-shell, or the rind of a fruit CiiriouMi' 
varnished and adorned. The number 
and variety of the dishes Amajtcd tb« 
Spaniards. Cortez says that they covered 
the floor of (he ha]|» and consisted of va- 
rious kinds of garnc^ fish, fruit, and Ueibi 
of rhc country ; and, that Ihc meats miglit 
not grow cold, each plaic was accompa* 
nied by its chafing-dish, Sc%'eni1 bun 
dred noble pages carried the dishes is 
procession before the king, whilst h« ut 
at table, who indicated ^Hb a rod sutit 
as he chose ; the rest were df?*fT»'|jntriJ 
among the nobles of the am 1 r. 

Before he began to cat, foui .♦» 

beautiful women of his scf.i •! 

him with water to wash his J, 

together with the six prinrir ,1 ' rt 

and his carver, wailed tluf.ii,- ri., j^r-iL 
When he went abroad he h-4s c^incU on 
the shoulders of his nobles in a liiirf, 
covered %vilh a rich canopy, -*ri.,,A..\ wj 
a numerous retinue ; and, \^ ^ 

passed»an persons closed tl.^., -,,,41 
if dasizlcd with the splendor of liH pi^ 
sence. If he alighted from the Uiftr i» 
walk, carpets were spread, thui befl^flM 
not touch the earth with his fecL** 

The magnificence of ibe soreitifp 



was nearly equalled by that of the 
hierarchy, who, besides the number 
of spleJidid teiui)les and dwellings as- 
signed for their use, revelled in all the 
luxuries which can gratify animal na- 
ture, and enjoyed political privileges 
and immunities inferior only to those 
of the emperor and his immediate 
relatives. Commerce extended her 
wings to either ocean, and the 
arts, particularly those of sculpture, 
painting in mosaic with the bright 
plumage of birds, metallurgy, and la- 
pidary work, were brought to a state 
of perfection unsurpassed even in our 
day in any countr)\ 

But with all this outward show of 
power and prosperity, the empire, 
containing in itself the latent seeds 
of dissolution, was fast hastening to 
decay. The enormous tributes which 
the conquered provinces were repeat- 
edly called upon to pay to support 
this extravagance, ami the cruelty 
with which they were exacted, pro- 



duced a deep-seated hatred of the 
Mexican name throughout all Ana- 
huac, that only awaited such an event 
as the landing of Coriez and his hand* 
ful of followers to burst into a flame, 
while the horrible custom of human 
sacrifice, by which they hoped not 
only to propitiate their gods, but to 
terrify their enemies and intimidate 
their refractory subjects, proved in 
the end a fruitful source of woe to 
their own country. It is not there- 
fore to be wondered at that, surround- 
ed by such hosts of implacable foes, 
Mexico, in the apparent plenitude of 
her power, should have fallen before 
the energy and genius of one great 
suldier and his resolute band of ad- 
venturers, and that the ancient history 
of the Toltecs and Aztecs, begun un- 
der such favorable auspices, but too 
often stained with crime and treache- 
r)', should have ended in the blood 
of their children and the ruin of their 
common country. 




NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



Life anu Voyages of Christopher Co- 
lumbus. New York : P, O'Shca* 1871. 
Pp. 125. 

LiPTC oir Bartholomew de Las Casas. 
R O'Shca. 1S71. Pp. 120. 

These biographies can scarcely 
claim to be originat, but they are 
not for that reason less valuable. 
The life of Columbus is drawn chief* 
]y from the writings of La mar tine. 
Iri the^e days the world is not fami- 
Jiar with the private character of 
this j*reat man. They 60 not know 
that he w;is a man of ren^arkable 
holiness. This little biography will» 
therefore, supply a real want of our 
time and country* The very open- 
ing chapter places Columbus before 



us in a Franciscan convent, telling 
his story to the prior of the monks, 
Everywhere wc see the influence of 
the Catholic religion upon his gift- 
ed mind. The prayer which he ut- 
tered when he knelt upon the new- 
ly discovered land is couched in 
language of most fervent piety. He 
did not forget God in the hour of 
his most glorious triumph. And 
Columbus remained the same de- 
vout Catholic in every situation of 
life. lie was not unduly elated by 
success, nor embittered by jealousy 
and persecution, nor was h^ over- 
come by adversity. His checkered 
career is well described in this bio- 
graphy. 



574 



Nnt^ Publications. 



The life r>r Lns C;tsas is scarcely 
less eventful and interesting^. L:is 
Casas was the first bishop of Chia- 
pa, in Mexico, and probably the first 
priest ordained on the Aincncancon* 
lineiit. He was one of those Spaniards 
who labored sincerely for the welfare 
of the Indians, Nearly fifty years he 
spent in advancing the spiritual and 
temporal interests of this rude and 
sav^age people. He wrote several 
works exposing the cruelties and 
injustice of the Spaniards toward 
them. He crossed the ocean five 
limes to plead their cause before the 
Spanish court. At that time many 
Spaniards wished to reduce the na- 
livesof the West Indies to slavery. 
Las Casas once argued this question 
before the royal counciK and, in spite 
of the eloquence of Sepulveda, the 
Spanish Cicero, he gained his poinL 
The subjects of Spain were forbid- 
den to make slaves of the Indians, 
or to retain those in slavery of 
whom they then held possession. 
Even in the history of the church, 
there have been few so untiring as 
Las Casas in their devotion to a no- 
ble object. Charlevoix said of him 
that he *' had an excess of virtue." 
He died in Madrid at the advanced 
age of ninety-two. He was a priest 
for forty- two years, a bishop for 
twcnty*four years, and a missionary 
among the Indians for nearly half a 
century. 

Both of these books arc suitable 
for holiday presents. They arc well 
written and handsomely printed. 

Gon. Conferences by I^acordairc. New 

York ; Scribner, Welford & Co. 1870. 

Pp, 260. 
Iesus Curist. Conferences by I^cor- 

dairc. New York; P. O'Shex. 1871. 

Pp, 301. 

The power of the great Domini- 
can orator is shown by the increas- 
ing desire to know more ot his life 
and his works. These two volumes 
will give the American reader a very 
fair idea of the character of his 
preaching in Notre Dame. The 
conferences upon Go<\t and. indeed, 
thos^ upon Jesus Christ, are intend- 



ed to meet the objections of 
atheists and infidels. Lu tbe^^ 
ferences he proves the cxisi 
and inner life of God ; man's re 
tions to the Creator j and he rcfui 
the eff<jrts of rationalism t.^ t^t^ry 
pervert, or explain the li r 

Blessed Redeemer. As 1-;..: .. J 
compositions, the conferences u[ 
Jesus Christ are considered the fi 
est given by Lncordaire. Their 
rusal would do a great deal towan 
counteracting the infidel and mate 
ri.ilistic tendencies of our couatry, 

Sc)>«GS or HoMR. Selected from Miflf 
Sources, Willi Numerous Itttisirattoi 
from Original Dcsij^ns. 1 %'ol. 41 
New York: Charles Schbncr & Ci 

1871. 

A beautiful volume containing , 
lections from different poet*, edil 
ed With judgment and taste, Vitid eU 
gantly illustrated. ^Nothing cooi 
be more appropriate for a holida 
gift, 

Rosa Abboit Stories. The Pinks 
Blues ; or. The Orphan Asc>'lum. 
Rosa Abbott, author of " Jn '■ -' ^! 
Traded' **Thc Young Oct* 
lilustmled. Boston; Lee cw ..„,-. J 
New York: Lee, Shcpard ^ Dtlling 
ham. 1871. 

A very pleasant, lively story* \ 

nicely illustrated. 

The IlELnNG Han'd SRRti:s The Lil] 
Maid of Oxbow. By Uav MaitdiM 

author of ** Climbing iti " ''^T 
III lie Spaniard," etc. I \.t% 

Shcpafd. New York : Let-, .-urpaid 
Dillingbatn. 1871, 

The story of a very lo\' 
girl, well written and fn 
tratcd* 

The Proverii 5*»miEs, A W ' 

fessed is flalf-Redresscd. 
iJradley, author of *' liirrj- 
thcr/' e\c, — Uoo GooiJ I :: ■\ 1 1 
Another.— Actions spcai. 1.. mi i 
Words. Boston : Lee A Shci' 
York: Lee, Shepard St f>: 
1871. 

Thene books are g^real . 
with the young folks^und dcscn<t« 




bt. They are well written, full of 
interest, and teach many excellent 
lessons. 

LiTTLK PRUDV'S FLYAWAY SERIES. Lit- 
tle Folks Astray. By Sophie May, au- 
thor of ** Little Prudy Stories." etc. 
lilustratcil. Prudy Keeping House, 
Boston : Lee & Shepard. New York : 
Lee, Shepard iSIl Dillingham. 1871. 

It is not necessary to say one word 
in praise of Sophie May's books* The 
children know what they arc, and 
prefer the company of Prudy Par- 
lin, Dotty Dim pic, and Little Fly- 
away to a li their innumerable book 
frietids. 

Charley Roberts Series. Charley and 
Eva Roberts' Home m the West. By 
the author of '*Ho\v Char!ey Roberts 
became a Man," etc. Illusirated. Bos- 
Ion : Lee k Shepard, New York : Lee, 
Shepard & Dillingham. 1871. 

An excellent story. The charac- 
ters are full of life, and Kiss and 
Lcland are real children, 

Haulet. By George H. Miles. Balti- 
more: Kelly, Piel & Co. 1S70. Pp. 
88. 

This essay was first published in 
th e Southern RaneiiK Itopensanew 
epoch in the literature of HamUt, 
Some of the most distinguished 
Shakespearean scholars of this city 
pronounce this review the finest 
conceplton of Hamlet*s character 
ever written, A series of essays 
upon the leading characters of 
Shakespeare equal to this one on 
HatnUi would alone give Mr. Miles 
a permanent place in English lit- 
erature. 

The Green Isu^nd. A Tale for Youth, 
By Alfred F. P. Kirby. The Maltese 
Cross and other Tales. Ballimorc: 
Kelly. Piel & Co. 

Two excellent little volumes for 
youth. Simple tales, yet how im- 
pressive, of dangers bravely encoun- 
tered and overcome, and of tempta- 
tiQUS successfully resisted by an 



abiding trust in God, and a filial de- 
votion to Mary, Mother of Mercy. 

Irish Fireside Tales. By Robert D. 
Joyce, M.D. Bi>ston : Patrick Dona- 
hoe. 

We originally made the acquaint- 
ance of these tales in Irish periodi- 
cal literature. They seem t<j have 
improved with age. They are i-ery 
neatly got up, and they will doubt* 
less long continue to enliven many 
a fireside. 

The Patranas Ltsrary. Spanish Sto- 
rics, Legendary- and TradttioEial. Four - 
volumes;, illustrated. Baltimore : Kelly, 
Piel &'Co. 

A beautiful little scries which is 
no less instructive than entertaining. 
Nations in their legends and tra- 
ditions more than aught else hold 
the mirror up to nature, and pervad- 
ing these quaint tales we behold the 
noble spirit of Old Spain, her spot- 
less chiv^alry, her unstained loyalty, 
and her heroic and indomitable Ca- 
tholicity. 

TiiF. Black Prophet. A Ta!e of the 
Irish Famine^ Bv William Carleton. 
New York ; D. & J. Sadltcr & Co. 

As a delineator of the lights and 
shadows of Irish life, Carleton has 
few equals, and perhaps no superior. 
Such being the verdict alike of rea- 
der and critic, there is no necessity 
for an elaborate notice of the vol- 
ume before us» 

Cornell's Physical Geography : ac- 
companied with nineteen pages of 
maps, a great variety of map questions, 
and one hundred and thirty diagrams 
and pictorial illustrations; and cm- 
bracing a detailed description of the 
physical features of the United States. 
By S. S. Cornell. New York : D. Ap- 
pleton & Co. 

This completes the well-known 
and popular '* CornclTs Series of 
Geographies." As a text-book, we 
have no doubt it will prove attrac- 
tive to the pupil and satisfactory to 
the teacher. 



576 



Ntw Publications, 



WoNorRFCL Balloon AsCKrNTS ; or. The 
Conquest of the Skies. A History of 
Balloons and Balloon Voyages. From 
the French of F, Maiion, with Illus- 
trations. — Wonders of Bodily 

SfRENGTll AND SKILL IN ALL AgE5 
AND ALL Countries. Translated and 
eiihrged froin the French. By Charles 
Russ«l. Charles Scribncr & Co, 1870. 

We have here two new volumes 
of the *' Library of Wonders." The 
one on Baihons is most interest- 
ing* as showing that, notwithstand- 
ing all the attempts that have been 
made for the last seventy years to 
navij^rate the air. hutnan invention 
in that department has not advanc- 
ed, A complete history of such at- 
tempts are given. The wf»rk on 
liediiy Strengih and Skill takes 
up a wider and more extensive 
range, and goes lnt<» the history of 
such feats in all ages and centuries, 

Dick Masse\\ A Talc of the Irish Evic- 
tions. By T. O'Neill RussclL 

CLFNVKtnR;or,ThcViciim5r>rVcngcanrc 
A Tale of Irish Peasant Life in lUe 
Present. By Patrick Sarsfieid Cassi 
dy. Boston : Patrick Donahoc, 

Irish evictions — individual and 
wholesale ejectments — the iniquities 
of the landlord, the brutality of the 
bailiff, the sufferings of families 
thrown homeless and, humanly 
speaking, helpless on the cold cha- 
rities of the world, wilh \vc trust, 
soon be numbered with thincs past 
and forgotten. Full of this hope, 
and anxiuus for its speedy realiZti* 
tion» as one great stride toward the 
permanent prosperity of Ireland, 
we need hardly say that wc derived 
greater pleasure from our perusal of 
Dkk Massn\ the author's object be- 
ing, while deploring, to allay the 
strifes and distractions of his native 
land, than from the sad talc of Gltn- 
Vf^/t, the author of which tells his 
countrymen *' to blow out the brains 
of every whining knave who pre- 
sents himself as a fit and proper per 
son to be your representative beg- 
gar at the gates of the brutal British 
parliament." Yielding to none iri 



love for and sympathy with "Old 
Ireland/' we unhesitatingly pro- 
nounce such friends as the author 

of Glenv^i^k her real enemies. 

PfANO AND Musical MATTRit. By G, de 
la Motlc, Boston : Lee & Shep^rd. 

A glance at the contents of this 
work will astonish any one. The 
amount of "musical matter" there 
promised at least a partial notice or 
treatment in a volume of less thao 
150 pages is prodigious. We do not 
say that e.tch subject is fully treated, 
but we do say that in 00 work of 
this kind with w^iich we have any 
acquaintance can one gain a more 
concise and intelligible CAplanation 
of which it behooves a musician to 
know than in this deservedly popu- 
lar book. It is a most useful com- 
pendium of musical science^ arranged 
in a masterly progressive order of 
instruction. 



Leandro; Dr. The Sign of the Cross. 
Pliiladelphia: Peter Cunningham. 1S7OW 

The religious sentiments put forth 

in this book arc uncxc*.; ' 'c; 

the explanations and il i« 

of the use of the sign of tti-j rioss 
arc instructive, and will serve to ira* 
hue the minds of youth with a tho- 
rough knowledge of the design of 
the church in her frequent use of 
this precious symbol of our holy 
faith. 

The delusions of ** modero apirit* 
ism " are here accounted for in the 
only WMy in which a Chiistijin can 
look upon them (in so far as they 
have a supernatural origin) as the 
work of the evil one. 

The story, however, has a feeble 
plot, and strikes the reader as nkind 
of clothes-press, in which an! htin^ 
the best sentiments and c 1 

the author; yet there art s% 

minds who would receive is ^ 

contained in this volume t^l 

by them« even through ^^ ve 

a medium as a story witi t 

of style or special ialcre>i 




with other like inventions. More than 
this, he declares that, so far from any 
apparent feebleness of Cardinal Mon* 
talto being an inducement to his 
election, ^* his comparatively vigor- 
ous years were taken into account, 
he being then sixty-four ; for all were 
persuaded that a man of unimpaired 
energiefi, whether physical or mental^ 
was imperatively demanded by the 
circumstances of the times/* 

Baron Hiibner disposes of the fables 
referred to even more thoroughly than 
Professor Ranke, and shows that they 
all had their common origin in a 
book ( History of Sixius KJ written 
by one Gregorio Leti, an apostate 
priest, sixty years after the death of 
that pope. 

What is known as the Ficarcsquc 
style of literature, introduced in 
Spain by the Laziwilh de Tormes of 
Mendoza and the Guzman de Ai- 
famch^ of Mateo Aleraan, and fol- 
lowed by Le Sage in his Gil Bias — 
an imitation far more brilliant than 
any of its originals— was then in 
vogue ; and the liero of ^^tjy novel 
was made a smart Macchiavellian 
rogue, full of expedients, demonstra- 
tive show of honesty and even of 

RntereU, According lo Act of Conirresa, in the year 1870* by Rkv. I* T. Mbckbk, In the Office of 
llic LibririftQ of Coagress, at Wubln^ton, D. C. 



The name of this distinguished 
ponliflf and great sovereign is in En- 
glish literature popularly associated 
with the romantic story of a cardinal 
who throughout long years aflected 
retirement and profound humility, 
feigned extreme old age and physi- 
cal weakness, and, racked with a 
hollow cough, appeared to be fast 
sinking into the grave. Even crutch- 
es were necessary for his support 
as he tottered along. But these 
props were thrown aside, and he 
intoned the Te Deum in a rich, 
full voice the instant his election 
to the papal throne was announc- 
ed. The stor}*, it is hardly neces- 
sary to say, is pure fiction, and 
was never heard of until more than 
half a century after the death of 
Sixtus v., who was made Its hero. 

The Protestant historian of the 
popes — Professor Ranke — long ago 
had the good sense to reject it along 



/«/. Par M* Ic Baron Dc HUbncr. 
n .v.!;adeur d'Auinchc 1 I'aris ct 4 

R ,.,_.. . ; rtHi des Correspondanccs diptouiA- 
tiqun inectitcs tiroes des Archives d'E*iit du 
VAtican, de Sim&iicas, VeQis«. Paris, Vlenne et 
Florence- Piris^ 1870. 3 vota. in-8vo. 



piety, aiid great capacity for rascal- 
ity. I'his fashion infected English 
literature to some extent, as may be 
seen in the productions of Fielding 
and Smollett, and was imitated by 
Leti, who strove to make of Felice 
Perelti a cunning adventurer seeking 
through discreditable means to attain 
the object of his ambition. Leti 
was not without talent, and wielded 
what is nowadays called a wonder- 
fully facile pen. After his apostasy, 
he lived successively in Geneva, Pa- 
ris, London, and Amsterdam, pour- 
ing forth books in surprising quan- 
tity. He wrote histories of England, 
of Oliver Cromwell, of Queen Eliza- 
beth, e tuili quarJL Leti threw into 
his writings a great deal of imagina- 
tion, was eagerly and immensely 
read in his day, and in these and in 
otlicr respects was the worthy prede- 
cessor of the latest historian of Eng- 
land* who, yet more widely read than 
Leti» is destined like him first to be 
found entirely untrustworthy, and 
then to be cast aside and totally for- 
gotten. 

Lcti's history of Sixtus V* was sim- 
ply a work of fiction, from which, un- 
fortunately for truth, the grotesque 
mask made for die great Sixtus has 
been by loo many accepted as a por- 
trait 

With commendable candor, even 
Ranke rejects Leti as unworthy of 
credit. 



HISTORIC MATERIAL, 

For the life of Felice Pcrctti down 
to the period of his accession to the 
throne of St. Peter, the German Pro- 
testant historian and Baron Hiibner 
refer to and work up almost the same 
historical documents. Tempesti's re- 
liable history of Sixtus V., and the 
diplomatic records in Rome, Paris, 
and Venice, to which both these 



writers had access, form the main 
body of this material. 

But when Professor Rankc wrote 
his History cf the Fhpes^ the archives 
of Simancas were not yet opened to 
scientific research. For the hisioff 
of Sixtus V, the value and import- 
tance of the Simancas papers lie 
herein : the leading political move- 
ments in which Sixtus V. was an actor 
were necessarily to great extent treat- 
ed by him with Spain, then the lead- 
ing power of Europe. Now, Sixtus 
V. had no minister of foreign affairs. 
With all the ambassadors accredited 
to his court he negotiated personal- 
ly, alone, and vmi voce. All he 
wished to say he said in \ :s, 

and often in the most un' / Lie 
phrase. 

Of all these negotiatioris, there 
never was any record in the archives 
of the Vatican. I'he forcigtj ambas- 
sadors with whom he treated in all 
cases made immediate rcjwjrt to their 
several sovereigns not only of the 
tenor and substance of the pope^s d^ 
course, but of his manner^ iiiiofui- 
tions of voice, gesture, etc, so that 
many despatches gave, as it were, a 
living portrait of the great pontiff. 

Although, personally, the Venetian 
ambassadors were more acceptable 
to Sixtus V, and possessed his con- 
fidence and friendship, yet, political- 
ly, the influence of Si>ain was stronfjcr 
with him, and his secret r v\% 

widi the latter were on th'- im- 

portant questions of the day. Of 
these negotiations the only reoord 
exists in the despatches of the Span- 
ish ambassadors at Rome to Philip 
IL Hence the importance of the 
archives of Simancas, the admirable 
use of which by Baron Hdbner 
gives his w^ork an incontestible iii- 
periority. By way of showing the 
estimate in which Baron HObner^s 
history is held in the Protc*stant St- 
erary world, we may meotioa that 



the last number of the Edinburgh Re- 
vitta speaks of it as ** very various, 
instructive, and agreeable reading, 
and a valuable addition to sound 
historical littrature," and ^^one of the 
most valuable productions of an age 
rich in historical biography." 

Measured by the substantial xnerit 
of Baron Hubner's production, this 
favorable oiiinion may be looked up- 
on as^ery moderate praise indeed. 



* 



THE BOY FELICE PERETTl. 



K 



When, atler the capture of Con- 
stantinople, the Turks devastated 
lUvria and threatened Dal mat i a with 
fire and sword, thousands of its un- 
fortunate inhabitants crossed the 
Adriatic Sea \n miserable barks and 
sought refuge in Italy. The largest 
number settled at various points of 
the coast from Ancona to Otranto. 
Among these last was one Zanetio 
l^eretti^ who took up his abode at 
Montalto, near Grottamare, a rural 
hamlet on a spur of the Apennines^ 
near the sea, and some fifty miles 
south of Ancona* His children iji- 
termarried with respectable families 
of the neighborhood. Some of them 
iiUed municipal oflkes of responsi- 
bility, and became persons of — ac- 
cording to the Italian expression — 
civil cantiitii^n, 

Piergentile Peretti, the fourth de- 
^Jiccndant of the Dalmatian refagee, 

as in excellent circumstimces at the 
period of the taking and sack of Mon- 
talto, in 1518, when he lost every- 
thing. He sought shelter at Grolia- 
mare, and, leasing a tract of land, 
supported his family by his labor as 
a farmer and gardener. While busy 
among his orange- trees, he nourished 
strange visions arising from a dream 
tliat his first-bom child should be a 
boy and become pope. On the ijdi 
of December, 1521, a son was born 
to him, and, accepting the augury. 



he named him Felix. The father's 
jjrophecy was received by the family 
as the imnouncement of an event 
which would certainly come to pass, 
and it was settled among them that 
the little Felix was some day to wear 
the tiara. 

For many historical writers the 
temptation of antithesis is very strong, 
and, copying Leti, biographers of 
Sixtus are fond of telling us that the 
great pope was once a swineherd.^ 
The truth is that the little Felix 
was never, according to a common 
expression, ** hired out." At home 
he was doubtless made use fid to the 
^xtent of his small abilities — watched 
his father's fruit-trees, and probably 
looked to the pigs and the poultry, 
precisely as did Arthur Tappan, Dan- 
iel Webster, and the sons of our stur* 
dy New England farmers generally, 
down to the beginning of the presciK 
century. 

But, after all, the highest proof of 
the genuine respectability of the Pe- 
retti family is found in the fact that 
in their fallen fortunes they had the 
good sense and the true Christianity 
to seek the preservation of their gen- 
tility not in dangerous iilleaess and 
vain repining, but in labor, honest 
labor and hard labor. Therein lies 
true dignity. 

Meantime, the position of a bro- 
ther of Piergentile, Fra Salvador, a 
monk of the order of Minorite Friars, 
had not been affected by the woridly 
reverses of his family, and he was in 
a condition to aid them by giving the 
young Felix an education. At the 
early age of nine, the boy entered the 
convent, and soon surprised the monks 
by his intelligence and talent. When 
twelve years old, he became a novice 
of the order, and, pursuing his studies 
with application and success, entered 

• Even Morrri writes, *' 11 gi^rtkit Ics cochon* 
lor^u'un cordelier le irouvAttt 2i \x cani|>iiErcM 
(l^aa ce vU exercise, le prlt pour £tre son guide.'' 



58o 



Sixtus the Fifth. 



minor orders, and became widely 
known as a preacher of renown by 
the time he had reached his nine- 
teenth year. 

THE PREACHER FRA FELICE. 

His first sermon in Rome was de- 
livered in 1552, and people asked 
one another who was this young 
monk to whose pulpit they saw flock- 
ing as anxious listeners great theolo- 
gians, distinguished scholars, high 
dignitaries, and such personages as 
Cardinal Carpi, Cardinal Caraffa (af- 
terwards Pius IV.), Cardinal Ghis- 
lieri (afterwards St. Pius V.), Igna- 
tius Loyola, and Philip Neri, the two 
last already canonized in public esti- 
mation. To these auditors the at- 
traction of the young monk's sermons 
was not so much- their true fire of 
eloquence, grace of gesture, and mag- 
nificence of diction • as their solidity 
of science, purity of doctrine, and 
fer\'or of piety — all proclaiming him 
a grand instrument of the great inte- 
rior reform in which they recognized 
him as a co-worker. 

As regent of the convents of his 
order at Sienna, Naples, and Venice, 
he distinguished himself by his purity 
of conduct, zeal, and severity. His 
task at Venice was a difficult one. 
The recalcitrant and tepid set intrigues 
on foot against him, and procured his 
recall. 

Returning to Rome, he was made 
adviser of the Holy Office, and had 
the extreme generosity to propose for 
the vacant place of superior of his 
order the monk who had been his 
most active and pitiless antagonist at 
Venice. This was much remarked 
at the time, and still more so when, 
soon afterwards, the new sui>erior, 
condemned for various offences, and 

• Six of his sermons arc still preserved. Raron 
HQbncr speaks of them as " (Merits dans une lang^c 
Traimcat magnifique." 



summoned to Rome to undergo bis 
punishment, Fra Felice interceded for 
him, and obtained from the Holy Fa- 
ther his pardon. This act of Chris- 
tian heroism was specially noticed 
and appreciated by Cardinal Ghis- 
lieri. Ranke is in error when he 
speaks of Fra Felice's labors as a 
theologian at the Council of Trent. 
He received the appointment, but 
was retained in Rome. 

Soon after the accession of Cardi- 
nal Ghislieri as Pius V., Fra Felice 
was made Bishop of Fermo, and, la- 
ter (1570), 

CARDINAL MONTALTO. 

Honored with the confidence of 
Pius v.. Cardinal Montalto w^as, dur- 
ing his pontificate, consulted on all 
important questions, and as an inti- 
mate friend of the holy Pius was pre- 
sent at that grandest and most im- 
pressive of all earthly spectacles — the 
death of a saint. 

I'he successor of Pius V. was Car- 
dinal Buoncompagni, Gregory XIII. 
As Fra Felice and theologian of 
the embassy. Cardinal Montalto had 
some years previous accompanied 
Cardinal Buoncompagni to Spain. 
Their relations were not personally 
fiiendly, and the new pope suppress- 
ed a small income which had been 
conferred by his predecessor upon 
Cardinal Montalto. 

Released from acrive attendance 
at the Vatican, the cardinal gave his 
leisure hours to sacred literature, the 
arts, and architecture. For many 
years he had devoted much time to 
a revision of the works of the fathers. 
This labor of love he now continued 
with more energy than ever, and in 
15S0 published his edition of the 
works of St. Ambrose. By way of 
recreation, he gave active supcnrision 
to the establishment of a \'ineyanJ 
and the erection of a villa on the Es- 




Sixttts the Fifth. 



581 



quiline Hill, not far from Santa Maria 
Maggiorc. The traveller of to-itny 
arrivmg in Rome by the railroad may 
have the villa pointed out to him 
(now Villa Massimi). Long rows of 
magnificent trees around it, planted 
by the hand of Sixtus V. on these 
grounds, have only witJiin a few years 
yielded to the invasion of modem 
improvement and disappeared for 
even 

And now for thirteen years leading 
£1 life of almost exclusive retirement^ 
and occupied with his religious duties, 
his books, and his vines, Cardinal 
Montalto was soon lost sight of. 

The generation which had listened 
with admiration to the sermons of 
Fra Felice was gradually dying out» 
and but {^\s people knew much of the 
Cardinal Montalto, 

But in this retirement there was 
no affectation of secrecy or silence. 
He spoke his mind freely, and put 
but litde restraint on his speech in 
his caustic criticism of ]>ublic mea- 
sures ami the temporal policy of the 
reigning pontiff* Indeed, his freedom 
in this respect verged on imprudence. 
T'his, however^ was known to a very 
small circle of personal acquaintan- 
ces. He was rarely seen outside his 
own residence, except when duty re- 
quired his presence in conslstor)^ or 
at the ceremonial solemnities of the 
church. For all the rest of the out- 
iside world, he was dead. His histo- 
f rian 6nds in the story of the crutches 
the symbol of the chains which dur- 
ing all these years bound him in 
forced inaction, and which, on his 
eiection, he broke and cast from him. 

As the consecrated servant of God, 
Cardinal Montalto was deeply inter- 
stcd in die work of regeneration of 
Ihc church and in the expulsion and 
sxlirpadon of heresy, so admirably 
rnibrced by Paul HI., Paul IV*, 
Paul v., and Gregory XHL Catho- 
licity, in a merely human point of 



view, had renewed youth and strength 
in her wonderful uprising of the six- 
teenth century against a[)parently 
victorious error. At the moment 
when inumphant h^esy had sur- 
rounded and appeared about to crush 
her, an army of saints and holy men 
arose almost miraculously from all 
ranks of society and from all coun- 
tries, and, bearing the banner of tiie 
cross, drove the powers of heresy 
and paganism before them like chaff. 
This wonderful uprising is clearly 
shown by the simple chronicle of the 
dates of the births and deaths of the 
great saints of the period : 

St lgn*Uus 1491—1556. 

St, John of God '443^1550. 

Father John of Aviln .... '_,j^, 

Sl Peter of Alcantarm .... 1499^1569. 

St Prnnds Xttvtcr . . . , , 1506— i5s>. 

St. Krnnds Borf^ia ..... 1510— t5;r>< 

St, Theresa ....*,.. 1515— tsSa. 

St Philip Ncrl ...... »5»1— tSOS* 

Si. Charles Horroracio .... 15318— 1584. 

St John of the Cross .... 1543—1391. 

The Vencmblc John Lconaidi . 1543—1609. 

St. Francis SolaxiQ ..... 154^^ — J6rci, 

BIcfised John BapUst oft , 

U»e Conceptfon f * * • isCi-itij. 

St. Fnmcis Carraciolo . . . , i56}^]<k4. 

POPE SIXTUS v. 

The conclave in wliich Cardinal 
Montalto was elected pope was of 
very short duration, and the com pa- 
rative obscurity in which he had so 
long lived cannot be better described 
than by the despatch of the French 
ambassador informing the king Uiat 
" a friar named Montalto had been 
elected." 

During the last years of the reign 
of Oregon' XIIL, the Roman terri- 
tory was scourged by the presence 
of hordes of armed banditti, estimat* 
ed as varying from twelve to twenty* 
seven thousand men Naples was 
also full of them, and all Italy suflcr- 
ed from their presence. This terrible 
suffering and scandal was a matter to 
which the newly elected pontiff had 
long given serious thought; and in 



I 



his very first address in the consisto- 
ry he named two things that engaged 
his attention— the administration of 
justice and th^ securing of abundance 
for his people. ''To these he resolv- 
ed to give bis utmost care^ trusting 
that God would send him legions of 
angels, if his own strength and the 
aid of others should not suffice to 
punish the malefactors and repro- 
bates." He also exhorted the cardi- 
nals not to use their privileges for 
the shelter of criminals. 

On the day following the acces- 
sion of the newly elected pontiff, the 
conservators of the city presented 
him an address, demanding at his 
hands for the people justice, peace, 
and abundance. His hoHness re- 
plied that his people should have jus- 
tice, and that they should not suffer 
famine. 

He then added that he specially 
recommended to the conservators 
the enforcement of the laws, and that 
they might count upon his aid if 
they performed their duty. If they 
did not, they might rest assured he 
would have tlicir heads taken off! 

And now the Roman people and 
the world were to see ^hat could be 
effected by an inflexible will, strong 
in indignation against wrong, and 
arrnor-clad in its sense of justice. 

The city of Rome itself was not 
mpt from a species of brigand- 
age. 

The nobles fought out their quar- 
rels ill the streets, and the munici- 
pal police was at the mercy of the 
armed followers of the lawless ba- 
rons. The new sovereign was fimily 
resolved to make an example of the 
first offender upon whom he could 
lay his hand. The carr}'ing of arms 
\%'as made a penal offence. On the 
fourth day of his reign^ four young 
brothers were arrested bearing ar- 
quebuses. These young men were 
of good character and well connect- 



ed. Several cardinals threw them* 
selves at the feet of Sixtus^ asldog 
for their pardon, and reminding his 
holiness that an execution had never 
taken place in Rome between the 
accession and the coronation of a 
pope. In vain I • The next mom^ 
ing, at six o'clock, the young mok 
were publicly hung. Meaniimc, 

THE BANDITTI 

were masters of the country, and it 
was not easy to expel them. Under 
the previous reign, so great was the 
terror they inspired, that the autho* 
ritics thought it best to admit thcra 
into the city on ** safe-conducu/* rn 
the hope of conciliating them. This, 
as the Venetian ambassador remark- 
ed, was no palliative, but rather a 
slow poison. 

So emboldened had these robbers 
become that there were sure inclka* 
tions of a plot to seiice and sack the 
city. But Sixtus had made up hi* 
mind to employ no half-way mea- 
sures and to recognize these outlaws 
only as criminals. With hw own 
hand he wrote to the CJrand Duke of 
Tuscany : ** Aid me to root out thene 
bandits, who, to the great injury of 
the people and the scandal of the 
I loly See, ravage the countr)'.** The 
existence of these brigands was one 
of the results of long years of feudal 
disorder and civil war. Ci d 

Ghibellines, the struggles < s* 

tics with princes, and the miltiar>' sj^s- 
tcm of paid candaiiieri, had created a 
race of men who lived arms in hand* 
True, Guelphfi and (Ihibellincs no 
longer existed, the cmuhftirri were no 
more, an<I free cltie<i and absoltue 
tyrants of small territories had p>a&s* 
ed away. But the traditions of thai 
period survived, and it was thought 
that the man exiled for crime, in be* 



• '^ While 1 Itre/* mM SUttis, **«T«iy 

must die.** 



coming a bandit, only vindicated free- 
dom against tyranny. Old rallying- 
cries were adoptedi and with a slight 
amount of good- will these outlaws 
found it easy to persuade themselves 
and the peasantry, whom they ahvays 
sought to conciliate, that they were 
simply defending some right and re- 
sisting some oppression. Wherein 
lay the right and existed the oppres- 
sion could not of course be very sa- 
tisfactorily explained. 

Public opinion, unfortunately, aid- 
ed this miserable sophistr}-^ by at- 
taching only a quallliecl disgrace to a 
life of scoundrelism. A bandit was 
not, for the reason that he had been 
a robber, necessarily and for ever dis- 
qualified from re-entering society. 
Instances to the contrary were nu- 
merous. Ludovico Orsini, banished 
front Rome for an act of vendetta, 
joined the banditti, for years led their 
life, and was, nevertheless, afterward 
received into the Venetian service, 
and honored with the important com- 
mand of Corfu. 

The most formidable of the robber 
bands which infested the States of 
the Church during the reign of Gre- 
gory XIII., and which Sbctus V. had 
now to deal with, were those of AI- 
phonso Piccolomini, Lambert Mala- 
tcsta, and Guercino. 

The history of brigandage is the 
same everywhere. An organi2ed 
band, if successful, soon attracts the 
vicious element of the population, 
and every town and village furnishes 
its contingent of men of evil habits 
and ruined fortunes. The lawless 
and adventurous life of the banditti 
strikes the vulgar imagination. They 
gain the sympathy of the peasant 
population, to whom they apfjear as 
heroes, and vvho» by connivance and 
succor, as well as by the oljstacles 
ihey contrive to tliraw in the 
way of pursuit or surprise by the 
authorities, make themselves in fact 



the allies and associates of the 
robbers. 

From his stronghold at Pitigliano, in 
Tuscany, Piccolomini made raids into 
the Pontifical States whenever it suit- 
ed him, sometimes pushing as far as 
the gates of Rome. On one occasion 
he defeated a large body of troops 
sent against him, and finally became 
so powerful that the government of 
Gregory XIII. had the weakness to 
treat with him, and make important 
concessions in order to purchase his 
inactivity. 

Sbctus V. increased the number of 
troops, and sent them out against the 
band of Guercino, the most insolent 
and cntel of the robber chiefs. The 
expedition was successful, the band 
defeated, and Guercino killed. Mean- 
time, the pope j>ushed the necessary 
reforms in Rome. Finding the gov- 
ernor of the city not sufficiently re- 
solute for his position, he was set 
aside and an abler man put in his. 
place. The most stringent orders as 
to the preservation of the morals and 
public peace of Rome were now issu- 
ed, and put in force with the last se- 
verity. 

Neither wealth, high birth, power- 
ful conngictions, nor even the eccle- 
siastical character, aiibrded any impu- 
nity. Young men bearing the most 
illustrious names in Rome, the Sforza^ 
the Orsini, and others, suffered impris- 
onment and degrading punishments. 

For disobedience, the Cardinal 
Guastavillani was placed under ar- 
rest. Cardinal de Medicis remon- 
strated, and was answered by liis 
holiness : ** Your language surprises 
us. We intend to be obeyed here.*' 

For some criminal offence, the im- 
prisonment of a domestic of Cardinal 
Sforza had been ordered, but the offi- 
cers of the law reported that tl)e arrest 
could not be made, because tlie man 
was protected by his master, Sixtus 
Y. sent word that, if the man was not 



dor of Venice at Rorae 
oge: 

I that this severity will 
public tranquillity, for 
has fair warning that 
*aceably £;nd obey the 

'cpoli caused profound 
Lonly in Italy but 
lope. 

the principle that a 
shonored by the piui- 
degradation of those 
m selves unworthy of 
it, Sixtus V. had no 
tion for the eccksias- 
the monk*s robe on a 
for the gilt armor of 
:he purple of a cardi- 
principle was carried 
St severity. Some re- 
an was caught im- 
he pious creduhty of 
;h pretended miracles 
image of Santa Maria 
Te was whipped from 
i Corso to the other, 
convicted of several 
ag at the St, Angelo 
Transpontine brothers 
the galleys. An ec- 
Annibal Capcllo, con- 
;her crimes, of being 
, had his tongue and 
t off, and was then 
. gibbet. A mother 
le honor of her daugh- 
Law and order at 
The malefactor stayed 
:ombatants could in- 
aled by the reminder 
y, "Sixtus V. reigns/* 

JSCANY PROTECT THE 
INDITTL 

if the government of 
embarrassed Sixtus V. 



in his measures for the arrest and 
punishment of bandits. 

From the earliest period of the Re- 
public the right of asylum within its 
territory had been maintained. At 
tht period we treat of no dislmction 
was made, in the case of an exile, be- 
tween ordinary crimes and political 
ofiences. But Sixtus demanded of 
the Venetian senate a public declara- 
tion to the effect that criminals out- 
lawed in Kome could not receive 
shelter and protection within the ter- 
ritory of Venice, at the same time 
offering a similar declaration on his 
part^as to Venetian fugitives in the 
Pontifical States. What he demand- 
ed was, in fact, a modern extradition 
treaty, and by the exercise of admira- 
ble logic and (in him) yet more ad- 
mirable patience, he finally succeed- 
ed in his object, Sixtus had been 
assured that he might count with cer- 
tainty on the co-operation of Francis, 
Duke of Tuscany, against the robbers, 
but was disappointed. Francis con- 
tinued to tolerate the robbers within 
his territory, and toleration was im- 
punity. Personally attached to Fran- 
cis, it was repugnant to the pontiff to 
take measures that might alienate 
him, but be had a great duty to per- 
form, and motives merely personal 
could not be allowed to have any 
weight. With admirable combina- 
tion of appeal to his manhood and 
of distinct intimation that force, if ne- 
cessary, should be used, Sixtus forced 
Francis to do justice, Malatesta was 
delivered and beheaded at Rome. 

This w^as in the autumn of 1587. 
Two years and a few months previ- 
ous, twenty*seven thousand armed 
banditti were masters of the country 
outside the walls of Rome. Now, not 
one was left. 

The severities by which Sixtus re- 
pressed brigandage and disorder are 
perhaps repugnant to our ideas of to- 
day, but were justified by the customs 



5S6 



SixfHS the Fifth. 



I 



of the period and the exceptional po- 
sition m which he found the territory 
committed to his charge. Hl*i was 
pot the severity of a sovereign to his 
eople. His enemies were the ene- 
mies of society ; not poUtical refugees, 
but men outside the pale of the law 
by their crimes. They were simply 
robbers, who arrayed themselves 
against law and government, demor- 
aliifed the public, broke up commerce^ 
and who were ready to become the 
tools of the stranger* the Protestant, 
or the Turk, and make themselves 
the instrument of the ruin of both 
papacy and the pope. Their life was 
his death, and the death of society. 

Once victorious on this ground, 
severity disappeared, 

TREASURY AND FINANCIAL SYSTEM. 

On his accession. Sixtus V. found 
an empty treasury, and he set out 
with the principle of reduction of ex* 
penses and augmentation of revenue. 
Personally frugal and s}^tematically 
economical, he brought these quali- 
ties to bear on the public finances. 
When he was a poor monk, he kept a 
racmorantlum-book, in which he en- 
tered all his temporal incidents^ his 
appointments for preaching, commis- 
sions, books purchased, how they 
were hound, their price, and all the 
details of his expenditure. The me- 
morandum-book here referred to still 
exists, and is in possession of the 
Chigi family in Rome. 

At the close of the first year of his 
pontificate, the balance in the public 
treasury was a million of scudi in 
gold. In six months more another 
million was added ^ and yet another 
million by the end of the second year. 
Soon there were four millions and a 
half of specie within the walls of St, 
Angelo. 

According to our modem ideas, 
this was a very poor system of fi- 



nance, because the imniense sum 
thus amassed was so much dead and 
useless capital drawn away fi'oni pub- 
lic circulation, and consequently frop 
commerce, manufactures, anti public 
wealth. In the year 1870, such sim- 
plicity provokes the smile of the un- 
thinking, and modem ^^Titers have 
severely criticised the really able fin- 
ancial system of Sixtus V. from their 
own modem standpoint, Bui their 
criticism is unenlightened and flip- 
pant. When we look at the subject 
from the proper point of view — ^that 
is to say, the contemporary — the sys- 
tem was reasonable and even %tiac. 
Finance was not then reduced to a 
science. The wisest fin.mcier or 
statesman of that day was i»roft>uijd* 
\y ignorant of the fact that national 
wealth increases proportionally with 
the circulation of capital, which cre- 
ates new values, quick ens and sits- 
tains public activity, an<l, properly 
administered, Sfireads \\ nts 

among vill classes of the \ n. 

But circulation of capital 
dit^ and credit at that pen. : ... ...vi* 

ly existed. Money could then onl} 
be borrowed on the most ooenmi 
conditions, and at a momeni of poB* 
tical complications would not be lent 
at any price — ^that is to say, it could 
not be obtained precisely at the mo- 
ment when govemmenti movt need* 
ed it. 

In all Europe there were at that 
time but two banks — those of V^cnicc 
and Genoa ; and these banks 0|>eiied 
no credits. Their operations wcjt 
strictly confined to Uie faciliLoiion of 
the commercial transactions of those 
who deposited with tiiem. He&ee 
the necessity that a government sfaotdd 
have a treasury for the mummt of 
need, just as it had a granary Ux the 
eventuality of famine. 

The hoarded trcasnr)'^ of Sixtus V. I 
was thus a necessity, and an intdlK 
gent one. 




^iCRlCULTURE, MANUFACTURES, 
COMMERCE 



AND 



also received his enlightened atten- 
tion and encouragement. While all 
his energies appeared to be concen- 
trated on the extirpation of the war- 
like brigands, he was then deeply 
preoccupied with the triumphs of 
peace* He undertook to drain the 
great swamp of Orvieto and the Pon- 
tine Marshes, and cut across the lat- 
ter ihtjiutfi^ Sisfo {river Sixtus), up to 
that time the most effectual attempt 
at drainage that had been made. 

He encouraged the establishment 
of silk manufactories, and for that 
purpose accorded large privileges to 
Peter of Valencia, a Roman citizen, 
and to a Jew named Main, Ranke 
relates that he commanded that mul- 
berry-trees should be planted through- 
out the States of the Church in all 
gardens and vineyards, in every field 
and wood, over all hills, and in tvtixy 
valley ; wherever no corn was grown, 
these trees were to find place; for it 
was ordered that five of them should 
be planted on every ruldno of land, 
and the communes were threatened 
with heavy fines in case of neglect. 

The woollen manufactures, also, 
he sought earnestly to promote, ** in 
order," as he says, " that the poor 
may have some means of earning their 
bread." To the first person who un- 
dertook this business he advanced 
funds from the treasury, accepting a 
certain number of pieces of cloth in 
return. 

Sixtus accorded the Jews of the 
Ghetto many facilities, and positively 
forbade the perpetration of the insults 
to which they were subjected if seen 
out of their quarter. The order was 
no idle warning, and astounded Rome 
actually saw Christians whipped on 
the Corso for insulting a Jew ! It 
would have been to the credit of 
Christianity if other sovereigns, both 



Catholic and Protestant, had follow- 
ed the example of Sixtus V. 

ECCLESIASTICAL AUMINISTRATION. 

Human ability and effort have their 
limits, and it might be supposed that 
even extraordinary mental and physi- 
cal endurance could be capable of 
effecting no more than Sixtus V, 
achieved in the gigantic temporal la- 
bors of which we have here given but 
a mere sketch. 

But this was not the measure of 
the ability of this wonderful man. 
It is above all things in the reorgani- 
zation of the ecclesiastical adminis- 
tration of the Holy See that the wis- 
dom and foresight of Sixtus V. shine 
with the highest lustre. Plis cele- 
brated bull, Immensa utenta Dei^ the 
production of his own pen, would 
alone suffice to preserve his name 
among the greatest of pontiffs ; and 
ahnost as much may be said of the 
bull^ Fhsiquam vcrus ille, fixing the 
number of cardinals at seventy — a 
provision never since departed from. 

The personal participation of Six- 
tus Y. in the revision of the Vulgate 
edition of the Scriptures was at one 
time the subject of long controver- 
sies with Protestant theologians. 
These controversies are fully de- 
scribed in Tempesti's Life £tf Sixtus 
V, Baron Hiibner cites from the 
archives of Venice a despatch of tiie 
Venetian ambassador (Badoer) at 
Rome, which gives us an authentic 
statement as to the share of Sixtus in 
that great work, and in the words of 
his holiness himself It should be 
premised that the revision of the Vul- 
gate decreed by the Council of Trent 
had been entrusted by Pius IV. 
to a convocation of cardinals, was 
continued under Pius V., suspended 
under Gregory XIIL, but recom- 
menced by Sixtus V,, who gave 
it his personal attention and, aided 



i 



i 



I 



by Father Toledo • and other learn- 
ed religious, labored upon it with so 
much success that the beginning was 
sent to press during the last year of 
his Ufc.t 

Walking one day in his vineyard 
with the ambassador — so runs Ba- 
doer's dcs]>atch of June 5, 1589 — he 
related to him that, notwithstanding 
the dispositions of the council, the 
revision had not been stiflFiciently 
forwardcfi ; that he had charged 
several cardinals with the labor, and 
finding they did not advance with suf- 
ficient speed, he went to work at it 
himself; that his Ivibor was nearly 
complete, having reached the Apoca- 
lypse ; and that the Book of Wisdom 
was then in press. He added that 
when the amba5sador was announced 
he was then occupied with it, and 
that it had grown to be a labor of 
love with him ; ** that his method was 
to transmit the revision as soon as 
he had comi>leted it page by page to 
Father Toledo and some Augustine 
fathers learned in the Scriptures, who 
re\Hsed his work and sent it to the 
printer.'' 

ST. Peter's, the oeEusK, aud the 

AQUEX>UCr, 

But none of the great qualities and 
triumphs of Sixtus V. so much im- 
pressed his contemporaries and pos- 
terity as the immense mass of archi- 
tectural constructions with which he 
endowed and embellished the city of 
Rome. Wliat he accomplished witli- 
in the short period of a five years' 
reign was, in the opinion of that day, 
something verging on the supernatu- 



**'Cct hommc trfcs r*rc, ' siav* Monuiync, 
*' en profondeur de uvoir, en pcrtiQcQce et cSis^ 
position/' 

t The wnrlc was only terminated durin]^ the 
ponti6catc r.f riement VIU, uncier tbe l\l\<i : 
Bi6tia ta*ra l'j^//<//4f tjiiiamis Stjrtt k\ fant, 
rn-ijt.jtftsu^ recc£nitm et CUmifmtim t'/I/, mmti*- 
riiaU *dittM» 






ral. Men of reflection could compxt* 
bend the possibility of ex ecu ting these 
works within that period if they hsd 
been conceived, (jlannt^d, and arrang- 
ed for years beforehand : but for 
them, too, the conception, mattmty, 
and realization of these bold project^ 
amid so many engrossing occupations, 
appeared nothing less than miracu- 
lous. 

The truth is that there was no 
more of miracle in what excited the 
wonder of men, than the result of i!jc 
combination of genius and a po' 
ful will 

In his long years of retircm^ 
Cardinal Montalio had studied Rome 
and its surroundings^ saw the amc* 
liorations sorely needed, reflected 
upon the means of attaining them, 
and gradually matured the pith 
jects he afterwards put in execution. 
When in his carriage he desccndftl 
the Estiuiline Hill, and only reacked 
St. Peter's after a hundred tumingf 
and windings by rough and brokoi 
w^ays, he had already mentally traced 
the direction and lines of long Wft- 
nues absolutely necessary to renckf 
the great basilicas of Rome acccaa^ 
ble* When, in passing by, be ssv 
the obelisk of Nerohalfburied in the 
earth, he recalled the desire exprtssed 
by so many of his pncdeccsiiors to dift- 
inter and elevate it pcnr ' m 

front of St. Peter's. \\ it 

was impossible, he said ' 
a slight smile of disdain | i 

his features. 

Returning to his vineyard throil^ 
large tracts of deserted land^^-deKft* 
ed because there wns no water— he 
could see from his windows the L* 
tin mountains full of living spci^gi 
of pure water. Long aquedisli 
formerly brought these wmters t» 
Rome, but they had fallen to mill* 
and no one thought of repaifiiit ^ 
replacing them* Why could 
tliesc waters again be bi 




Rome? Impossible! he was told 
There is no money to do it with, 
and, moreover, the country belongs 
to the brigands. Impossibility was 
the ready objection every v\ he rt: met 
with. 

The work on St. Peter's had been 
continued almost without interruption 
since the pontificate of Julius IL 
Bramante's pillars, erected to support 
the cupola, already rcquir<id staying 
and strengthening. After the death 
of Michael Angelo, the gallery had 
been built on his designs. But the 
cupola ? The risk and expense of 
completing it alarmed every one. 
The cost was estimated at a million 
golden crowns, and the time requi- 
site at not less than ten years. Pub- 
lie opinion began to settle down re- 
signedly to the certainty that St. 
Peter's would never be completed. 

All these questions, the necessity 
of new streets, the absolute need of 
water, the completion of the cupola, 
the raising of the obelisk, were to 
;^tne extent subjects of Roman re- 
us ark and discussion, with but bar- 
ren resuk. 

When Cardinal Mont alto began 
the construction of his litde villa^ he 

ployed a journeyman stone-mason, 
fiecenlly arrived in Ronoe, from his 
mountain home near Como, who 
sadly needed work. The young 
mechanic was grateful for the patron- 
age and kindness he received, and 
when the cardinal's limited means 
became yet more contracted by the 
withdrawal of the small pension ac- 
corded by Pius IV., the mason in- 
sisted on continuing the work with 
his small savings. This young me- 
chanic was the afterwards celebrated 
engineer, Domenico Fontana, He 
soon gave evidence of capacity be- 
yond his station* and^ aided and en- 
couraged by his patron, ajijilied him- 
self in his intervals of labor to the 
fitudy of the higher .branches of his 



art. With Fontana the cardinal 
would for long hours discuss all 
these quesdons touching the improve- 
ment of Rome, proposing plans, and 
prolonging consultations as to the 
best method of carrying them out. 

Thus it was that when he became 
pope he had nothing to learn, noth- 
ing to discuss concerning them. The 
preliminary arrangements were com- 
pleted, his plans were perfected, and 
nothing remained but to give orders 
for their execution. 

Remarkably enough, all these great 
projects became accomplished facts. 
The elevation of the obelisk before 
St. Peter's was the event of the day 
for all Europe, although in ijoint of 
fact it was not so great a work as 
the completion of the dome, nor a 
greater than that of piercing Rome 
with two grand arteries, one of which 
was two and a half miles long, nor 
than that of furnishing the city with 
an abundant supply of fresh water. 
In five years Sbttus accomplished 
what for fifty years had been declar- 
ed impossible. None of these tri- 
umphs so forcibly impressed the im- 
agination of the Roman peo]»le as 
the removal of the obelisk. Paul 
III. had conceived the project of 
raising it. He consulted Michael 
Angelo, Antonio de Sangallo, and 
the first architects of the epoch, w^ho 
unanimously declared it impractica- 
ble. Their decision was final, and 
the idea was abandoned- 

But Sixtus V. had satisfie<l him- 
self that the immense Egyptian stone 
monument could be raised, and was 
determined that it should be. Four 
months after his accession he com- 
mitted the project to the considera- 
tion of a commission. Plans were 
called for and received from every 
part of Italy, and even Sicily and 
Greece. 

That of Fontana was adopted, but 
as objection was made to the youth 




590 



Six/ us the Fifth. 



of the architect, the commission de- 
cided that its execution should be 
confided to two distinguished Floren- 
tine architects. Fontana remonstrat- 
ed and complained to the pope. No 
one, he said, can better execute a 
plan than its originator, for no one 
else can adequately grasp his whole 
project. Sixtuis was struck with the 
justice of his protest, and confided 
the task to his former mason. Rome 
was scandalized, and failure predicted. 
The task to be accomplished was to 
raise the enonnous mass of stone 
from where it stood erect and half 
buried in the earth, place it on a 
sled or platform^ transport it to the 
centre of the place, and there elevate 
it on a pedestal. The boldness of 
the undertaking excited an admira- 
tion which was increased by the gran- 
deur of the preparations, and the 
rapidity with which they were pushed 
on, 

l*he requisite iron machiner}' weigh- 
ed 40, coo pounds, and employed all 
the foundries of Rome, Subiaco, and 
Roncigiione. The Nettuno pine 
forests furnished beams of enormous 
size, each one requiring a draught of 
fourteen oxen. Commenced in Oc- 
tober, the preparations were compict- 
ed by the following 7th of May. 

The finst portion of the task — the 
raising of the obelisk and placing it 
on the bled, was the most difficult. 
An immense crowd assembled to see 
it. All the cardinals, prelates^ and 
nobility of Rome were present An 
edict of the governor of the city pre- 
scribed absolute silence — a precau- 
tion essentially necessary in order 
that the large bodies of laborers 
should distincdy hear the orders giv- 
en. Fontana began his day's event- 
ful work by asking the blessing of 
his holiness, and the story is common- 
ly related that, when it was given, 
Sixtus encouraged him by the assur- 
ance that his head should be cut off 



if he failed, and that Fotitana, &ig1||^. 
encd at the threat, placed \%<me$> 
ready saddled at all the gates oC 
Rome. Further — so runs the amifi- 
in g legend — a large number of scaf- 
folds were erected facing the Sfsectft- 
tors, with headsmen upon ihem ti^dy 
for work. These fables were all iiK 
vcnted long after the death of Stxtus 
v., and were all of the manufacture 
of (ircgorio Lett. 

With the aid of an immense num- 
ber of horses and nine Iuj n, 

the work rapidly advanccU ^^ 

found silence. Suddenly this si^eaor 
was broken by a shrill v^ iag 

out— '* Wet die ropes.'* A 

been perceived issuing Jroni U*cis, 
and they were about to take ttt 
when the timely warning came. Pio* 
testant English literature has loi^ 
credited '*an £nglu»h sailor** will 
the warning. An Engliiihinan od 
an ecdesiasttc was a rare viMior ui 
Rome at that rime, and the idea of 
a common English sirilor 
about the interior of Italy in the 
of the iucus a $wn lu^cmio Vi 
Queen, is simply absur^L 
sailors were uot tlien so very 
rou?;, and Queen Eli/a^H'th tn 
them all \i\ her yr 
with Drake and her ^ ;_■ 

mercial transactions wiUi Ij 
in the African slave iradc, 
English sailor is here a myth. 
true history of the ro^)' 
matter of record. The v 
was uttered by a Geno 
named Bresca, whose prc^. 
mind was equalled by her c* 
for the threatened penalty oi vszj^- 
ing silence w'aa death. As a rectus 
pense for her timely wanv 
tained for herself and I 
dants the privilege of fu! 
palms used at St Peter:. ^.. ,_^ 
Sunday, and her family prcseivt (k 
monopoly to this day. 

By the 13th of June^tlie rainitf 




Sixlus 

aiid removal were safely effected, and 
the obelisk was laid honzontallv' in 
the centre of the place. The work 
of elevating it was postponed on ac- 
count of the summer heats until the 
lolh September following. On that 
day it was commenced before day- 
break» and the rays of the setting sun 
gilded the obelisk of Nero on the 
spot where we now see it. 

Near Palcstrina and twenty miles 
,. southwest of Rome, there was a 
large and abundant spring of water 
on the lands of Marzio Colonna, 
Sixtus spent five days in examining 
it and in visiting the neighborhood, 
and purchased the spring for the sum 
of 25,000 crowns, Fontana was im- 
mediately set to work on the aque- 
duct which to this day supplies 
Rome. 

This was done, as Sixtus himself 
said, *♦ that these hills, adorned in 
early Christian times with basilicas, 
renowned for the salubrity of the air, 
the pleasantness of their situations, 
and the beauty of their prospects, 
iHJght again become inhabited by 
man. Therefore we have suft'ered 
ourselves to be alarmed by no difii- 
culty, and deterred by no cost/' Well 
might he call the fountain that 
gave forth its happy stream Ai/ua 

Meantime, the grand avenues 
opening communicadon across Rome 
were pursued with activity, and woe 
to vineyards, houses, churches, or 
monuments of antiquity Uiat came 
jji tlieir way ; they were pitilessj^^ 
swept off. As usual in such cases, 
there was loud discontent, and we 
find the echo of contemporaneous 
complaint, in a letter written by 
Monsignore Gerino to the Grand- 
Dtike of Tuscany. He concludes by 
sa\ing that " not only architects and 
intelligent men* but the Sacred Col- 
lege itself, protests, and Castle St 
Angel^^jte only gainer, for^jiis 



the Fifth. 



591 



holiness fills it with gold in exchange 
for stones." 

The grand arteries spoken of tra- 
versed the least inhabited and most 
hilly part of Roma Houses and 
palaces soon sprang up on tlieir line 
(among the last that of the Mat- 
tei, still standing), and a carriage could 
now go in a straight line from Trini- 
ta de' Monti to Santa Maria Mag- 
glore, thence to the Place St. Mark, 
from the St. Laurent gate to Sta, Maria 
Maggiore and to the Baths of Diocle- 
tian, from the Lateran to the Coliseum, 
and from the Salara gate to the Strada 
Pia. Heavy grading facilitated the 
access to Santa Maria Maggiore, and 
the long avenue connecting it with 
St. John Lateran was elevated. The 
heretofore valueless land in the quar- 
ters was now sold at good prices, and 
represented the ** stones exchanged 
for gold.'* 

In our day we have seen greater 
works, but if their impulsion came 
from the government it was by means 
of credit, speculation, and capital 
seeking investment that they were 
executed. This was not [)0ssible in 
the time of Sixtus* Me alone con- 
ceived, planned, directed, and paid for 
them. When we consider that the me- 
chanical sciences were then in their 
infancy, that such a motive power as 
steam was undreamt of, that means of 
transport were rude and ineffective, 
and that, so far from having railways, 
even passable roads were rare, we 
need not be surprised that all Europe 
then wondered in admiration at what 
this aged pope had effected. Vol- 
umes have been filled with descrip- 
tions of the grand works and noble 
monuments of Sixtus V. We have 
not space here for their mere enume- 
ration. Shortly after the death of 
Sixtus, the renowned Benedictine ab- 
bot, Don Angelo Grilb, returned to 
Rome after an absence of ten yearsj 
and wrote to a fricDd : 



* 



ITS, H 



592 



Sixius the Fifth. 



" 1 am in Rome, but I hardly recognUc 
it. Evcn'thing appears new to me. 
Were 1 a poet, I should say that, at the 
imperious sound of the trumpet of this 
magnanimous pontiff, the resuscitated 
remains of the vast body of ancient Rome, 
scattered and buried in the Latin Cam pa- 
gna, hud answered his call/ and, thanks 
to his fervent spirit, a new Rome had 
arisen from itti ashes." 

THE STATESMAN. 

As to the tests of talent, originality, 
strength of will, and mental power, 
all that wc have thus far recounted 
of this great pontiff falls into insigni- 
ficance when we contemplate his po- 
litical labors and responsibilities, for 
the politics of that day were inti- 
mately connected in all their ramifi- 
cations with the safety of the church 
and the preservation of the faiih. 
Among the contemporaries of the 
pope were Philip IL of Spain, Hen- 
ry IIL, the League, and Henry IV. 
of France, and Elizabeth of England, 
It was the period of the assassination 
of the Duke and the Cardinal of Guise, 
of the murder of Mary Stuart with 
mockery of judicial form, of the mar- 
tyrdom of a baml of noble young 
English priests, and of the Spanish Ar- 
mada. War^ revolution, and anarchy 
were ever)' where. The pope was 
still the father of the faithful In all 
their troubles, they turned to him for 
I ounsel and succor, and he looked 
upon Protestants as heretics who 
might yet be reclaimed. Political 
ambition he always refused to aid, 
and any nation imposed upon by a 
powerful neighbor always found in 
him a friend. No modern statesman 
ever had a clearer idea of the neces- 
sity of a balance of power than Six- 
tus V. " The great Christian prin- 
ces/* he said, " have each need of a 

* Ortbe twelve obneliski ncriv in Rome, tbe fint 
four, timmcly, Ihosc ml Si. PetecX the L^ermn, 
S4L0U Maru Mai^giure, and tbe PUAM del ]*0po- 
la^ were cfecled by Si&lus V, 



counteqiolse, for, if one of thctn should 
get the upper hand, all the others 
would run the risk of being imposed 
upon.** On his accession, it was imp- 
posed that the old friar, totally ignorant 
of diplomacy and pubbc affairs, could 
be easily managed. Those who thought 
so found themselves grievously tnij*- 
taken, and among them none roon? 
than Olivarez^ tiie Spanish ambassd- 
dor, who had spent his life as a dip- 
lomat. The old fnar was more thaa 
a match for them all. 

In his development — with the aid 
of valuable official correspondence, 
now first brought to Ught — of the po- 
Utical complications of that eventful 
period, Baron Hubner has made an 
admirable contribution to historicil 
science, the more so as he strictly 
follows the scientific and ronsdo)- 
tious method of basing his statementi 
exclusively upon wcll-an ' led 

contem j^oraneous dor um ^ jig 

fiction for wTiters of romance. 

Our limits will nut, of cparsCi p»- 
mit us to follow Sixtus V. throofb 
these tabors. It would be gi%*nig ibe 
history of Eurf>i>c at that ^y. Ba- 
ron Hiibncr admirabl the cod 
of his pontificate in v linei, 
" Sixius V. came out -, Hii 
stand was taken. I't ^ /;fredaie 
him. The papacy shall not be 
made the instrument of political aoh 
bitions. Neither to Philip nar to the 
League will the pontiff lend the txt^ 
surcs of St. Angelo nnr the thdndeif 
of the Vatican. They shall acnr 
Qply the cause of religion^ which is Jl 
the same time and always liic 
of society. The equilibrium ^ ^^ 
rope shall be maintained. > 
the issue of the crisis wh'u h sur .j.; 
teen raontlis has held cvt-ry rnc 
susi>cnse. It is Sixtus's last wl-t 
His task is accompJisIicd, W: 
ready to die.*'* 

• Pi»pt Sutvt V. ttdHtcd Xiapat IT, tap- 



The Bell ef tlu Wanderers, 



In summing up the character of 
this noble ponlitf, the Edinburgh Re- 
view is of opinion that "impartial 
history must determine that Sixtus V. 



was a great pope, and that, on a con- 
sideration of the whole results of his 
pontificate, posterity owes him a debt 
of gratitude/' 




THE BELL OF THE WANDERERS, 



FROM THE FUfcSCH. 



*' At a short distance from the village 
of Sart, amid ihe surrouridmg moors^ 
stood 3 hospiuL founded for the relief of 
travellers wlio had hiid ihe misfortune to 
lose iheir way or to be over t:i ken by night 
in thai foggy and desolate* region where so 
many persons Kave perished during win- 
ter, for want of assistance. 

** Every day, toward nightfall, a bell 
was rung, in order that those within hear- 
ing might be guided by its sound toward 
that charitable lofuge. There they were 
carefully furnished with everything neces- 
sary* That bell was likewise rung occa- 
sionally during the day, when the air was 
obscuicd ckher by the driving snow or 
by the thick fogs which are so frequent 
in those parts, 

"That foundation is attributed to a 
%cry wealthy mcrchrtnt of Sart, who . . /' 



1 SI 

Hnossaj 
PefVei 



I suddenly stopped on reading this 
.ge from the gootl old historian 
ef Verviers, Reniacleus de Trooz. In 
fact, it reminded me that there was a 
portion of the Ardennes which I had 
not as yet fully explored ; namely, 
the eastern part of the ancient marqui- 
feate of Franchimont, which contains 
pretty villages, vestiges of former in- 
dustry, forests, and vast moors brok- 
en by a nutnher of valleys watered 
by charming little streams, one of 
which, the Hocgue, is the most curi- 
ous river of the land, because of its 
high banks, its wild scenery^ and es- 
ially by reason of the numerous 
cascades which it forms by leaping 
down a series of elevated steps. I 
therefore resolved to set out at once 
YOU XIL — 38 



in that direction, and to collect, upon 
the spot itself, all the desired infor- 
mation regarding the species of Lit- 
tle St. Bernard of which there was 
question in the lines quoted at the 
opening of my story. 

I started one fine jnorning from Vcr- 
viers, and soon reached the village 
of Stembert, memorable fur the bat- 
tie gained in 1678 over the Ger- 
man army commanded by the Count 
of Salm, to which is attached an 
amusing legend. During the action, 
a crowd of females, uneasy regarding 
the fate of their husbands, their fa- 
thers, and their brothers, had group- 
ed together in a spot whence they 
could see all without being seen them- 
selves. But a troop of fugitive Ger- 
mans, closely pressed, passing near, 
seized them and placed them be- 
hind upon their sadiBes, so that their 
pursuers dared not fire ujion them. 
Most of these unwilling Amazons re- 
turned shortly after, others later ; 
some never reappeared. 

A mile further across a forest 
brought me to Jalhay, a large village 
which owes its name (frost) to the 
excessive culd fult there during the 
winter. The injiibitants are, notwith- 
standing, very hot-blooded and of an 
exceedingly belligerent nature, as is 
attested by various documents pre- 
served among the archives setting 
forth the numerous privileges they 
have gained for various services ren • 



dered their sovereigns under diverse 
circumstances. Comines describes 
them as " a nation of capital fight- 
ers;" and Olivier de la Marche as 
** strong and robust men» difficult to 
conquer/' There I visited a fa- 
mous mill the proprietor of which 
was formerly subjected to a singular 
presentation. He was obliged to give 
every year, on March 17, the Feast of 
St, Gertrude, to the justiciaries of the 
neighborhood, a dinner, the bill of fare 
being specified in an act dating back 
several centuries. The absence of a 
single dish im/olved the o!>ligation 
of repeating the banquet within the 
week. Therefore, the guests wxre re- 
quired, on rising from table, to sign 
a discharge in full. The mayor alone 
had the right of drinking wine; fur- 
thcnnore, he could bring with him 
his wife, his man-servant, and two 
white harriers. Wliy that color, 1 
cannot tell. 

" Since you are in search of anti- 
quities," I was told upon quitting Jal- 
hay, " do not fail to visit the Tal>k of 
the Four Siwerdgns*^ The stone in 
question, now considerably worn, has 
a large square surface, supported by 
three thick blocks of quartz, precisely 
like a dolmen. The manner in which 
it lay placed its four corners in 
the provinces of Liege, Luxemburg^ 
Limburg, and Stavelot. The legend 
attached to it purports that the sover- 
eigns of these countries met there 
under a tent, at certain times, and 
dined fraternally, each seated upon 
his uvvii territory. It is added that 
the meal was always of game slain 
by their princely hands. 

I finally reached Sart, a village 
idating from the fifteenth century^ the 
history of which is a veritable mar- 
ityrology : four times annihilated, it has 
always, like the phoenix, arisen from 
its ashes : ** Fate of iron, soil of iron, 
heads of iron," says a local proverb. 

.But I constantly kept in view the 



aim of my pilgrimage in visiting the 
marquisate of Franchimoni, namely, 
to trace out the legend alluded to by 
Remacleus de Trooz, and I eagerly 
sought information. I found an old 
game-keeper who willingly scncd 
as my guide, and who, from his fifty 
years' experience o( those forests ajid 
moors, was well qualified for that 
office. 

We ascended the Hoegue. which 
we left at the spot where it fom>s an 
angle toward the north-east. After 
walking rather more than half a 
league through an apparently endless 
moor, my conductor pointed out an 
old stone cross surrounded by rub- 
bish, and said to me : 

" Thence sounded the Bell of the 
Wanderers, and there was the scene 
of the marvellous and terrible evcfils 
which you are about to hear." 



About two hundred and fifty years 
since, there dwelt in the vilhtge of 
Sart one Gerard Hclman, wh^> l'*! 
ried on an extensive iron hv 
which obliged him frequently L., ... 
sent himself from home. He bad 
married the previous year a youn| 
girl from Theux, to whom he wai 
devotedly attached. His wife was 
about rendering him a father, whea 
an important business affair sum moo- 
ed him to a distant part of the pro- 
vince* He would have greatly prr- 
ferred not to make the journey. a$ \L 
was then the month of January ; ti»e 
cold was extremely bitter, a dcmt 
snow covered the ground, and ocot* 
sionally whirled about in blinding ed- 
dies. It was actually dangeroitt |o 
travel at such times. Probably be 
could not defer so doing, for he sHit^ 
cd one morning on horscbaclL Ht 
intended retuming the next day but 
one, but he was detained two d^iyf 
longer than he had purposed* D»- 



The Bell of the Wanderers. 



595 



ing thai interval, the weather, far 
from clearing up, had become much 
worse, and he was entreated to de- 
lay his departure. The desire of re- 
joining his wife, however, induced 
him to brave everything to return 
homeward. 

Behold him once morei'/i ratttc, hav- 
ing to make a journey of six leagues 
across a solitary waste, a trackless 
moor, presenting nothing to the eye 
save an immense plain covered with 
snow hardened by the icy north- wind» 
He, however, took confidence in the 
thought that he had very frequently, 
at all seasons of the year^ made the 
same journey without the slightest 
mishap, and he relied upon his steed, 
his warm cloak, upon the wea- 
pons wherewith he had provided 
himstflf, and his knowledge of the 
country, to arrive safe and sound 
at his destination. This was great 
presumption ; for, even in our own^ 
day, we should i)ity the imprudent 
traveller who ventures to wander about 
the country during winter, losing 
sight of the main road bordered with 
trees to serve as a landmark. There 
are plenty of crosses around us which 
are sufficiently eloquent upon the sub- 
ject, and fresh memorials are planted 
yearly. 

Helman journeyed all the day with- 
out meeting with either habitation or 
guide-post. He felt, however, quite 
certain that he had followed the direct 
road. Night closed in with a sky 
dark as a death-pall, the earth white 
as a winding-sheet, and everywhere 
a most lugubrious silence, interrupt- 
ed only by some sudden wind -squall 
or by the howling of the famished 
wolves. 

To crowm his misfortune, the 
ground, thitherto uniform, suddenly 
became uneven. His horse stum- 
bled and fell. The man arose un- 
hurt, but the poor beast was helpless, 
for it had broken its leg. 



Gerard felt deeply grieved to be 
forced to abandon to his fate his old 
travelhng companion^ who looked im- 
ploringly at him, licking his hand and 
neighing raounifully, as if entreating 
him not to leave him to so miserable 
a death. After caressing htrn^ speak- 
ing to him as if the animal could un- 
derstand what he saidj and promising 
to return at any risk in search of him 
once he should \\d.vt found a human 
dwelling, the traveller summoned cou- 
rage and resumed his journey. 

He walked for several hours longer 
without meeting a vestige of life. 
Exhausted with fatigue, and stif- 
fened with cold, he halted, with a 
feeling of bitter discouragement. 

To his great surprise, he perceived 
at a short distance a dark mass lying 
upon the ground. He made a great 
ertbrt to approach it, and when the 
poor wanderer reached the mysteri- 
ous object, the form of which had 
been undistinguishable from afar, he 
was spell-bound to fintl himself before 
his horse, stretche<l out at full length 
upon the ground and stone-dead. 

He at first fancied that the unfor- 
tunate animal had succeeded in mov- 
ing and had followed him unperceiv* 
ed ; but he quickly realised that he had 
not changed his place, so that he him- 
self harl merely made a circle atid re- 
turned to his point of departure. 

Utter despair took possession of 
him and he resolved to remain there 
until dayiight. He therefore laid 
himself upon the body of his horse, 
whirh still retained some little warnnh ; 
but he felt that the cold which had stif- 
fened his extremities was gradually in- 
vading his enttrt: being. Realizing that 
the approaching stupor would be fa- 
tal to him, he thouglu it best to walk 
about. 

After a few steps, he found it im- 
possible to go further. His feelings 
were such as cannot well be express- 
ed. Death was before him in its 



■ 




* 



mosf terrible form. To increase his 
misery, the picture of his past happi 
ncss presented itself to his mindt he 
fancied himself once more beside his 
young wife in his warm, comfortable 
home : he even saw himself the father 
of a fair little babe, who smilingly 
held out his arms to him. 

But now other ideas presented 
themselves and changed the current 
of his thoughts. 




Glancing over the vast and silent 
desert which surrounded him, Gerard 
H el man asked himself why it was 
ihat no charitable soul had ever 
thought of establishing therein a re- 
fuge for lost travellers — a tower with 
a light to serve as a beacon, and a heli 
to inform them that there was a li\'ing 
being. 

Suddenly a thought struck him: 
raising his benumbed hands toward 
heaven, he vowed to God to conse- 
crate the half of his fortune to a foun- 
dation of that nature, should he suc- 
ceed in escaping from the threatened 
danger. 

Scarcely had he uttered his pro- 
mise when he perceived in the dis- 
tance a hght similar to a wiil-o'-the- 
wisp. 

Can that be an igftis-fafmis^ thought 
he, or is it a lamp lighting some 
neighhonog dwelling ? 

Just then tlie sound of a bell struck 
his ear. 

He fancied it a deception of his 
senses, and listened more attentively : 
he had not been mistaken, and the 
sound of the bell even reminded him 
of that of his own village* 

Safety was therefore not very far 
distant : but the thought served only 
to sadden him, since the paralysis of 
his limbs had been all the time in- 
creasing. Was that light merely to 
illumine his death-agony ? Was that 



sound to be his passing-bell? 
der the influence of these teniblc ; 
flections, he made a final attempt 
move. 

To his great astonishment^ he fell 
the sense of numbness gradually di- 
minish ; he advanced further and far- 
ther, with increasing ease. 

The light continued to shiDebdb 
him \s ith increasing bnlliaitcy ; 
bell did not cease tolling. Fina 
ly, he reached a deep ravine, from i 
bottom of which arose a low murmu 
Certainly — there could be no doubt- 
he was on the banks of the Hoegtie, at 
a spot familiar to him ; he knew no 
where he was — he was saved! 
light immediately disappeared^ 
the bell ceased to sound, but a £iti 
glimmering appeared in the east, an 
announced the near approach of daj 

An hour afterward, the honest roc 
chant stood before the door of 
own dwelling. To his great surpr 
he heard, inside, a confused noiMr < 
steps, and a sound of strange voic 
mingled with wailings. Agitate*! an 
troubled, he knocked loudly, pushe 
by the servant who opened the door, 
and rushed to his wife's room. 

He found her in bed, holding in 
her amis a little infant bom dar- 
ing that very* night wherein his ta*_ 
ther had so narrowly escaped deat 

Gerard's first thought was to 
why the village bell had rung so km 
during the night. His wife and 
domestics answered him thai 
had heard nothings :' 
had all been awake. \ 

he questioned many of the \iitagc 
no one understood to wliat be 
ferred- However, it was tmpossiL 
for him to doubt of the fart : his \ 
still retained the remembrance of \ 
sound which bad guided his stc 
and which had been familiar to 
from childhood. He was forced Co 1 
Ueve that Heaven had perfcmncd 
mirade in his favor, to reward him for 



his vow and to impress it firmly upon 
his memor)\ 

Immediately after he had recover- 
ed from his fatigue, he set out one 
morning, accompanied by several 
persons, in search of the place where 
the prodigy had taken place. The 
body of his horse was to serve as 
hh landmark. He finally found tt, 
although it had been partly devoured 
l>y the wolves. 

Once the season permitted, mate- 
rials were transported to the spot fix- 
ed upon ; numbers of workmen were 
employed ; and in less than a month 
the solitary waste was embellished 
with a solid yet elegant structure, a 
portion of which formed a small cha- 
pel, surmounted by a tower contain- 
ing an excellent bell, which could be 
heard for several leagues around^ on 
that high land where the air is so 
rarefied. 

But that was but the beginning of 
the work. To whom should he con- 
fide the mission of completing it ? 
Where was the soul sufficiently detach- 
ed from the world, or so filled with 
love of his neighbor, as to consent to 
dwell in that frightful solitude, and 
to pass without sleep the long nights 
of winter, in the sole occupation of dis- 
puting with death the harvest of vie- 
tinis which he gathered there yearly ? 
He realized that religion alone could 
inspire such devotion, and he sought 
among those consecrated exclusively 
to the service of God for the one 
destined to serve the new asylum 
which he intended opening to chari- 
ty. He found him at the hos- 
pital for travellers at VerA'iers, in 
the person of Father Haclelin, 
who had a great rejjutation for 
sanctity. 

The good Jtionk, therefore, was 
installed in the H el man refuge, hay- 
ing for company only two strong 
dogs, imported at great expense from 
tlie Alps, where they had been train - 




etl to the duties which they would 
have to perform, 

The author here remembers that 
he stopped short in the midst of a 
quotation from Remacleus de Trooz. 
He will now complete the unfinish- 
ed passage : 

•' That foundation is nttnbuted to a 
very wealthy merchant of Sart, who, hav-. 
ing lost his way during a snow-storm in 
ihost' desert wilds, is said to have escap- 
ed d ca t h 111 i ra c u I o u si v* in c o n «*eq ii c n c e o f 
a vow whicli he made at the muniL-nt of 
greatest danger lo build a refujre for the 
succor ot travellers, should his life be 
saved. iWnv many useful things are due 
to similar vows !" {//u/ory </ M*- A/ur- 
quisaU of Fmmhim0nl^ p, 56.) 

in. 

To depict the manner of life which 
Father Hadelin led during winter 
in that scene of desolation, to enu- 
merate the services which he render- 
ed, would be to enter into intermina- 
ble details. At nightfall, the tower 
was lighted, the bell rung at short 
intervals, the tlogs were unchained ; 
not once were any of these precau- 
tions neglected. 

It would be difHcult to give the 
number of poor wretches saved from 
certain death. When they arrived, 
exhatisted by fatigue, frozen with 
cold and sometimes half-dead» they 
were sure to find a good fire, a 
warm bed, comfortable meals, en- 
couraging words, and active, helpful 
care. Hierefore the holy man was 
an object of veneration throughout 
the whole country, and popular be- 
lief had encircled his brow with the 
aureola of the heroes of faith and 
of humanity* They came from afar 
to consult him ujjon maladies both 
of soul and of body. In short, the 
humble chapel^ dedicated to St. Ju- 
lian the Pauper, became during fine 
weather a place of regular pilgd- 



^ 



S98 



The Bell of the Wanderers. 



mage for all persons whose professions 
obliged them to frequent journeys. 

This state of things had long ex- 
isted, thanks to the munificence of 
Gerard Helman, who, become a wi- 
dower, divided his solicitude between 
his only son, Godfrey, and the cha- 
ritable establishment which he had 
founiled. The merchant of Sart had 
reached a good old age, and Father 
Hadclin was by no means young, 
when the Little St. Bernard des Fau- 
ges, as it was designated by some 
people, was the scene of a curious 
occurrence, witnessed by an inhabi- 
tant of Baronheid, which gave rise 
to conjectures and even to fears for 
the life of the solitary. 

Early one night, when the weather 
was excessively stormy, a voice 
sounded without. The door was 
immediately opened, and a tall, spare 
man, very well dressed, ilemanded 
hospitality in a rather sharp tone, 
and without raising his broad -rimmed 
hat. 

The hermit welcomed him with 
his usual kindness, gave him his own 
seat near the fire, and began prepa- 
rations for his sup[)er. The dogs, 
who sliould have gone out to make 
their rounds, seemed unwilling to 
leave the roora, and growled in a 
threatening manner, quite different 
from I heir customary caressing atti- 
tude toward travellers. 

The good monk closely scrutiniz- 
ed his guest, whose face bespoke 
constraint ; then, as If suddenly in- 
spired, he abruptly raised the cur- 
tain which concealed the entrance 
into the chapel, and mvited the 
stranger to enter 

The latter rose, but instead of foU 
lowing him hurried to the door, utter- 
ing menaces and blasphemies, and 
withdrew with rapid steps, in spite of 
tlie snow, which fell in thick flakes, 
and the windy which howled in a fear- 
ful manner 



IV, 

Several days had el 
the strange occurrence j 
when Father Hadelin was inlornicd 
that the merchant was dying aarf de- 
sired his immediate presence. He 
was received at the house by God- 
frey, who was pursuing his studies 
in one of the German cities, but had 
returned home on account of hU 
father's illness. Tlic tran&formatioa 
wliicli had taken place in the young 
man was nowise in Ins favor; hi* 
dress was fastidiously elegant; His 
language, his bearing, and his man- 
ners evinced that presumption which 
mars the best qualities of youth. 

After a prolonged interview with 
the hermit, the dying man sumtnoD- 
cd his son to his bedside. Them 
after reminding him oi the drctmi* 
stances under which he Ixad founded 
the refuge on the moor, and the ser- 
vices which that institution h.id ren^ 
dered, he said to Godfre> 

^' I could perpetuate ni\ loun^ 
tion by means of certain legal 
sures. and thus secure it against 
capricious will of men ; but Oiat 
would be depriving you of merit 
which I wish you to gain, that Hea- 
ven may rewanl you accordingly. 
You must, therefore, promise nic to 
maintain it always upon the fbotiDf 
whereon I have established it^soloH 
as Father Hadcltn shall live, an^l 
neglect no means of worthily rephe- 
ing him when God shall see fit w 
call him to himself. If you ha«r 
children, you will repeat to thcra the 
directions 1 give you ; shoulil yoti 
die childless, you will \ \^ 

measures to ensure the '. : of 

an establishment which unit be ^ 
source of honor to our Dimily, and 
will call down upon it the blessings 
of heaven." 

Godfrey swore punctitally lo ob- 
serve his father's wishes. 



t m 



iMM 



Shortly after, Gerard Helman 
peacefully expired. Toward mid- 
night, as the herniit and the young 
student were praying beside the 
death-bed, the door opened gently, 
and footsteps were heard. The old 
man turned his head, and what was 
his surprise to see the stranger who 
had lately presented himself at the 
refuge, and had behaved in so singu- 
lar a manner. The latter immediate- 
ly retired, after making a sign to the 
young man, who suddenly rose and 
followed him. 

An hour after, Godfrey reappear- 
ed ; his reeling step, his flushed fea- 
tures, his wandering eyes, showed 
that he had drunk deeply, and he 
quickly fell asleep. When he awoke, 
the monk called him into an adjoin- 
ing room, and enquired the name of 
the person who had come to sum- 
mon him from his filial duty to 
plunge him into doubly culpable 
drunkenness. He answered that he 
was one of his best friends, a Ger- 
man gentleman named Reinhold 
Rauhhart, who belonged to the city 
where he was pursuing his studies* 
He greatly lauded the learning, the 
character, the virtues of the stranger, 
and especially his devotion toward 
him, Godfrey ; he added that, in in- 
viting him to drink, his friend had 
had a praisewordiy motive, that of 
*• drowning his grief." At these 
words, the aged man lixed his pierc- 
ing eyes upon the youth, shook his 
head, and de'jarted without uttering 
, a word. 



ffF. next day the funeral of Ge- 
rard Hchnan took place, at which 
an immense crowd assisted, God- 
frey walked beside Reinhold j but 
llie latter, upon reaching the door 
of the church, stopped to decipher 



the mscriptions upon the tombstones, 
and awaited in *lhe cemetery the re- 
ap[)earance of the procession. 

Gerard, besides a large fortune, 
had bequeathed to his son a most 
flourishing business. Great there- 
fore was the general surprise when 
it was made known that the latter 
had determined to retire from trade, 
and live upon his income. He ex- 
pended large sums in transforming 
the paternal mansion into a species 
of chateau, wherein he led a Hfe 
of pleasure and dissipation, under 
the direction of Reinhold, who ap- 
peared to be the real master of the 
house. At the approach of winter 
the two friends quitted the town of 
Sart for one of the large cities. 
Wise men sighed over Godfrey's con- 
duct, and predicted an evil end for 
the young madman. 

Indignation was at its height when 
it was discovered that, at several dif- 
ferent limes, Father Hadelin had 
been forced to repair to young Hel- 
man, not only to reprove him for his 
scandalous manner of life, but to 
remind him of the promise made to 
his dying father. In fact, he had 
utterly neglected to provide the her- 
mit with the means necessary to en- 
able htm to perform his duties. One 
day, even, he had been heard to say 
publicly : 

** That refuge costs me my very 
eyes ; the time will come when I 
shall decline to provide for it. My 
iathcr may have had some reason 
for doing so ; he believed in that 
silly vision, but I do not believe in 
it, and I do not see why I should 
exhaust my purse to keep up a mon- 
ument of superstition for the benefit 
of peojtle who are nothing to me,*' 

** But your oath !'* he was answer- 
ed. 

" Bah 1 it amounts to nothing in 
my eyes. One might swear under 
similar circumstances to drink all the 



water in the Hoegue» Must he 
therefore do so ?" 

Although Godfrey was deemed 
capable of many things^ no one 
seriously believed his abominable 
threats. They were, however, quick- 
ly carried into effect. 

At the approach of the following 
winter* Father Hadclin was seen go- 
ing through the neighboring villages, 
a stafl'in his hand and a wallet upon his 
shoulders. He told the people that, 
Godfrey having signified that he 
would give him no more assistance, he 
was forced to have recourse to l>egging 
to provide for the needs of the re- 
fuge. 

He made quite a satisfactory col- 
lection, and the bad season passed 
very much like the preceding ones. 
But in the month of February of 
1651, a French officer, the Count of 
Grand pre, commanding a body of 
horse, committed frightful depreda- 
tions in that part of the country. 
The village of Sart, amongst others, 
was pillaged and burned. The mis- 
cry resulting therefrom was so great 
that the good monk collected almost 
nothing on his second round. He 
unce more made a touching appeal 
to Godfrey, who pitilessly drove him 
oft 

The winter meanwhile promised 
to be terrible. From the end of 
November a deep fall of snow co- 
vered the ground, and so much fell 
during the following months that 
the country was overspread to the 
average depth o( eight feet. It had 
become impossible to cross the moor, 
and the refuge was utterly unap- 
proachable. Some charitable souls 
were greatly concerned as to the 
fate of Father Hadelin. Remem- 
bering the small sum he had collect- 
ed in money, provisions, oil, and fire* 
wood, they were in doubt if he had 
got together even sufficient to pro- 
vide for his own wants, and for the 



nourishment of the two dogs wbicb 
had succeeded to ih^ former pair 
and walked worthily in the traces of 
their predecessors. However* as 
they occasionally heard the sotmd 
of the Wanderers* Bell, they fel^ some- 
what reassured. 

But an entire week p.asseti, and 
the silvery metal rttnained silent 
Then uneasiness l)ecame general, 
and several courageous men rcsoh* 
ed» at any risk, to nrpair to the Hd* 
man refuge. They reached there 
after the most heroic cflbrts^ through 
drifts of snow which formed alter- 
nate hills and valleys, where they 
were in danger of being buried. It 
surrounded the building in such quan- 
tities that the tower alone rem^incH 
visible. They shouted ; no vokt 
answered ; Imt deep howlings greet- 
ed their ears. They cleared a pas- 
sage, and succeedetl in reaching the 
door, which they opened, filled wiiJi 
gloomy forebodings. 

There, a sad spectacle met ibcff 
eyes J before the hearth containiftgi 
few cold ashes sat the noUle oM 
man, motionless and fro/cn; bcflde 
him, looking at him with huinid €}Ti 
and licking his hands, were the two 
dogSj reduced almost to 

The house presented ^1 ^ • <if 
the utmost destitution. Then: ivasnnt 
the slightest vestige of provision « 
fuel; so that it was nowise doutidtil 
that Father Hatlelin, V ' • liv- 

ing tomb, had died o!\ _€J. 

Upon a table beside him lay a pfij- 
er-book and a paper, on whidi WCK 
some nearly illegible characters. Tte 
martyr of charity had written thai be 
died praying for the son of Gcrxni 
Helman — for the poor misguided swd 
whom all should pity and not cm$t. 



VI, 



Tex years had elapsed since this 
sad event, which caused a great (Nrt- 



The Bell of flu Wtindcrcrs. 



cry in the marquisate of Franchimont 
and even in the neighboring [iro- 
vinces. 

All expected that Godfrey, seized 
with remorse, woukl hasten to seek a 
substitute for Futher Hadelin, and 
would largely endow the refuge, were 
it only to redeem hunsclf in public 
opinion. At first, under the impres- 
sion made upon him, as upon every- 
body else, by the fe:irful death of the 
solitary, be seemed to have the most 
generous intentions. About this time, 
however, he received a visit from 
Reinhold, and not only did he change 
his mind, but the hermit of P.trniere- 
en-Sahn having offered to support the 
refuge by means of private resources, 
be rejected his proposition, declaring 
that he would never permit any one 
to dwell in a building which he wish- 
ed to see destroyed and nevermore 
to hear its name mentioned. 

That guilty desire was at last reab 
ized: the refuge, completely aban- 
doned, fell into ruin, and served as 
an asyhim for wild beasts and male- 
factors. 

Gotltrey's fortune followed the 
same bent, and those who were ac- 
quainted with his affairs pronounced 
him nearly ruined, although he con- 
tinued to indulge in every species of 
prodigality, especially at the times 
when Reinhold, after a longer or 
shorter absence, came to resume his 
inexplicable empire over him. 

Young H el man, after having sold his 
last remaining possessions, disappear- 
ed once again with the money which 
he had thus obtained. Another year 
passed without tidings of him, when 
the village notary received a letter 
firora t Godfrey, directing him to sell 
at auction the final remnant of the in- 
heritance left him by his father — the 
house in which he was born ! He 
announced, at the same time, his a[>- 
proaching return. In fact, the next 
day but one a peasant of Sart met 



him at ^talmetiy with his sinister 
companion. 

All were therefore gready surpris- 
ed when, upon the day fixed for the 
sale, he was not to be found. As the 
weather was very stormy, they attri- 
buted his absence to that cause, and 
awaited his arrival. However, two 
months passed away without bringing 
any tidings. 

In the month of April, after the 
melting of the snow, a shepherd one 
day sought sheUer amid the ruins of 
the old refuge. His dog began to 
howl piteously at a short distance from 
him. He went to discover the cause, 
and perceived a human body strip- 
ped of its tlesh, but still ccjvered by 
scraps of clothing. He hastened to 
convey the news to Sart ; the magis- 
trates hurried to the spot, and recog- 
nized the corpse as that of Godfrey 
Helman. 

The unfortunate man, having doubt- 
less lost his way on the moor, had thus 
met his death on the very spot where 
he would have found a comfortable 
welcome had he fulfilled the duty im- 
posed upon him by his father's dying 
request. 

** That was a curious chance !" I 
exclaimed. 

'' There is no such thing as chance, 
sir," gravely objected the old game- 
keeper. ^^ Everything here below is 
foreseen, and happens for either 
trial, punishment, or recompense. 
Godfrey had fully realized this at the 
moment of death, for he had written 
some lines in his pocket-book ; but 
they could only decipher these words: 
*' Violated oath . . » evil genius . . , 
just punishment . . ,' 

" With regard to Reinhold, who 
was nevermore seen, it is needless 
to say that he was generally looked 
upon as an agent of hell, interested 
in the destruction of an establishment 
which had saved the lives of so many 



Dr. Newman s Gramt^^of 



miserable beings destined otherwise 
lo perish without having made their 
peace with God or man. If such 
was his design, it has been fully real- 



ized ; for the Helmnn rcfti^ 
never been rebuilt, and these 
and that cross are all thai remain 
of it;* 



DR. NEWMAN^S GRAMMAR OF ASSEA^. 



The illustrious author of the Gram- 
mar of Assent has poured into this, 
his latest work, the treasures of thought 
and observation which a whole life- 
time has gathered together. Here 
he has summed up, explained, and 
corrected the lessons of his former 
writings. Here he has given the 
last touches to the Apoh^t by sup- 
plying the philosophy of its histor>\ 
It would be a mistake to seek to ex- 
press in a word the scope of a w^ork 
which is the result of so much toil 
and the prolonged effort of so great a 
mind. Yet we have no difficulty in 
declaring its scope to be mainly phi- 
losophical It aims at giving a spe- 
cimen of true philosophy* the rules of 
which are applicable lo many kinds 
of reasoning. But as the whole life 
of the author has witnessed his devo- 
tion to truth, and as, since his con- 
version more than twenty-four years 
ago, his heart and mind have rested 
without wavenng in the Catholic 
faith, it is only natural that the phi- 
losophical doctrine should be largely 
illustrated in its bearings ui.>on reli- 
gion and theology. No less illustra- 
tion could have supplied an adequate 
object; no topic of less absorbing 
interest would have been worth the 
trouble, lliis, then, is our account 
of the book: it is a philosophical 
treatise upon the nature and grounds 
of Assent and Inference in general, 
considered with especial reference to 



religious and theological assents and 
inferences. 

The author has excluded the word 
Inference from his title, and he de- 
clares at the outset tliat he is co»- 
cemed with inference only in \x\ rela- 
tions to assent. But though inference 
is placed in this subordinate poti* 
tion, nearly half the book (ppu 151- 
485) is devoted to the t- - nt of 
it ; and few persons, we nj. 

find this last half less int 
the first. If we were n^ ai 

by the judgment of the author, ire 
should rather be inclined to rcveise 
his statement, and to consider Uf 
treatment of assent as sul»orr]mAte 
and m.-^rely preliminary to 1ii.s ticai- 
ment of inference. l*"or, dlGcredt « 
the book is from all logical trealkew 
we think that its true kin is to be 
found in logic, and that the aytbor 
has for his precursors tiu Ics^ perMBi 
than Aristotle and Lord liacoo. The 
problem with which it deals \%v^ tm 
plicitly occupied the human 
ever since speculation bc^- 
totlc and Bacon may bt | is 

two great types iUustra* 
ment ; each of them . 
solution ; and Aristotle 
mark at the end of h 
Bacon missed it at the . 
The Aristotelian logic %va> [i l 
of a real attempt to [)ortray the pf*- 
cesses of the living and artrng rrueo, 
but it fell short of depicting tbe coe> 



n 



Dr. Ah'zvman^s Grammar of Assent* 



603 



Crete, and resulted only in a logic of 
notions. The value of this notional 
or formal logic, which is very great, 
and the reverence due to the genius 
of Aristotle, caused formal logic to be 
regarded during the Middle Ages as 
the true organon of concrete reason- 
ing. This mistake ex]>lains the con- 
troversies about the proper domain 
of logic; for the proper domain of 
formal logic can easily be pointed 
out ; and by wandering out of this 
domain, and surrounding formal logic 
with numerous psychological and 
metapthysical accretions, the logi- 
cians showed that mere formal logic 
was not their real aim, but that they 
sought to bring it into effectual con- 
tact with the needs and reahties of life, 
and so to turn it into the true organon. 
Much waste of speculative power was 
the result of this error ami confusion, 
for natural ability was warped and 
hampered by the instruments meant 
to help it on. Much was accom- 
plished, no doubt; and none but the 
ignorant now look with the old confi- 
dent disdain upon the Schoolmen* But 
it is thus that the amount gathered in 
seems ill-proportioned to the great- 
ness of the efforts spent upon it; and 
to us, who look on after the events it 
seems as though more might have 
been done without leaving anything 
undone. In men of illustrious genius, 
like St. Thomas Aquinas, genius had 
then the power, which it has now, of 
lifting its possessor above the acci- 
dents of his time; and we may safely 
prophesy that the Summa T/icoltigia 
will instruct the church to the end of 
ihc world. But there were many 
men, without genius but with great 
ability, who suffered much from the 
prevalent error which confounded 
formal logic with the true organon. 
Some fruits of this confusion remain 
in the modern contempt for logic- 
choppers and splitters of straws. 
This was what Bacon saw ; and his 



perception of the need of a freer 
range in speculation is perhaps the 
cause of the praises which he so oddly 
lavishes upon Democritus and the 
'* more ancient Greeks.*' He saw 
that the current logic did not bring 
men into contact with facts, but rather 
With notions, and that its processes 
could be applied more successfully 
to symbols than to concrete realities. 
This turned his mind towards physi- 
cal researches, and his inductive phi- 
losophy was intended as an analysis 
of the rules to which the mind con- 
forms during such pursuits. As to 
the formal statement of these rules, 
the task was too difficult to be done 
at the first attempt, and we know 
that Bacon did not succeed in laying 
them down with precision. But even 
if he had succeeded in producing a 
]jerfect statement of them, he would 
have failed to reach his end* Men 
had always followed the method 
which he tried to point out. They 
did not need to be taught how to in- 
vestigate ; they only needed to feel a 
strong interest in the investigation, 
A man can no more be made a good 
natural philosopher by studying trea- 
tises on induction, than he can be 
made a good reasoner by studying 
treatises on logic. Both these facul- 
ties are natural gifts, possessed in 
some degree by all men ; and in 
order to gain more, we must seek to 
improve what we have by assiduous 
practice, not t\v analyzing the mode 
of its operation. The most illustrious 
discoverers in physical science have 
been notoriously unacquainted with 
any formal statement of the proce- 
dure to be followed, betug guided 
entirely by the light of nature. Nor 
does Bacon himself exhibit the least 
aptitude for the practical investiga* 
tion. His accounts of his own cx- 
perimentSj even affer allowance has 
been made for the time and place in 
which he lived, have an irresistibly 



i 



iS04 



Dr, Newman^ s Grammar of Assent* 



ludicrous appearance. And this is 
what was meant when it was said 
above that Aristotle missed his mark 
at the end of bis flight, but that Bacon 
missed it at the beginning. If Aris- 
totle had succeeded in his attempt, 
he wouhl have found the true organon 
of concrete reasoning; but if the suc- 
cess of Bacon had been perfect, it 
would have led to nothing in the end, 
because the world already possessed 
in eflect everything which he sought 
to give it. 

In the popular nimd, Bacon and 
Aristotle are regarded as the repre- 
sentatives of two different faculties — 
the capacity tu acquire premisses, and 
the capacity to argue well about them 
when acquired. It is evident that 
the former facuhy is no less necessary 
tt) the philosopher than the latter; 
and it is by much the rarer gift of the 
two. Every man, of course, must 
possess both these gifts in some de- 
gree ; but in common men the faculty 
of acquiring premisses means only a 
^iaculty of imbibing that stock of ideas 
ti^hich is forced upon their notice by 
tcommoii talk and experieuce. In a 
ifew men it takes the higher form of a 
[power to collect much from sources 
twhich to common meii would supply 
'little or nothing. Such men do not 
easily accommodate their minds to 
the tiuiet reception of stereotyped opin- 
ions. As they meet with new things, 
they do not suffer thetn to pass by 
without comparing them with the old 
Land settling the relations between 
them. Where actual experience is 
wanting, they have a certain sense of 
unrealised possibilities, which pre- 
vents them from settling into a con- 
viction that they have the whole 
when diey have only a part. Of this 
faculty I>r, Newman has a great 
share; but something more was 
needed to produce the Grammar 
qf Assent — namely, the power to 
analyze and give exact account of 



thoughts and fedings whidi nt 
peculiarly apt to defy anaiy^ Thii 
gift of expression is by oo iDCliki 
always found along with the 
city to seize hold upua the tnith; 
we may find among ihc poets 
pies of their separatioru One 
struggles almost in vain to cxprov 
great thoughts; while another^ wiitJi 
surprising glibnens of speecli, sue* 
ceeds only in showing how little he 
has to express. Hence the truth o^ 
W'ordsworth's remark, that every 
great poet must, to some extent, cit« 
ate not only his vehicle, but also tbfl 
taste by which he is to be enjoyed; 
for the thoughts of a great poet aiv« 
at first sight, strange both to coounoa 
speech and to common undenu^a^ 
ing. 

But it b the great triumph of die 
Grammar 0/ A ssrni xhsLt its thooglrti 
are not strange. %Vhat is strazi^ 
does not readily carry con>-iction, aad 
in the region of philosophy siiangf 
thoughts are synonymous, r'lT t^* 
most part, with vagaries. \V 
fmd strange thoughts in Ai^ 
in Buder, And in the t#j 
not the thoughts that arc h\ 
the fact of their statement 
suit of the statement is to 
to reflect upon, and to com 
ah exlra^ mental phages whkh 
out of notice so sooti as their fi«e- 
tion is fulfilled, and which ate tk 
hardest tn describe of all mental bcl% 
because their o|>era tion resembles 
of instinct. We see here, bi 
into tangible forms, those 
principles which guide us 
reasoning upon the affairs of 
day life ; those principlis 
whether we will or 
guide us to those 1 
common to all men. So laog ^ « 
are occupied upon matters with «te* 
fnc<iuent experience has qoahScd »^ 
deal, we keep faithfully to tho^ ^ 
ciples of reasoning, nor oodd •f 



ping to them* And» Ihere- 
juch matters different men ar- 
the same conclusions, which 
aold with the same certainty, 
^ are some departments of 
which offer no opponimity 
frequent experience and ap- 
tnatter-of-fact which keep us 
iirhen deahng with the affairs 
Hon life. In these depart- 
re find diat the common in- 
[principles of reasoning have 
en deserted^ and that others 
m set up in their place. We 
lerefore, expect to find men 

find them) no longer agree- 
% the conclusions to be drawn 
crtainty with which they are 
d. It is one of the objects 
fummar to correct this error ; 
It tribute the exceeding inier- 
Eit portion which treats of in- 
io the part which it plays in 
ission, 

m turn our attention towards 
^me account of the work ; 
bing this, it will not be our 
(criticise, but rather to con- 
Selves, for the present, to 
xplanation. The Grammar 
ith the statement of a psy- 
ll doctrine ; and as this is the 
m of the whole building, too 
ins cannot be spent in mas- 
The author considers that 

1 three principa! attitudes of 
I with respect to propositions, 
H, inference, and assent. 

^stion is the expression of a 
Conclusion ts the expression 
of inference; and an assertion 
Lpression of an act of assent, 
I, for instance, is not to sec 
[to hold that free trade Is or is 
Bfit ; to infer, is to hold on suf- 
mnds that frce-irade may, nuist» 
be a benefit ; to assent to the 
m. is to hold that free-trade is a 
(P. 3.) 

one or another of these 



three heads may be placed every act 
of the mind, whereby it in any sense 
holds (or rejects— for rejection is as- 
sent to the contradictory) a proposi- 
tion which it apprehends. But in 
order to hold a proposition in any 
sense, we must first apprehend its 
meaning; and this leads us to con- 
sider the various ways in which pro- 
positions may be aj^ijrehended. 

Thus we are introduced to the dis- 
tinction betw^een real and notional 
apprehension ; and this distinction, 
upon which a great deal depends, is 
difficult to convey in a single defini- 
tion, and may be gathered much 
better from a comparison of examples. 
Indeed, we think that the sense in 
which the author uses the terms is 
somewhat wider than that in which 
he has defined them ; and, therefore, 
that his meaning is rather to be 
sought in his examples than in his de- 
finition. Perhaps the following is a 
safe account of the distinction be- 
tween real and notional apprehen- 
sion : We apprehend, n-d/fy, projxjsi- 
tions which express an individual fact 
of our own experience ; we appre- 
hend, Nothnaiiw propositions which 
express not individual facts, but the 
results of generalization. The mean- 
ing of this may be thus further ex- 
plained. The terms used in common 
speech sometimes denote individual 
objects, and are called singular terms ; 
and sometimes they are styled gene- 
ral terms, and are said to refer not to 
things, but to notions, under each of 
which is classed an indefinite number 
of individuals, 'I'hus, to take an 
example : This man, John or Thomas, 
whom we know, is presented to ouj 
mind as an individual ; ami we ap- 
prehend him as being of such a 
height, complexion, and so forth. 
But the general term man is presented 
to our mind in quite another manner; 
and we apprehend the proposition. 
All men are mortal, in quite another 



^ 



i 



way tlian that in which wc apprehend 
the proposition, This man, John or 
Thonia^s, my friend, has a Roman 
nose, or is of a dark complexion. 
The latter apprehension is real, being 
founded on personal experience, and 
referring to the individual ; the for- 
mer apprehension is notional, refer- 
ring to every iiidivitlual comprised in 
the class '* man/' and not referring to 
one individual more than to any 
other. 

It cannot be doubted by any one 
who has read the book, that this dis- 
tinction between real and notional ap- 
prehension, as laid down by the 
author, serves well to discriminate be- 
tween two great varieties of mental 
phenomena; and, as we said, too 
much pains cannot be taken in order 
to understand exactly what is meant 
by it. The following points must be 
carefully considered and borne in 
mind : L Real apprehension is not 
only of material objects, such as ** this 
tree" or *' this man " ; it also applies 
to mental states, provided that these 
arc the result of actual experience. 
Thus, the lover apprehends the ten- 
der passion in a very ditTerent way to 
that of Sydney Smith's Scotchman, 
who spoke of " love in the abstract." 
The latter apprehension would be no- 
tional, and its object would be gene- 
ralized from what he had read about 
Petrarch and I, aura, Abclard and 
Hcloise, and so forth. But in the 
former case the apprehension would 
be real, being founded upon indi- 
vidual experience of a feeling actual- 
ly felt. 

** I can understand the m^fiia of :i na- 
tive ot Southern Europe^ if I Jim of a 
pissionaie temper myself; and tbe tJistc 
for speculation or betting found in 
fp-cnt traders or on tho turf* if I am 
fond of enierpriFc or games of chance; 
but. on the other band, not all ihc pos- 
sibte descriptions of headlong love will 
maku me comprehend tht dilinvm^ if I 
have nt\'cr had a fit of it ; nor will ever 



so many sermons aboat tbe iavard tttts> 

faction of strict conscientiousness cicLtt 
the image of a virtuous aciton in mj 
mind, if i ha^c been broug^hl up m lic^ 
thitvc, and indulge my appetites, Thui 
we meet with men of the world whn 
cahnot enter into the very idea ol dcvxj- 
tion, and think, for instance, thaj, frooi 
the nature of the case, a lite of n^li^ioiit 
secluiion must be eiihcr one of uuuticN 
able dreariness or abandoned scnKualitr, 
because they know of no cjLcrcise of the 
affections but what is merely human ; and 
with others again, who, living in the home 
of their own selfishness, ridicule as some- 
thing fanatical and pitiable the selC-sacri- 
ficcs of generous high^mindcdncss aoil 
chivalrous honors." (P. 27.) 






This illustrates the difleFCiice be- 
tween the real and notional aj 
hension of mental states^ 

II, The second point to be notxed 
is this, that real apprehension sp- 
plies not only to things, but abo 
to images of things as : tnj 

in memory, or even by : .a 

In order that an image may U: ap- 
prehended rvally, it is necessary thirt 
it shall be the image of mn individvsl 
object. Now, the reprcsenuitiom oT 
memory are no less individiuil tha 
the actual things perceived by tfct 
senses ; and therefore the?%e rrpcf^ 
sentations are apprehendc :4 

not notional ly. But the \- 

tends this to the imagination as ndl 
as to the memory. He holds thM 
we may not only recollect to hut 
seen a particular tree on some fonatf 
occasion, and thus really apprehoitled 
its image in memory; but altd 
that we may construct by tma^ni- 
tion an image of something nets 
actually seen, whidi may be 
ctcntly vi^id to be styled an » 
and thus to be apprehended reallj. 

'* Thus 1 may never have s 
or a banjina, but \ have ecu 
those who haw. or 1 have 1 
accounts of it. and. from ni 
ous knowledge of other irci 
ab!c. with r.o ready aa ini 
interpret iheir U&^uaj^c. ac^ 






Dr, Newman s Grammar of Assent. 



607 



n image of it tn my thoughts, that, 

not iliat I never was in the coun- 

here the tree is found, I should 

hat I had actually seen it/' (P* 25,) 

the words which immediately 
those just cited, the author 
. this doctrine still further : 

ncc, ag^iin, it is the very praise 
iifC give to the characters of some 
>oei or historian^ thai they are so 
ual. lam a!jle, as it were, to gaze 
erius, as Tacitus draws him, and to 
EO myself our James the First, as 
llnted in Scott's Romance," 

t^ returning to the former kbd 
itration, he says : 

e assassination of Caisar, his * Et 
tc?* liis collecting: his robes about 
id his fall under Pompey's statue, 
becomes a fact to me, and are ob- 
real apprehension." 

the possibility of so construct- 

image will in any case depend 
ndividual temperament. Many 

no doubt, have imaginations 
ggish to rise in this way to real 
lension. But it seems to be 
i doubt that we may all of us 
ct images, if we cannot con- 
them, wIlIi suflictent clearness 

purpose. 

The third point to be re- 
ared is of the highest im- 
ce; and the statement of it 

of the most striking exhibi- 
>f metaphysical genius which 
>ok contains. The same pro- 
n may i>e apprehended by one 
'eally, and by another man 
ally, at the same time. When 
er a proposition, it will com- 
depend upon the state of the 
s mind whether he appre- 

us really or notional ly ; for, 
Is which are used by an cye- 
I to express things, unless he 
ccially eloquent, will only con- 
sneral notions." (P, 31,) In 
ift of ** especial eloquence," 



which makes all the difference be- 
tween the great orator and the dull 
speaker, lies the Kivjimi: of Demos- 
thenes — it is the power to make one*s 
hearers affix a reah not a mere no- 
tional, sense to the words uttered. 
This phenomenon of the various ap- 
prehension of the same proposition is 
equally well shown when the same 
man apprehends it diflferendy at dif- 
ferent times. 

" Thus a schoolboy may perfectly ap- 
prehendt and construe with spirit, the 
poei*s wortls. * Dum Capitoliurn scandet 
cam tacUa Virgine Poniifex ;* he has 
seen sleep \\\\\% flights of steps, and pro- 
cessions ; he knows what enforced silence 
is; also be knows all about the Pontifex 
Maxunus and the Vestal Virgins; he has 
an abstract hold upon every word of the 
description, yet without the words there- 
fore bringing before htm at all the living 
im.ifjc which diey would light up in the 
mind of a contemporary of the poet, who 
hnd seen the fact described, or of a mod- 
ern historian who had duly informed him- 
self in ihc religious phenomena, and by 
meditation had realized the rehgious 
ceremonial, of the age of Augustus. 
Aj^ain* * Dulce et decorum est pro patria 
mori.' is a mere commonplace, a terse 
expression of abstractions in the mind of 
the poet himself, if Philippi is to be the 
index of liis patriotism ; whereas it would 
be the record of experiences, a sovereign 
dogma, a gr.ind aspiration, infl.iming 
tlje imagination, piercing the heart, of 3 
Wallace or a TelL" (R 8.) 

The following example is of a 
graver kind. The author speaks of 

" the unworthy use made of the more 
solemn parts of the sacred volume by 
the mere popular preacher. His very 
mode of reading, whether warnings or 
prayers, is as if he thouj^ht them to be 
little more than line writing, poetical in 
sense, musical in sound, and worthy of 
inspiration. The most awful truths are 
to him but sublime or beauiiful concep- 
tions, and are adduced and used by him, 
in season and out of season, for his own 
purposes, for embellishing his style or 
roundin;? his periods. Hut let his heart 
at length be ploughed by some keen 




grief or deep aniticly, find Scripture is a 
new bouk to him. This is ihe chunge 
which so often takes place m what is 
called religious conversion, and it is a 
change so far simply for the belter, by 
whatever infirmity or error it is in the 
particular case accompanied. And It is 
strikingly suggested to us, to take a 
saintly example, in the confession of Ihc 
patriarch Job, when he contrasts his ap- 
prehension of the Almighty before and 
after his alllictions. He says he had in- 
deed a true apprehension of the divine 
attributes before them as well as after ; 
but with the trial came a great change in 
that apprehension : ' With the hearing of 
the car/ he says, * 1 have heard thee, but 
now mine eye secth thee ; therefore I 
reprehend mj'selfi and do penance in 
dusi and ashes/ " (Pp, 76, f 7*) 

" In this essay," says the author, in 
a passage (p. 5) to which we have 
referred above, " I treat of proposi- 
tions only in their bearing npon con- 
crete matter, and I am mainly con- 
cerned with a^sscnt ; with inference, 
in its relation to assent, and only 
such inference as ts not demonstra- 
tion/' The importance of a dear 
understanding of the di (Terence be- 
tween real and notional appreh^nshn 
lies in die relation of these to real 
and notional assatt. For, when we 
do assent at all, wx* assent to proposi- 
tions which we apprehend really, in 
a different way to that in which we 
assent to pro[>ositions w^hich we ap- 
prehend not ion ally. Accordingly, tlie 
former kind of assent is styled " real/* 
the latter is styled ** nodonal" Some 
examples, which we gather from dif- 
ferent parts of the volume, will serve 
to illustrate this distinction: 1. The 
author accounts for the contrast be- 
tween the state of religious feeling in 
thoroughly Catholic countries and its 
state among the common run of 
Englishmen, 

" As to Catholic populations, such as 
those of niedixval Europe, or the Spain 
of Uiis day. or quasi-CAtholic as those ot 
Russia, among Uiem aisseiit to rrlieiotas 




Dr, NewmatCs Grammar 



objects is real, not noiionaL To iHem 
the Supreme Being, our L*>rd. ihr rtl<'*<eJ 
Virgin, angels and saints, l nJ 

hell, arc as present as \i the> \% 

of sight ; but such a faith duc^ uut sait 
the i^enius of modern England. There U 
in the literary world just now sav affectA- 
tion of calling religion a * scnttmeiit ;* 
and it must be confci^scd that usually tt 
is, nothing more with our own people, 
educated or rude. ... * Bible religioft* 
is both the recognized title and the best 
description of English relfgion. » * * II 
is not a religion of persons and tiling, d 
acts of faith and of dir'/-' .i.« f *i hul 
of sacred scenes and 1 es, 

. , , What Scripture l ,_ ,. , .as- 
trates, from its first page to as UiM« u 
God's providence; and that U !k%t?!t iSie 
only doctrine hctd wiih a f« Iff 

the mass of religious EngUsh .>» 

53-55) 

And to this their one real absent 
the author traces the fact tlut in 
tiracs of trial and suffering they hxiA 
a solace and a refuge in reading the 
sacred text ; for its words biiog be- 
fore them, as nothing else * ' ^ 
vivid images which arc of 
their real apprehension of GikI'a |ifOfV 
dence. 

2, The next example which wt 
cite will also serve to iUusirate wtttt 
we w*ere just now noticinfr* the i$xX 
that til e same prn: . be ap^ 

prchended both ii ; rcaUjr- 

*' Let us consider^ too, how diimaiiy 
young and old aro affected by ili« wocdi 
of some classic authnr. such as llAf»«Ef «r 
Horace, passages whirli to .1 ' Lot 

rhetorical commo>n places, i fcr 

nor worse than a hundred ^ 

any clever writer ini|:ht suji \a 

gets by heart and thinks \ Jii4 

imitates* as he thinks* succt Mi 

own How inn; versification, at 1^ «< ^ tM«i 
home to him« vrheti Icm^ 
passed, and he ha« >^ "^ * % . . 
and pierce him, as 
known ihcm, with . .. 

and vivid exactness Tlicii 
understand how it is th.it Tin 
of some chance mornir, 
Ionian fcsiiral, 01 amociLi 
hav« lasted grncnittoii »i|ef 






he 



tb«M(lk 



Dr. Neivman^s Grammar of Assent, 



for thousands of years, .with a power 
over the mind and a charm which ihe 
current literaiiire of our own day, wiih 
all Its obvious advantages, is utterly un* 
able lo rival." (P, 75,) 

The following example contains a 
lesson which is peculiarly applicable 
to these times : 

*• Many a disciple of a philosophical 
school, who talks fluently, does but assert, 
when he seems to assent to the dicta of 
his master, little as he may be aware of 
it. Nor is he secured agiiinst this self- 
deception by knowing the arguments on 
which those dicta rest ; for he may learn 
the arg:unient5 by heart, as a careless 
schoolboy gets up his Euclid, This 
practice of asserting simply on authority, 
with the pretence and without the reality 
of assents is what is meant by formalism. 
To say ' 1 do not understand a proposi- 
tion, but t accept it on authority' is not 
formalism ; it is not a direct assent to the 
proposition, still it xj an assent to the au- 
thority which enunciates it ; but what I 
here speak of is professing to understand 
without understanding. It is thus that 
political and rcligioiis watchwords are 
created ; first one man of name and then 
another adopts thcm» till their use be- 
comes popular, and then everj' one pro- 
fesses them, because every one else does. 
Such words arc 'liberality',' * progress/ 
Might/ 'civilization ;' such arc 'justifica- 
tion by faith only/ ' vital religion,' ' pri- 
vate judgment,' ' the Bible and nothing^ 
but the Bible /' such, again, are * Ration- 
alism,* *Gallicanism/ •Jesuitism/ ' Ultra- 
monianism * — all of which, in the mouths 
of conscientious thinkers, have a definite 
meaning, but are used by tlie multitude 
as war-cries, nicknames, and shibboleths, 
with scarcely enough of the scantiest 
grammatical apprehension of them to 
allow of their being considered really 
more than assertions/' (Pp* 41, 42.) 

We may ^pply this philosophy to 
solve a question which will serve to 
illustrate its power. Few, we suppose, 
of those who ha\ e been struck with 
the chami of Plato, would be able to 
account for his influence over their 
minds and imagination. Why is 
Plato so much read and admired, 
irhcn so little of what he wrote can 

VOL* XII. — 39 



be made an object of beHef? Per- 
haps it will be said that in reading 
Plato we stand upon the verge of 
poetry ; and, therefore, that we read 
him not so much to acquire a know- 
ledge of truth as 10 admire and enjoy 
the play of his poetical fancy. But 
there are many ancient authors w^ho 
seem likely to keep for ever their 
place in literature, while modem im- 
proved treatises, WTittcn upon the 
same subjects, are e|jhetnera], one 
c[uickly dying out and another spring- 
ing up to succeed it ; and many of 
them are as far as possible from being 
poetical in their matter or treattnent. 
No modem treatise has ever been 
able to oust Euclid's Elements from 
its place; and Newton's Prifuipia^ 
though perhaps not often studied^ is 
acknowledged, by those who are ac- 
quainted with it, to be an everlasting 
monument of genius, by comparison 
with which the modern text-books 
serve only to display their own insig- 
nificance. The explanation of this is 
to be found in the distinction which 
we have been just now led to con- 
sider — the distinction between real 
and notional apprehension and as- 
sent. The works of a great genius, 
who has laid the foundation of a 
science, or redticed it to orderly ar* 
rangement, or given it a new aspect, 
are necessarily the productions of a 
man with a living grasp upon the 
things of which he wrote. Such men 
were placed in circumstances under 
which none but a great genius could 
apprehend those things at all ; and 
they apprehended them really because 
notional apprehension was not yet 
made possible, Notional apprehen- 
sion of them was made possible to us 
by means of the labors of the men 
who first put into words the result of 
their own ai)i)rehension. And in these 
days, when knowledge is cut into 
squares and mapped out, though real 
apprehension is not impossible, yet 



notiunal apprehension is made so easy, 
that the student can jump to it with- 
out parsing tlirough much individual 
experience of the facts with which the 
science deals. And as a great show 
can be made witli the notions so ac- 
quired, and as in these times the chief 
end of study is to impress the minds 
of examiners, it follows that students 
will usually rush at once to a notional 
apprehension, founded as little as pos- 
sible upon their own experience of 
facts* Modem chemical treatises, 
which classify (the prime condition of 
notional apprehension) compounds 
and elements according to their com- 
mon qualities and reactions, teach a 
knowledge of chemistry very different 
from that of Sir Humphr)^ Davy, to 
whom each salt and metal was an in- 
dividual object, apprehended by his 
own personal observation and experi- 
ment. Hence it is that modem 
treatises, tentling to become notional, 
have usually so litde flavor of the in- 
dividual author in their composition. 
And hence, too, it happens that the 
author of the Grammar of Assent, who, 
among living men, is perhaps the 
most illustrious example of a mind 
freed from the prevailing tendency, 
displays in all his writings a certain 
changing individuality of character, 
to which he owes that influence by 
which so many are impresse<l whom 
he never saw, and with whom he 
never exchanged a word, 
\ But we shall best conclude our re- 
marks about the distinction between 
real assents and notional by quoting 
what the author himself says of the 
influence of real assents upon charac- 
ter and practice : 

*''nicy arc sometimes called beliefs, 
con\nct»ons, cenainties ; and, as given to 
moral objects* they are perhaps as rare as 
Ihey arc powerful. Till we have them, la 
spUe of a full apprehension and assent in 
the field of noiions.we have no Iniellectual 
maTia^ and are att the mercy of im- 







pulses, fancies, and wan' Sif, 

^whether as regards per*-. jd« 

social and political action, oi uiigioo 
Tliese beliefs, be they true or falsr m the 
particular case, form the mind out of 
which they grow, and impart lo it a seii- 
ousness and manliness which inspcrotiii 
other minds aconddcncein itsrlcws,aad 
is one secret of persuasiveness and taflt^* 
cnce in the public stage of the world. 
They create, as the case may be. heroes 
and saints, great leaders, statesmeo. 
preachers, and reformers, the pioneen of 
discovery in science, visionaries, fanatici^ 
knights-crmnt. demagogues, and sidreo- 
turcrs. They have given to the worW 
men of one idea, of immen*.^ r-mf.-e of 
adamantine will, of re\*olu! %^. 

They kindle sympathies bet V \rA 

man» and knit together the innumerable 
units which constitute a race :in<! n n;iiioB. 
They become the principle -al 

existence ; they imparl to it 
of thought and fellowship of 
They have given form to the mcdh 
theocrac)' and to the Mohair 
stilion; the)' are now the lift ;t>lf 

Russia, and of that freedom ul spccdi 
and action which is the espeeia) bcMitf 
Englishmen." (R 85,) 

So much for the cliffercncc ' 

real and notioi^al assent, li 
author is naturally led r ra 

question which to Cathoii ud 

importance : whether ihc as$eDt ^€ii 
to facts and objects of religicm b ml 
or notional. He maintains, of oounc; 
that it can be real, and thai it is die 
duty of ever>'^onc to qualif^f hinadf 
to make such acts of real}' aJMSL 
Real assent is what separates llie 
province of religion frotii the pi^ 
>ince of theology. Theology t» tk 
explicit enunciation of dogmas^ trluci 
religion seizes with a lively* and loJ 
apprehension, Uving in them, ao! 
making them its oiriL Koit ^ 
course, that the theolofpaii canior 
also be pious and religious bta &it 
while, as a theologian, he enimdifa 
dogmas, the jtfedicates of whidi are 
alirav^ general tero^ he demaadi^af 
a theologian* onlf a notioQa} nfffc- 
he&sion of; and msent to, viol ht 



« 



c 

i: 
I 



[says. For it is the very aim of a 

I dogma ta establish what the author 

elsewhere (p. So) calls a ** com m on 

Inieasurc between mind and mind ;'* 
and this is done by general tenns, or 
notions, which can be common to 
mnny minds, not by singular terms ex- 
pressing particular facts of ex|>cnence, 
which are peculiar to the individual 
and are the basis of real apprehension 

I and assent. Hence is explained the 
often-noticed fact, that the church 
iias been accustomed to define a 
^ogma only when there was pressing 
need for its definition ; that is, when 
belief was waxing faint and partial, 
when assent was ceasing to be real, 
^and either vanishing altogether in 
^Mome places, or else being trans- 
^BTormed into that mere notional as- 
^fsent which is itself the preliminary to 
its own disappearance. It would sel- 

fdom be useful to embody in a formal 
dogma a truth which is generally held 
by Christians with a real assent — a 
truth which each grasps as a fact, 
standing in a close and personal rela- 
tion to his own consciousness and in- 
dividual being. For example, there 
would have been no meaning to 
Christians of the apostolic age in 
definitions against Arianism, for the 
error could only have been foreseen 

Bby t!\e gift of prophecy, and any at- 
tempt to meet it beforehand would 
only» in the ordinary course of nature, 

Pliave opened the door to it by antici- 
pation. But when this state of lively 
faith begins to fall away^ then the for- 
mal enunciation of the dogma serves 
to arrest the progress of the mischief. 
Every dogma must, at the least, be 
JTeccived with notional assent; and 
[this notional assent is itself nearer to 
[the truth than mere negation, and 
falso secures a groundwork for the 
operation of religious influences, 
ifhich may turn the notional into 
real assent. This may suthce to 
plain what is meant by saying that 



I 

I 



I 



theology, as such, is concerned with 
notional assent, and that religion, as 
such, is concerned with real. 

With reference to the question 
about the reality of religious assents, 
the author especially considers two 
particular cases: the one, belief in 
one God, belonging to natural reli- 
gion; the other, belief in 'the Holy 
rrinity, belonging only to revealed. 
It is his object, by alleging definite ■ 
examples, to illustrate the position, ■ 
that we may hold religious truths with 
a real assent. First, then, he reca- 
pitulates the steps by vvhich he con- 
siders that we may and do rise to a 
real apprehension of the being of 
God, followed, of course, by a real 
assent to the doctrine. The meaning 
of this enquiry may be serviceably 
illustratetl by alleging a kindred ex- 
ample. We believe that there is a 
King of Prussia, but to many of us — 
this belief cannot be more than a no- M 
tional assent. There is nothing to 
discriminate the King of Prussia in 
our minds from another king, and he 
will be to our minds only the metn- 
ber of a class, and will, therefore, be 
presented only under the notion or — 
general term. Therefore, we give H 
only a notional assent to his existence, 
however firmly we may believe it, 
and however ridiculous its denial may 
appear. But, if we spent some time 
at BcrUn, our idea of the King of ■ 
Prussia would be no longer general, ■ 
but particular — the result of our per- 
sonal experience of him. Thence* 
forth we should assent to the fact of 
his existence in a difterent way to 
that in which we did before, and the 
difference is expressed by saying that 
our assent was notional and has be* 
come real Now, the question before 
us is, whether we may not assent to 
the being of God with the same kind 
of assent as this last. It is far from 
being denied that many persons do 
assent with a notional assent. Thi& 



I 




h only too obvious; but it is mam- 
tained that the real assent is possible, 
though all do not rise to it, and that 
every religious Catholic is bound in 
duty to fit himself for such real as- 
sent, which he may do by using the 
appropriate means. The author 
details the steps through which the 
mind rises to this result In order 
that we may rise to the real assent, 
it is necessary that God shall be 
fought into personal relation to us 
d shall be revealed to us a Person, 
e author considers that conscience 
is the instrument which God uses as 
the means to this revelation of him- 
self. Conscience, which ajipears as 
an order to do or to abstain from 
doing, contains within it the presenti- 
ment of a Person ordering what it 
orders. 

"If, as is the case, we feel responsibil- 
ity, arc .asbamcd, arc frightened, at trans- 
gressing the voice of conscience, this im- 
plies that there is One to whom we 
arc responsible, before whom we arc 
ashamed, whose claims upon us we fear* 
If, on doing \vronj;j, w*c feel the same tear- 
ful, broken-hciirted sorrow which over- 
whelms us on hurting a mother; if, on 
doin^ right, we enjoy the same sunny 
serenity of mind, the same soothing, satis- 
lacior)' delight which follows on our 
receivings praise from a father, wc certainly 
have within us the image of some person 
to whom our love and veneration look, 
in whose smile wc find our happiness, 
for w*hom we yearn, towards whom we 
arc troubled and waste away. These 
feelings in us arc such as require for their 
exciting cause an intelligent being* Wc 
aic noi anreciionatc towards a stonc» nor 
do wc feel shame before a horse or a dog ; 
we have no remorse or compunction on 
breaking mere human law ; yet, so it is, 
conscience excites all these painful emo- 
tions, confusion, foreboding, self-con- 
demnation ; and, on the other hand» it 
sheds upon us a deep peace, a sense of 
security, a resignation, and a hope which 
there is no earthly object to elicit. *Thc 
wicked flees, when no one pursueth ;* 
then why does he flee? whence his terror? 
Who is it thathe sc*s in solitude, in dark- 



ness, in the hidden chambers of hi«hrti1? 
If the cause of these emotions dfnn cu4 
belong to this visible world, the Object to 
which his perception is directed must b« 
Supernatural and Divine ; and thus th« 
phenomena of conscience, as a dictate, 
avail to impress tlie imagination with the 
picture of a Supreme Governor, a Judge, 
holy, just, powerful, alUseeing, rotribiitire, 
and is the creative principle of religion, 
as the moral sense is the principle of 
ethics/' (Pp, io6. 107.) 

The rest of the argument am nei- 
ther be cited nor abridged, but most 
be sought in the author's ovm pages* 
One passage we select, because it 
contains the refutation of a popular 
error, mischievous and very com- 
nion 

" Here we nave the solution of the com- 
mon mistake of supposing that there is a 
contrariety and antagonism betwoeo a 
dogmatic creed and vital reltg^ion. People 
urge that salvation consists, not in bclitr* 
ing the propositions that there is a God, 
thai there \n a Saviour, that our Lord || 
God, that there is a Trinity, but in belicT^ • 
ing in God, in a Saviour, in a Sanctifief< 
and Ihey object that such proposiiioot 
arc but a formal and human tnedium, 
destroying all true reception of the Go*» 
pel. and making religion a matter of wordf 
or of logic, instead of having its scat in 
the heart. They are right so far as thiJti 
that men may and sometimes do trst is 
the proposition themselves as expressing 
intellectunl notions ; they arc wrron| 
when they maintain that men need do sok 
or always do so. The propositions may 
and must be used, and can easily be U5e4, 
as the expression of facts, nut nociortf. 
and they are necessary to the mind in tJic 
same way that language is cvcrnccc^safy 
for denoting Aicts, both for ourselves «t 
individuals and for our intercourse wiih 
others, . . , The formula, whicfc 
embodies a dogma for the fheolo^tsft, 
readily suggests an object for the itor 
shipper/* (Pp. n6, 117.) 

Here we bring our remaiks |o 
a close for the present But we 
havx already advanced far tnau^ 
to be able to explain the auliio^ 
general design more clearly thto 



when wc began. He treats, as he 
says, o{ assent, and of inference in 
its relation to assent, excluding such 
inference as is demonstrative* like 
mathematical inference, Nuw, the 
salient distinction bctv^cen assent 
and inference lies in this: that as- 
sent is in its nature absolute, while 
inference is conditional. All assents 
are not equally 6rmly fixed in the 
mind — that is lo say^ some might be 
shaken more easily than others. But, 
so long as we do assent at all, the act 
is absolute, and entirely precludes all 
suspicion of a doubt ; or, if the phrase 
be preferred, the least doubt precludes 
assent. On the other hand, inference 
is not absolute and self-contained as 
an act, but it depends always from 
premisses. We are sure of what we 
infer, pro\idcd we are sure of the 
premisses from whicl] we infer it ; but 
when we assent, we simply slate that 
we are sure. Inference, therefore, 
admits of degrees of a more and a 
less, but assent does not. Now, the 



passage from inference to assent pre- 
sents no difficulty in the case of ma- 
thematics, where the inference is de- 
monstrative; but this kind of inference 
is expressly excluded by the author. 
He is concerned to determine how 
the mind passes, as it undoubtedly 
often does pass, to assent, which is 
absolute, by means of a process of 
inference, which is itself not absolute, 
and which, regarded in a logical 
bght, therefore warrants something 
short of assent. The mind does this 
so spontaneously, and all attempts to 
hold it back are so utterly in vain, 
that we must suppose the process to 
be natural. But, if it is natural, then 
it must be right In itself, although, on 
^vcn occasions, it may be wrongly 
done- What, then, is the right 
method, and what are the fitting 
conditions, for its exercise? To re- 
ply to these questions is to lay down 
the true relations between inference 
and assent. We shall resume this 
discussion in another article. 



p 

■ BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AL^THOR OF 

I " HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVKL* 



CHAPTER XVI. 



Early next morning Vclleius Pa* 
terculuswas in bis garden, seated un- 
der a fig-tree, with his writing tablets 
in his hand, when a slave ajiproach- 
ed and told him that an old niaa 
and young girl, in the attire of the 
despkatissima setTomm pars (the Jew- 
ish race) craved permission to speak 
to him in private* Habitually acces- 
sible and affable, as we have describ- 
ed him, he ordered the slave to show 



the strangers the way to where he 
was then seated. Josiah Maccabe- 
us, with his daughter Esther, having 
been accordingly introduced, the 
slave withdrew. During Esther's 
tale, Paterculus changed color, but 
preserved otherwise a singularly cold 
and grave demeanor. He wrote in 
his pugillaria the particulars of the 
place (the street, number, and house) 
where Agatha was confined; but, 
with the w^arlness of a courtier, pro- 
fessed some surprise that his present 



* 



^61*4 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



%n*sitors should apply at all to him, 
who was not a praetor nor a judge. 
Esther said she only obeyed in this 
the request of Agatha herself, who 
deemed him to be not only a sincere 
friend to her mother, her brother, 
and herself^ but also cognizant in 
some way of the quarter whence the 
present trouble and danger emanated. 

Having said this, she stopped sud- 
denly, and looked him full in the 
face. He replied in a quiet, cautious 
way : ** You have done well to obey 
such a request." She then showed 
him the locket, desiring him to open 
it, and remarking that the contents 
of the locket, according to Agatha's 
expectation, would authenticate the 
various statements which she, Es- 
ther, was now making, Tatcrculus 
opened the locket, and, taking out 
the rings it contained, looked at 
them with an air of indifference at 
first. Suddenly he started, exclaim- 
ing : ** How comes the signet of Au- 
gustus among these trinkets ?** 

In fact, Paterculus, though he 
knew only the latest of them in date, 
held three signets of Augustus in his 
hand. Esther could not inform him. 
He reflected a little while, and in- 
quired whether she felt authorized 
to entrust him with one of those 
rings for a few days. Esther felt 
not the smallest scruple or doubt 
about assenting to this at once ; 
whereupon the praetorian tribune 
thanked her with a smile, and said, 
in an emphatic manner, that she 
could not better serve her fair young 
friend than by hastening to apprise 
Paulus of his sister's situation. 

News, he added, had been re- 
ceived that Paulus (entirely recov- 
ered from his wounds) had set out 
for Rome with a body of troops, and 
ought even then to be somewhere on 
the Nornentiina Via^ not far north 
or north-east of the capital. '• Dio- 
nysia% tlie Athenian," concluded 



Paterculus, **is with this trav 
party, in which, by the bye, yoo 
will find also the tiamsers mother, 
the Lady Aglais ; and, in my opin- 
ion, it is nearly as important (if not 
more important) to let Oionysiui 
know what has occurred, as it is to 
inform Paulus of it. Dionysius mil 
convey the truth to Augustus him- 
self" 

Hearing this, Esther and Josiah 
thanked the praetorian tribune, loolt 
leave of him respectfully, and being 
guided back through the garden by 
the same slave who had introduced 
them, hastened away upon their neir 
errand. 

ciuPTER xvri. 

It was the first fresh hour afief 
sunrise, about ien miles north of 
Rome. Thellus had takc*n the hri- 
die of the Sejan steed from PI 
the freedman, declaring he fdt 
posed for a ritle, only he feared, 
that beast^s back, it would be a short 
one, when Paulus himself, who had 
made his litter-bearers stand and let 
him out, overtook them, and, point- 
ing to the white arches of an aqwc- 
duct which sjianned tlie road a link 
way in front, exclaimed: 

** Frieuil Thellus, I feel as thougli 
I were stronger than bcfom my 
wounds, 1 will mount my tawny 
slave here, the Sejan hunse* \m 
see w^e are close to Rome ; gather all 
these fine fellows, these bra^'e sol* 
diers, in order of march, who a> 
faidifully stood by me in the hows U 
suflfering ; wx will enter the citjr ill 
militar\' fashion." 

Mounting the bank at the road* 
side, he leapt from it upon Sejaiu& 
The great steed, after his wont, stood 
still, as if electrified, and then bovnd' 
ed into the air. This was enough to 
tell him who the rider was; Aiid, 
thereafter, he pacetl forward with a 



Phily 



JPi7« and ike Sibyls. 



grave, steady*, and mighty stride — 
perfectly docile, and proud of what 
he carrietl. In front, moving at an 
easy pace, was the carriage of Dio- 
nysius» in which the Lady Aglais 
travelled ; and ahead of this again 
was the smaller vehicle containing 
Dionysigs himself, Paulus rode for 
a while by the side of his mother's 
carriage, conversing about Agatha, 
and arranging that, the very moment 
he should have reported himself to 
Germanicus, they would start togeth- 
er for Monte Circello, and joyfully 
surprise Agatha by appearing unan- 
nounced^ He then spurred forward, 
and in like manner accompanied the 
vehicle of Dionysius, expatiating on 
this pleasant Httic plan with immense 
zest, and urging the Athenian to come 
with them. 

Dionysius, however, entertained 
certain fears and anxieties concern- 
ing Agatha which^ at such a mo- 
ment especially, he could not find 
it in his heart to mention to so affec- 
tionate a brother. This was the fair- 
est and happiest time Faulus had 
ever known ; a single word, a mere 
hint, would suffice to change all that 
mental sunshine into darkness and 
storms. The Greek affected to con- 
sider the invitation ; and Paulus, rein- 
ing in his horse, waited for his mo- 
tlier's carriage in order to infonn 
her; but when it rolled abreast of 
him, he caught her in tears. 

She had been musing over those 
words of the sibyl — " The lioness has 
last her whelp^ and not ail the pmver 
of Cttsar can hep the prey'' — and, 
remembering the venerable woman's 
command to haste to Rome, and her 
prediction that on the way thither 
more would be learnt, not a bird had 
flown by without startling the lady, 
untilr at last, her concealed anxiety 
overcame her firmness. At Paulus's 
look of astonishment and distress she 
smiled, and made some excuse. Pau- 



lus determined to call a halt of half 
an hour or more, and take breakfast 
in a neighboring grove of elms and 
sycamore trees not far from the high- 
way, in the very centre of which 
grove was a well, overflowing into a 
tiny brook upon a gravelly bed. It 
was a pretty place, with a fretwork 
of shade and morning light adorn- 
ing the turf under the boughs. Cush- 
ions were soon arranged by the sob 
chers, who, retiring to the roadside, 
imitated the example of their superi- 
ors in a ruder fashion, and partook of 
less delicate fare. 

Thus were they engaged, when, 
along the straight road, looking 
small in the distance, some sort of 
conveyance was seen approaching. 
There are queries which seem too 
trivial to be asked in words by any 
person of any other person, but which 
each person asks himself in thought: 
such as was the quer)^ which the sol- 
diers by the wayside^ now^ lazily 
watching this vehicle rolling toward 
them, were all propounding mental- 
ly: *'Who comes yonder, 1 should 
like to know ?" 

Yonder came one whom a Roman 
soldier had not seen for forty years, 
but who, in die generarion preceding 
that of the legionaries at this mo- 
ment listlessly watching his vehicle, 
had been the master of armies, and a 
sovereign among the sovereigns of 
the world. Arriving where Thellus 
and a group of the escort were wait* 
ing for the party in the grove, the 
vehicle stopped, and an old man of 
stately presence descended from it 
and said: 

«' Decurion, I have learnt in Rome 
that the new militar)' tribune, Paulus 
-^milius, had not yet returned from 
the north, but was on his way; 
doubtless you can tell me where I 
shall find him/* 

^* Sir," said 7'heilus, ^* I am more 
than a decurion, though still wearing 



i 



the dress- Yonder stands the young 
tribune Paulus, under the sycamore 
tree/' 

Meanwhile^ the party in the grove 
had recognized Marcus Lepldus, the 
ex-triumvir; and his nephew, hear- 
ing Aglais and D ion y si us pronounce 
the name (for, as the reader will re* 
member, Paulus himself had ne- 
ver seen him)^ ran to meet and sa- 
lute his uncle, and led him to the 
place where Aglais and the Greek 
were. In answer to immediate in- 
quiries about Agatha, Lepidus told, 
at great length, and in all its details, 
a catastrophe which wc will recount 
merely in outline and in its issue. 

Under a cliff, about a mile north 
of Lepitlus's castle, a litde creek ran 
into the shore out of the Tyrrhenian 
Sea, The beach here was rich in 
shells, which Agatha took delight in 
gathering. One day, at noon, he 
had accompanied her to this favorite 
resort, and while she amusetl herself 
in picking and sorting her treasures, 
he sat down in the shade with his 
back to the rock, and awaited her 
fatiguei whiie he took out Livy's 
HhU)r)\ of which he was in the 
habit of perusing a chapter every 
day, and began to read. Thus seat- 
ed and moving respectively, sheher- 
ed from the whole world, the cliflf 
behind and the sea before, they were 
so placed that his niece, as she ex- 
plorcd the shingles hither and thith- 
er, was sometimes in view, sometimes 
not. He had no suspicion of dan- 
ger, and least of all of the particular 
danger which was impcntiing. Once 
or twice, a considerable interval — say 
ten minutes — having passed without 
seeing her, he had turned his head, 
not from unexsiness, but curiosity, 
and had each lime found that she 
was busy at her innocent work, only 
she had shifted the ground of her 
explorations ajtttle. At last, when 
a quarter of an hour had intervened 



since he had seen her, he looked 
round and discovered her nowhere* 
He called, and she answered not* 
Ascending the small cliff, be failcfl 
to see her anywhere on land, but be 
beheld a boat of six oars at some 
distance up the coast, pulhng swiftly 
north along shore, and in the boat 
he thought he could discern a female 
figure. Agatha and he had stayed 
so long at the little creek, that the 
short winter daylight was now wan- 
ing. There was no shore road by 
which, even were he young and vi- 
gorous, he could have run; ibc 
ground, on the contrary, was rough, 
the sea line was curved, several litde 
inlets indenting the shore ; aiul, final 
ly, could he even have overtaken the 
boat, he was alone. He was obliged 
to return to the castle, and, by means 
of his slaves, to cause inquiries along 
the roatls and cross roads to be made, 
going forth himself U) at evening and 
all night in a carriage. He s|)ent 
the next day similarly. All his cf* 
forts were fruitless. No trace, no 
news of his niece could be obtained 
He, therefore, knew nothing better, 
and nothing else to do, than to 
ten with his melancholy tidings 
Aglais and I'aulus. 

As the four persons present agreed, 
after a short discussion, in a com- 
plete certainty that this was the work 
of Tiberius, Dionysius was asked 
whether he could not lay the facts 
before Augustus* and secure his inter- 
vention. He replied at once that, 
while there was no proof which he 
would not give ihem of his zeal in 
such a cause, all hope from the plan 
suggested must be thrown aside. 
First, whatever their own moral C3cr* 
tainty might be, to advance sucli t 
charge against Tibrrius Cassar, with* 
out having the smallest chance of 
making it good, would not only Gi3 
to work Agatha*s deliverance, but 
would ensure the death of evcrj' one 



iicr. 




taking part in the accusation; se- 
condly, Augustus was now sick, and 
not to be approached. 

** Well, Germanicus, then ?'* said 
Paulus. 

*' A comparatively mean person, 
an ordinary knight," said the ex-tri- 
umvir, *^ could compel Tiberius to 
surrender the damsel if that knight 
could clearly show to iJie people, and 
to the soldiers, that Tiberius knew 
where she was, and had her in his 
power. Failing the means to show 
this, and to show it in a plain and 
patent way, Augustus himself, not to 
talk of Germanicus, would be unable 
to assist us." 

Paulus took Thellus into the se- 
cret, and Thellus swore a voluntary, 
solemn uath that, if they could once 
leani where Paultis's sister was im- 
mured, he would raise all the gladia- 
tors in Rome, and follow Paulus with 
them whithersoever he should lead, 
and, if they had to burn the whole 
capitol to do it, would rescue his sis- 
ten 

"Flames shall not stay us," he 
cried; **by such acts fell the kings 
of Rome in former times, and by the 
same this tyrant shall come down 
too* Nay," continued he, ** it is not 
the gladiators alone whom we can 
call to the doing j let the troops who 
know you, know this. Why, Ger- 
manicus could now become master 
of the world. But, enough ; I wan- 
der beyond what touches us. Let 
us try, however, young tribune, what 
effect this tale is likely to have upon 
the hearts of valiant men ; tell it to 
Longinus and to Chaerias.*' 

'* Think you?" asked Paulus. 

" Yes/' replied Thellus ; " they 
will both follow you to death — Lon- 
ginus, because he jj^tes villany in 
itself; and Chaerias, because he hates 
tyrants." 

Paulus made the experiment. It 
proved I'hellus to be right. 7 hell us 



was mdeed a man who, however 
lowly placed, would, by his valor, 
elofjuence, natural genius, and capa- 
city for influencing masses of human 
beings, but for that child of his poor 
Alba, but for his Prudcntia making 
home bright and the world distaste- 
ful, have been the leader of some 
grand uprising ; military at first, poH- 
tical in the end, 

** Surely," said Thellus, ** we shall 
quickly learn where your dear sister 
lies cruelly hidden among her ene- 
niies from all her friends," 

** And how, dear friend ?*' asked 
Paulus, resting his clinched right 
hand upon the mighty shoulder of 
the fonner arena-king. 

'' You remember Claudius, the 
freed man of 1 iberius, who, thanks to 
you, instead of rotting now in the 
earth, after a horrible death, is about 
to marry Benigna : he will tell us.'' 

** Let us then hasten to Rome," 
said Paulus. 

CHAPTER XVJII, 

That eight, when his mother, with 
her faithful old slave, Melena, had 
been comfortably lodged in a house 
of Thellus's selection, the following 
slight but formidable steps were 
taken : 

First, Cassius Chxrias and Longi- 
nus went forth to visit various mili- 
tary posts throughout the city, and 
disseminate news of the heart moving 
tragedy in which Paulus's beautiful 
young sister was to be the innocent 
chief sufferer, and of which Tiberius 
Csesar had begun to enact the cruel 
reality. Secondly, Dionysius pro- 
ceeded to the palace of Germanicus 
Coesar (to whom Paulus had duly re- 
ported his arrival) to disclose to that 
able, powerful, and w el U disposed 
prince the dark story of Agatha ; and 
to represent that the popularity of 
young Paulus, and the genera! hatred 



I 



*6i8 



Dwn and the Siiyls. 



and fear felt for Tiberius j the cx- 
Liteinent of a recent victor)^, to which 
jio " iruimi)h *' had been awarded; 
the Ijcauty and innocence of the 
youthful lady against whom a Tar- 
t|uinian outrage so audacious had 
been perpetrated ; the inlrinsk atro- 
city and heinousness of the whole 
affair: the indirect insult to Germa- 
nicus himself, involved in aflronting 
and oppressing the last representa- 
tives of a noble line known to be 
under his protection ; the glory ac- 
quired by the noble youth, his staff- 
othcer, of whose absence in battle so 
vile an advantage liad been taken by 
the remorseless and shameless lyrajit 
— were all combining to agitate the 
army \n Rome, and to work up the 
soldiery into a state of indignation 
truly dangerous^ in which a single 
word from an influential man^ or but 
a clinched hand lifted on high, would 
create a volcanic uprising that would 
shatter the whole frame of the Roman 
empire into dust. 

" Mind/' observed Dionysius to 
his friends, when undertaking this 
momentous mission, " were Tiberius 
in Gcrmanicus's place, and German i- 
cus in his, I would not adopt this 
measure, because worse pretexts, and 
worse opportunities, are sufficient to 
produce revolutions and civil wars, 
for the furtherance of base personal 
ambition ; and whereas Tiberius would 
not scruple to use for such ends the 
explosive elements accidentally col- 
lected around us, (German icus loili. 
He shrinks from sovereign power, 
but will put such a transient pressure 
upon the tyrant as will secure the 
deliverance of your daughter and sis- 
ter, dear friends*" 

Thirdly, Thellus with Paulus went 
forth to hnd Claudius the freed man ; 
and, on the way, Thellus was to call 
at various centres, and resorts of gla- 
diators, and by trusty adherents of 
his own to prepare that most re- 



doubtable, lawless, despemte 
for an organized attacic upon 
given house, palace, or place, after- 
ward to be designated. 

The two former undertakings wctr 
accomplished with all the succcai 
that could be expected. 

As Thellus and Faulus were te- 
turning lo the lodgings of the Lady 
Aglais after having conferred with 
Claudius at Tiberius s own paUcc, 
and after having called at the vari- 
ous centres or families of gladiaion 
(where Thellus efl'ected fully tlic pttr- 
pose for which he went), they bad 
arrived close to Aglais's 1 ' in 

a narrow street, badly J.. , a 

single oil-lamp^ suspended 
cord which ran from house i 
at the middle point of the stfcd'i 
length, when— being now far frcKD 
the lamp in question, and the ni^ 
being dark — Faulus accidentia 
brushed somewhat roughly ag4i| 
the figure of a girl, who dung to die 
arm of a tall man, and who was, 
with him, going in the contrary di- 
rection. He apologized, and the girl 
returned some mild reply in a sweet 
voice, which he fancied not unknomi 
to him. In doing so, she had ihrowo 
back the hood of her ricinium, hot 
the night was too dark to allow ft* 
cognition. Paulus remarked to his 
friend, as they went on, that he had 
somewhere heard the girl's voice cit 
now, I'hellus also had, he aaid 
They found Aglais waiting up far 
them, and stated lo her that the 
freed man Claudius was not yet ap* 
prised where Mistress Agatha inigh! 
be detained, but would c; nd 

privately inform them w . ^ij. 

covered the |>lace. 

« But I know it alneady,'* said 
Aglais, who locked pale and lia^ 
gard, but full of lion* like wratli asd 
courage. She then related thai a 
reverend old man, with a most beaa- 
tiful girlf had ascertained^ at one of 



Dion and the Sibyh. 



619 



the military posts, Paulus's residence, 
anti, on calling and being informed 
that he was out, had asked for Ag- 
lais; diat she, Agbts, had only 
jnst then seen them ; that they had 
given her all those particulars which 
Lepidus, the triumvir, was unable to 
furnish concerning Aglais's ulterior 
fate ; and had positively stated that 
her principal captor, being tipsy, had 
referred to Cneius Piso and to Seja- 
nus as the persons under whose au- 
thority he was acting, 

" Tibaiits's conjideritial officer, and 
private assassin (skarim)'' said Thel- 
lus. ** We can prove now who is the 
criminal Well, they said where 
your daughter is ?" 

** In a house on the Viminal 
Hill, surrounded by willows and 
beeches.*' 

** I know it well," cried Thellus. 
'*^\^ly, it is die Calpurnian house, 
the house of Cneius Piso's wife, the 
Lady Piancina," 

*• Oh r* exclaimed Aglais, bitterly ; 
*' do you remember^ my Paulas, at 
Crispus*s Inn one morning, our dar- 
ling telling us that she had received 
an invitation from a dreadful, pale- 
faced, black-eyed woman, to just this 
very description of house in Rome ?" 
'* Distinctly/' replied Paulus. 
'• The invitation, it seems, has been 
renewed," remarked Thellus with 
equal bitterness. •' By the way, my 
young tribune, we can guess who 
the old man and btAtutiful girl are. 
You brushed by her in the street," 

"Yes/' answered Paulus, "Josiah 
Maccabeus, and his bewitching and 
noble little daughter. I met her just 
now in reality; I meet her often in 
my dreams." 

At this moment, some distant 
shouts, and one long siiriek (very 
faintly heard, however), disturbed the 
nightly quiet of that great city. 

They listened; but, except a much 
awer, confused, vague, ominous mur- 



mur, far away, could distinguish no- 
thing. 

** Has Longinua or Chserias re- 
turned ?" asked Thellus. 
'^ No." 

** Well, to-morrow nothing can be 
done. One more day we are cora- 
pielled to give to the wicked man; 
the .gladiators and my preparations 
reqtiire no less. Be here, Tribune 
Paulus, as the shades of evening be- 
gin to rush down to-morrow\ I am 
glad it is the Calpurnian— a detached 
dwelling, 

•MVe will burn it, and through the 
flames carry Agatha away, dead or 
alive. I f alive, well ; if dead, down 
goes Tiberius Caesar j for that Til an- 
swer. It is not certain that men eat 
bread and not stones, if my certainty 
of this be not a true one." 

He took up his brass helmet to 
leave, when stejis were heard in the 
passage leading to the eonchivium^ or 
inner room, where they conferred. (It 
was a rud e k ind of triciinium , ) Kn oc k- 
ing at the door, and being told to 
enter, Chaerias appeared, followed by 
Longinus. 

*' Work done ?" asked Thellus, in 
a low voice. 

" Overdone,** replied Chaerias, 
" The news flew like 6 re in dry grass 
among the troops just come from the 
Hh^etian valleys and Venetia. It is 
exactly that kind of Tarquinian tale 
which would madden them if touch- 
ing themselves, and every man among 
them really makes the case of their 
young tribune his owTi. Three hours 
ago, some of them assembled in a 
therm opolium, and began to drink 
and discuss the story. Who will 
henceforth, asked one, go to a dis- 
tance from wife, or sister, or sweet- 
heart, or even mother, if, while he \s 
fighting for Caesar, Ca^sar himself 
makes this infernal use of his very 
absence? They worke<l themselves 
into such a frenzy (while we were 



elsewhere, kindling the like fury far 
and near) that, without concert or 
forethought, out they marched straight 
to the palace of Tiberius, and de- 
TTianded the immediate hberation of 
Agatha, daughter of the .'Emtlians. 
Being told that no one knew what 
they meant, or to what they alluded, 
and being ordered to disperse quietly, 
they resisted the guard. 

** Thereupon, not half an hour ago, 
the Praetorians were set like dogs 
upon the poor drunken brawlers, and 
some half-dozen of them were slaugh- 
tered. The rest fled.'* 

^* We heard just now a strange 
sound," said Thellus, ** Well, let 
this be known in addition. // scnrs:*^ 

And, taking leave, he and the two 
w*ho had last come went away toge- 
ther. Truly a little yeast, capable of 
leavening the whole mass, had sud- 
denly been cast into Rome, 

CHAPTER XTX. 

At this period of the reign of Au- 
gustus, there were in his court seve- 
ral great parties, or rather several 
other courts; for each party had a 
court of its own. We have alluded 
to some of them already — that of 
Antonia, that of Gernianicus, that of 
Julia ; and there were yet others. 
The most powerful of them was the 
party of Tiberius, who certainly may 
be said to have kept a very magnifi- 
cent court before he was sole sove- 
reign. 

In this court, the prime favorite, 
the confidant of the next emperor, 
both before and after he ascended 
the throne, the depositarj^ of all his 
secrets {l( any man then ali^e ever 
knew them all), was the smooth and 
polished, but stern, impenetrable, and 
subtle Sejanus, commander of all the 
Praetorian guards. 

Velleius Paterculus was numbered 
with, and certainly belonged to, the 



same party. He owed his promotion 
to Sejanus, who, for some rca&on or 
other, was very fond of him ; and it is 
most singular that, while this circum- 
stance was not only knowrn to Tibe- 
rius, but had opened for Paterculus 
the way into that princc*s favor, yet 
Velleius contrived to i^raain to the 
last a friend ot Sejanus, without dlHcr 
sharing hLs ruin or even incurring the 
suspicion of his master — a nia^^tcf wiio 
was nevertheless, perhaps, the most 
suspicious tyrant that ever vexed man- 
kind. 

Striking differences of charactcx of- 
ten subsist between men who enter* 
tarn a strong friendship for each oth- 
er. Velleius*s history' (al'' 're- 
quenily apologetic rather t at- 
tial) discloses the writer to us a^ a 
man who, for a pagan, bad no meac 
notions of what honor and niorality 
prescribe. On die other hand, the 
single fact we. have mentioned is suf- 
ficient to prove that he was a coasuiD' 
mate master of all the wary precaii' 
tions, the quick contrivances, and the 
supple dexterities by whicli alone aa 
actor in such a sphere could at cmoe 
continue to hold high office and }tt 
keep his head upon his shouldcf^ 
One Englishman and tw o Scotchmen 
out of every three, would infer that 
such a head must have been worth 
keeping — eitlicr a good one, or good 
for nothing; and classic scholars kiio» 
which 

A third remarkable personage, ifi 
the reader is aware, then in tl^e cotflt 
of Tiberius, was the physician uhco 
Tacitus mentions as being signally 
eminent in his profession^ and who in 
uninterruptedly maintained the coaB- 
dence of his cniployer that, long af- 
terwards, the same historian tc^ oi 
he was at that sovereign's dcaib-bed» 
We mean Charicles. 

Shortly after nooij the day suc- 
ceeding the events related in odrlast 
chapter, Velleius Paterculus sati 



ing in his own private triciimum at 
his quarters in Rome, when a slave 
announced Charicles, who was at 
once admi ttecL l"he door being clos- 
ed, Paterculus perceived that the 
Greek doctor was unusually discom- 
posed. 

** There has just been held a coun- 
cil/* said he, "at the palace of Tibe- 
rius, about this slaughter of the troops 
yesterday, these cries for the libera- 
tion of the young Athenian lady, the 
raysterious movements of gladiators 
in the city^ the disaffection of the 
army, the known fact that Gerraani- 
cus Czesar believes that l*ibcrius is 
the contriver of the abduction, die 
appeal to Augustus which Germani- 
cus declares he will make — *' 

** But is there any young lady 
abducted ?'* interrupted Palcrcu- 
lus- 

** My friend," said Ch ancles, im- 
pressively, " in a case like this a doc- 
lor in my position knows everything. 
Such hypocrisy ill becomes you; it 
would suit a stupid man. Do you 
suppose I come here to lictray you ? 
What service could that render me ? 
What motives govern me in the pre* 
sent matter, think you ? The family 
now in such dire alEiction is Greeks 
nay, Athenian, and I too am an Athen- 
ian. The Lady Aglais and I have 
been friends these five-and-tw*enty 
years* We played together as children 
on the banks of the llissus. Do you 
think I am a man made of steel 
springs and lambskin by a Rhodian 
machinist ? Of that 1ady*s son, the 
heroic, the glorious youth, Paulus, I 
have saved the life, I left Rome and 
travelled night and day to North 
Italy to wait upon him. Of his beau- 
tiful, interesting, lovely, and lovable 
sister I have also saved the life ; and, 
by all that is sacred, I hesitated whe- 
tlier I should not poison her instead, 
»nd end her woes.*' 

Paterculus rose, and paced the 



room in grievous agitation. Chari- 
cles added : 

** Dionysius, my friend and fellow- 
townsman, of whose fame I am more 
proud than 1 am to be Caesar's phy- 
sician, would lay that Phoebus-like 
head of his under the executioner's* 
axe to save any member of this dear 
and sorrowing family from harm; 
and yet I, his friend and their friend 
— I, an Athenian, who have already 
saved both the brother's and the sis- 
ter's lives — am so mistrusted by you, 
that you dare not show before me 
the interest you really feel for them." 

" You wrong me," said Paterculus; 
*' but, without meaning harm, men 
sometimes repeat/' 

" Bah !" cried the Athenian ; ** this 
case is far too serious and terrible 
for idle gossip on my part. Besides, 
whose discretion need be less doubt- 
ed than that of a doctor of rav stand- 
ing ?" 

** Well, then/' said Paterculus, *' let 
us sit down and consult. Take that 
cushion. We will hold a council as 
well as Tiberius; and to prove I do 
not misdoubt you, I will begin it by 
confessing that I love this very dam- 
sel Agatha, and if she can be extri- 
cated from her present horrible posi- 
tion, I mean to ask her to be my 
w^ife.'^ 

'* I guessed it,'* observed Charicles^ 
" for in her ravings she called your 
name. Tiberius, learning that, after 
being lodged in Piso's house and 
visited by that infernal Dame Plan-^ 
cina (to soothe her), she had fallen 
from lit into fit, and paroxysm into 
paroxysm, and would surely die if not 
succored, commanded me forthwith 
to attend her. I went Revived by 
me from a swoon, and hearing who I 
was, she clung to me, she kissed me, 
she called me her mother's friend, 
called me countr)mian, townsman, and 
prayed and adjured me to save her. 
I sent everybody away, and, as deli- 



cately as I could, made her under- 
stand that, although I might have the 
cor.rage, 1 had not physically the 
power, to take her at once out of that 
place and restore her to her mother 
and brother But 1 told her I had 
ju.st returned from Paulus, and had 
saved his life ; that he had acquired 
imperishable glory ; that he and the 
Lady Aglais were coming straight 
to Rome, and twenty other things by 
which I cheered the poor child. She 
actually laughed and clapped her 
hands, till I could have wept to see 
her. DionysiUs has suggested to me 
that I might save her by applying 
something to her face which would 
destroy her beauty, if she would 
agree to it;, and I know she would, 
and joyfully/' 

Paterculus winced, but said i 
** Better even that than — " 
'* Too late,'* exclaimed Charicles, 
shaking his head ; " you have not 
yet heard what to-day's council at 
Tiberius's has decided/* 
'* And J pray, what ?" 
»*'rhat no young lady has been 
brought into the Calpumian house at 
all, as those ignorant soldiers, merely 
to injure Tiberius, have, by some de- 
signing and ambitious man (say Ger- 
manicus), been taught to believe; 
and to prove this, any respectable 
person is to be admitted to explore 
the house to-morrow/' 

'* And where will Agatha be ?'* 
*' Where, indeed ?" echoed Chari- 
cles ; '' where my remedies won't 
avail her, I fear. The Tiber hides 
much/' 

" Who formed the council ?" ask- 
ed Velleius, his face ashy pale, " Was 
Sejanus there ?"• 

'* Perhaps he was," answered Cha- 
ricles, " and perhaps he was not ; but 
ril tell you who was for certain there 
— the base-bora slave Lygdus, who 
w^ouM cut a man*s throat for a 
ftvmmus aunus^ a woman's for a 



scmpulum^ and a dnld's ftw a it- 
narius,'* 

** Have you told all this to Diony- 
sius ?" asked the Proton an tribune, 

** No, and 1 would not be so cruel 
as to tell him. He I 5y, 

through Gcrmanicus, apj>. \^ 

gustus; but you know the cmf^ror: 
and now age every day augments 
his habits of delaying at first* tempo- 
rizing afterward, and forgetting in the 
end. No hope, no hope, no hope," 
cried the Athenian. 

'' But hojie there n /" retorted Pi- 
terculus, whose peculiar gifts node 
him a pilot in extremity. '* Dionpius 
has appealed to Augustus ; and not 
knowing all^v^w know, naturally trusts 
that some notice may be taken of 
his appeal. At least, mark yoiu ^^ 
would not surprise him if there 
were." 

^* I miss your meaning/* said ibe 
Greek. 

** No matter/* returned Paierctt- 
Uis J ** youUI understand it tcMDor* 
row, 1 once wrote a comedy whidi 
failed upon the stage ; but I will tua 
this tragedy into as amusing a coc&e- 
dy as ever was acted in real liic** 

** You will!" 

** As surely as I am speaking. Does 
Sejanus know that Dionystm h ii 
made some communication, 
Germanicus Ca&sar, to Augustus \ 

" 1 should think he must ; in lid, 
I happen to know he does/' 

" Then forgive me for asking yfla 
to leave me now» and bear a ^ 
heart/' 

U'hen Charicles had gone. Paw- 
cuius summoned a trusty slave calkd 
Ergasilus, who could write, but whom 
he never before had em pi V }« 
secretar)% and, ordering ii; .ii 

taltle where all the necessary m at r r tfl* 
were laid out,/lictatec| the following 
letter, to be indited upon a pecolisr 
and unusual species of paper, vbidi 
he selected ; 



iNIi^ 



mank to Blank greeting: — 
Fou know the enclosed signets 
Let it be your warrant to bring with 
you, the moment you receive this, 
all necessary force of that special 
force which is under your authority, 
and to go immediately to Blank, and^ 
there taking into your charge Biank, 
deUvcr the same^ together with the 
enclosed signet, to Blank. 

" Farewell;* 

This being wTitten by Ergasilus, 
Paterculus ordered liim to be ready 
within two hours to take a long jour- 
ney on horseback, and bear this let- 
ter to Nafiles. He designated the 
particular horse in his stables to be 
saddled and ridden by the slave. The 
man retired to obey these com- 
mands ; upon which Paterculus wrote 
another note on the same peculiar 
species of paper, to a friend of his, a 
qusestor named Hegio, at Naples*; 
and enclosed an order for a sum of 
money upon a moneydealer at Na- 
ples in favor of Hegio. In this let- 
ter Paterculus requested Hegio to 
detain the slave Ergasilus till a ves- 
sel should be sailing for some port 
in Africa, and then to despatch the 
slave thither, to buy a horse for Velle- 
ius Paterculus, appropriating the mo- 
ney enclosed for the expense of that 
transaction, including something for 
Hegio's own trouble. He folded in 
this letter his own signet-ring. He 
next filled up the five blanks in the 
letter written by Ergasilus, after the 
following manner ; taking care to 
make the handwTiting as similar to 
that of Ergasilus as possible. (If the 
reader will glance again at that do- 
cument, and insert^ as we give them, 
the missing words, he will see into 
what kind of instrument the letter 
was converted.) 

Blank number one had in it, ** Au- 
gustus Csesar.'* 

Blank number two, '^ Sejanus, pre- 
fect." 



Blank number three, ** the CaJpur- 
nian house." 

Blank number four, ** the damsel 
Agatha," 

And blank number five, ** Paulus, 
tribune of soldiers." 

When both letters were folded and 
ready, Paterculus again summoned 
the slave Ergasilus, and giving him 
— not the letter which he had copied, 
and which Paterculus had safely de- 
posited in a pocket of his own tunic 
— but the other, told him to sit down 
and complete his previous task, by 
adding the superscription, namely, 
** V. J^U^rnlus to I/ifg7<? the Qumtory' 
etc. 

Ergasilus having done this, and 
being cautioned to be careful with 
the document, as he might feel that it 
contained his master's signet-ring (in 
Saying which Paterculus held out his 
left hand to show the servant that he 
no longer wore the ornament in ques- 
tion), Velleius dismissed him with 
some ready money, and a renewed 
order to start upon his errand within 
one hour. 

Ergasilus retired, promising punc- 
tual obedience, and then Paterculus 
went forth in a palamiuin, and was 
borne at once by his own directions 
to the address (taken by him, of course, 
the morning they called upon him 
in his garden) of Josiah Maccabeus 
and Esther, He found them at 
home, and gave them the other let- 
tcr, sealed and folded, exacting a 
promise that they never would say 
from whom they received it. He 
merely added (speaking here to Jo- 
siah) \ 

" If you desire the deliverance of 
little Agatha of the .'Emilians, go at 
once to the house occupied by Di- 
onysius the Athenian, give him this 
letter, and tell him that not a mo- 
ment must be lost in handing it per- 
sonally to Sejanus, the prefect of the 
Proetorians." 



■ 



624 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



*♦ What will be the effect— tlie re* 
suit ?'' asked Josiah. 

** Sejanus will himself forthwith dc- 
Hver Agatha to her brother Paulus," 
replied their visitor. 

*' What Augustus commands/* add- 
ed he prevaricatingly, " Sejanus will 
at once execute. Nevertheless,'* he 
quickly subjoined, *' so intertangled 
are Roman affairs that, should it ever 
become known that 1 had any part 
in this, 1 should perish, the victim of 
revenge/* 

**They may saw me in two before 
they learn it from me," cried Joslah. 

Esther said nothing, but tears 
streamed from her beautiful eyes, 

** I know it well ; 1 know human 
nature; I understand with whom I 
have to deal at one moment, with 
whom at another/' said Paterculus, 
taking a cordial leave of them. 

That evening, in a luxurious apart- 
ment at the Praetorian quarters, the 
sofl-roannered but dreaded com- 
mander of that force was finishing the 
current business of the day, seated 
before a table. Facing the room was 
his subordinate, Velleius Paterculus. 
Both were in full military costume, 
as we described them at the opening 
of this talc. Soldiers came and went 
from lime to time, bearing messages 
and receiving c rders. 

" Rome," said Sejanus, " is in a 
wonderfully agitated state for such a 
trifle; but by this time to-morrow, 
when it is known that this story of 
some lovely young kinswoman of a 
favorite among the troops having 
been carried away and concealed 
somewhere (they have a rumor now 
of the very place, that it is in the 
Calpurnian house — how circumstan- 
tial we are getting!) — when it is known 
tliat this pretty tale, I say, is aU a 
myth^ the disturbance will settle 
down." 

Here Lygdus entered and whis- 
pered to Sejanus, who replied aloud : 



•^ Not to be thought of! 
you want whh soldiers? 
look exceedingly ill** 

" I assure you, sir," replied llic cai- 
tiff, the professional sicanus^ ** very %u^ 
picjous-looking groups swarm round 
the place, and all the approaches aft 
watched in a marmer which seems ex- 
ceedingly like method and pba At 
the thing cannot be done /Aerr^ and 
1 must take the person away, 1 fear 
what may occur/ ^ 

" Nonsense I" returned ScjaniR 
" At all events, I can't help you fur- 
ther ; it would betray everything— it 
would defeat your own business. 
Better not employ you at ail than 
that. Why, it would just give a col- 
or to all these silly reports. Begone! 
you command your own dozca oC 
amiable characters in pbin-cloilics* 
who have long knive^i, if they hsxc 
not short swords/* 

Lygdus retired, whh a look (jf 
fright in his ferocious UneamcDts. 

•^ Ha ! ha !" laughed Sejanus, soft- 
ly; " tliat is the fellow who Iovc$ |Q 
be deemed afraid of nothing. M/ 
Velleius," added he, ♦* ihiii ts sa$ 
ugly business. It would never do to 
let our master go down. But, bf 
the bye, you are too scjucan^; 
one cannot take you alwavs infi» 
the details of indispensable traiu^c^ 
tions/' 

** I am content to l>c igoorsal 
of them,*' replied the literary siL^BL 
" But I am told there is somclbmg 
so serious pending, that DionysBi 
the Athenian, has gone to Atigustvs 
himself" 

*» May all Greeks perish!** iiid 
Sejanus in a bland %^oice ; aitd)ttt 
then an orderly entered, and »• 
nounccd that a messenger firoca Ae 
palace of Augustus Ciesar denuEndcd 
to see the Praetorian prefect. ** Ad* 
mit him/* rjuoth the Pnetoriaa prr- 
feet; and D ion ysi us, entering sflcQtljr 
and gra\'ely. witli a stiif amj 



Common Lodging-Hotiscs of New York. 



625 



what disdainful bow, handed to Se* 
pnus a large letter, written upon the 
paper used only by the highest offi- 
cials, and waited for Sejanus to open 
and read it. As the prefect opened 
it^ he held to the light a s^eal-nng 
which had been enclosed f and at 
sight of it he rose from his seat at 
once, and perused the communica- 
lion standing. He then returned 



Dionysius*s salutation with a slight 
touch of the Athenian's own distance 
and loftiness, and said : 

** My august master shall be obey- 
ed J " upon which the Greek with- 
drew without uttering a word. When 
he had gone, Sejanus sneered. ** Au- 
gustus is too late" he said ; ** Lygdus 
is prompt, especially when frighten- 
ed" 




TO PC CONTWUCD. 



COMMON LODGING-HOUSES OF NEW YORK. 



But little public attention has been 
gjven to the condition of the com- 
tnon lodging-houses of this city. The 
majority of them are found in cellars 
along the river fronts, and in the 
basements of Cherry, Worth, Riv- 
ington^ and other n?,rrow streets in 
the lower part of the city. 

Every metropolis possesses a mi- 
gratory class of vagrants, attracted 
various reasons to the centres of 
rade and commerce. Some come in 
;earch of employment ; some for the 
urpose of preying on the charitable 
iublic as beggars ; some, exiled from 
me, desire to lose their identity in 
vast sea of humanity, and thus 
,ade offended justice; others, who 
too indolent to work regularly, 
e find occasional employment, 
jch enables them to obtain what- 
is absolutely necessar^^ for their 
istence; and, lastly, large num- 
of thieves and villains of every 
iri[ttJon, who think the city offers 
r opportunity for the commis* 
t crimes, and, at the same time, 
nity from detection. These peo- 
ake up to a great extent what 
wn 35 the common lodging- 
class or cellar population. It 

VOL. XII. — 40. 



is estimated by the Health Board au- 
thorities that nearly twenty thousand 
human beings live in these under- 
ground abodes ; and here undoubted- 
ly are found the worst forms of crime, 
immorality, drunkenness, and misery 
that the city can show. The entire 
cellar of a house, formed into one 
and occasionally more apartments,, 
answers for the purposes of a lodging- 
house. Placed against eack wall isl 
a row of double bedsteads, and some- 
where about the centre of the room 
a cooking-stove may be seen. The 
beds are of straw, and arc generally 
filthy in the extreme, and overrun 
with vermin. WTien business is par- 
ticularly good and the beds are all 
filled, the extra lodgers are accommo- 
dated by placing shake-downs upon 
the floor at a decreased price. We 
found one place kept by a soldier 
who had lost an arm during the late 
war. He had managed to econo- 
mize space, to his great pecuniary ad- 
vantage, by having a double row of 
bunks, one placed above the other, 
so that the side of the wall presented 
in the rough the general appearance 
of the emigrant beds in steamships. 
In these places men, women, and 



•626 



I tha 



children sleep mdiscriminalcly toge- 
.iher, without the slightest regard to 
modesty or decency. As a general 
rule, the proprietor keeps a jug of poi* 
sonous liquor, which is retailed out to 
the lodgers at from three to hvc cents 
a glass (ihc price, of course, being 
based upon the particular vintage or 
advanced age of the benzine)» Many 
»of these places have absolutely no 
ventilation but that obtained through 
xhc doors by which you enter them. 
We have frc«|uently, in walking on the 
Tottcn boards forming the floor, felt 
thein bend under our weighty and 
•splash against water beneath them; 
this is particularly the case w^ith those 
along the river front, where at times 
the tioor of the cellars will be inun- 
dated to the depth of several feet, and 
the wretched inmates be obliged to 
keep in their beds until the water sub- 
sides. It will be seen at a glance, 
then, that we have included in each 
of these dens a gin-shop, an immoral 
house, a rendezvous for cut-throats 
and criminals fromevery portionof the 
known world, and, lastly, a chemical 
laboratory for the decomposition of 
natural and human material — the pes- 
tilential air from which is sufficient to 
sow the seeds of disease and death 
throughout an entire neighborhood 
The epidemic of relapsing fever 
through which w*e have just passed 
was first discovered in one of these 
houses, and from the migratory char- 
acter of the inmates, it was rapidly 
spread to a large number fi( them, so 
that the disease has been confined 
most exclusively to this class of the 
pulation. Fortunately for the pub- 
lic, the attention of the Board of Heal th 
has been called during the past year to 
these places by the fearful list of mor- 
tality they constantly exhibited. The 
result has been that Dr, Harris had 
each place inspected, and those to- 
tally unfit for habitation the Board 
caused to be closed, and ix»sinvely 




Common Lodging^Housn of 



prohibited the owners from ag^in 
leasing them as dwellings. In thit 
way, some two hundrtrd of thc»! 
dark, noisome dens have been shut 
up, we hope, for ever. To show the 
condition presented to the sanitary 
inspectors who examined the con- 
demned cellars, we will dte the follow- 
ing extracts from their reports to Dr, 
Harris, as found in the lastt y^urmd 
of Sacia/ Science: 

Of the cellar of No, 63 Jama 
Street, the inspector says ; 

** Ttie ceHar is vised as a lo ve. 

The measurement from floor - kf 

&ix and a half feet. In this ctriiar tlie 
ceiling is six inches bcloir thr Irwi «l 
(he sidewalk. Ko windows of ^ny Wtnk 
in front or rear; a lamp was nccr^^sary te 
make the inspection. The cubical »ptrt 
of cellar is 2,700 feet. It is not vrotitat- 
ed in any manner. Tlie Door is in a tcrt 
bad condition, tlie boards rotten and COr* 
ered with filth and dirt, and very dAmf 
There is no aiea in front or rear, and no 
drainage. The atmosphere was »o oftn- 
sivc that the door had to he held open 
while ih^ inspection vt^s tnade. Tbt 
floor* waiUi beds, and bcddiii^ Vffy 
fihh)\ stinking and reeking wiih the BOfl 
unwholesome emanations and odofi^ 
'Hie re arc six double beds and tm^i^ 
g{e one In (his cellar, t considrr it ite- 
gcrous to the Ufc o( the people who Vm 
in it." 

Of the cellar of No. 64 Chmj 
Street, he says : 

** The ceHar is used as a todgtnf4 
It is but six. feet from floor to ceilltif»i 
the latter is on a level with the %k 
There are no windows in from or rvsrd 
any kind* There arc i,Siw nl 

;i if -space In cellar. Tlie re , lir 

tion whatever. Floor w*i 
very dirty. There is no ex 
in front or rear, Tlierc is n 
tloor^ The cellar waUs wt 
Trom smoke and grraic. lime «t:c «s|i 
double beds in Uiis cellar ; the occvp 
are transient lodgers/* 

By order of the hcaltli 
these caverns were at or. 



Common Lodging- If austs of New Yori\ 



cleaned, and disinfected, and not 
again occupied as habitations. 

To the question, What means can 
be employed to palHate this evil ? 
wc would suggest, first, judicious leg- 
islation, such as has been adopted al- 
ready in the large capitals of Europe; 
and, secondly, the establishment by 
capitalists, in different sections of the 
city, of public lodging-houses j which, 
w^ith lodgers taken at the rate they 
now pay for the companionship of 
tilth and vermin in miserable cellars, 
would yield a fair interest on the 
amount invested, and, at the same 
time, give these wandering tramps 
the benefit of contact with cleanli- 
ness and pure air. 

Ihe following extracts from the 
law at present in force in London, 
which is designed to control this 
class, will at once demonstrate how 
the worst features of these houses 
can be destroyed and others much 
ameliorated. And all this may be 
done without one cent of expense to 
the taxpayers of our city. These 
extracts are from "an act for the 
well-ordering of common lodging* 
luses" (July 24, 1851): 

" The kccpdr of any common lodging- 
house, or any olhcr person, shall not re- 
ceive any lodger in such house until the 
sa.mc has been inspected and approved 
for thai purpose by some ol!icer» appoint- 
ed in that behalf by the IocaI auihurity, 
and has been registered, as by this act 
provided." 

By the public health act of 1848, 
the local authority is authorized to 
make by-laws for the well-ordering 
of such houses, and for the separa- 
tion of the sexes therein ; 

" The keeper of such house shall, when 
X person in such house is ill with fever 
or other infectious or coniai^ious disease, 
give immediate notice thereof to the lo- 
cal authority. The keeper of such house 
shall thoroughly cleanse all ihc rooms, 



passages, stairs, iloors, windows, doors, 
walls, ceilings, privies, cesspools, and 
drains Uicrtul, 10 the satisfaction of, and 
so often as shall be required by or in ac- 
cordance with :\ny regulation or by laws 
of, the local authority, an<j shall well antl 
sufficiently, and to the like satisfaction, 
limewash the walls and ceiliiigs thcicof 
in the first week of April and October in 
every year. Tlic government ofiicial is 
to have admiuance at any time 10 make 
fiis inspection." 

The act also provides severe pe- 
nalties for those who offend against 
any of its provisions. Why cannot 
this law be established hercj and, if 
necessary, regular inspections of these 
houses be ma tie by our sanitary 
force, who pass by theni every day 
in the discharge of their various du- 
ties ? 

At No. 45 Elizabeth Street is an in- 
stitution called the *' VVoman^s Board- 
ing House." It has been in opera- 
tion between two and three years, 
and is already a marked success. It 
is a large fire-proof building, contain- 
ing every possible comfort for the 
well-being of its inmates. The front 
part of the first floor forms an office 
for the transaction of business. Back 
of this is a commodious^ well- venti- 
lated parlor or public sitting-room; 
here are several sewing-machines, the 
daily papers and magazines, musical 
instruments, and, in fact, everything 
necessary to cmi)loy and divert the 
boarders. In addition to this, sev- 
eral baskets containing evergreens 
and flowers hang from the ceiling 
and in the windows, giving a home- 
like and inviting air to the apart- 
tiient. Still back of this sitting-room 
we find a restaurant, with phn'n ta- 
bles and crockery; l>ut everjthing 
as clean an<l comfortable as possi- 
ble, Above are the sleeping apart- 
ments ; each of svhich is divided by 
curtains into five or six smaller 
rooms, with a square space at one 
end for the general use of the occu- 



Early Missions in Acadia* 



pajits. This house can accommo- 
date about three hundred and twen- 
ty persons^ and has at present two 
hundred and fifty -two boarders. Now^^ 
these women pay for the use of bed- 
room^ gas, use of sitting-room and 
bath-room, one dollar a week, or be- 
tween fourteen and fifteen cents for 
each n ig h t 's 1 od g i ng — the same amount 
€har<^ed for a bed t/t a a liar den. In 
addition, a boarder has her washing 
of eight pieces a week done for twen- 
ty-five cents. And she can procure 
her meals in the restaurant at ex- 
tremely moderate prices. The lady 



in charge staJed thai the home wm 
not a charitable institufi^n^ that mck 
inmate paid for what she received^ emd 
that the establishment 7i*as fully ulf- 
Supporting, This bemg the case, one 
that could accommodate five humlrod 
lodgers, with an economical aclmia- 
istration, would pay a good profit oa 
the investment. Would that one 
such building could be established 
in every ward of this city, under pro- 
per moral influence, for the ben- 
efit of those who are so uolor- 
tunate as to require protection and 
shelter ! 




EARLY MISSIONS IN ACADIA. 



On a clear night in the middle of 
November, a.d» 1613^ three English 
fchips, under the command of the 
bold freebooter, Captain Samuel Ar- 
gall, of Virginia, weathered Brier Is- 
land in the Bay of Fundy, and, sail- 
ing through the narrow channel, now 
called Digby Gut, came to anchor 
in the basin of Port Roya!* The 
moon was nearly at full, and the 
shores of the basin could be distinct- 
ly seen on all sides, at a distance of 
more than two leagues. At the head 
of the bay, in the open meadow or 
sea marsh fronting the river L'Equilte 
— so named by Champlain on his 
first voyage to Acadia, nine years 
before — the forts and dwellings erect- 
ed by De Monts and Pontrincourt, 
in 1605, could be plainly seen stand- 
ing out black and shadowy in the 
moonlight, and apparently tenantless 
and deserted. No signs of alarm 
were visible in the settlement. The 
silence of night reigiied over the 
great marsh meadows on either side 



of the river — broken only by the 
faint rumble of distant watcr&JU, 
and the mournful hooting of the 
great homed owl on the edge of 
the woods. Bicncourt, the French 
governor, and his companions in the 
htUe colony, slept soundly under the 
shadow of the fort, unronscious of 
the strange sail lying in the bay; m_ * 
were stretched out before the bnu^^l 
fires in the woods, dreaming, perh^tf^^ 
of the arrival of the long-expected 
store-ship from Dieppe. 

On board Argall's squadrOii wn 
a motley company, such as the €»'• 
cumstances only of that adreatur- 
ous age could have made shifimits 
together; freebooter, Jesuit, Furitaa, 
cadets of impoverished Cavalier fiuni* 
lies, seeking to mend their fummcs 
in the New World; AbcnakU, fur- 
traders, licensed by the London Com* 
pany of Adventurers, and FrcKkcii 
prisoners from St Sauveur; their 
hopes and feelings with regtrd 
to the object of the cxpeditioii 



To understand the situation, it 
will be necessary to go back, for a 
moment, to the events that had oc- 
curred in the spring of that year. 
On the 1 2th March. i6i^, M. de Saus- 
save, who had been a[tpointed gov- 
ernor of Acadia, sailed from Hon- 
fleur in Normandy to found a new 
settlement in the territory. * Two 
Jesuit fathers, Gilbert du TKct and 
Father Quentm, accompanied the 
expedition. Two years before, Fa- 
ther Pierre Biard, a Jesuit, professor 
of theology at the University of Ly- 
ons, and Father Enemond xMasse, of 
the same order, had sailed from 
Dieppe for the newly-founded colo- 
ny at Port Royal, there to establish 
the first Jesuit mission in New France. 
They carried with them the prayers 
of the whole court. Tlie young king, 
Louis XI II,, gave them live hundred 
crowns ; the M ^-chioncss de Vemeuil 
presented the.., with vestments and 
the sacred vessels for saying Mass ; 
Madame de Sourdis furnished them 
with linen ; and Madame de Guer- 
chevilJe, with whatever else they re- 
quired for the voyage. No news had 
been received from them fur many a 
day; and it was believed that they 
were dead. Fathers Quentin and 
Du Thet were to replace them if 
they had perished ; otherwise to re- 
turn to France. De Saussaye ar- 
rived at Fort Royal in May, and 
found Biard and Masse alive, and 
working courageously ; instructing the 
Indians, and cheering their compan- 
ions in the little colony with the hope 
of succor from France. They had 
suffered greatly, however, during the 



* Acftdia, La Cadia. or A csdie, was bounded oti 
the nortK by the Gulf of Su Lawrcncr, on the 
Houth by the rircr Kenocbec, and on the west 
by Cunad*, The territory included the present 
Hr!li»li Provincet of \'cw Brunswick and Nova 
Scotia, and a large part of the Slate of M.unc. 



winter, living on acorns and roots, 
and the fish ihey caught in the river; 
but their faith wns unshaken, and die 
good disposition shown by the In- 
dians gave the Jesuit fathers sincere 
hopes of their conversion when they 
had mastered their language. De 
Saussaye took Father Biard and Fa- 
ther Masse on board, and, saihng 
along the coast of Maine, chose a 
site for the new settlement near the 
mouth of the river Penobscot, All 
the people of the colony, being about 
thirty in number, and the crew of 
the ship, set to work at putting up 
buildings and clearing ground, 

Argall was on the coast with an 
armed vessel, convoying a fleet of 
Virginian fishing-craft ; and hearing 
from the Indians of the landing of 
the French at St. Sauveur — as they 
had named the new colony — sailetl 
for the Penobscot, and attacked De 
Saussaye by surprise. His victory 
was complete ; he captured the 
French ship, pillaged the setdemenr, 
and, having sent De Saussaye and 
Feather Masse with fifteen others 
adrift in an open shallop, carried off 
the remainder, including Fathers 
Biard and Quentin, prisoners to Vir- 
ginia, Father Masse and his com- 
I>anions crossed the Bay of Fundy in 
their open boat, and, coasting along 
the eastern shore, were picked up off 
Sesumbre (Sambro)bya French fish- 
ing-vessel from St. Malo ; and half 
of their number having been put on 
board another ship from the same 
port, they were all carried back to 
France, landing at St, Malo, where 
they were received with great joy by 
the magistrates ami i)eople. 

When Argall returned to James- 
town with his prisoners, bringing the 
news of the establishment of the 
French settlements in Acadia, the 
colony was thrown into a ferment at 
the supposed encroachment upon 
English territory. It was a time of 



Early Missions in Acadia, 



profound peace between the French 
and English cjovvns ; but Sir Thomas 
DalCt the governor of Virginia, gave 
Argall a commission to return north, 
and dtfstroy all the French selde- 
ments he might find on ihc coast as 
far as Cape Breton, that is, as far as 
farty-six degrees and a half, north, the 
limits of the English patents. • The 
French crown maintained a rival 
claim to the territory. In 1603, 
Henry IV. of France had aj^poinled 
De Monts his lieu ten ant -general 
" in all the countries, coasts, and con- 
fines of La Cadia (Acadia), to be- 
gin from the fortieth degree to the 
forty-sixth ; and in the same distance to 
make known and establish his name 
and authority." t Acting under this 
charter, De Monts had founded the 
settlements of St. Croix and Port 
Royal in 1604-5. ^"' ^^ ^*^^ ^^ 
age that did not seek to inquire too 
closely into the rights of prior dis- 
covery or occupation where the 
claims of rival companies clashed to- 
gether in the New World* By the 
end of October, Argall had burnefl 
down the deserted fortifications of 
St. Sauveur, and destroyed the re- 
mains of De Monts' settlement at 
St. Croix, He captured an Abenaki 
chief on the coast, and, compelling 
the Indian to pilot his ships to Port 
Royal, w*as now lying in the bay, 
watting for the first streak of dawn 
over the hills, to complete the de- 
struction of the last French setdc- 
roent in Acadia. His sailors were 



•"'jusques ftu 46 d<^^r^ ct demy* parcequ'iU 
f»retendent 4 tout Eanttlc pavs."— Bl*rd, AV/a/i>jf, 
rarkuuiii sAvsmore corTMUy . ** Jarac* J., by the 
pateatt of 1606, b^d (grunted ftll North America, 
from the thirty-rourth to the forty-fitlh decree of 
latitude. t<» the twocompanje^of London and Ply- 
mouth ; Vifginta being assig^ncd to the former, 
white to the Utter were given Maine aad AcadLa« 
with adjaocnt region*. Orcr these, tboufb a« 
vet the cbimants bad not taken iK>s»sion of 
them, the authorities of Vtri^lnia had no colc»r of 
furbdiction,*'— ^/;»«r#r# 0/ Fr»m<^^ *«s. 

t Charter of De Monls ; civen tn Churchiira 
V*jt9grx^ 796-*,— AVr.* Frnmcia, 



Hushed with the hope of a rich bootf 
in the spoil of a colony on which, 
according to CharIe%^oix, a sura o( 
one hundred thousand crowm bad 
been already expended, llic work 
promised a finer harvest of priic- mo- 
ney than pillaging Su Malo fisher- 
men on the Grand Banks ; and the 
fact of the victims being ow ofily 
French, but Jesuits, gave a keener 
zest to the enterprise. 

The two Jesuit fathers, Biafd and 
Qucntin, were on board af one of 
the smaller vessels of the 5quadnifi, 
commanded by Lieutenant Tunici 
They had narrowly escaped bcifif 
hanged at Jamestown by Sir TbooM 
Dale, as alleged pirates and trespoii- 
ers on English terntor>' j but, fioa%t 
Argall had been directed to cany 
them north, and send ihem back tu 
France by any French fishing^vesiel 
he happened to fall in with on the 
coast. Biard's fortune had been a 
singular one. On the day of I^tnte- 
cost, two years before, he had Und* 
ed at Port Royal, full of hope aiKJ 
energy, believing, as he tourhrd the 
shores of the New World for the 
first time, that Providence had rhcsen 
him— an unworthv servant^ of ibe 
Lord — ^to plant the first seeds of the 
faith that should afterward spresH 
over the whole of the continent He 
was now* a prisoner in the hondf of 
his bitterest enemies; the French »ct 
tlcments had been destroyed; Iri 
brethren were scattered or de^; 
and, after sufferings and disasters ihit 
would have broken the spirit of anf 
man not upheld by a getierous waA 
living faith — famine, illnej^s^ totbome 
journeys, the sickness of hope dd^- 
red, the jealous t^^ranny of the Frcnell 
traders and the sword of En^leh 
pirates — he found himself ai lii%l » 
unwilling witness from the deck it 
an armed enemy, of the ex|iectcd 
ruin of his mission. The prospect 
was a gloomy one; the cttnversioc 



of the Indians more distant than 
evcrj 

Morning broke at last, and the Je- 
suits were awakened by the hoarse 
rr)' of ihe mate of Tumel's ship call- 
ing the watch to heave anchor^ and 
move the ship up stream to attack 
the forL The anchor was lifted over 
the bows, and the drowsy crew shook 
out the damp sails to the light yyutXa 
of air that rippled the surface of the 
basin. An unexpected delay took 
place; the great tide of the Bay of 
Fundy was sweeping out of the river 
like a miU-course ; and it was not un- 
til ten or eleven o'clock that the ships 
were slowly warped up within close 
range of the fort. Such an air of 
stillness hung about the settlement 
that Argall feared an ambuscade ; 
but as his men rushed into the fort 
— with swords drawn and arquebuses 
level led^a joyful surprise awaited 
them. Not a French settler was to 
be seen ; the fort and dwellings were 
deserted ; shoes and otiier goods ly* 
ing about, indicating recent occupan- 
cy. Biencourt and his companions 
were in the woods trading with the 
Indians ; and the colony fell an unre- 
sisting prey to the English. Argall 
pillaged the settlement of every mova- 
ble article, even to the locks on the 
doors ; killed and carried off the live- 
stock ; and dicn set fire to the build- 
ings — ** a thing truly pitiable," says 
Biard ; ** for in a few hours one saw 
reduced to ashes the labors of many 
years and many persons of merit." * 
The English then destroyed every 
mark of French sovereignty they 
could find, using even the hammer 
and chisel on a large and massive 
stone, on which WTre engraved the 
names of De MonLs, Pontrincourt, 
and other captains, widi the flfur-de- 
Us, The ruin of the first Jesuit mis- 



* 0i&rd, RtUti&K^ c, xz!k. 



sion in the New World, north of Flo- 
rida, w^as complete* 

The scene was an impressive one, 
and fruitful of reflection to any eyes 
but those inllamed by sectarian big* 
otry and the lust of rapine. 

From the basin of Port Royal, 
where the English ships rode at an- 
chor, to St. Augustine in Florida, the 
continent stretched out, west and 
south, a vast and solitary wilderness, 
unbroken by any European settle- 
ment except the infant colony at 
Jamestown, planted five years be- 
fore;* the wash of the western ocean 
beat in sullen surges on the naked 
beach around Plymouth Rock, as yet 
untrodden by the feet of the fathers 
of New England, In the northwest, 
Champlain, soldier, navigator, mis- 
sionary,t the greatest hero, perhaps, 
in that age of wonderful adventure 
and heroic men, was bearing the 
cross and civilization up the St. Eaw- 
rence and along the shores of the 
Great Lakes; while to the north the 
fir forests, ever growing more gloomy, 
stunted, and monotonous, extend- 
ed to the confines of Hudson's 
Bay, unrelieved by any trace of 
civilized life except the little chapel 
at the French trading-post of Ta- 
doussac. 

The basin of Port Royal was dis- 
tinguished by a picturesque and di- 
versified beauty — ill suited to the 
scene of piracy that was being enact- 
ed on its shores — and which had at- 
tracted the admiration of all the early 
adventurers to these coasts. Lescar- 
bot, describing his arrival there oa 



• In tbo fipriai^ of i6oj, De Mont» had gone «k 
Car south as 41 deg:rcea north <n*ar Ihe prtr^icnl 
city of New V'ork^. and at that tira« there wm 
not one European along the coo.- 1 lo Florida. Or, 
O'CallaRliwn states, however, tlal the Dutch Itad 
four houses at Manhattan in 161 ). 

+ Z*» sttittt d'uHt seuU amr ian( mitttx ftt* Im 
conqniU iCunt fmpirf—\he%^ are ihe first word^ 
in Champlaiu'« ^Vt^J"— "The aahatlon of a 
single soul is of more conicquencc than the coft- 
queitofanejapirc/' 



Early Missions in Acadia. 




the 27th of July, seven years before, 
says : 

"Finally, being in the port, it was a 
ihing marrcltous to sec the fair distance 
and the largeness of it. and I wondered how 
so fair a place did remain desert^ being 
all filled with woods, seeing that so many 
pine away in the world which mfght make 
good of iliis land, if only ihcy had'a chief 
govern jf to lead them thither. At ihe 
very beginning, we were desirous to sec 
the country up the river, where we found 
meadows almost continually above twelve 
leagues of ground ; among which do run 
brooks without number, which come from 
ihe hills and mountains adjoining. Yea, 
even in the passage to come forth from 
the s.iid fort for to go to sea, there is a 
brook that lallcih (rom the high rocks 
down, and in falling disperscth itself inlo 
a 8m«ill rain, which is very deltghtful in 
summer/' * 

** It was our harvest time/* says 
Biard, in words penetrated with a 
regret the tone of which seems to 
ch us even at this distant day — 
our season of fruit. We had com- 
posed our catechism in the savage 
tongue, and commenced to be able 
to speak to our catechumens, and be- 
hold ! at this moment comes the ene- 
my of all good to put die torch to 
our labors and carry us out of the 
field. May the victorious Jesus, of 
his powerful hand and invincible wis- 
dom» set his plans at naught ! Amen." 
So the Jesuit missionary closes each 
chapter of his curious narrative.! The 
words of a recent Protestant writer, 
describing the same scene, are some- 
what different : ** In a semi-piratical 
descent,'* says Parkman, ** an obscure 
stroke of lawless violence began the 
strife of England and France, of Pro- 
testantism and Rome, which for a 
century and a half shook the strug- 
gling communities of the New World, 
and clo&ed at last in the memorable 



* Hwm FrmncU : trmoi. la CAmPtAili'* CmU. >c1 

TOl. 

t Biu-d, RelmihM^ cbftp. ujdv. 



triumph on the Plains of Abfft- 

ham/' * 

Tiic strife has not dosed ; the pfaycr 
of the persecuted missionary has been 
heard. In the busy cities of the At- 
lantic seiboarci, along the spurs of 
the Rocky Mountains, and among 
the great lakes and unexplored nvers 
of Manitoba and the NorthTicst, ibc 
successors of Biard are laboring la 
their glorious mission to 
with the same ardent ^eal t n 

the hearts of the pioneers ol hts or- 
der, toiling through the depths of the 
wilderness on the stormy days of the 
first quarter of the seventeenth ceo- 
tury. And in the ancient town of 
Port Royal the little Catholic Church 
of a new mission — where the pcufile 
of another mce no less zealous in the 
faith mingle in prayer with the de- 
scendants of the followers of Bica* 
court and Lalour — may still be secft 
by the tourist, pointing its rustic 
wooden steeple to the sky, over the 
shores of that beautiful basin 00 
which the Jesuit Biard looked wtfli 
regretful eyes for the last time on the 
J 9th day of November, iCij-f 

For a period of fifty year^ after the 
date of Argairs cxpcdUion, the ma- 
terials for any notes on the tDis^ons 
of Acadia are scanty and fragment* 
ary. Biencourt and a scattered rem* 
nant of the first French colonists still 
clung to the ruins of Port Royal, 
living, however, for the g' »rt 

of the year, with the Indj 1 fig 

and fur-trading. Sl Malo, iiieppe, 
Honfleur, and Rochelle sent out year- 
ly, in the spring, their fleets of fisho- 



t Th« Jcswit fatheni, i srl^ 

cd France m Last allr! r^t 

on Uicir w»y, A sioru, .,. ;t 

turn. An^All ffoi back to Vireinui tn aafetT, Ml 
one of his vessrls, wish six English on hnmHL 
was lost ; and the ship coininanac ■ " .f\^ 
on board of which were the Jcsui^ ra 

ac-ro«« to (he A cares, whence thr i tn 

KriKlandn, and thence acfosa the Cha«4ii.al tw their 
homciin Kraoce* 



i 



3 



Early Alissions in Acadia. 



men 10 reap the rich harvest of these 
seas; but the jealousy of the New 
England colonies was always on the 
alert against any encroachment upon 
their claims to the territory ; no dura- 
ble settlement appears to have been 
made for nearly twenty years; and 
there was no priest resident on these 
coasts. Parcelled out by the sove- 
reigns of SpaiiT, England, and France 
into huge monopolies, the limits of 
whose patents were only bounded by 
the arbitrary division of degrees of 
latitude north and soutii, North Ame- 
rica, at that day, with an extent of/ 
territory large enough to settle nn- 
caunted millions at peace with each 
other, was the disputed prize, with 
varying fortune, of a handful of mer- 
chants and adventurers, who planted 
a few sparse colonies on the thin 
edge of the Atlantic seaboard. The 
Jesuits had transferred their missions 
to the country of the Hurons on the 
Great Lakes ; and the words of Biard 
and Masse were become only a tradi- 
tion among the Sourignois ( Micmacs) 
and Abe iia kis o f Acad ia . " A^iscamirtou 
higfiemmh ntfiem marcodam '* — '* Our 
Sun, or our Ood, gives us something 
to eat," * was the only prayer that 
ever rose from the lips of these wan- 
dering savages, scattered in shifting 
tribes at the mouths of the rivers that 
emptied into the Bay of Fundy, or 
living in isolated families under the 
shadow of the granite hilts on the 
eastern shore of the peninsula, where 
the rolling surf of the wintry ocean 
dashed for ever in furious while break- 
era on the iron-bound coast. The su- 
perstitions of these Indians were of 
a character singular and grotesque. 
They believed i\\ certain spirits, whom 
they called Cudoiiagni, and with 
whom they often conversed in a fa- 
miliar tone, telling them the kind of 
weatlier they wanted. If the spirit 



was angry with them, he threw dust 
in their eyes. Sagard,the Franciscan 
hiiitorian, writing of the Sourignois in 
1636, relates this tradition, told by one 
of their sagamores to the Sieur Les- 
cot: 

'* Once upon a time/' said the chief, 
*' there was a m.in who hnd a grcii dc.il of 
tobacco ; and God spoke to the man. und 
asked liim where was his pipe. The man 
took it and gave it to God, who smoked 
.^ great deal ; and after he had smoked 
enough^ he broke it into a great many 
pieces. Tiic man asked him, * Why lia?e 
you broken my pipe ? don't you see that I 
have no other?' And God took one that 
he h.id, and gave it to him, 5.ijing, * Here 
is one that 1 will give you \ take it lo your 
great sagamore, and let him take care of 
ii ; and if he takes good care of it, neither 
he nor all his people shall ever want for 
anything whatever/ The man took the 
pipe and gave it to his great sagamore, 
and wfiilc he kept it ihe Indians never 
wanted for anything in the world. One 
day, liowever, the sagamore happened to 
break the pip*^i *ind since ihal time they 
had famine often among them. That wa* 
the reason, he said, lliai they didn't think 
a great deai of God, because he made all 
their abundance depend on a Htlle clay 
pipe {un iaiumtt de Urre fm^ik)^ and 
when he might often help them, he let 
them suffer more than all the other 
tribes."* 

I'he Recollets, a refonned branch 
of that great Franciscan order whose 
missionaries had already penetrated 
into every quarter of the world, east 
and west, where European adven- 
ture had gained even the most pre- 
carious foothold, were destined, un- 
der Pro V licence, to be the first apos- 
tles and missionaries of those Indians. 
It was an age of great religious enthu- 
siasm ; the attention of the great mis- 
sionary orders of Europe was strongly 
directed to the wide field of labor 
opened to their zeal by the settle- 
ment of North America ; and al- 
though the violence of English ag- 
gression had compelled the Jesuits 

* Sagard, Ed. 7Vm¥, 43 i> 



634 




Early Missions in Acadia 



to abandon for a time the missions 
of Acadia, other laborers were soon 
found to enter the field. 

In 1619^ certain associations of 
French merchants^ formed to carry 
on the shore fisher)' and fur trade 
in Acadia, apphed to the Recollet 
friars for priests to attend to the rcHgi- 
ous wants of the men whom they em- 
ployed in those coasts; holding out, 
as a more brilliant inducement, the 
conversion of the Indians of the coun- 
try. The proposal was gladly accept- 
ed* The conversion of the savages 
from the darkness of heathenism was 
the most glorious work of that age ; 
and the means that the Recollcts them- 
selves were too poor to suijply were 
placed in their hands. It seemed al- 
most a direct interjiostuon of Provi- 
dence to grant them the earnest of 
their prayers ! Three of the fathers, 
belonging to the Province of Aqui- 
taine, embarked with joyful hearts for 
a mission so fruitful of difficulties and 
peril, but which promised so rich har- 
vest for their labors. They fixed their 
chief residence on the river St. John, 
where the company had established 
a trading-post j making frct[uent jour- 
neys from that mission to s^upjily the 
spiritual wants of the struggling colo- 
ny at Port Royal, as well as of the 
Indians on the Bay of Fundy and the 
southern shore of the Gulf of St. 
Lawrence. They are also said to 
have commenced some Indian mis- 
sion on the isthmus of Bay Verte. 

In the autumn of 1610, Port Roy- 
al presented a busy and animated 
scene, and the good Recollet fathers 
had some difRcuhy in keeping in or* 
der the wild spirits whom the for- 
tunes of the war had brought into 
the settlement. The king's ship, the 
yenus, had arrived from France, and 
three French privateers %vere lying in 
the river. Nearly five hundred pri- 
soners from New England were ua- 
der guard in the fort. The trade of 




Boston was nearly ruined by the prin- 
tecrs. Subcrcase, writi : ' ■ ich 

minister of marine at vs? 

** The privateers have dcsoUtcd BoMoa. 
luiving captured and destroyed thlJty-6vc 
vesijcls, M wc had had ihc 1%'tiMt, Bov 
ton woidd have been ruined^for rcrycef- 
tainly ihcif trade would have been riiiire^ 
1y interrupted. They have had duriog 
the whole year a scardly of (iroviiiottv 

because our corsairs and otf '■ 1 tb£ 

islands" (West Indies) ** f tjb 

them six barques^ most ol .. ....^. wen 

laden with cargoes," • 

Another privateer arrived fromSr 
Domingo, commanded by Morpain« 
one of the boldest and most noted 
corsairs in the war. Moi fed 

from Port Royah and ret jter 

tea days^ absence, having made nine 
prizes and destroyed four more ; ha 
prisoners numbered one hundrtd 
But the prisoners had on twj 

to bring for the colony, , > 

of- war and twenty transporis mcxt 
lying in Boston Harbor ; nearly thnee 
thousand men from Massachusetts^ 
Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New 
Hampshire were encamped on la 
island in the harbor; and the aro^ 
ment only waited for a f^iir wmd lo 
set sail for the conqu idia. 

On the 1 8th of St ^ , the ex- 

pedition sailed from Nanraskct ia 
Boston Bay, under the command of 
General Nicholson ; and on \\\t 34^ 
of the month the fleet reached thr 
entrance of Port Royal basin, *rk 
English forces landed on the tih id 
October, and invested the fort. Ik 
Subercase capitulated on the t64fc of 
the same month, and for the avch 
and last time Acadia passed fmdff 
the English flag. On f' 
October, General Nich*^ 
left a strong garrison at I 
now named AnnapoJis K ... . :*»• 
nor of Queen Anne — ^led with tbc 



• T^tteT of Suhcrcvw, Murd. t. j^ 
had m popttUUon at tkU time of «bo«it 



1 



Early Missiaus in Acadia, 



men-of-war and transports for Bos- 
ton, bringing the news of his victory 
and the establishment of English 
power in Acadia. The conquest was 
destined to be a permanent one; after 
a century of nearly ceaseless war, the 
patient, vigilant, and united action 
of New England iriumphed at last 
over the supineness of its own home 
government and the armed resistance 
of France ■ the first decisive blow was 
struck at the security of PVcnch 
power on the continent ; and althotigh 
many efforts were made to regain 
possession of the territory, they were 
m vain, and only served to bring 
closer to the unhappy French Aca- 
dians the pitiful doom of expulsion 
from their country, which has made 
their fate the saddest chapter, per- 
haps, in the history of North Ame- 
rica. 

With the fall of Port Royal ends 
the ftrst chapter in the history of the 
missions of Acadia. The missiona- 
ries now found themselves called upon 
to meet the demands incident to the 
altered andtlifficuh position in which 
they found themselves placed ; en- 
misted, on the one hanil, with the 
care of the spiritual and even tempo- 
ral interests of a peo| le entirely de- 
voletl to I hem, and who found them- 
selves aliens in the land that their 
fathers had reclaimed from the sea 
aiul cultivated for a century, and op- 
pressetl, on the other hand, by the 
jealous tyranny of a power hostile to 
their race and inimical to their creed. 
How bravely and unilinchingly they 
devoted themselves to the welfare of 
Uic unhappy Acadians, the history of 
those times sufficiently proves ; the 
record of their devotion is not unwor- 
thy of men who labored in the scenes 
consecrated by the sufferings of Biard 
and Masse, of Sebastian and Fon- 
tinier. 

These Recollets were also driven 
jut of tiie country at the secoud cap- 



ture of Port Royal and the other 
French settlements, by Kirk, in 1628, 
sharing the fate of the Jesuits at 
ArgalFs hands in 1613, Other 
brethren of the order were sent out 
by the Company of New France in 
1630, and joined Latour's settlement 
at St, John; and, in 1633, De Ra- 
gilly, who had founded a settlement 
at Laheve, invited the Recollets to 
return to their old missions. Shea 
states, on the authority of Le CI ere, 
£faif, dc Foi, that the Recollets, 
James de la Foyer, Louis Fon tinier, 
and James Cardou, abandoned their 
mission in 1624, ami retired to Que- 
bec* 

But the zeal of tl>e missionaries was 
unconquerable ; the brethren of a 
third order left their peaceful monas- 
ter)^ in France to take up their resi- 
dence on those inhos[)i table shores. 
In 1644, the Capuchins had estab- 
lished a hospice at Pentagoet (Pe- 
nobscot), under the powerful protec- 
tion of the Sieur D'Aulnay, lieuten- 
ant-general of the terrilor)^ There 
they labored in peace for several 
years, performing the functions of 
cures for the settlement- D'Aulnay 
afterwards transferred his chief resi- 
dence to Port Royal, and built there 
a new hospice for the Capuchin fa- 
thers, who followed the fortunes of 
their flock; and in 1653, we find the 
names of Pere St. Leonard de Chartres, 
vice-prefect of the mission, and Fr^re 
Desnoase, witnesses to the marriage 
articles between De la Tour and Ma- 
dame Jeanne Motin, the widow of 
D'Aulnay. f 

Nor was the indefatigable ardor 
of the Jesuits easily repulsed. Fa* 



• Shea, Hist U. S, Miuwns^ fy%. 

i D*Aitlcmy died in 1650, — £hjs^ nmi Fr, Cat 
ti3. He is Mnted to hAve built tivc fortresaea, 
churches^ and two tcminaries. and lo bnvc e»- 
labli<ilicd A mission in Acadip,, l'i\ie copy of mar* 
riagc articles between Dc la Tour acid D'AuU 
nay's wido^v, given In Murdoch. — ///x/* N«im 
ScaiMt i. ijto. 



636 



Early Missions in Acadia, 



ther Encmond Masse had twice re- 
turned to New France — his Rachel, 
as he called the country for which 
he had sufTcrcd so much — but his 
missions now lay in the country of 
the Algonquins and Montaignais, 
Other brethren of the order had, 
however, established themselves at 
St. Anne's, in Cape Breton, and at 
Miscou^ on the tiulf, about 1640 ; and 
m these missions the fathers ex- 
nded their labors along the north- 
ern coast of New Brunswick and the 
eastern shore of the peninsula of Nova 
Scotia. A solitary Jesuit, (iabriel 
DrcuiHettcs, set out on the 29th of Au- 
gust, 1647, from the residence of 
Sillery, near Quebec, to found the 
mission of the Assumption among 
the Abcnakis of Maine. " I shall 
say nothing/ writes Father Lale- 
mant, the superior of the Je- 
suits in New France, in his yearly 
Rtkitkm addressed to the provin- 
cial of his order at Paris, describ- 
ing Father Dreuillettes' mission in 
1647— 



" I shall say nothing of the difficulttes 
he? liad to undergo in a journey of nine 
or ten months, where one meets livers 
paved with rocks, where the boats that 
Ciiny you arc made only of bark ; where 
the dangers to one's life succeed each 
other more quickly than the days wtid 
nights ; where the frosts of winter chanj^c 
the whole face of the country into a sheet 
of snow and ke; where one has to carry 
on his shoulders his dwelling, his provi- 
sions, and his supplies ; where you have 
no other company than that of savages, 
us far removed from our ways of living as 
the earth is removed from the skies ; 
where the strength of body with which 
these savages are abundantly supplied 
far excels all the beauties of the spirit ; 
where one finds neither bread nor wine, 
nor any kind of food that one is used to 
in Europe ; where one would say that all 
the roads led to the abyss, so frightful arc 
they, and yet they lead to Paradise those 
who love the crosses with which they are 
strewn: it was in his sufferings that the 
father found repose, meeting more often 



mountains like those of Tabor and OIU 
vet than that of Calvary."* 

Father Dreuillettes descended the 
river Kennebec to the sea ; «i>d hH 
Indian guide, after reaching the Bay 
of Fundy.t conducted the father to 
Pentagoctt where he was hospiiaUy 
entertained at the little hosipn-e of 
the Capuchins who were still resi- 
dent there. Father Ignatius dc 
Paris, their superior, gave ihc Je- 
suit father a warm welcome ;| and 
Father Dreuillettes, having rested ^^^ 
recruited hNnself,§ again r^- ibe 

river into the interior of t .{ry, 

where he commenced his hnsi miK 
sion among the Al>enakis, w^hich God 
afterwards blessed w^iih a wonderful 
increase.! 

Such was the position of the mtt- 
sions in Acadia toward the end of the 
first half of the seventeenth centtiry: 
The Capuchins were at Port Royd; 
a few scattered missionaries, Jesuits 
and RecoUets, along the easiecn 
shore of the peninsula, at Cansean, 
Laheve, and Cape Sable, when? the 
French had established IT 'j; 

the Kecollets on the St. j .cr, 

with Lalour, extending iheir mts^oiii 
to the isthmus at Bay Verte and llie 
eastern part of New Brunswick ; afid 
Father Dreuillettes comQienctng liif 
missions in Maine. 

The treaty of St. Gennarnauljijrr 
had restored Acadia to the Fiend* 
crown in 1632 ; hut New Englaid 
had always secretly resented that 
agreement and never relinquijihed is 



i4ucli|uc 



rc^ »n » ii-tf-IWiiT' 



I, 



f *'Sur 1« t'w 

I- - 

I M 
tnary oi iLw A b^ 
able work on th^ 

of this article hu btca 10 OOOfiM Ills 

mudi as possible 10 (lie Rfasiocn to Itel f^<^ 
the old cetrHory of AcaHk noiv foratac tte 
British Province of Xora Scotia, 
pop u laxly ncaini Uke name. 



Early Missions in A cadia. 



637 



intention of regaining possession of 
the territory. The lax interpretation 
of international obligations that dis- 
tinguished the protectorate of Crom- 
well, gave the English colonists the 
opportunity they desired. In 1653, 
Cromwell fitted out an expedition 
designed to attack the Dutch colony 
of Manhadoes (New York), The 
English ships did not, however, ar- 
rive at Boston until June, 1654. On 
the ninth of the month, the General 
Court passed resolutions for enhsting 
five hundred men, to be commanded 
by Major Robert Sedgwick of Charles- 
town, **a man of popular manners 
and military talents,** who had once 
been a member of the Artillery Com- 
pany of London, and Captain John 
Leverett of Boston ; this force was 
to aid the English srpiadron in the 
expedition against the Dutch. Ten 
days later, the news reached Boston 
tJiat a treaty of peace had been sign- 
ed between the Protector and the 
Dutch Republic. Here was an op- 
portunity not to be neglected! The 
English and French governments were 
at peace; but the General Court 
counted upon the acquiescence of 
Cromwell — not without some pre- 
vious informal assurances to thai 
effect — and it was determined to 
employ the force that had been rais- 
ed by the colony, and the English 
ships then lying in the harbor of 
Boston, in the reduction of the French 
settlements of Acadia,* 

On the moming of the r5th of 
August, 1654, the Capuchin fathers, 
looking from the windows of tlieir 
hospice up the river, saw the Eng- 
lish squadron sailing up the basin of 
Port Royal for the third time m 
forty years. All was hurry and con- 
fusion in the settlement. The fort 
w*as well garrisoned and provisioned, 






and with a capable commander might 
have made a stout resistance; but 
Le Borgne, who hatl obtained posses- 
sion of Port Royal under an arrtf tiu 
Jtig^mcnf against the estate of the 
late Sieur D'Aulnay, was a man with- 
out military knowledge or experienccj 
and, after a faint show of resistance, 
he capitulated next day to the English 
on favorable terms. The other set- 
tlements submitted without resLstancc. 
Thus for the third time Acadia 
was lost to Catholicity and New 
France, and handed over to the 
sway of Puritanism and New Eng- 
land» 

Liberty of conscience had been 
guaranteed in the capitulation; but 
the provincial act of 1647 against 
the Jesuit order, who were to be ban- 
ished if found in the countr}% and 
on return from banishment to suf- 
fer death, was revived and extended 
to priests of other orders ; the Ca- 
puchins were compelled to abandon 
their hospice and retire to France; 
the missions were broken up ; and 
for the next twelve years the English 
held undisputed possession of Aca- 
dia, Sir Thomas Temple, the Eng- 
lish governor, war, however, a man of 
humane and generous temper and tol- 
erant disposition ; and the French 
Acadians who remained in the coun- 
try were allowed to follow, quietly, 
the worship of their fathers. The only 
priest of whom any mention is made 
as resident in the country at this time 
was P^Te Laurent Molin, amleikr 
rdi^€ux^ who performed the func- 
tions of cure at Port RoyaL 

Plans for English colonisation of 
the tcrritor)' now occupied the atten- 
tion of the home government. Sir 
Thomas Temple urged the advan- 
tage of setdemcnt, pointing out in 
his letters to the Lords of the Coun- 
cil the great value of the fii^- 
eriesj mines, and timber of the coun- 
try. 



Early Afisslons in Ac&dia. 



" Nova Scotia/** he says, " is the first 
cutony which England has possessed in 
all America of wliichthe limits have been 
fixed, being bounded on the north by the 
great rivers of Canada, and on ihe west by 
New England. It contains ihc iwo greaC 
provinces of Alexandria and Calcdoaia, 
established and conhrmcd by divers acts 
ut the parliament of Scotland, and annex* 
cd to thai crown, ihc records whereof arc 
kept m fhc Castle of Edmburgh to this 
day,*' 

But the plans for English settlement 
were frustrated by the treaty of Bre- 
da, 1667, which again restored Aca- 
dia to the French crown, not with* 
standing the remonstrances of New 
England. On the 6th of July, 1670, 
the Chevalier Grand Fontaine deliver- 
ed to Sir Thomas Temple, at Boston, 
the order of Charles II,, directing 
him to deliver up possession of Aca- 
dia, and at the same time exhibited 
to him his commission from the 
French king empowering Grand Fon- 
taine to receive the cession of the 
territory. The formal surrender of 
tlie forts and settlements of Penta- 
goet, St, John, Port Royal, Laheve, 
and Cape Sable was made before the 
end of the year, and the country w as 
opened once more to the labors of 
the missionaries. 

We have seen the Jesuits, Recol- 
lets, and Capuchins successively en- 
tering upon the mLvsions of Acadia; 
the field was large, their difficulties 
extreme ; the violence of English ag* 
grcssion always imminent, and cease- 
lessly overturning the foundations 
laid with njuch labor and zeal. A 
new organization of the forces of the 
church was now about to send its 
missionaries into the field. The Se- 

tminar}' of Foreign Missions of Que- 
. • AcadiA ; noi ihc prcwot Btiti^ proirince of 
ifofm Scotim, The crmot to Sir ^ aiAm Alexaa- 
te, s^t, ^v«^ Uie QAjiie of Korm SeoSia lo tlie 
MRtofflP ; « copy in the ociflnaLl Latin is |ei vco %a 
dw MrmwrfuJr •/ tkt £m£, »md Fr. C0mm. Tkt 
mAr Engibb wriieti fire either, iadtSemCly. 
to the tcrriUMT^ 



>ofthdc. 



bee, founded in 1663 by the illostn 
ous Mgn Laval, the first btsbop con- 
secrated for New France, was aliea- 
dy training up a body of native cc 
clesiastics, who joined to tiic anjrm 
iical of the first mi!ii5:ionaries a knuw- 
ledge of the country more intimate 
and profound. In 16S7, tJic phcits of 
the seminary entered upon the mif^ 
sions of Acadia with an energy vt 
doubled by the knowledge of the iM- 
culties that had beset the labors of thdt 
predecessors. After the rcsti 
of the territory to France by the 
of Breda, it was included witiiiD llie 
jurisdiction of the Bishop of Quebec ; 
and in tlie instructions given by Loo- 
is XIV. to De Menual, appotnteil 
governor in 16S7, the king dcchio 
the conversion of the Indians to ikt 
Christian faith to be his chief object 
and refers him for assistance in pt> 
curing missionaries for the coinitnr 
to Mgr. St. Valier. who had succeed* 
ed Mgr. Laval* The diocese cf 
Quebec could hardly, at thai 
supply priests sufficient for the 
of its own missions : but the 
was great, the harvest of sools fiio* 
mised to be abundant ; and Mg^«. Sl 
Valier, casting his eyes arotnid ibr ti* 
boreis worthy of Uic ficM ' n* 

ing volunteers in the fi tte 

Seminary of Foreign Mbtwps. M. 
Petit was appointed gntnd vicar aad 
curd at Port Royal ; M. Trouvc took 
charge of the missions ttp the rivd 
and at Minas^ and Father Thioj 
commenced his hetoic labot& 
the Al>enakis and Canibats, 
were ' Hiih the aid oC tfct 

Jesuits : . e a brilliani tocccs 

in the oiiirc conver^n of the* 
tribesi. The t wo J esuii £(uhcn» J»d0 
and Vincent Btgot^ broilicts bcknif' 
ing to one of the noble lauoilia ^ 
France* and Father Gassot, of tk 

• Ifxr. St ViUct TO mm. 
for tirv ytu% p inhimil y. 



same order, joined with ardor in the 
work of converting and restoring the 
faith among the Indians ; and the Re- 
collet Father Simon governed a de- 
voted mission at Medoktek, near the 
mouth of the river St. John. The 
teachings of the missionaries, and 
the examples of unselfish devotion 
diat their lives continually presented, 
inspired the Indians with a lasting 
attachment to France and French 
interests and institutions, which made 
Uiem the most effective allies of that 
power in the disastrous warfare that 
never ceased en the borders. Ihe 
Indian policy of New England, on 
the conuary — if, indeed, it could be 
called a policy the only object of 
which was to plunder and destroy — 
cost the English colonists a deplora- 
ble loss of blood and treasure, that a 
more humane and generous treatment 
of these savages might easily have 
averted. With the single exception 
of the missionary Eliot, no effort 
was ever sought to be made by the 
English to christianize the Indians 
within their borders ; the traders plun- 
dered them, and the war parties shot 
them down like ^vild beasts when- 
ever they surprised an Indian village j 
and it can hardly excite surprise that 
the Indian reprisals proved as merci- 
less and relentless as the melancholy 
history of those times proves them to 
have been.* 






New Eni^Tnnd writers have gfrcn so high a 
lor lo f hcif »ccr>ijnt5 of the cruelties practised 
fhr FrrnrK Tndlsns in these war^i, thiit & just 
esi itioii of tboisc ttines cinaot be 

d: wriiinps.. There is no doubt 

till h and English were guilty of 

Airovtli^v ihAl put to shame tlie savnRc tijitureof 
the-lr Indian allies. The cruelties ot the Iroquois 
Afid other ludiaaitniesof the Kuf^lish Cunreclnim- 
ed frum Ucftthcuism) In their attacks upon the 
Frenrh "irrilcracots were unspeukablc. The >n- 
(Ju ' Krcnch missionaries was always 

v.'-- < thu tierce nature of the IndiAus, 

%\\' icqucDtIf accompauied upon their 

war parUc;». The conduct of Fathers Thury, Si- 
mon^atid llRudoin iu savings the lives ni the Eng- 
lish prison erii at the capture of F^rt William Hen- 
ry ftt Peoiaciuid^ in 169;, wa& most praiseworthy. 



Acadia was the border-ground on 
which New England and New France 
contended for die possession of North 
America. Sometimes the wave of 
English conciuest swept up the Gulf 
of St. Lawrence to the walls of the 
citadel of Quebec ; then the returning 
tide would carry the French sokliers 
and tlieir Indian allies bearing fire 
and sword through the settlements of 
Maine, New Hampshire, and North- 
ern New York — almost within sound 
of the alarm-bells of Boston* The 
contest appears to us now to have 
been a very unequal one, and in tlie 
light of later events we are able to 
see that the final preponderance of 
New England was inevitable ; but 
to the English colonist of the seven- 
teenth ccntur)^ harassed by the con- 
stant dread of vigilant, ceaseless, and 
relentless Indian warfare upon the 
scattered settlements ; encircletl by a 
chain of fortified posts from Quebec 
to the mouth of the Mississippi ; and 
threatened by powerful French lleets 
wpon the coast, the struggle ajipear- 
ed to be one for the security of his 
very foothold upon the continent. 
The conquest of Acadia had always 
been regarded by the commonwealth 
of Massachusetts as essential to the 
continuance of a durable peace ; but 
the importance of the possession of 
the territory seems to have been better 
recognized by the French than the 
English government of that day ; and 
the various treaties between the two 
powers always included a clause pro- 
vidi:ng for its restoration to the French 
crown. 

For twenty years after the treaty 
of Breda the French settlements in 
Acadia had enjoyed comparative 
peace. The missions were prosper- 
ous, although the want of priests was 
severely felt in the oudying districts. 

The subject of the English treattnent of Lbe In* 
dians is too extensive a one« however^ to b« 
dLscuxsed ir this article. 



640 



Early Missions in Acadia. 




One of the periodical invasions of 
the English had taken place in 16S0; 
Port Royal had been again captur- 
ed ; but the occupation had been 
only of short duration, and the Aca- 
dians were once more left in peace 
to dike in the great marsh meadows 
from the sea, and sing their Norman 
and Breton songs under the wil- 
lows along the banks of the Dauphin 
and Gaspereaux, Eut a storm-cloud 
was now gathering in the English 
|Colonies that threatened to sweep the 
French power from the continent. 
On the I St of May, 1690, New York 
witnessed the spectacle, hitherto un- 
known in American annals, of a na- 
tional congress. • The idea had 
been inspired by the commonwealth 
of Massachusetts; the General Court 
having sent letters to all the other 
colonies as far as Marj'land, urging 
tlie necessity of united action against 
the French* The congress of New 
York decided upon the conquest of 
Canada by means of an army that 
should march upon Montreal by way 
of Lake Champlain, while Boston 
was to send a fleet to attack the set- 
tlements in Acadia, and then lay 
siege to Quebec. The first expedi- 
tion was directed against Port Royal 
On the 20th May, Sir William Phipps, 
with a squadron of one frigate of 
40 guns, two sloops-of-war of 16 and 
8 guns, and four smaller vessels, an* 
chorcd within half a league of the fort* 
His land force consisted of 700 men. 
The French governor, De Menneval, 
was totally unprepared for resis- 
tance ; he had under him only an in- 
significant garrison of eighty-six men ; 
the fortifications were not completed, 
and the battery of eighteen guns not 
even mounted. The English com* 
raander sent a trumpeter to demand 
the unconditional surrender of the 
fort De Menneval retained the 

* Boncroa, UL 



trumpeter; and sent Father Pelsi* 
who acted as his almoner, ta oht^m 
reasonable terms of ca pit ulalioo. Af- 
ter some difficulty, Sir Wtlliin 
Phipps agreed; i. That the govcnwi 
and soldiers should go out with 
and baggage, and be transjKmcd tq 
Quebec; 2. That the iohabilaiill 
should remain in peaceable posstsmm 
of their property, and that the 
of the females should be \r 
3* That they should have j 

exercise of their religion, and xxwlI ines 
church should not be injured* W^ 
these terms. Father Petit retonsed 
to the fort, and the capitulation 
agreed upon. The Engli&h foroei 
landed, and as soon as Phipps hid 
received the surrender of the fort, he 
disarmed the French garrison, 
the settlement was given up to mS^ 
criminate pillage and the license of 
his troops, The churdi was pbo* 
dered of the sacj-cd ves&els; ^ 
priest's house burned down ; tk 
houses of the inhabitants sacked: uA 
De Menneval and Father Petit vA 
Father Trouv^ taken pn^-'^" -^ 1^ 
carried on board the t pi 

Such was the faith observe: Ly tit 
English commander at the surrtiMkr 
of Port Royal ! Sir William r'hijif* 
having left a small garrisori in the fan; 
carried back with him to Bostoo tbc 
French governor, the priests, and lii 
plunder; and was received with gwii 
rejoicings in the colony • • 

The misfortunes of the tnhabitiiili 
of Port Royal were not yet c^m- 
plcte. Scarcely had the Ncii En£ 



•SirWilliain P — — - 


*'■"—» '- - 1 !• - - 


lie btd thk 
The chief oi 
Frii-mdi, of 44 4; 
gmrs, cofnm»oUef . i 


' and u^ ttnawi 
was €atl94 tt« ib 

^ men 4;pfc«rr^ 


tvo6o men. He w&« t 
and forced tt> rr* — 
Boston, A dr 
the present M»r 





tbh t*rovincc of Xotrft Sco(i&. 



laod squadron left liie coast than 
two English piratesbips, with ninety 
men on board, which had pillaged 
the island of Mariegalante. in the 
West Indies, in the spring of that 
year, appeared off the river. The 
pirates landed ; burned down the 
church and twenty eight houses, kill- 
ed the cattle, hanged two of the in- 
habitants, and burned a woman and 
her children in ncr own house. The 
successors of Argall were even more 
merciless than himself!* 

The government of Massachusetts, 
aft<^ Phipps's capture of Port Royal, 
considered Acadia as a dependency 
of that province by right of con- 
quest ; and in the charter of Wil- 
liam and Mary to Massachusetts, 
brought out to Boston in 1692 by 
Sir William Phipps, *^ the territory 
called Accada or Nova Scotia" is 
united to and incorporated in the 
province of ** the Massachusetts 
Bay in New England/' But despite 
ihe wishes of the colonists, and the 
costly expenditure of blood and trea- 
sure which the several expeditions 
had occasioned New England, the 
territory was again restored to France 
by the treaty of Ryswick in 1697. 
For ten years after the sack of Port 
Royal in 1690, an incessant border 
warfare was kept up between New 
England and New France ; but the 
settlements on the peninsula (Nova 
Scotia) were left comparatively un- 
disturbed, and the natural fertility 
of the alhivial lands, tlie extensive 
lishenes, and the value of the timber 
trade, t combined to maintain them 
tn moderate prosjierity. Resident 
cur^s were stationed at the principal 
sclilements; Pil^re Mandoux at Port 
Royal, Pere St. Cosmu at Minas, and 

• For the events of tUis year vidt liuich. \. ; 

t Duiirg Lhi> zex^xx u{ I^uis XTV., (be French 
navy w«% supplied with maiits chicrty from the 
fofests of Acadia. Four cmrgocs of tniitits were 
fictit liomc cftch year, 

VOL. XI L — 41 



Pere Felix Palm at Beaubassin ; and 
the activity of the Indian missionaries 
in Maine was incessant, instructing 
their neophytes and checking the in- 
roads of the English. In 1695, the 
celebrated Father Rale hud establiiih- 
ed his mission at Norridgewock, 
where he labored with indefatigable 
energy, until his death finally satisfied 
the hatred of his enemies.* Fathers 
Thury, Des ChambauU, Sinron, and 
Baudoin devoted themselves with mar- 
vellous energy to the task of strength- 
ening the faith among iht^se Indian 
tribes; and the unqtiestioning devo* 
tion that rewarded their labors com- 
pensated them for al! the sufferings 
of their arduous lives. From a me- 
moir dated 5th of February, 1691, it 
appears that, at that date, there were 
nine missionaries in the country, five 
secular priests and four Friars Penitent, 
who received a yearly stipend from 
the French king, the priests 300 li- 
vres a year^ and the friars 200 livres.f 
Father Thury established a mission 
at Mouscoudaboiat, on the eastern 
shore of the peninsula^ but afterward 
returned to his mission at Panawa- 
nisk^, on the Penobscot, where he 
died in 1699, He was succeeded by 
Feres Gaulin and Rageot, of the 
Seminary of Foreign Missions. These 
fathers transferred their missions to 
the Jesuits in 1703. 

A glance at the missions of Aca- 
dia during the last half of the centu- 
ry wliicb was now drawing to a close 
will show three great orders of re- 
ligious confraternities striving in emu- 
lous rivalry within the territory " for 
the conquest of souls and the salva- 
tion of the Indians." The blood of 
Gilbert du Thet had not been spilled 
on barren ground. His words still 

* The barbarous murder of Fulhcr Rale by 
the English, jind the de*tr\iclion at his mis.s[on 
M NorrjtiKcwock. are well known. No other 
scene iH darker in ihe iinn^tls of New Ktif^bnd. 

t Memoirc of M. Perrot, gireo Ln Murdoctii 
1, 907. 



6.^2 




Early Missions in Acadia, 



I 



i 



echoed in the hearts of his brethren 
in New France; the RecoUeis oc- 
cupied the whole territory within the 
old Hmils of Dc la Tour's lieutenant- 
generalship, their missions extending 
from Cape Sable to the river St. 
John, with resident curls at the Aca- 
dian settlements near the head of 
the Bay of Fvmdy ; the priests of the 
Seminary of Foreign Missions of 
Quebec, %7ing with their brethren of 
the older religious houses of Europe 
in the fervor of their charity* were 
on the Penobscot and along the coast 
of Maine to the St. John's River ; and 
a litth* later, as we have seen, had 
established Fathers Petit and Trouvi* 
at Port Royal ; while the black-coat- 
ed army of the Jesuits, those invinci- 
ble soldiers of the cross, were regain- 
ing the ground lost in 1613, and had 
entrenched themselves at St. Anne's 
in Cape Breton, at Miscou on the 
gulf, and at Norridgewock in Maine, 
their missions forming a triangle on 
the confines of the territory, objective 
points from which they penetrated 
into the heart of the country. 

Few memorials remain to testify to 
fhe heroic ardor and generous cha- 
rity which impelled these undaunted 
missionaries to devote ih cm selves, 
without question and without corn- 
phiint, to the salvation of souls oth- 
erwise cast adrift without spiritual 
consolation, on the bleak shores of 
the Pny of Fundy and Gulf of St, 
LavvrtTiLx% in the first struggling ef- 
forts for the settlement of this con- 
tinent. Even their names hardly 
survive; but it is still the glory of 
the church to cherish the distant me- 
mory' of these heroic men, who were 
the pioneers in the wilderness, mak- 
ing straight the ways of the Lord. 

I'he worhl grows more grasping 
and selfish, more exacting in its 
demands for material development, 
less curious in things of the spirit, 
with the increasing rationalism of 



the age. There is no want of geiie* 
rous sentiment among the men sad 
women of to-day ; but its manifeta^ 
tjon is stifled and deadened by the 
narrowness and hardness nf mpdem 
life. The tendency of niodera dvfl* 
ization is levelling and repressive; 
the struggle of daily life b moit 
monotonous and confined within nar- 
rower limits ; the age has Io»t in in- 
dividualism, but its egotism ma even 
more intense. The greed for monej, 
luxury, and comfort grows with the 
increased facilities for securing these 
necessary conditions of modem li6; 
and blunts the more . uo- 

tions of the soul. Si is 

unknown. It is a 1 ^c — an 

age of eminent sh- , ^— thil 

sneers at miracles, apfnilcs, and m»- 
sionaries; these belong to the past; 
the sciolism of the nineteenth eeo* 
tury consigns those man ' ' ' Jth 
to the rude ages of whi« ], zva 

a part, they have no place m ihc^ac- 
tive business of modem life. The 
world runs more evenly, but wc fail 
in some way to reach the highdt 
level of an earlier age. liuw Ux «t 
have gained or lost, who shall jtt- 
tend to judge ? But it rea.'y.uref » 
at least to know thai the C^tbalk 
Church still keeps alive within bcf 
sanctuar)' the memory and example 
of men who followed w-ith desrer 
vision the immortal desirwt of tSit 
soul, and leavened v fr boh 

chanty the sordid s^ . iif t)ie 

world. 

With the end of the centnty, French 
rule in Acadia drew npidly lo t 
close. 'Hic English at tack "^ " 
seldements grew mortr inteEM- 
determined. In 170' ' 1 l*ea 

jamin Church, the i i iitisin 

commander in King Philip's wan 
ravaged the settlements ar r\/^ ^'-"! 
of the Bay of Fundy. bur 
the church at Bcaubas^n jiki 'ir;^ 
ing the inhabitants into lite uroods^ 



Eight years later, Church again left 
Boston, on what he terms his fifth 
and last expedition cast, and de- 
stroyed and wasted all the set de- 
ments that fell into his power, cut- 
ting the dikes so as to overflow the 
meadows, and in that way ruining 
the patient labors of nearly a cen- 
tury. The stormy government of 
the Gascon, De BroutlLmt, came to 
a close in October, 1705 ; he died at 
sea, on his return from France to 
Port Royal, near the entrance of 
Chibouctou Bay (Halifax), on board 
the king's ship Profoud j his body 
was buried in the sea, but his heart 
was taken out, and interred near the 
cross on the cape at Port Royal 
Father Justinien Diirand had suc- 
ceeded Pere Mandoux as cur6, and 
Father Felix Palm was almoner of 
die fort.* M. dc Subercase, the last 



French governor of the territory, ar- 
rived at Port Royal in 1706. The 
missions were desolate, the churches 
burned by the English, and the sacred 
vessels carried off as plunder to Boston. 
Under the government of Subercase, 
a last effort was made to retain 
the territory under the authority of 
t h e Fr e n c h crown. I'h e fo rt i fi c atio n s 
of Port Royal were strengthened ; a 
larger garrison was sent out from 
France, and the French sbips-of-war 
and the privateers harassed the trade 
of New England* The New Eng- 
land militia twice laid siege to Port 
Royal in 1707, but were repulsed on 
each occasion with considerable loss. 
Father Patrice was appointed superior 
of the mission in this year, and a 
priest WMS stationed at Chibouctou, 
where the fishery w*as extensively 
carried on. 



THE HEMLOCKS. 



I SAT beneath the hemlocks, one burning summer day, 
When the lands beyond their shadows in thirst and fever lay; 
But on their leaves no traces of languishing were seen; 
Heavenward they towered majestic, a wall of living green. 
The suffering dumb creatures sought refuge from the heat 
Among the solemn shadows that clustered round their feet 

I came unto the hemlocks, one mournful autumn morn \ 

The frost was on the nut-trees, the sickle in the com ; 

Jn golden flames the maples were burning fast away, 

And earth and air were laden with tokens of decay ; 

But changeless stood the hemlocks, untouched by fire or frost, 

In all their strength unbroken, without a leaflet lost 

Again unto the hemlocks I came when winds were high. 
When sullen clouds were sweeping across a winter sky : 



• He succeeded Fathcf Cuay, a Recollct vrhom De Broailtaot, the French eoTeroor, brou|fbt 
.ih bim froBi PUcetilia, Newfoundland. 



The Recluse of the Canton. 



was he there ? I noticed he was 
not in his office, last evening." 

** He was there," Selden replied ; 
** and we had a most delightful enter- 
tainment/' 

** He was there, you say/' rejoined 
the other, in a lower voice and with 
a clouded brow. '* And with the 
* Rose of the Manse/ I warrant you ! 
1 am told she is amusing herself 
among the novelties of the season. It 
needs no wizard to guess what drew 
him there! By my word as a gen- 
tleman, novv^ if I were only entered 
to practice, I would just step into the 
arena^ and try with him which should 
win this rose for his parterre ! Talk 
not of your lilies and violets, our 
Rose outshines them all." 

His remarks were interrupted for a 
moment by the entrance of Edward 
and Katie B — , but were soon re- 
sumed in a low voice, while the brother 
and sister were greeted with cordial ac- 
knowledgments of the pleasure their 
friends had enjoyed at their elegant 
entertainment of the evening before. 

** We only regretted/' said Edward, 
bowing to our young hostess, ** that 
our gentle friend could not be pre- 
vailed upon to break through her 
rule for once, and grace the circle 
with her presence." 

** I assure you/' she replied, ** if 
anything could have tempted me to 
break that rule, i|| would have been 
set aside with unfeigned pleasure 
upon this occasion." 

•* Ned/' said Sel den's companion 
in a low voice, ** Selden has been 
letling me what you had and what 
you had not* and I am quite astound- 
dd, yet half-incredulous, at his ac- 
count. He says you had splendid 
muiiic and dancing in those spacious 
parlors, with superb refreshment ta- 
bles, and not a word of religion or 
praying the whole evening I Now 
this is too much for human belief, as 
I tell Selden ; but, if true, it is cer- 



tainly the greatest w^onder of the sea- 
son. I supposed your people could 
do nothing or think of nothing but 
pious exercises." 

** Our people," Ned replied rather 
tartly, **like good Catholics, know 
that there is a fitting time and place 
for every occupation under the sun — 
* a time to pray and a time to dance/ 
as the wise man says, and their re- 
ligion teaches them to arrange mat- 
ters accordingly. If you had been 
in Canada as much as I have, you 
would know more about the WMys of 
Catholics/' 

*^ By the way, Ned/' said Selden, 
*' speaking of Canada reminds me I 
have some ncwii for you. I received 
a letter to-day from that harebraiiTcd 
reckless fellow, George Herbert, who 
was at Chambly learning French 
when w^e were with the good Father 
Migfiault there. He was a day- 
scholar at Father Mignault's French 
College. Vou remember George ? 
ah ! yes, of course you do !" he add- 
ed in a lower voice and w ith a slight- 
ly startled look, as an expression of 
mingled sadness and anger passed 
over the features of his friend. " I 
had forgotten, of course you do ! 
Well, you wouldn't believe the news 
his letter contained. Guess now T' 

" Well, he has become pious, and 
is going to be a priest ; 1 have no- 
ticed such kind of fellows sometimes 
take short turns. * The greater sinner, 
the greater saint,^ you know." 

** No, nothitig of that» Guess 
again." 

** He has run through all the pro- 
pjerty his Hither left him, like the 
spendthrift he is, and is now going 
soberly about earning more/' 

^' No ! I see you will never guess; 
and no wonder. He is married ! 
Think of that, now I Such an un- 
conscionable flirt as he was, who 
thought of nothing but to turn the 
head of every girl he met, and, one 



646 



Tlie Recluse of the Canton. 



could have averred, would never 
think seriously of any one long 
enough to seek the priest for the 
knot-tying. He is married ! And to 
whom do you think? — that is the 
strangest part of the story." 

" 1 am too entirely dumbfoundered 
to venture any moic conjectures," re- 
plied Ned. 

"To whom but our demure little 
* recluse,* our Chambly pet! Ah! 
Ned, 1 had forgotten that she was 
even more than that to your imagina- 
tion I No wonder you look amazed ; 
I w;^s myself, though I had watched 
matters rather more closely than you 
had, yet I never dreamed of this 
finale. * A long road will have its 
turning, and a long story its changes,* 
thov s;\v, but 1 did not look for 
this!" 

** Let us have the story!" we all 
exclaimed. 

** I will, with Ned*s leave," he re- 
pllol. 

Kdwanl bowed his assent, and he 
intrvHlucevi to our notice, as his sub- 
jv.vt : 

rHK RFCl.V>F. OF THE CAX^fON. 

Five years avzo last spring, I en- 
tor^\l I ather MignauU's colIe>re at 
I'hamMy, for the puqvse of acquir- 
in,: the French languaiie. I K\irded 
\\::h the s;v.xvl lV,:her. for whom all 
the pu|^;I> who were ever \v::h him 
frotu :he ** State>/* iVo:e<:ar.: thou^ih 
i>.o\ :uij;\: Iv — ^ind they are a ho-:, 
NC,i::erv\l o\or e\er\- i\irt of our In- 
KV-, tVo:-. M.iine to C~I.:Vn^:a— <r.:er- 
::; r.x\'. a Isne .md vcr.vT^iior. r..^: :o 
tv e\v\\\u\i by t't^^s? of h:> c^n 
fu:^. I u: >::*! ina.^ev;uj::e ::* all he <o 



spersed with parterres containing all 
varieties of flowers that thrive in our 
climate. Every part of the place 
displayed the exquisite taste and 
skill of the occupant, and aided in 
giving to the whole the finished e\ 
pression of unpretending elegance 
and comfort. 

The reverend father was verj- young 
when his mother escaped, with a few 
others, from ill-fated Acadie, the story 
of which has been embalmed in Long- 
fellow's immortal £vangeiine. No 
doubt she retained, and imparted to 
her son, the glowing ideas of f>astoni] 
beauty which distinguished its sijn{)le 
inhabitants, and his home was the 
very embodiment of them. 

In the August of that year, my 
friend Ned came also to Chamblr. 
with a purpose similar to my own, 
sharing my room and home under 
Father Mignault's hospitable roof 
About the same time George Her- 
bert, who was older than either of os. 
arrived. He boarded with a French 
merchant in the village, and was a 
day-scholar at the college. 

It would be impossible to analy/e 
and describe the contradictory xn-i 
capricious qualities which combine*: 
to make him singularly fascinating t? 
old and yoiin^. He possessed splen 
did abilities, and was a fine schoor. 
Generous to a fault, he seemed wholl} 
self- forgetful in his kindness to others 
In person he was tail- in his cairladrc 



erevt 


and gra 


jeful. 


His Lice wi.- 


allies 


X perfect 


in nanlv beaur\% ar. : 


::s expr«s:on . 


Chan, 


reful as az Arrl 


day. 


His Tr.a-.rt-r? 


wore ±e E=rc- 


re^-i 


ease ani 


rcl: 


^ ^:h a slrzr: 




cf Am^r 


:oin 


au.-'— rr. which 


serki- 


i :? ---V 


e 2:z 


1 acc^rr^ve 2Z.l 


a: h: 


=:f wzfTi 


ver he arccir^-l iri 



J -lie •JTrscscii.'? ancc- i:ie iios. 

>:-: :'^ >..-r;v*i ::ces .^c" a r^ricf iS 
>* _::1'^ — ::5^:*:^ iz its !^>r:il22!ccs. 






:s"rc,r<-^, a~. .: v*:ct- 



*:s T.irL Wis a ^jcocn: i 



.4. 



The Recluse af the Canton. 



mirer of them in such a fashion that 
each one to whom he adtlrcssed him- 
self fancied that she alone was the 
particular object of his worshipful re- 
gard. 

His character was unblemished by 
any positive moral taint, nor was it 
sullied by any propensity for low 
lices; yet such was liis u tier reckless- 
ness, his careless contempt for all 
restraining principles, that his best 
friends would not have been surprise 
ed to hear any day that he had fallen 
carelessly into vice and become the 
abject thing himself would have de- 
spised more heartily than any other. 
A Catholic by name^ and from an 
excellent and pious family, his reli- 
gion was woni so loosely as to serve 
rather to display his faults than to 
correct or conceal them. One talis- 
man he carried always with him» 
which was undoubtedly a potent 
shield against the allurements of dis- 
sipation. It was an atTectionate vene- 
ration for the memory of his saintly 
mother, who implanted the germs of 
piety in his young heart, but was 
called away before they had taken 
root. He never alluded to her with- 
out the dee[>est emotion, which was 
tile more striking from its contrast 
with his accustomed heedlessness. 

Chambly is one of the most pictur- 
esque of Canadian villages. It is 
situated upon the west side of a pla- 
cid basin forined by the widening of 
the Richelieu River, which mirrors 
in its tranquil bosom the fairy islands 
that seem to have been dropped from 
the hanil of nature to enjoy in dreamy 
repose ihe beauty they serve to per- 
fect and complete. On the opposite 
side of the basin Delceil Mountain 
rears its lofty head, brooding com^ila- 
cently, as it were, over the quiet land- 
scape at its feet. Passing up the l>a- 
sLn, the ear soon catches the sound of 
rushing waters, and, before proceed- 
ing a mile, tlie foaaiing and surging 



rapids of the Richelieu flash upon the 
eye. At the point where these sub- 
side into the basin is situated a Bri- 
t,ish miUtary establishment called by 
the Canadians the ** Canton." At 
the time when we w^ere there, it was 
inhabited chiefly by retired ofticers 
and their families, who lived in the 
elegant privacy so dear to English- 
men, holding little intercourse with 
the world outside the Canton, none 
at all with the villagers. Sometimes, 
indeed, parties from Quebec or Mon- 
treal would visit them, and rumors 
would be rife in the village, on these 
occasions, of their gay festivities; the 
truth of which would be [jroved by 
equestrian parties of officers in uni- 
form, aiul superbly dressed ladies on 
their splendid horses dashing at full 
speed through the quiet street, and 
setting the simple habitans in as great 
a flutter and commotion as they caus- 
ed among the flocks of ducks and 
geese which abounded in that primi- 
tive hamlet. 

The gregarious habits of the French 
habitans of Canada are well known. 
Nothing can be more charming than 
the easy unceremonious politeness of 
daily social intercourse among the 
cultivated classes. 

Every summer evening was enliv- 
ened by sonic pleasant scheme for 
diversion ; often a stroll along the ro- 
mantic banks of the basin, or a loiter- 
ing ramble through the [precincts of 
the Canton. Assemblies were fre- 
quent at one house and another dur- 
ing winter and summer, where there 
was seldom lacking an individual who 
could furnish music from a violin for 
the merry dance, within doors in the 
winter, on the lawn under the shade 
of the trees in summer. An occa- 
sional picnic in canoes, of a fine day, 
to one of the islands in the basin » 
varied the round of pastimes most 
agreeably. ^Ve once made a summer 
day's excursion to the summit of Bel- 



* 



oeiI» which is a small island in the 
rcntrc of a miniature lake whose wa- 
ters slumber as peacefully in the bowl 
scooped out for them on the moun- 
tain top as they could in the most 
sequestered valley. The view was 
magnificent, the weather delightful, 
and our enjoyment of tlie whole too 
complete to be soon forgotten, 

P'or my part» I entered with the 
most entire satisfaction into all these 
recreaiions, and desired nothing — 
could conceive of nollung — more de- 
lectable. The novelty of partaking 
with such glee as was enjoyed by 
that light hearted and happy people 
in the innocent frolic and merriment 
of the hour, possessed ever-increas- 
ing charms for one accustomed to 
the staitl and thoroughly decorous re- 
sene of the Yankee, whose manner 
becomes the more quiet and subdued 
in proportion as he waxes merry, and 
who keeps all the bliss and light of 
gayety hoarded within the recesses 
of his bosom to warm and illuminate 
his own heart* So 1 gave myself up 
to the influence of the careless and 
oftentimes rather boisterous though 
never ruele mirth which prevailed. 
Not so with my friend Ned. All this 
was pleasant enough ; but, alas I there 
was the unapproachable Canton with 
its mysterious enchantments and aris- 
tocratic refinements before his bril* 
liant imaginings of w hjch these lesser 
lights Were wholly obscured I Then 
there was the lovely Recluse of the 
Canton * — a volume of mysteries in 
herself, since, being the only daugh- 
ter of a haughty old colonel (how 
Ned came by this information I never 
knew), and he a stanch high church- 
man of the Establishment, she was 
yet so devout a Catholic that never a 
morning, in rain or sunshine, mud or 
snow, failed to find her at the church- 
door in time for the early Mass, all 
aglow with the exercise of the long 
walk — for her father's elegant resi- 



dence was situated on tlie laithcr lira 
its of the Canton^ at the vcr 
where the rapids pour their < 
waters into the basin — and her cuun- 
tenance illuminated w ith youthful de- 
votion as by a ray frora Iicavcti. She 
little dreamed — the artless, jikm% 
maiden, so carefully secluded within 
th^ shelter of her father's spacious 
mansion and a tloting heart — what a 
wealth of silent worship was lavished 
upon her on the part of her unkfwim 
devotee in consequence of these, her 
sole Sittings beyond that -^ ' 

When we were first est i at 

Chambly, Father Mignauit t*^ld us 
it was his wish that all the yoaog 
people under his care should be pre* 
sent at the daily Mass, as the l>op 
at the college were required la be; 
but at our age, he wtjuld leave the 
matter to our own choice, not if^ist- 
ing upon compliance with the rule* 

Father Mignauli's wish ! VV*-u thar 
ever a pupil of his, whatever hi* m- 
vious recklessness and folly niiflif 
have been, wlio could refuse to coa- 
ply with its faintest expression ? It 
could hardly be deemed freeilum 4if 
choice, since compliance was lacfv 
table. So wc went a-s regular! j m 
our marrow-bones every morning m 
any devout Catholic of them aIL 

At first Ned was apt to lie Ufdft 
and pronouncerl it a dccidetl bcn^v 
for he liked to hug the pillow for J 
morning nap, but after a whpe lie 
began to mend his pace, until at 
length his alacrity t|uite outstripped 
mine, and 1 was no laggard* He 
was so sure to be among the first at 
the church-door that I was bcyiil 
mystified and amazed at the ehange 
I soon conjectured, hijwei"cr» lilai 
his accession of ^ca! and diligcBce 
was owning to devotion of an eartliljr 
rather than a celestial n "^U 

conjectures met with a sudi a. 

expected confirmation. ** ConfoumI 
that George Herbert I" he e^Kclaimed, 




bursting into our room in a state 
of great excitement, one fine autum- 
nal afternoon — '* confound that fel- 
low, he's always in luck ! He has 
kept me in misery by boasting many 
times that he would get acquainted 
with my Recluse, and gain admit- 
tance lo her fathefs house; and I 
knew, if she had once seen him, I 
should not stand the ghost of a 
chance with her ! Well, what do 
you think, but he was off this after- 
noon for a stroll to the Canton (I 
do believe the fellow has been hang- 
ing around there all along in quest 
of a chance to fulfil his threat), and 
just as he was in front of the colonc!*s 
mansion, up dashes the Recluse, on 
a superb white horse, accompanied 
by a gay young officer — who is no 
other than Sir Charles Sinclair, of 
whose accomijlishments and valor 
we have heard such fabulous reports. 
As they apprDached the gate, where 
her father and mother were awaiting 
their return^ her horse must of course 
take it into his head to shy suddenly 
at something, and spring so far to the 
side of the road on the river-bank 
that the sand caved away with his 
weight, and, despite his frantic efforts 
to regain a foothold, he toppled over 
with his lovely burden into the river. 
In a moment Herbert was struggling 
raadly with the rushing waters, and 
soon succeeded in getting the frail 
form of the maiden in his grasp. 
The long skirt of her habit so entan- 
gled and embarrassed him in the 
swift current that for some time it 
wasalife-and-death grapple, in which 
he was at length victorious, and bore 
the precious prize lo her agonised 
parents, so much more dead than 
alive that it was for a considerable 
interval a torturing question whether 
the rescue was not, after all, too late. 
Here again George was m luck. His 
fertile brain and ready hand devised 
and applied the very remedies need- 



ed, with the coolness and self-posses- 
sion that never forsake him, while all 
around were too much distracted to 
render any aid. When she began to 
revive, the gratitude of the parents 
was boundless. They could find no 
words in which to express it. and as 
sure as youVe a living man, that 
stem old hero of a hundred battles 
caught (ieorge in his arms and em- 
braced him, gasping something like 
* Preserver of my child/ as if the 
words choked him, and making him 
welcome to his house as a son while 
he should remain in Chambly I I had 
the story from Joe Larue, who wit- 
nessed the whole. It's all up with 
me now I George is in for luck ever}'- 
where/' And he sank despondingly 
into a chair. 

I saw consoling measures would 
be wholly unavailing, so, thinking I 
would try what a little reason would 
do, 1 ventured to say : ** After all, 
I do not see clearly how you are any 
the worse for his * luck/ as you call 
it. If he ha<l not rescued her, she 
would doubtless have been drown- 
ed, and how would that have helped 
you ? H he had not gained access 
to her faiher*s house, it is against all 
human probabilities that you would, 
ami, if you did, she, being so devout a 
Catholic as she is, would not have re- 
ceived your addresses. I f Sir Charles 
Sinclair, with his splendid jtosttioii, 
and all the influence of her fath<"ir, 
brothers, and friends to aid his suit* 
has failed, as it is said he has, on ac- 
count of their diflfereme in religion, ^m 
what, I would like to know, hatl you ^H 
to expect ? Besides, I cannot for the 
life of me see what so fascinates 
you ! The girl is well enough, to be 
sure— a fine, sensible face, and very 
graceful manner— but as for bcauty» 
it would be easy to fin<l many in a 
summer's day's ramble who fixr sur- 
pass her." 

*' Don't say that ! 1*11 not hear you 



talk so!'' he exclaimed vehement- 
ly. ** 1 grant you my case was hope- 
less enough ail along — I was a fool 
lo dream otherwise; but when you 
talk of beauty, what can be found 
this side of heaven sweeter than the 
expression of her face as we have 
seen it in church — the only place 
where it could be seen unveiled ? It 
is not the wax-doll beauty of com- 
plexion and features, I admit ; but it 
is the shining emanation of all that 
w^e shall admire and love in the an- 
gels, and her every motion is a ma- 
nifestation of their artless grace and 
purity !*' 

As reason proved pow^erless to di- 
vert the course of his thoughts, I re- 
frained from saying mores and we 
dropped the subject from that time. 
But I saw that Ned's unfortunate 
penchant had dashed the pleasure out 
of everything in Chambly for him, 

I inquired as I had opportunity, and 
found that the name of tlte Recluse — 
as we had called her, for lack of any 
ither — was Agnes Bnlton. A nephew 
f Father Mignault told mc what he 
knew of her history. She was tlie 
only daughter and youngest child of 
the colonel Her two brothers were 
mnrricd and lived at the Canton. 
Having been sent to a convent in 
Quebec for her education, she be- 
came a Catholic, much to the grief 
of her parents, especially as they fear- 
ed it would thwart their cheriiihed 
hope of seeing her united to Sir 
Charles Sinclair, the son of a distant 
relative and dear friend in England, 
She was so amiable and yielding in 
all other matters, so anxious to com- 
ply entirely with their every wish, 
that her pertinacity in this instance 
was a constant surprise to them, ' 

** How is it ?'* said the colonel to 
Father Mignault, at the dinner- table 
(in the presence of this nephew )» as 
they lingered over the desert — ** how 
is it that my daughter is so ob^jtinate 



in this affair ? Sir ( 

did fellow, of a fine i^,. .- ^, ,y 

compUshcd, brilliant, and fkiMnnatiRg. 
He has good looks, wcalUi, cJurac 
icr, everything to recommend him, 
yet she is entirely unmoved- CatbcK 
lies do sometimes man*)* Protestant^ 
and, if there ever was a case vbcrc 
such an union might be exported, it 
is this. I do believe converts are 
more stubborn in these m altera 
those born and reared in your ehttrck 

*' Undoubtedly/' replied the ^ood 
father. *' Having passed, by Uic aid 
of divine grace, over ilie chasm tin: 
separates the two systems, lliejr «ie 
more fully conscious than tiiose w^o 
remain on either side of its imtnea' 
surable extent and depth, nnd of t^ 
utter impossibihly of bri bjr 

any subterfuge, as may 1)l , . uiA 
the slight boundaries between 
flicting sects, su that one may 
to and fro, or stop half-way betwcca 
They know the t is 

name merely or js 

eternity, and that union iv c.* 

After the event relate. . . , :*£d, 
the visits of Herbert to the Cantflti 
were unremitting. He w ^ '* 
ly seen in company will 
ton, and openly acknowL 
accq>ted lover. Theycaiu 
and approadied the sacram 
gether ; not w ithout provi 
smile among the increduloiLK 
boys, on the score of his nv 
quired stock of piety and d 
But they were as fine a I 
as one ^could wi^h tu 
slight, graceful form besid** his u& 
erect figure; his countcnanrc tjcan- 
ing with tenderness over the pciis 
he had snatched from a watcnt' pfraic; 
hers borrowing a new illumiiiatkni 
from a heart full of warm and hc4f 
affection, As I had said, shr c-*5 
not beautiful as the world a. 
beauty, but there w^as a de^ui \y\ 
emotional ejcprcssion in feer diik 



-X 



he Rechise of the Canton. 



>Si 



eyes and playing continually over 
her changeful countenance that was 
more winning than mere personal 
beauty. 

Thus did matters pass along until 
the spring was well advanced, when 
ail at once Herbert disappeareilj no 
one knew whither. He took no 
leave of any one, and left no clue to 
his destination. The solitary dia- 
mond of the engagement ring — 
as all supposed it to be — still spark- 
led on the finger of Agnes, but 
where was her truant lover ? 

After a few weeks, it was noticed 
that she looked thin and pale; a 
hectic flush on her cheek betokened 
some lurking grief. Her step lost 
its elastic buoyancy, and became lan- 
guid and faltering. If Herbert was 
alluded to in her j>rescnce, or his 
name mentioned, the color would 
forsake her cheek. And these were 
all the indications upon which the 
rumors that soon prevailed were bas- 
ed, that Herbert, in one of those 
sudden and unaccountable freaks of 
caprice to which he was the very 
slave, had forsaken her, and all the 
bright prospects that were dawning 
upon him and gone be)ond the 
reach of conjecture. 

After some time Agnes regained 
her accustomed health, and became 
once more the sunshine of her home 
and the joy of her old father's heart. 
She no longer wore the ring, and it 
was thought matters had not been 
so serious between the young peo- 
ple, after all, as was supposed. Sir 
Charles reappeared at Chambly, but 
did not remain long, and has not 
since revisited the place. 

Last night* I received a letter, the 
handwriting of which was lamiliar 
to me» yet 1 could not recall the 
UTiter until 1 opened it and found 
the signature of Herbert. As it will 
explain all belter than I can, I will 
close my narrative by reading it* 



** Chambly, Dec. — , 18—. 

" You will be astonished, my dear 
old fellow, to get a letter from me. 
Probably you fancy I have been 
amusmg myself these years past 
among the Esquimaux, at or near the 
North Pole ; or with scientific inves- 
tigations in equatorial Africa ; or in 
playing the munificent * howadji * 
and scattering * backsheesh * for the 
pleasure and profit of plundering 
Bedouins ; or in floating like an in- 
teresting Yankee lotus on the Nile 
waters, and j>itching my tent on the 
summit of the great pyramid. No 
such thing! Your conjectures are 
all wrong. 

" Stung to the quick by the haughty 
assumption and satirical politeness 
of a certain aristocratic family, whom 
1 need not name to you, I flew off 
in a tangent of most inconsequential 
indignation, determined that ihe^'orld 
should know 1 was in it before they 
saw me again, I sought a city — no 
matter where — and apj>licd myself 
with all dihgence to the study of the 
law, of which I soon acquired sulii- 
cient knowledge to serve present pur- 
poses, and went into practice. Toil- 
ing and studying early and late, 1 
speedily achieved a success in busi- 
ness far beyond my e-xpectations or 
deserts, and the reputation among 
my compeers of a man who never 
was young, but began life the same 
old professional pack-horse which 
they had known me. Think of that 
for a character of your obedient ser- 
vant I You would hardly recognize 
me in that description, eh ? 

" But I must, in justice to myself, 
explain some matters and in i^w 
words. Soon after my engagement 
with Agnes, I found her brothers 
were violently opposed to my interest 
with her, and busy in their efforts to 
lead her and her parents into suspi- 
cion and distrust of me and my mo- 
tives. Every rumor they could galh- 



cr to my prejudice from Ihose who 
disliked me — and so reckless a fellow 
as I was must always have more 
enemies than friends, you know — they 
reported and exaggerated, accompa- 
nying their communications with 
sneering remarks to Agnes about her 
^ Yankee lover;* 'Such a pious Ca- 
tholic ! But he could swear as well 
as any sinner of them alL and per- 
haps do worse, upon occasion, pious 
as he was !' 

" She was so accustomed to their 
sneers at her religion, and had so 
long endured without noticing them, 
that she gave no more heed to these. 
Not so with her father and mother, 
1 could sec they were influenced, and 
regarded me with increasing coldness, 
and that they w^ould much prefer Sir 
Charles for a son-in-law. Stj I took 
a siyiden resolve to give Sir Charles 
a wide berth, a fair field, and a long 
probation ; for I could not brook the 
thought of intruding wliere I was not 
welcome. 

" I did as you know, never reflect- 
ing upon the cruel wrong I was in- 
fllL'ling upon my artless, gentle, true- 
hearted, and confiding Agnes ! 

** Not long since it became necessa- 
ry for me to make a business excur- 
sion to this vicinity, and I debated 
with myself w^hether I w^ould revisii 
Chambly, I had decided the ques- 
tion in the negative, and was dashing 
through the country as fast as steam 
and iron could carry me, when there 
was a sudden crash, and — I rlid not 
know what happened. When I 
came to my senses, 1 found myself 
among sirangere, and, in reply to my 
questions, 1 was told that I was near 
Chamhly, and seriously injured by a 
railroad accident. * Dangerously ?* 
I asked. The physician shook his 
head so dubiously, without saying 
anything:* that I understood he had 
little hope of my rerover)^ * Well, 
then,* said I, * send for Father Mig- 



nault; I must see him/ They dkl 
so without delay, and in a short dint 
our reverend friend was by my bed- 
side, and promised lo stay iinrh mr. 
I made my confession, and prcpAied 
for the great change which wa.v star 
ing me in the face. I can icll yau^ 
my old friend, that such a peep lOtM 
eternity as I was forced to take won- 
derfully transforms our view> with ft- 
gard to the affairs of time. 

** After a considerable mtcnra] oC 
r^st, I ventured to ask about Agnes. 
I found she was still at honie, t^ 
idol of her father, and greatly bckw- 
ed by tlie villagers^ with whom ihe 
mingled more freely than fonwcrfy. 
especially with those who wen! if- 
dieted or needed her agsistancc* 

** * Oh ! that I could sec her 
again/ I exclaimed, • to arV 
the great wrong 1 so ut; 
committed, and to entreat bet iw^ 
giveness !* 

** Father Mignault said he woqM 
persuade her, if possible, to coine. 
He set off on his errand, ami vhm 
he returned she was with him. Tlir 
physician said there must be no ei- 
citement, and she was calm a$ io 
angel The light of that cbilirk^ 
innocence still shone in herfli- 
more spiritual than ever from it>* ci 
treme pallor. As T looked inia the 
pure depths of her dark eyes, the flcxrf 
of old atfertion for my own and tmfj 
love came back upon me nioce fer- 
vently than ever, with the assurance 
they conveyed that her heart hid 
never for a moment wslv ' iii 
fidelity to the bond whicL >m 

for lime and eternity. She 
all In a week I began to inr 
and a few days later Father Mif' 
nault was permitted to remo\-e isr 
to his house. 

"The colonel railed U| ' \h 

mediately, confessed his r^ r 

injustice of his conduct luwar 
and had no reproacln-^ for 



The Recluse of the Canton, 



* which was such/ he was pleased to 
say, *as might have been expected 
from any high-spirited youog man 
under such circumstances.' 

*♦ I am now at his house, and almost 
restored to health, and — to make a 
long story short — our beloved Father 
Mignault solemnued the sacred rite, 
on yesterday morning, which unites 
my gentle Agnes for ever with your 
unworthy friend, 

^ " George Herbert." 

** A singular sequel to a stor}^ that 
was strange enough throughout for 
a romance 1" Edward remarked : 
*' but it is pleasant to think how gra- 
tified the gooii Father Mignault must 
be at this hapi)y termination of an 
affair whirh has cost him isnuch an- 
3dety and chagrin. What a kind pa- 
ternal interest he takes in all the boys 
entrusted to his care ! — an interest that 
does not cease when their connection 
with him closes, but follows them out 
into the rough highways and by-ways 
of the world, to which lie sends them 
forth at parting with his benediction 
upon their heads, and the assurance 
in their hearts that the prevailing 
power of his holy prayers will attend 
them tlirough life;' 



1 close reluctantly these glimpses 
of other years which have thrown 
their transient light around a dark- 
some path- They have touched the 
cloud over the silent chamber of the 
invalid with silvery sheen, and cheer- 
ed the loneliness of many sol itary hours 
by winning back bright forms, even 
from the dark and pitiless grave, to 
{leople many a vacant nook with liv- 
ing images of the loved and lost. 

Most rehictantly do I approach— 
yet why should I ? ^ — that closing 
Wednesday evening of March 2, 18 — , 
the saddest of all evenings for her 
devoted friends^ the most triumphant 
tor her, our Ught, our joy^ our dove, 



to whom the shadows of twilight 
brought the fadeless wreath of glori- 
ous immortality won by her patient 
sufferings. 

Serene the passage — ^joyous her 
exchange of the cross for the crown 
— as befitting the close of such a life. 



'* Like a shidow thrown 
Scuftly and lightly trotn a possJog cloud| 
i>eatb tell upou her" 



— leaving his signet of peace in the 
smile of innocent rapture that linger- 
ed like a ray from heaven upon the 
sweet face, scarcely more pale under 
his cold touch than it had been \xi 
life. 

How consoling, in the anguish of 
that hour, to reflect, that Ibr each 
sharp pang so cheerfully borne, for 
each youthful pleasure and earthly 
hope so serenely relinquished at the 
high behest of faith, an added jewel 
would shine in her radiant diadem 
eternally ! 

If the bereavement which quench- 
ed for ever the light of the household 
her presence had illumined fell with 
darkening gloom and crushing weight 
upon the neighbors, and the large 
circle of young friends, to whom she 
was endeared by the blessings and 
sympathies that distilled daily from 
her quiet life, to descend like heaven- 
ly dews upon all around her — how 
useless the attempt to measure what 
it must have l>een to those nearer 
and dearer still \ 

Unutterable, indeed, the sorrow 
that parting brought to the cherished 
objects of her warmest filial and sis* 
terly alTection, the sharers of her 
boundless confidence, of her earliest 
and her latest prayer! Happy for 
them that they had learned long be- 
fore, through God's blessing on the 
lesson her unflinching patience taught, 
that, though the darts of anguish 
may pierce, they cannot fix and ran- 
kle in the heart which has been the- 



6S4 



Alplionse de Lamar I he. 



roughly fortified by acquiescence with 
the Supreme Will for time and for 
eternity ! 

And now, my friends, survivors of 
the band who gathered around that 
winter's evening fireside, and you who 
have so patiently followed me while 
gleaning these few imperfect memo- 
rials of its social cheer, come mth 
me to a little mound in the village 
graveyard, where a simple white 



cross lifts the Reqtdeteai m fai^ far 

our dove — and let oti' m 

accortlance with the d^ :\\*% 

wayfarers, over a grave. 
While we stand — 



** Amid the qulrl of ibk holr 

The Itn- !i3c 

In the I'j 

Dcposilnry Unthlul ; anJ more kind 
Tliao fondest epitaphs I*' 



ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. 



The life of Alphonse de Lamar* 
tine — the man whom the caprices of 
fate raised suddenly to the highest 
pinnacle of human greatness, and 
then almost as suddenly restored to 
his former estate and surroundings — 
was as full of strange vicissitude and 
change as that of the Prince of Itha- 
ca, and will perhaps appear equally 
mythical to some future age. 

The birth of this highly- favored 
individual occurred during the stormy 
period of 1790. But, unless we as- 
sume that the political atmosphere 
afifected its mother's milk, tlie infant 
must have been happily umonscious 
of the trials and dangers by which its 
parents and kindred were surround- 
ed. Lamnrtine had not yet complet- 
ed his fourth year when Tallien and 
his friends brought about the sangui- 
nary reaction of the 9th Thermidor. 
To his father, grandparents, and 
uncles, the execution of Robespierre 
was the signal of liberation from the 
prison to which they had been con- 
signed as avowed adherents of the 
monarchy^ Afler this favorable 
change, the Lamartine family retired 



to its estate at Milly, where its le- 
maining days passed in idyllic seda* 
sion and happiness* Even alter the 
fall of the republican chiefs, when the 
war of the factions raged all arocmd 
them (the persecuted having no**- in 
turn become the persecut' - ng 

Aljihonse and his mother v. -. . . gr 
molested in their quiet home. It ii 
in this picture of peaceful life th^ 
we meet with the Royaumont pilik 
and its illustrations from which tte 
bright boy learnt to read. 

When the boy had ^ %^ 

tured to understand tJi ^ ? 

social questions at issue, and 
criminate between the c--* 
parties, Napoleon's grena A 

enacted the Ctmp of the i^i 
mairc, and made thcmsclvr*? r 
of the situation. This c\ j 

young Lamartine, sympar x 

birth and education with the 
of the nobility, should have s 
the republic which overthrew ' 
der rather a fellow-suflTLTc ' 
enemy, and that the new tl 
have incurred his strong dohke 
\V\\tn the mind resents tlie exocsies 



Alphonse di' Lamariine. 



of power, it soon finds grounds for 
complaint, and readily espouses " ad- 
vanced '* theories of human rights. 
Such was the rase with the scion of 
the royalist family of Miicon, and 
the conviclions thus forced on La- 
tnartine in his early youth were never 
ol)Hlcrated afterwards. When the 
poet, therefore, confessed later in life 
tliat his heart was legitimist, but his 
head republican, he only expressed 
the general uncertainty or indecision 
which was one of his peculiarities. 
Lamartine was never able to recon- 
cile diis antagonism of heart and 
head ; he never had the strength to 
evolve a distinct system out of the 
elements of his will and wishes. The 
ingredieuts of his character were ut- 
terly wanting in the affinity indispen- 
sable to form a sohd individuality. 
In spite of his successes, his life and 
works, his actions and thoughts^ re- 
mained for this reason as incomplete 
as his personality. It woultl be un- 
just to accuse Lamartine of having 
deliberately changed \m colors ; he 
was by nature prismatic, and appear- 
ed always in accordance with the 
standpoint from which he was view- 
ed. He was not ficlcle, but versatile. 
He proved himself to be both strong 
and w*eak, manly and childish ; now 
haughty and dignified, then degrad- 
ing and exposing himself to humilia- 
tions which few ordin^p^ men would 
have incurred at any pnce. He was 
at one and the same lime lavish and 
miserly, obstinate and vacillating, 
independent and subservient, brave 
and timid. He electrified mankind 
l>y the heroism with which he con- 
fronted death, and disgusted it by 
the cowardice with which he bent 
his neck to the tyranny of habit, and 
suffered the necessity of a Sybarite 
life to ruin him morally and materi- 
ally. The hero of the Hotel de 
Ville, tlve undaunted agitator of the 
reform ban(iuets, the head of the 



provisional government^ stooped to 
accept alms from the hands of Louis 
Napoleon, though he possessed at 
the time an annual income of over 
100,000 francs. When he died, the 
expenses of his funeral were, like 
those of Trolony, defrayed from the 
imperial purse. The Sybarite w^ho 
could sacrifice his independence for 
the sake of having a (qw more gviests 
at his dinners or a few more horses 
in his stables well deserved this in- 
dignity. 

With a small volume of lyrical po- 
ems (for which he was long finding 
a publisher) Lamartine won for him- 
self, in 1820, not only a European 
reputation, but the rank and prestige 
of a great poet among his own coun- 
trymen. We, on this side of the At- 
lantic, can perhaps hardly understand 
the extent of the triumph which La- 
martine's Maiitatious achieved in 
France, With this volume in hand, 
he was enabled tb command promo- 
tion and distinction in any pursuit. 
He aspired to diplomatic honors, 
and his sonorous verses aided him to 
gratify this wish. The government 
of Louis XVni. found employment 
for the lyric dij>lomatist. 

Before the poet gave to the public 
his feelings and moods in ear tick- 
ling verse, he had tried dramatic 
composition, and submitted the result 
of his labors to the actor Talma, the 
arbiier eie^^ntiarnm of iiis day. With 
genuine French politeness, the great 
tragedian did not discourage the tyro, 
but he w^ould not have been the 
judge of dramatic laws that his con- 
temporaries justly considered him, 
had he failed to discover the poet'S 
unfitness for dramatic authorship. 
Witliout cle^irness of understanding, 
vigor of logic, and the power of cri- 
tical analysis, it may be possible to 
make poeins which will please sensi- 
tive minds ; but the drama requires 
an intimate acquaintance with tlie 



* 



I foi 



secrets of the human heart, the work- 
ings q( the passions, and the capaci- 
ty to dchneate character. That La- 
martine was deficient in these tjuali- 
tiei became later plainly apparent. 
In spite of the halo which surrountl- 
cd his name, in spite of the respect 
for the patriot, his Timssaint VOmer- 
t;ircy though written before his popu- 
larity was on the wane, turned out a 
complete failure. The piece was de- 
clined by the theatres, and we ques- 
tion whether anybody now remem- 
bers a single line of it. The poet 
lUst himself have discovered that 
lis wings were not strong enough 
for dramatic flight; for, in all his fre- 
quent pecuniary embarrassments, he 
never attempted to replenish his ex- 
chequer by wooing the tragic muse. 

The extraordinary enthusiasm with 
which the Mt'ditatiom were received 
can not, if subjected to the searching 
lest which they obviously challenge, 
be ascribed to their poetical me- 
rits. Even in these lyrical effusions 
the shortcomings which characterize 
the poet and disqualify him for dra- 
matic success make themselves pain- 
fully felt. The sense can only be 
slowly and imperfectly eliminated 
from the mass of sounding expres- 
sions and pathetic verbiage^ The 
ideas pale behind the perpetually shift- 
ing melancholy mood- The phrase 
is all ; the musical, the declamatory, 
preponderate, and rule at the ex- 
pense of all genuine expression of 
feeling. There is not one true fresh 
natural note in Lamartine's utterances. 
We xxy in vain to trace the consecu- 
tive train of thought Uiat should run 
through these poems. Even the 
most popular of the Maiitations^ " La 
Lac," ii» barren in design and atTected 
in execution when we take away the 
images, similes, sounds, and other 
surplusage that make up its bulk. 
We involuntarily wish that the thought 
might have a tighter -fitting dress. 



In his C Tt tvfb- 

tyycarsaftci , I ^mar- 

tine has unconsciously passed jadg- 
ment on himself by the follomitig diii^ 
paraging remarks an a certain kiod 
of poetry : 

" U has bf. 
is something 

studied falJ of rhytJim aial fncLLiBi 
consonance of verse which solcli^ icntd 
the ear, and superadd a pi * ««a] 

gr;!tification to the tnoml ^i. ibt 

llioughl. Verse T ■ - 
Abb6 Dumont)thi 
infancy, prose thv i,.ML,u,.^^ 
rity, I now agree wirh this. It E« i 
the empty mcludy of v-r^^.- 
consists, but in the th' 
the picture of the lirn. 
transforms it into the \y \\t 

versifiers will say that i ^ |«^ 

true poets will say thiii 1 am rkght T» 
transmute speech into roiisH: is not t> 
perfect, but to sensualUc ii« Thr 
proper* suitable word to ronvr 
thought or definite scnr f^s. 

g.ird to sound or mat i || 

style, expression, langu.ii-t;. Ail U*t; reit 
is nothing : ' nugtt <ath>rit.* \f you doofat 
mc, ma^ke one man out of Rossuii ani 
Plato, and what will be the tc%uh ? Rm* 
sini mil be magniAed, but l*l«to bdil* 
tied/' 



1 

»9- 1 



No one has hit himself hardt? tla 
the writer of the above hi! i 

part of his own theory w < • 
over after tlic untenable is subtnii- 
ed. It is Lamariine to wb^.m 
must deny th^ c;jpacity to c\ 
thought or sentiment naturaiiy. u 
is he who has never been able to de- 
scribe a person or objet t withour ar- 
tificial lights and effects. In his in* 
pressions of travel, in his tustmcil 
delineations, even in his own retttioi* 
scences (Lts Confidences^ ve mecS 
more fiction than reality, more solKl^ 
ous oratory and fantastic inugenr 
than sober truth, ** M. dc Lamar- 
tine," obsen-es George Sand^ •* lias te 
phrase aU ays ready : ideas be liiMb 
after^^ard." M. Vaulabel cx;praitt> 
the same sentiment still more pcrti* 



**T1 



icn he saw on a lady's table 
the History of the Mistoraiion by 
tlie author of Meditations Jhi'tiques : 
**There/^ said he with an ironical 
lile, " is my History of the R^stora- 
Hon set to musijc by M* de Lamar- 
tine.*' 

Among the most decisive proofs of 
le extent to which unmeaning sounds 
latter the ear in Lamar tine's verses 
-may be mentioned the circumstance 
at of all the great French poets his 
works have been least extensively 
anslated into other languages. The 
usjc of the sentence, or verse, affects 
e Frenchman before he looks for 
le sense ; the foreigner cares more 
for the latter than tlie fornien In 
is difference of receiving expressed 
results consists the material distinc- 
tion of taste which we notice on the 
two sides of the Rhine. What most 
Itracts the French in their Racine 
nd Moliere is lost upon most for- 
ligners. 1 hey have no partiality for 
;hc harmony of endless Alexandrines, 
f tedious tirades, which rather bore 
lian amuse them. The dramatic ver- 
tility and sprightliness of Beau- 
narchais please tliem better than the 
.musing loquacity with which Moliere 
[personifies human weaknesses, fol- 
and crimes. Indeed, we find 
pleasure in the dialogue of Fi- 
^n/s Mii/Tias^e than in the elabo- 
tc conversations of Tartuffe, La- 
iartine owed much of the unprece- 
Icnted success of his early poems to 
;lte acoustic properties of Jiis verse, 
:nd the breath of elegiac mourning 
that permeated his lyrics. The coun- 
try had become heartily tired of war 
pteans and hymns to victory, of odes 

kand cantatas in honor of the army; 
pt yearned for other strains, and there- 
fore welcomed the lyrics of Lamar- 
liJie, as tlie inmates of Noah's ark 
must have greeted the dove with the 
olive*braiich after the deluge. 
^^ The maDner in which Lamartine 






turned the unexpected popularity ofj 
his poems to account throws an un* 
favorable light upon his poetical mis-, 
sion. Instead of devoting himself 
permanently to the service of the 
muses, he merely used their favor a& 
a stepping-stone to diplomaltc prefer- ■ 
ment. He tried to combine an em-™ 
bassy with a place in Parnassus* but, 
as it is not easy to serve two masters,^ 
he remained — however his admirers ^ 
may protest against the verdict — only 
half a poet and half a statBman. 

After the fall of the elder branch 
of the Bourbons and the advent of 
the July monarchy, Lamartine*s at* 
tachment to the exiled princes induc- 
ed him to abandon the public service,, 
and he resigned his diplomatic post 
" The past," he said, ** may be de- 
plored, but it should not be wasted in 
vain tears ; no one should voluntarily 
assume the responsibilities of an error 
which he has committed; we must^ 
return to the ranks of the people, ■ 
think, act, speak, and fight with the 
family of families — the country/' He 
offered himself, accordingly, as a can* 
didate for the chamber of deputies, 
first at Toulon, then at Dunkirk, but 
the electors of both localities rejected 
him. For a time he abandoned all 
political aspirations, and amused him*^ 
self in a truly princely style, for which* ■ 
the large fortune of his wife and the- 
sale of his works furnished him ample M 
means. He visited the East — the land;^ 
of fable — in a state of fabulous splen- 
dor and magnificence. Elected dur- 
ing his Eastern journey deputy fofKfl 
Bergues, the beginning of 1S34 saw ™ 
him utter language from the tribune 
which must have sounded strangely M 
out of place in orthodox legislative ^ 
ears. The ecstasy of the poet, the 
declamations of the dreamer, contrast* 
ed oddly with the lucid propositions, 
the practical explanations, of a Thiers, 
a Casimir Perier, a Jacques Lafittc, 
and even the speeches of Royer-Col- 






6S8 



Alpfwme d^ Lamartim. 



!ard, whom Lara art me adopted for 
his model, but whom he never equal- 
led* Many a face assumed a derisive 
expression, many a lip broke out into 
a sardonic smile, when the poet, in- 
stead of dealing with some timely po- 
htical question, indulged in rhetorical 
commonplaces about love, justice, 
<jod, and man. But notwithstanding 
the large discount on an eloquence 
so litde adapted to parliamentary pur- 
poses » all, even the most matter-of- 
fact politicians, liked to hear this 
** spoken music.'* " A speech by M. 
de Lamartine is soothing," was the 
general verdict of the chamber on the 
lyriccl addresses of the new deputy. 
Nobody could have anticipated that 
the man who appeared so devoid of 
all practical sense, whose views mov- 
ed either intentionally or intuitively 
in grooves which had nothing in com- 
mon with ordinary affairs, would ever 
play a leading t^U in the state, and 
wield an authority in his hands which 
had eluded the sober wisdom of train- 
' ed statesmen. The political prophet 
^who would have ventured such a pre- 
'diction would have been covered with 
ridicule, and lost all credit But 
when France soon after desired to 
realize an idle dream, to accovnplish 
the impossible, it was fit and logi- 
cal that a poet should be intrusted 
with the direction of public afTairs. 
Lamartine exercised for a time unli- 
mited power. His Af/diiafi^ns /If- 
/fifties had hclpeil him lo diplomatic 
honors, and brought him into closer 
relations with lalleyrand, Broglie, 
Lam^, etc. His Hhtary of the Gir- 
ondisis (strictly speaking, also poetry) 
made him the central figure of the 
revolution, the soul of the adminis- 
tration^ because it inspired the women 
and the youth of the schools, rejoiced 
the men of moderate progress who 
either shouted or whispered '* Vive la 
reforme/' and pleased even the repub- 
licans without giving offence to the 



opposite wing. This book hid te- 
ther the rare good fortune to hil the 
prevailing taste and to satisfy thr 
w*ants of the hour. By the Icoicxirf 
of its judgments and the inu«!e of t!* 
language, it recomnaended 
much to the head as the 
the public. Vicomte de Lar 
however, mistaken in his citiiJiitc . 
the political significance of the m^ 
when he wrote in the I¥tsse^ Ce ksn 
est une revolution — ^*' 'ill is book » * 
revolution." 

The most characteristic tiak d 
Lamartine is no doubt the unvafTOi 
leniency with which he jtxiges aB 
of ail classes, all parties, all clegitti 
of intelligence — their fa tilts, IbUii 
and errors. We would search tk 
pages of Lamartine in vain for 2Bl& 
pression of anger or hatred^ no nutter 
against whom levelled. Moral 101% 
nation has no place anrong hts pi^ 
sions. His lips bless where odAj 
cu rse. A ric h se n tim e n tali t y co^^fl 
cd with manners acquired inGOMll 
intercourse with the best socact; 
makes him escliew every 
pression or rude word, 
united in his own person the cxl 
of French gallantry, Parisian 
sy, and Academic propriety. Bi 
never represents the apju-aranoe rf 
women otherwise than winning wk 
attractive ; a troubadour of the A 
school, he finds ever>' lady. e«» 
though she be not the c! 
his heart, beautiful and 
and, what is rarer still, he 1 
in e\'ery man whom he d^k:i 
excepting Alarat, some re^i •- - 
points. It attracted no lin 
ment that the History 0/ Av 
dists should have to say so mucA li*^ 
is favorable of Damon, and tliat ffei 
Maximilian Robespierre should hii* 
been treated with so much forbo? 
ance. But this did the author n- 
harm. The republi 
ficd, while the con 



Alphansc dc Lamartine, 



659 



geoisie forgave this leniency on ac- 
count of the moderation and evident 
dislike to brute force which were re- 
vealed in every line. 

At the H6tel de Ville, shortly after 
the flight of Louis Philippe, Lamar* 
tine turned the popular frenzy into 
mirth by the only jest he is said to 
have made in the course of his whole 
life. While the provisional govern- 
ment was deliberating, word was 
brought that excited crowds were 
assembling in the Place de Greve, 
and Lamartine left his colleagues to 
see what the people wanted. On 
the stairway leading to the gate of 
Henry IV., he met the mob coming 
to take forcible possession of the 
building, I'he moment he was seen, 
cries of ** Down with Lamartine I 
Down with the humbug! OlT with 
his head I" were heard, and uplifted 
weapons flashed in the lamplight. 
** Lamartine/' relates an eye-witness 
of the scene, ** paused on the steps, 
calmly looked round, and exclahned 
with a smile : * You wish my head, 
citizens ? Would to God that each 
one of you had it on his shoulders at 
this moment ! You would be calmer 
and wiser, and the work of the revo- 
lution would get on better.' '^ Shouts 
of laughter rewarded this happy 
retort, and the crowd respectfully 
opened a lane for the speaker. Only 
one man seemed bent upon mischief, 
and shouted, ** You're nothing but a 
poet! Go write your verses!*' but 
he w as hustled aside. After a speech 
from Lamartine, the people dispersed 
quietly. 

On the day succeeding that on 
which the July monarchy was over- 
thrown, Lamartine was placed in a still 
more critical position, whence he again 
extricated himself and colleagues 
by his presence of mind. Freed 
from the restraints of authority, and 
elated by their recent victory, over 
forty thousand of the inhabitants of 



the faubourgs besieged the H6tel de 
Vifle with the demand that the red 
flag should be substituted for the tri- 
color, and a policy in accordance 
with this change adopted i>y the pro- 
visional government. La martinets an- 
swer was : *^ I woultl resist even tt» 
death this hateful ensign, and you 
should detest it equally : for the red 
flag which you carry has been borne 
only through the Chvamp de Mars 
trailetl in the blood of the people in 
1791 and in 1793; while the tricolor 
has been borne through the world 
with the name, the glory, and the 
liberty of our countr)'/' The effect 
of these noble sentiments was magi- 
cal. The tricolor was sustained by 
the vivas of thousands and thousands 
of throats. 

Hardly had the revolutionary fe- 
ver subsided, however, when Lam- 
artinc's popularity began to decline. 
When die constituent assembly met 
at the Palais Bourbon, the estab- 
lishment of a supreme executive au- 
thority in place of the provisional 
government being under considera- 
tion, Lamartine strongly urged the 
claims of Ledru-Rollin, his late col- 
league in office^ to that position. 
Considering the important :=ervices 
which Roll in had rendered to the 
country in reconciling the parties and 
maintaining harmony, he thought it 
unjust to exclude him from the new 
government. But Lamartine's ad- 
vorary was regarded with general 
tlisfavor and suspicion by the ma- 
jority of the deputies. He was open- 
ly accused of being secretly leagued 
with Ledru-Rollin and his associates. 
*' Yes," retorted Lamartine, " I league 
with the sociahsts, as the lightning- 
rod with the lightning." This happy 
answer was loudly applauded, but it 
did not remove the suspicions which 
Lamartine^ disinterested support of 
a rival had awakened. His name as 
a member of the supreme executive 




Wfsiical NnmbfTs, 



committee came out fourth from the 
ballot'box, and from that moment 
his popularity declined, to disappear 
entirely in the confusion and tumult 
of the June events. On the 27th of 
April, 1848^ ten departments had elect- 
ed La marline to represent them in 
iho constituent assembly. Two and 
a half millions of French voters had 
declared their confidence in his ho- 
nesty and patriotism. One twelve- 



month more (May, iS49)^ 
same people entirely ignored 1 
the general elections. 1 1 wss \ 
a few months later that the 
Orleans, at a secondary' e1ectioii,s( 
him to the assembly. L.aiii3iijB 
public career had now drawn la 
close. The remainder of his dj 
were spent in Sybaritic retireincm^a 
he was morally dead long bcfon: 1 
grave had received his mortal reiiiai 



MYSTICAL NUMBERS. 

"TiTBY say there is divjDLt)' In odd numbers, eiCb«r {a uRtirilyt cbaofle. or death." 



THE NUMBER THREE. 

Those who have examined the sa- 
cred writings of all religions must 
have been struck with the repetition 
of certain numbers in their rituals. 
The number three is one of the most 
prominent— a number especially sa- 
cred to ali believers in the triune God 
— one God in three Persons, the Fa- 
ther, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, 
There are some who find a trinity 
throughout nature, as St. Patrick did 
in the shamrock. Father Faber says : 
** The inanimate and irrational crea- 
tions glorify God by bearing on them- 
selves the seal and signet of his divi- 
nity, and even of his trinity in unity." 
And again : ** Perhaps all the works of 
God have this mark of his triune ma- 
jesty upon them, this perjDetual forth- 
shadowing of the gaierat'wn of the Son 
and the procasion of the Spirit^ which 
have and are the life of God from all 
eternity," ** A triple cord of his pre- 
sence is bound round all things, and 
penetrates through their substance by 
essence, by presence, and by power." 



This trinity in nature is 
expressed by the poet ; 

" The threefold hcareni orglortou« h«i| 
Are^mnde one dwrclUtt^ for tby mfeh 
Set upon piiUrs of the Ualit. 

*^ The ra.rth, and sea, and blue arcli'd j 
Do form belriw one temple tiir* 
Thy footstool *i)eaih the htrJivecaty sUk. 

^' Sun, moon, and ^tars In heat'cti's 1, 
Their livinj; vratch ol»e<!fcnt keep. 
Moving ttsunc, and never sieef». 

'^ Angekand men and brutes beneath 
Maice u|» crcn lion's Ir ij*lc %% t . 
Wbtch only iiveth Iti thy bre 

^^ In fisht and btrds^ and beasts arutand 
One wondfonn character is fMund, 
'file skirt which ditth thy Dianiic 1 

** And nature's three fair re&lms r 
One note through this our c«j'lJti1|r ^AtjriT 
Dying' in distance far away. 



' With three arch 
Where music si 
And «U around u 



TP! 



vincK, 



'* And future, past, and present time 
Tojtether build one ahrine atibllieci. 
That doth prolong the ample ckUuc i 

** While spirit, so. .=e«t. 

Wafm'ti tjy the 
Shall be Uiy thrw,, .n^, .i iuoci,** 

No number is repeat<!d ofti 
the Holy Scriptures than the nynk 



three. There have been three dis- 
pensations of truth : the Patriarchal, 
the Jewish, and the Christian. There 
are three grand divisions in the Old 
Testament : the Law, the Prophets, 
and the Psalms. St, Paul mentions 
three heivens and three states of the 
soul. Adam and Noe each had 
three sons. There were tliree great 
patriarchs ; Abraham, Isaac, and Ja- 
cob. Three angels visited Abraham 
in the plains of Mam re. The famous 
dreams of the chief baker and butler 
were to come to pass in three days. 

There were three grand divisions 
in Moses*s life, of forty years each. 
The commandments were delivered 
on the third day. The camp of the 
Israelites was threefold. The trioes 
%vere marshalled in subdivisions of 
three. Moses appointed three cities 
of refuge. The use of fruit from the 
young trees was forbidden till they 
v.*ere three years old. Three wit- 
nesses were required to establish every 
fact in which life or property were in 
question. The form of benediction 
was tripartite. 

The length of Solomon's temple 
vas three times its breadth, It had 
three courts, and the body of the tern- 
file had three parts : the portico, the 
sanctuary^ and the most holy place. 
In the sanctuary there were three sa* 
cred utensils : the candlestick, the 
table of shew'bread, and the altar of 
incense. There were three hallowed 
articles in the ark of the covenant, 
namely, the tables of the law, Aaron's 
rod, and the pot of manna. The 
golden candlestick had three branches 
on each side^ with three bowls like 
unto almonds. The curtains in the 
temple were of three colors. Three 
orders ser\'ed in the temple : high- 
priests^ priests, and Levites, The Le- 
vi tes were of three classes : the Ko- 
hathites served the holy of holies, the 
Gersbomites served the tabernacle, 
and the Merarites served the outer 



temple. The high-priest wore a tri- 
ple crown. There were three stones 
in each row of the high -priest's breast- 
plate. The altar of burnt-offering 
was three cubits high. The oxen 
w hich supported the molten sea were 
arranged in threes, and the vessel 
was large enough to contain three 
thousand baths. The Israelites had 
to assemble in the temple three times 
a year, Solomon offered sacrifices 
three limes a year. There were three 
great religiotts festivals : the Passover, 
Pentecost, and the Feast of Taberna-' 
cles. 

Hannah ofiered a sacrifice of three 
bullocks when she dedicated her son 
Samuel to the service of the temple, 
Samuel was called three times. He 
gave a sign to Saul consisting of a 
succession of triads, Balaam's ass 
spoke after being struck three limes. 
Samson deceived Delilah three times 
before she discovered the source of 
his strength. Elijah stretched him- 
self three times upon the widow's 
child before bringing him to life. The 
prophet conferred on Israel three 
blessings. David bowed three times 
before Jonathan. He had three 
mighty men of valor. After number- 
ing the people, he was offered tliree 
means of expiation, namely, three 
years of^famine, to be three years at 
the mercy of his foes, or suflTer a three 
days' pestilence. I'he ark was in the 
house of Obed Edom three months. 
The Jews fasted three days and 
nights, by command of Esther, before 
their triumph over Haman, Samaria 
sustained a siege of three years. 
Some kings of Israel reigned three 
years, some three months, and some 
three days. Roboam served God 
three years betbre apostatizing. Dan- 
iel was thrown into a den with three 
lions. He prayed three times a day. 
The tiireCi Shadrach, Mesech^ and 
.^bednego, were saved from the fire. 
Isaiah walked uncovered and bare* 



■ 



witli sectarianism, fanatical on the 
score of his own msdom, and im* 
placable towards everything that 
did not square with his systematic 
ideas, M. Rouland could not for an 
instant admit the reality of the visions 
and miracles at Lourdes. Hence^ at 
the distance of a hundred and fifty 
leagues, without any documents save 
the two letters from the prefect, he 
cut short the whole matter with that 
decisive tone which lays down an 
ultimatum without vouchsafing any 
discussion. Despite the prudent 
counsel which he gave the prefect, 
it was easy for the latter to seize the 
cue of his future part, to wit, no tol- 
eration of. miracles or apparitions. 
Of course, the minister assumed the 
attitude of a defender of religion. 
The following is his letter to M. 
Massy^ dated April 12 : 

" MoNSisim L£ PuKFn* : I have exam- 

incd the two reports which you were kind 
enough to address to me on the 12th and 
26th of March, respecting a pretended 
:ipparition of the Virgin, supposed to have 
taken place in a grotto near ihe town of 
Lourdes. In my judgment, it is necessa- 
ry 10 put a stop to acts which will end 
by compromising the interests of Caiho* 
Hetty and weakening the religious senti- 
ment of the people. Ae^oniing to /aw, no 
&ne can found an oratory or pha cf public 
nxfrship without ike twofold authoritatlQn 
of tht civil ami tccUsiastical powfu. 

*• 1( would therefore be justifiable on 
strict principles to close the grotto at 
once, since it has been transformed into 
a species of chapeL 

"Nevertheless, it seems likely that 
grave troubles would ensue from a too 
rough and hasty application of this law. 
It will be enough if tlic young visionar>' be 
hindered from returning to the grotto^ and 
measures taken to turn public attention 
from the spot, and render visits to it less 
frequent. I cannot at present give you, 
M,li Pnf<t, more precise instruction. It 
is, above all, a question of tact, prudence, 
and firmness, and here my suggestions 
would be useless. It will be indispcn* 

hie that you ac* in concert with ihe clef- 

V but t leave you to treat directly with 




the Bishop of Tarbes on this ddJcitc af- 
fair, and authori£eyou to say in my itaiQc 
10 the prelate, that / am d*€i*itdiy #/ Mr 
opinion that a free c<furxe should msi Se^* 
mitted /i? a state ef tkitt^s wkick tviil mti 
fail to jcr%*c as a pretext f*r new ^ftOiM 
upon thi tUr^ and rtiigicn** 

IL 

On the receipt of this letter, M. 
Massy addressed the bishop to beg 
him to prohibit Bcmadetic formally 
from going at idl to the grotto. He 
naturally put forward how the inte- 
rests of religion would be cofapro- 
mised by these halludnattons afitl 
frauds, and the deplorable effect 
which such things would prodtirc 
upon serious minds seeking in good 
faith to reconcile r iy with 

sound philosophy an i n idets. 

M, Massy no more than M. Rouloikd 
deigned to pause at the hypotlM^ 
sis that the apparitions might be 
real The prefect and the minister 
had equal scorn for such supeaD- 
tions. 

The prefect was clever, litit Ae 
bishop was wise, and it would ^l*v^ 
been hard to disguise the truth from 
hira. Mgr, Laurence dearly detect- 
ed tw^o tilings : 

First, that the government (ntid }ft 
tliis we mean the prefect and the 
minister who liappened then to beio 
office) would be much pleased 19 

put the clergy promii ^ f^^nrw!, 

and yet dictate its c Jlp, 

Laurence, however, h.id too liig|ii 
sense of his episcopal duty to bceoor 
a tool. 

Secondly, that perhaps the twa- 
istcr, and certainly the prefect, wot 
tempted to have recourse to vtoksc^ 
that is to say, to oppose Ibfcc !• 
faith. Now, Mgr. Laurence wttioo 
prudent not to use all his efiom It 
avert such an evil. He was oM^oi 
on the one hand, to resist stroo^lf tfce 
pressure brought to bear by the dvil 



^^ 



Thrice he essayed to speak, 

** And ihrice, la spite of scorn, 
Tears^ soch at angels weep, buret forth ;" 

and 



* Thrice the equinoctial Hoc 
lie circled.** 



llie gates of bell were thrice three- 
fold : 

** Three foM^ were brass. 
Three iron, three of adamaattne rock 
Impenetrable." 

Milton speaks of ** three-bolted thun- 
der," and his expression, ** thrice 
happy/' has a superlative meaning. 

•* The planet earth, so steadfast though she 
seem, 
Inseasibly three diflcreat motions move/' 

The triangle is of the utmost im- 
portance in mathematics. Think of 
ihe power of the wedge. In every 
syllogism there are three parts. That 
•'three is a lucky number" is a com- 
mon saying* Franklin says, *' Three 
removes are as bad as a fire," 

The Greeks had a veneration for 
odd numbers, particularly for the num- 
cr three. Miss Hosmer^ travelling 

Switzerland with the sculptor Gib- 
son, took charge (in compassion for 
his helplessness out of his studio) 
of him and of his luggage, which 
consisted of three pieces, one of which 
was a hat-box. She noticed that 
this box was never opened. After 
their return to Rome, she asked what 
was the object of taking the hat-box 
on a tour and giving her the trouble 
of looking after it. Gibson calmly 
rei*lied, ** The Greeks had a great 
respect for the number three — yes» 
the Greeks for the number three," 
and that was all the explanation she 
ever received. 

Gibson was right. The Greeks 
divided their deities into three classes : 



celestial, terrestrial, and infernal. Ora 
cles were delivered from a tripod. 
Pythagoras said all things arc gov- 
erned by harmony — a system of three 
concords. Aristotle held that all 
things are terminated by three. De- 
mocritus wrote a book to prove that 
all things spring from the number 
three. The Greeks used this number 
as a charm for the dead. They wish- 
ed to be buried in th^ir own country. 
If they died in foreign lands, the 
friends at home, not being able to 
procure the body, would invoke the 
soul, believing it would come to them 
if they named him thrice at each 
time. Pindar says that Phrixus, 
when dying at Colchis, desired Pe* 
lias to see this office was performed 
for him, Ulysses, after losing three- 
score and twelve of his company 
among the Cicones, gave a shout for 
every one three times. In the Raim 
of Aristophanes it is said, *^ They are 
gone so far you cannot reach them 
at thrice calling." When the Greeks 
took an oath, they sacriiiced one of 
these three beasts, a boar, ram, or 
goat, and sometimes all three. In 
their mythology, many animals had 
three heads, as the Chiniiera, Ger- 
yon, and Cerberus. 

Sheridan says: "You are not like 
Cerberus, three gentlemen at once,^ 
are you ?" 

Tliere wTre three Graces, three 
Parcae» and three Eumenidcs. The 
three daughters of Hesperus were ap- 
pointed to guard the golden apples. 
of Juno — the 

*^ Daug^hters three 
That siaif round the golden tree/* 

There were three Gorgons, three 
Harpylae, three Horx, and three 
Syrens. 

" His tnoltier Circe and the Syrens three, 
Andd the flowery kirtlcd Naiades, 
Who, as they sung, would take the prjsooo<t 

soul 
And lip it in Elysium r 



(>7e 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



was very large, and she rested it on 
the ground, supporting the upper end 
by the fingers of her partially clasped 
hands. The Blessed Virgin appear- 
ed, and at once the maiden, falUng 
into ecstasy, raised her hands a little 
and rested them, without thinking, on- 
the Hghted end of the taper. The 
flame began to pass between her fin- 
gers, and moved from side to side with 
the fitful breeze. Bernadette still re- 
mained motionle.ss and engrossed by 
heavenly contemplation, not observ- 
ing the phenomenon which caused 
such stupefying wonder among the 
throng around her. Those present 
crowded dose to see the wonder bet- 
ter. Messrs. Jean-Louis Fourcade, 
Martinou, Estrade, Callet the forest- 
keeper, the Misses Tard'hivail, and a 
hundred other persons, were spectators 
of this strange occurrence. Doctor 
Dozous had taken out his watch at 
the very first moment; the extraordi- 
nary sight lasted a little over a quar- 
ter of an hour. 

All at once a faint tremor passed 
over the frame of Bernadette. Her 
countenance fell. The vision had 
departed, and the child returned to 
her natural state. They seized her 
hand; but it presented no unusual 
appearance. The flame had respect- 
ed the flesh of one who knelt in ec- 
stasy before Mary. Not without 
reason was it that the multitude cried 
" A miracle ! " One of the specta- 
tors, nevertheless, wished to :„ake a 
further experiment, and, taking the 
lighted taper, touched the hand of 
Bernadette. 

" Ah ! sir," she cried, drawing back, 
"you are burning me."* 



• This incident of the taper made a great stir. 
The Lavedan could not long refrain from noticing 
it. *' Since the famous 4th of March," it remarks, 
" Bernadette has been moderate 'v\ her visits to 
the Rrotto. She has only been t.iere twice or 
thrice. On one of these occasions an eye-witness 
nforms us that during her ecstasy she exposed 
her hands for some time to the flame of a candle 
irithout experiencing the slightest paia. Of 



The events at Lourdes had pro- 
duced such a commotion in the coun- 
try, and the concourse of strangers 
was so great, that, on this day, al- 
though it was not announced before- 
hand as in the fortnight, nevertheless 
the number of persons collected 
around Bernadette was estimated at 
about ten thousand. • 



Several young women of Lourdes, 
of exemplary virtue, among whom 
we may mention Marie Courr^ge, a 
pious servant respected by every- 
body, had visions, it appears, at the 
grotto which resembled those of Ber- 
nadette. The reports of these were 
but vaguely circulated, however, and 
never exerted any influence on the 
public. Little children also had 
visions of a far diflerent and fright- 
ful character. Where the divinely pre- 
ternatural appears, the diabolically 
preternatural strives to mingle with 
it. The history of the fathers of 
the desert, and of the mystics, gives 
page after page in proof of this. 
The abyss was troubled, and the an- 
gel of darkness had recourse to his 
counterfeits to disturb believing souls. 

To these various facts, ill obscn- 
ed at the time of their occurrence, 
and of which memory has forgotten 
many details, we cannot oi>cn the 
gates of history ; we merely mention, 
in order not to have wholly neglect- 
ed, them. The true visions were 
of importance only to individuals; 
the others died away of themselves. 



course they cried out, * A miracle •' •* This last is 
a most naive reflection. Docs the editor, aft«r 
all, consider the fact a perfectly natural one? 

♦ Having received timely notice, the mayor b**! 
stationed persons on all the roads and paths to 
reckon the numbers. Accordinf^ to the report 
which he sent in that evening to the preiecUthcT 
reached the number of 9,060 persons, of whom 
4.82a were citizens of Lourdes, and 4^38 straa* 
f^^x^— A ' chives c/ L.i,rdes~Lttttr ff the Map* 
to the Prt/ec\ No. 86. 



three, Is reckoned among the sacred 
numbers. In the Scriptures, there are 
the twelve sons of Jacob, twelve 
tribes of Israel, twelve stones of the 
altar, and twelve apostles. 

There were twelve stones in the 
Urini and Thummim, twelve loaves 
of shew -bread, and twelve miles each 
side of the encampment of the Is- 
raelites. 

The New Jerusalem has twelve gates 
and twelve foundations. There are 
four-and-twenty elders and one hun- 
dred and fort} -four thousand of the 
redeemed, both combinations of the 
number three. The woman in the 
Apocalypse has twelve stars in her 
crown. There are twelve fruits of tlie 
Huly Ghost 

I'here are twelve superior gods in 
the old mythology. EurysUieus im- 
posed twelve labors on Hercules, 
There are twelve months in the year, 
and twelve signs of the zodiac. There 
are twelve j ury men. Lord IJrougham 
says : *' We see about us kings, lords, 
and commons, the whole machinery 
of the state, all the apparatus of the 
system, and its varied workings end 
in simply bringing twelve good men 
into a box." 

And Shakespeare : 

* The jury pai-iing on the prisoner's life 
May in the 5worn twelve have a thiel or two 
Guiltier UtAn hlro ihcy try.*' 

The number twelve being consid- 
ered a complete number, thirteen in- 
dicated the commencement of a new 
course of life \ hence it became the 
emblem of deaUa, and was considered 
tmlucky. 

l-HE NUMBER FOUR. 

iThe Tetrad w^as anciently esteem- 
lllie most perfect number, being the 
arithmetical mean between one and 
scren. It wants three of seven, and 
f^ceeds one by three. It was so 



venerated by the Pythagoreans that 
they swore by it. 

Omar, the second caliph, said : 
*' Four things come not back — the 
spoken word, the sped arrow, the 
past lifcj the neglected opporl unity," 

In the sacred Scriptures there are 
four rivers of Paradise, and four arti- 
ficial ones around the tabernacle, the 
services of which were conducted by 
four priests. There are four chariots 
and four angelic messengers in the 
vision of Zacharias. Four winds 
strode upon the sea, and four beasts 
came up, which are four kings. There 
are the four visions and four beasts 
of DanieL The elect are to be gath- 
ered from the four winds. The Apo- 
calypse also contains four visions, 
I'here are four beasts around tlie 
throne full of eyes, four angels who 
are bound in the river Euphrates, 
and four angels standing on the four 
comers of the earth. 

There are four cardinal virtues, 
four sins crying to heaven for ven- 
geance, four last things to be re- 
membered. I'here are four times 
two beatitudes. 

In nature, there are four seasons, 
the four points of the compass. 

Milton says: 

" Toward the four windii four ftpeedy cticrubim 
Put to their mQulhs ikc sounding alchemy/' 

The chariot of the Eternal Father 
was convoyed 

" By four cherubic shapes r Jour fices each 
Had wondrous." 

Forty, a multiple of four by ten 
(both perfect numbers), is also one 
of the sacred numbers. 

The probation of our first parents 
in the Garden of Eden is supposed 
by some to have been forty years. 
I'he rain fell at the deluge forty days 
and nights, and the water remained 
on the earth forty days. The days 
of embalming the dead were forty. 



678 



Our Lady 



I 



March assizes han presented only one 
iniliclmcnt, and that anterior to the 
time of the apparitions ; it resulted in 
an acquittal. The next session, which 
took place in June, had only two 
cases for judgment, both relative to 
events anterior to the same period. 

This striking coincidence* this mys- 
terious token of the invisible influ- 
ence which had spread over the land, 
this external proof — a moral prodigy, 
a miracle extending over a whole dio'- 
cese — seems to us to present a point 
for the consideration of the most fri- 
volous minds. How was it that wick- 
ed hands were so long restrained? 
Is this miposture, or hallucination, or 
catalepsy ? How was it that the 
sword of justice was left idle ? Why 
came this " truce of God '* precise - 
fy at this time? Unless it be the 
one we have indicated, wc challenge 
infidelity to show a cause for so un- 
wonted a fact. It will endeavor to 
do so in vain. 

The Queen of Heaven had passed 
by, and this was the fniit of her bless- 

Bernadeite was tnnsiamiy vj sit- 
ed by strangers, who, either through 
piety or curiosity, were drawn in 
great numbers to Lourdes. They 
belonged to every class and profes- 
sion, and to every school of philoso- 
phy under the sun. And yet none 
could impeach her simple and truth- 
ful narrative; no one, after talking 
with her, would have dared to accuse 
the little seer of falsehood. Amid 
excited parties and violent discus- 
sions, this little child inspired evcrj'- 
body with respect and never became 
the object of calumny* The splen- 
dor of her innocence was such as 
none presumed to attack \ an invisi* 
b!e a^gis protected her 

Although possessed of very ordina- 




ry intelligence, Bemadctte am 
ported above herself when 
upon to render tet>tiniony to thcj 
parition. Nothing then abated f 

She sometimes gave profound ai^- 
ssvers. M. de Resseguier^ counsellor- 
general, and formerly deputy from the 
Lower Pyrenees, came to sec her* ac* 
companied by several ladies of his 
family. He caused her to relate com* 
plete details of her visions. WTica 
Bernadette said that the appariDOD 
spoke the Beamese paims^ he Op 
claimed : 

♦* Vou are not telling the truth at 
all, child! The good God and the 
Blessed Virgin do not understand 
patou ; they do not know any such 
miserable language/* 

** If they do not know it/' ^he an- 
swered, " how is it that wc evcf came 
to know it ? Anrl, if ihey do not un- 
derstand it, how do tliey make ts 
able to understand it ?" 

Sometimes she made lively rttoi1». 
" Why did the Blessed Virgin or* 
der )'ou to eat ihoM: herbs .^ Did 
she think that you were a Uttlo ani- 
mal ?" asked a sceptic, 

** Is that what you think ot > ... 
self when you eat salad ?" ^c ao* 
swered laughing. 

Sometimes her replie? ^eic maile 
with artless simplicity* 

This very M. dc Kess^guicr asked 
her about the beauty of the appari- 
tion : '* Was she as licautiful as the 
ladies who are here ? ** 

Bernadette cast her c> hI 

the lovely circle of youn;^ \\ 

ladies who had accompanlcil \\^i \m^ 
tor; then, with an expression of d»^ 
dain, she answered : ** Oh t she was 
altogether different from all this." 
" AU this " was the llik of 
society of Pan. 

Sometimes she disconcerted the 
subtle who tried to embarrafs ' 

♦* Supposing that M* Ic Cuxl , 
to forbid you to go to the srottob 



the 



horns, and on the seventh day they 
compassed ihe city seven times, when 
the walls fell 

Balaam, by the express command 
of God, offered seven bullocks and 
seven rams in sacrifice upon seven 
aJtars. The sacri^ce of Asa was 
seven hundred oxen and seven hun- 
dred sheep. Hezekiah, when he 
cleansed the house of die Lord of its 
abominations, sacrificed seven bul- 
locks and seven rams. And God 
commanded the friends of Job to 
purify themselves by the same offer- 
ing, A bullock seven years old was 
sacrificed after the destruction of the 
altar of Baal and the holy groves. 
The number of Passovers referred to 
in the Old Testament is seven : one 
in Egypt^ in the wilderness, at Jeri- 
cho, in the time of Samuel at Mizpeh, 
during the reign of Hezekiah and 
that of Josiah, and the seventh in 
the time of Ezra. 

Seven restorations of life are men- 
tioned in the Bible : of the widow's 
son by Elijah, the son of the Shunam- 
inite by Elisha, the dead body that 
came in contact with the bones of 
Klisha, the daughter of J air us by 
our Lord, the widow's son of Nain, 
Lazarus, and the glorious resurrec- 
tion of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

Samson was bound with seven 
green withes, and seven locks of his 
hair were woven with the web. The 
Gibconites demanded of David seven 
of Saul's descendants as an atone- 
ment. Solomon was seven years in 
building the temple, which was dedi- 
cated in the seventh month, and the 
festival lasted seven days. 

Bilhah had seven sons ; so had 
Job; so had Sceva, the high-priest. 
Jethro, priest of Midian, had seven 
daughters. The king of Persia had 
seven counsellors. 

Namaan, for the cure of his lep- 
rosy, was directed to bathe seven 
times in the Jordan. Nebuchad- 



nezzar was banished from his fellow- 
men seven years. 

Seven Iioly angels arc mentioned 
in the sacrcrl .Scriptures as the eyes 
of the Lord, that run to and fro on 
the face of the earth. 

Milton says : 



"^ The Arcbttn^el Uriel, one of the seven 
Who in (iod's presence^ nearest to his throne, 
SUnd ready at comiii»nd, and Afc his eyes 
That ruo througii ail the heavens or dovrn to 

the CBfth, 
Bear his svrift errands over raolst And dry. 
O'er BCA ajid land.'^ 



These seven angels are named in 
Holy Writ or hy tradition as : Sts. 
Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, 
Seaitiel, Jchudiel, and Barachiel. 

We read in the Book of Proverbs 
that Wisdom hath builded her a 
house; she hath hewn out her seven 
pillars. 

Also, that there are seven abomi- 
nations in the heart of the tale bearer. 
The thief should restore sevenfold. 

Asmodeus, the evil spirit, killed 
the seven husbands of Sarah, daugh- 
ter of Raguel. Tobias's wedding was 
kept seven days. 

Seventy souls sprang from the loins 
of Jacob. Jerubbaal had seventy 
sons. Our Lord had seventy disci- 
ples. We are to forgive seventy 
times seven. 

The genealogy of our Saviour is 
summed up in divisions of fourteen 
generations each, that is, twice seven : 
from .Abraham to David, fourteen; 
from David to the Babylonian cap- 
tivity, fourteen ; and from that time 
till Christ, fourteen. 

In the New Testament, we have 
also the seven loaves and seven bas- 
kets of fragments. Our Lord spake 
seven limes on the cross. 

I'he Apocalyptic vision seems bas- 
ed upon the number seven. In it 
are the seven churches in Asia greet- 
ed by seven spirits. Seven golden 
candlesticks, seven stars, the book 



■ 




Mjsiicai NmrnAm. 



tealcd widi screo teak, : 
with the seven tniropctSt sef«ii tlMO- 
S2Jid tnea d&troyed, seven plagues 
ta seven golden viaU, the bmb with 
icven homs and seven eyes^ the scir- 
let-colored beast haviDg seTen beads^ 
the seven thundery aad the drugtao 
with seven heads and seven crowns. 
Seven lamps bum before the throne, 
which arc the seven spirits of God. 
The witnesses prophesy in sackcloth 
llie half of seven years, and lie tmba< 
ried the half of seven years. 

There are seven gifts of the Holy 
Ghost ; seven spiritual works of mer- 
cy ; seven corporeal works of niency, 
seven sacraments^ seven deadly sins, 
and seven contrary virtues, seven 
dolors of the Blessed Virgin Mary 
and her seven joys. There are seven 
holy orders, seven canonical hours 
which divide tlie ecclesiastical day 
into seven parts, seven Penitential 
Psalms, and seven divisions of the 
Lord's Prayer. At the holy sacrifice 
of ilic Mass, the priest says " Donii- 
niis vobiscum ** seven times. 

In the Divina Commedia there are 

ivcn circles each in hell and purga- 
'tory» corresponding to the seven 
deadly sins, Virgil delivered Dante 
from seven perils. The most con- 
summate wickedness is expressed by 
mentioning the seven vices or the 
habitation of ** seven devils." The 
complete refining of metals is ex- 
pressed by the phrase " purified seven 
times.'* There are the seven cham- 
pions of Christendom and the seven 
sleepers of Ephesus, whose nap last- 
ed two hundred and twenty-nine 
years. 

Seven gates of hell are mentioned 
in the Koran, being seven places of 
punisliment: the first for sinful Mus- 
sulmans, the second for Christians, 
the third for Jews, the fourth for Sa- 
l>eans, the fifth for fire- worshippers, 
the sixth for idolaters, and the se- 
venth for hypocrites of all religions. 



cpf Ui^v wfacii die wa 
thirst, stfll roQ se%*efi ttmes fom MoOEDi 
Siisa to Mammy lookaig amuid ^nd 
stooping dovn lo imitatg ber 
she was luatfing §ek watei^ The j^H 
grtms alsolt2¥e acttciDoiij of tfafiP 
ing se^ien pdiUeSt from the n 
thrown by Abialtam at Ebiis wfia 
he tempted him on his way to sacri- 
fice Is&ac 

There ts a ainocss legmd wUck 
says that tbe punishment of Caja (br 
killing his brothet Abel coaled IB 
carrying the dead body for the SfAOc 
of ^ve hundred years and then Iff 
bury it in a certain place. HemariM 
the grave by setting up his stafl^H 
it, and from the staff grew up s^^H 
oak-trees which stand to a line in lic^ 
holy land of Palestine. 

The nitmbef se^en was considefcd 
by the Peistans as a lucky titunben 

There were seven vases in the t€»» 
pic of the sun, near Babian in Uppcf 
Egypt ; seven altars btimed coatiiMh 
ally before the god Mithras tn masr 
of his temples ; seven holy (anes of 
the Arabians ; seven Gothic deitiei; 
seven wise men of Greere 
wonders of the norld ; seven 
ers against Thebes ; seven gai 
Thebes; seven bulls* hides in 
shield of Achilles; the sevenfold shidd 
of Ajax. 



n Vi 



* 5«7en cities wirr'il for tfotner bcrmc 
Who^ llviiig, had no roof to tlirottd felt 



There are also the seven rictado 
and seven Hyadcs, seven Titans tfid 
seven Titanides, seven Atlantides* sr* 
ven heads of Hydra, and the scv^ 
Tripods of Agamemnon. N iobe bad 
seven sons and seven daughters. ^M 

I'hcrc are seven prismatic colq^H 
seven liberal arts, seven sciences, 9S 
ven notes in music, seven days in iht 
week, and the seventh son, who v 
always a wonder, as everybody knovib 
and possesses some magical povec 



mm^ 



Mystical Numbers. 



669 



I 



In some parts of France this seventh 
son, called a Marcou, is supposed to 
be marked with a fleiir-de-hs, and to 
possess the royal prerogative of cur- 
ing the king's evil. And the healing 
powers of the seventh son of a seventh 
son are still more wonderful^ — quite 
approaching the marvellous, in fact, 
according to the popular belief. 

Ingpen, who lived in the seven- 
teenth century, thus establishes the 
superiority of the number seven i ** It 
is compounded of one and six, two 
and five, three and four. Now, every 
one of these being excellent of them- 
selves, how can this number but be 
for more excellent, consisting of them 
all, and participating, as it were, of all 
their excellent virtues ?" There are 
seven ages of man : 



"At first, the iofant, 
MewUng «ind pukinj;;^ in the nurse's arms. 
Then llie whinlng^ sichool-boy, with his satchel 
And shining morning face* creeping like a saail 
Unwillingly lo school. And then the lover. 
Sighing like a, furnace, with a ^votul ballail 
MiiUe lo his mistress's eyebrow. Then a soldier, 
Full of strange oaths and bemrdcd like the pard. 
Jealous jn honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
:^cklfig the bubble reputation 
' 'tn in the cannon's moulh. And then the jus- 
tice, 
UC\i round bclty ^vith good capon lin'd, 
Wflh eyes severe and beard of formal cut [ 
Full of wi«e saw$ and modern instances — 
And so he plays his p»rt. The sixth age shlAa 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose^ and pouch on side. 
Hi* youthful hose well saved, a world loo wide 
Kor his shrunk shank ; and his big, manlv voice, 
Tterniax %^iVL toward childi&h treblCi pipes 



And whist Jes m his sound. Last scene of ali 
That ends this strange, eventful history, 
Is second childiskocss, and mere oblivion, 
SaAs teeth, sans eyes, saos taste, sans etery- 
thlng." 

THE NUMBER TEN, 

The sura of the first four digits be- 
ing ten, ten is considered a perfect 
number. 

God promised to spare Sodom if 
ten righteous men were found in it. 
When Abraham sent a steward to 
fetch a wife for his son, he took ten 
camels and gold bracelets of ten she- 
kels for presents. In the construc- 
tion of the tabernacle the boards were 
ten cubits in length, the pillars on 
each side were ten, the sockets ten, 
the curtains ten. There are ten com- 
mandments. In the temple the cheru- 
bim were ten cubits high» the molten 
sea ten cubits in diameter. There 
were also ten golden candlesticks, ten 
tables, and ten vases of brass. 

Our Saviour also used this number, 
as in the parable of the ten talents, 
the ten lcpcrs» ten virgins, etc. 

Five, a division of ten, is with us 
all associated with the five sacred 
wounds of our Lord. 

There are five grains of incense in 
the Paschal candle. 

There are five joyful, five sorrow- 
ful, and five glorious mysteries in the 
rosary. 



I 



€8f 



Ori^n and Charactcrhtics of the Milesian Rarr. 



That a state of war is the first and 
apparently inevitable condition of all 
rude communities endeavoring, con- 
sciously or unconsciously, to establish 
a nationality, all history proves. Let us 
trace u[> from the present to the remo- 
test past the story of any tribe or peo- 
ple, in either hemisphere, who have 
maintained a successful dominion^ 
either as aborigines or as invaders, and 
we must needs wade through tales of . 
blood and carnage to find the first 
hero who left his name as the founder 
of an independent people. To the 
classical scholar will instantly recur 
the many Greek wars, and the wars 
of defence and of conquest which 
finally made Rome the mistress of 
the w>jrld. The Scandinavians, the 
Danes, the Gennans, lived only to 
fight, and hoped their future heaven 
would prove a grand reunion of suc- 
cessful warriors. And whence was 
the European continent dehiged with 
these successful floods of belligerents ? 
From that warrior stock on tlie Indus 
whose Vedas and Puranas detail, in 
the wonderful imagery of the Orient, 
the wars of gods, giants, and men, 
stretching away back into an obscure 
antiquity, but leaving us in no douln 
that a state of belligerency arose as 
soon as there were men enough upon 
the earth to fight, or a superior piece 
of land in view about which it was 
possible to quarrel, Ireland was no 
exception to this law of the races. 

In anotlier respect, also, the early 
l^fc of the nations resemble each 
other. Being all originally without 
letters, the events, the experiences, 
the heroic deeds, the loves and 
deaths of il)e prominent men and 
women of the race, could be trans- 
mitted to posterity or communicated 
to contemi>oraries only by verbal 
means; hence in every country we 
find, mingled with the stream of 
historic events, myths and legends, 
often referring to the intcr\ention of 



supernatural beings, neafljr 

exaggerating the romantic 

of the story, but nvostly baaed 

realities, perhaps but par 

prehended at the time of 

rence, and in their verbal 

sion enlarged upon, a mended « 

torteil by the narrator, until the ibft* 

dowy outline only of tlie ^ 

can be guessefl at, or car 

ed out by philological re 

I* o ft u nat el y , ho w c v er, 1 411 

case we have hkewtse a stijlicieat 
number of ancient records to eQfllir 
us to frame an outline sketch of Imt 
early days, assisted by the relmiKa 
of foreign chronicles, and the soop 
and stories vvhic:h have been bawM 
down from sire to son, together wiA 
the actual and tangible aniiqinliei 
which have been disco vcnrd and ut 
still extant One thing ii is necestfijr 
to guard against— the prejudkeil it- 
cotmts of the latest concjuerofs ni 
oppressors of Ireland, who^ not COH* 
tent with the confiscation of ihc bnd 
of the vanquished, have as a ; 
tcmatically endeavored to ct/i.M>^^^** 
also whatever of fame or \ irtue, ho^ 
ism or learning, inhered in the peofk. 
To justify barbarous exactions, it ii 
always necessary to vilify the ^ictm 

1 he English historian, VVarncr^it 
his account of the famous inccrrir* 
between Henry 11, of England lod 
the Milesian chief of Connaught, d^ 
scribt^s the banner which the Ifttur 
bore as a '* yellow silken aandffiii 
emblazoned with a dead serpent aad 
a rod or wand/* These tnsignnof 
the rod and seq>ent refer lo an 'm(> 
dent in the life of GadeL, son of the 
Prince of Nial, ^n Lndependenf wn- 
ereign, contiguous to the land of the 
Pliaraohs; while this Gadelun tribe 
remaiQed in Egypt, the lad Gadd 
(the original of Gael) was attad^ 
ed and bitten by a serpent, whidi 
Moses killed with hi'; rod, aiKi allff- 
wonis cured the wound of the liA 



iM 




Our Lady of Lourdes. 



671 



a powerful cauterization the sores 
which liad foniicd upon it : '* ^ 

Miraculous cures were beconing 
frequent, God was doing his work, 
and the power of the Blessed Virgin 
was being manifested. 



xnr. 

SiKCE the last day of the fortnight, 
Bemadclte had returned several times 
10 the grotto, but somewhat like oth- 
er people, that is, without hearing the 
interior voice which had previously 
called her irresistibly. 

She heard it, however, once more 
on the morning of the 25th of March, 
and immediately set out for the Mas- 
sabicllc rocks, her face beaming with 
hope. She felt that she was again 
to see the apparition, and that Para- 
dise would for an instant once more 
open its eternal gates before her 
charmed eyes. 

As will readily be supposed, she 
had become the object of general at- 
tention at Gourdes, and could not 
take a step without being observed 
by all eyes. 

" Bemadette is going to the grotto " 
all said to each other on seeing her 
pass; and immediately the crowd, 
coming out of the houses, and follow- 
ing different ways, rushed in the same 
direction, arriving at the same time 
with the child. 

The snow had already been melt- 
ed for several days in the valley, but 
it still lay upon the surrounding 
peaks. The wcatlier was clear and 
beautiful ; the blue and peaceful sky 
was without a cloud ; and die royal 
sun seemed at this moment to be 
. born in the midst of the white sum- 
mils, and to throw a splcntlor upon 
his cradle of snow. 

•Extmct from the report of Dr, Vcrge*^ pro- 
aaor of liie Fttcnlty of MontpcUIcr, to the cpa* 



k 



It was the anniversary of the day 
on which the angel Gabriel descend- 
ed to the most pure Virgin of Na- 
zareth, and saluted her in the name 
of the Lord. The church was cele- 
brating the feast of the Annuncia- 
tion. 

While this multitude, among whom 
were most of those who had been 
cured, Louis Bourriette^ the widow 
Crozat, Blaisette Soupenne, Benoite 
Cazeaux, Auguste Bordes, and many 
others, were running to the grotto, 
the Catholic Church, at the end of 
the matins of the day, was singing 
the wonderful words ; ** Then shall 
the eyes of the blind be opened, and 
the ears of the deaf shall be unstop- 
ped. Then shall the lame man leap 
as a hart, and the tongue of the 
dumb shall be free ; for waters arc 
broken out in the desert, and streams 
in the wilderness." (Isaias xxxv.) 

The joyous presentiment which 
Bemadette had felt had not been a 
delusion. The voice which had call- 
ed her was indeed that of the *' Virgin 
most faithful.** 

' As soon as the child was on her 
knees, the vision appeared. An in- 
describable halo of unsurpassed 
splendor, expressive of eternal glory 
and absolute peace, floated around 
her. Her veil and flowing robe had 
the whiteness of driven snow, and 
the roses which bloomed at her 
feet were of the golden color which 
the horizon often has at the first 
light of dawn. Her girdle was blue 
as the heavens. 

Bemarlette in ecstasy had forgot- 
ten the earth, in presence of this 
spotless beauty. 

" O Lady ]'*• said she, "please tell 
me who you are and what is your 
name!" 

The royal a'p pari t ion smiled, but 
said nothing. But at that moment, 
the Universal Church, reciting the so- 
lemn prayers of the office, was say- 



Our Lady 

big, " Holy and immaculate Virgin- 
ity, I know not how to praise ihcc; 
for thou hast borne in thy bosom him 
whom tlie heavens cannot contain."* 

Bemadette, however, did not hear 
these distant voices, and could not 
suspect their profound significance. 
As tlic vision remained silent, she 
repeated the question in the same 
words. 

The apparition appeared yet more 
radiant, as \{ with increasing joy, but 
still did not comply with the child's 
request. But the church through- 
out Christendom, continuing its pray- 
ers and anthems, was pronouncing 
these words, " Congratulate me» afll 
ye who love the Lord, because, from 
the time when I was a child, I have 
pleased the Most High, And from 
ray womb have I brought forth him 
who is God and man. All genera- 
tions shall call me Blessed, because 
God hath regarded his humble hand- 
maid, and from my womb have I 
brought forth liim who is God and 
man.'' t 

Bemadette renewed her entreaty, 
and pronounced for a third lime the 
words, *' O Lady ! please be so good 
as to tell me what is your name." 

The apparition seemed to enter 
more and more into the glory of the 
ble&sed; and, as if absorbed in its 
happiness, still did not reply. But 
by an extraordinary coincidence, the 
universal heart of the church sent up 
at that moment a song of gladness, 
and itself gave the earthly name of 
the wonderful vision : *' Hail, Mary, 
full of grace, the Lord is with 



* " SanctA ct ImmftculiitA Vlrfrlnltas, qti11>uf te 
laudibut effcram, ncscio ; quu qucm c(rU capere 
noil polcrant, tuo Ricmio contuli^iLi.'* — Brei\ 
a^m, Manh 35^ Feast of the Annunciation. 

t *' Catiijnttiilamini luihi oinncs qui dlllgilii 
Dominum, quia cum css-cni pan'uli, placui Altb- 
simn, Kt dc mci4 visccribus gcnui Deum eC 
liomincm. Ueatftta nic Uiccat orones K^cQcrm* 
tiaiiei, quia anciUam huTnilem rcspciiit Deu&, et 
fie meb visceribus gen\ti Dcum el bomiaem/''— 
i7r«f . Ram, Maxell 35, 



the ofdt 



thee : ble^ed art thou among vo* 

men/* • 
Bemadette once more repeated bcf 

supplication. 

1 he hands of Uic apparttioii wo? 
clasped with fervor, and the bet 
shone with the glory of et^/mal beiti* 
tilde- Itwashumili^ ?d. Ai 

Bemadette gazcti up"^ i /^ion, th? 
vision, no doubt, was c:ontctnp1aiiq| 
the Persons of the ctcrnaJ 'l*rmuy, i 
whom she was the daughter, itioilKr, 
and spouse. 

At the last question of the chfld, 
she separated her hands^ iDg 

over her right arm the ci.,,^._. , aair 
alabaster beads were strung on a 
golden thread, she inclined both 
downw^ard, as if lo kHow the 
ihoHc virginal h: of 

for it. 1 hen, rat uttowa: 

eternal abode whence ion l: liii 

day the angelic messengti m1 u\c A»- 
nunciation had descended, fX\c joiord 
them again as before, and, looking 19 
heaven with iinspeakaLle graticiid^ 
pronounced these words i 

'' I am the Immaculate Cooe^ 
tion.*' 

Having tlius spoken, she ttlwp- 
peared, and tlic child found het9d( 
like the rest of the multitude, bcfiar 
only a desolate rock* 

The miraculous stream, floirim 
through its wooden channel into ili 
simple receptacle, gently muransed 
at her side. 

It was the day and hoi^ in wVA 
the Holy Church was intoning ta At 
office the magnificent h>*tnn : 

** O CIorioiBi Vircinufa, 
Sublimii tnier stdcnu" 

XIV. 

The Mother of our Lord Jem 
Christ liad not said, *^l 9m Uuf 

* '' Ato MarUk fftslUi P^etw^ Dttolsitt We^i 
beaedictm tu in OBUIteribtii.'^ 



has for ages in the past. That it has 
arisen wholly from the misgovern- 
ment of the latter we do not beheve, 
but consider, rather, that there is in 
the natural constitution and heredita- 
ry idiosyncrasies ot the Irish a distinc- 
tive character, dift'cring in such essen- 
tial points that we think it doubtful 
that they will ever coalesce or be 
brought into a state of contented sub- 
ordinauon to England. We do not 
niean here to inculcate or commend 
any such feeling as used to be enter- 
tained by the people of England and 
France toward each other — that they 
were ** natural enemies.'^ None of the 
human race are or should be natural 
enemies to any other ; but there may 
be and are such mental varieties as 
to make it unwise for nationalities of 
opposite temperaments, feelings, and 
tiaditions to be forcibly bound to- 
gether by political lies, when there is 
no confraternity of spirit between 
them. 

Hitherto, we have seen that Ireland 
was mainly peopled by different colo- 
nbts of Greek origin, though not al- 
ways coming direct from any portion 
of Greece ; we shall see that the Mi- 
lesian stock from which the domi- 
nant Irish race has descended trace 
their remote ancestry through Gade- 
lus to the Scythians, through long 
wanderings and temporary settle- 
ments, on the islands and both the 
nortliem and southern shores of the 
Mediterranean, and making their lat- 
est home in Spain previous to their 
final settlement in Ireland. These 
Gadclians were called anciently by 
the Scythian name of Kifita-Scuit — 
Clan of Scytlna. 

Among the early progenitors of this 
race, while resident in the East, was 
F/u'/nus^ and hence they brought with 
them the Phoenician letters, eight of 
which had been added by Phenius to 
the sixteen invented by Cadmus. Of 
these Milesian invaden>, the two names 



which immediately rise into promi- 
nence are those of the brothers He* 
ber and Heremon, who, having over- 
come the Daninonii, divided the land 
between them, and something ap- 
proximating towards regular govern- 
ment was established. Even at this 
early period we find that those claim- 
ing to be royal or noble personages 
were attended by their poets and 
musicians; and these brothers came 
near having a fatal quarrel over the 
possession of a favorite poet and 
harpist, which was only healed by 
the suggestioh of a third brother, 
who held the office of high or arch- 
Druid, who persuaded them to draw 
lots for the purpose of deciding the 
question ; by this decision Heber was 
awarded the harpist, and Heremon 
the bard, though these professions 
were usually united in the same per- 
son. 

We might here obsen^e dial to 
the readers of current literatiire only, 
the name of Scotia usually suggests 
the idea of Scodand ; but for a long 
period in ancient history Ireland 
was known by the name of Scotia, 
derived from the clan Scuii^ referred 
to in a preceding paragraph, and at 
a later period that which is now mo- 
dern Scotland was known under the 
title of Scolui Minor. Inattention to 
this fact may easily lead to confusion 
of mind in reading the references oi 
ancient wTiters to these western is- 
lands. 

The [>osterity of these brothers, 
Hebcr and Heremon, direct or col- 
lateral, divided the sovereignty of 
Ireland for many ages prior to the 
Cliristian era, and subsequently with 
few interruptions until die successful 
incursioii."* of the Danes in the ninth 
and tentn centuries. After the ex- 
pulsion of the Danes at the com- 
mencement of the eleventh century, 
those fatal dissensions and jeaJousics 
as to the succession arose, which fin- 



686 Origin and Charactertsttcs 



ally led to the investiture of Henry 
IL of England with the pseudo-claim 
to the sovereignty of Ireland, which 
eveiUtially he was enabled to substan- 
tiate by force of amis. Since his lime 
rtherc has Ijeen, properly speaking, no 
llislor}^ oi Ireland. 
In giving this outline sketch of 
'the early Irish race, we have avoided 
every pretension based solely upon 
our own modern writers^ and have 
[recorded as facts only those events 
|whit:h have collateral, foreign, and 
disinterested authorities to support 
them ; and yet there is no substantial 
reason for distrusting the traditions 
of this people which may not be 
.applied to the early legends of eve- 
'ry other people whose nationality 
was founcied prior to the era of 
WTiircn documents, in determining 
the weight to be given to any narra- 
tion coming down to us from periods 
anterior to the use of letters, the wri- 
, ter should consider : first, whether 
[there is any innate imjirobability in 
I the thing narrated ; secondly, wheth- 
er the details are in accordance with 
the age of the world in which they 
are claimed to have occurred ; third- 
[ly, whether they are in accordance 
. with, or in opposition to, the natural 
' genius of the people to whom they 
are applied ; and lastly, whether they 
contradict any ascertained facts of 
history* Abiding by these rules, we 
need not err very greatly in our esd- 
mate of the many curious heroic and 
romantic incidents which we find 
plentifully sprinkled through the ear- 
ly annals of Erin. 

Our examination of the doubtful 
with authenticated history establishes 
at least the following eight charac- 
teristics appertaining to the Milesian 
race: 

Mrstf a genealogy which establish- 
es a remote antiquity. 
Second, a wadike spirit* 
Thirds great ancestral pride. 



Fourth^ the possession, at an K 
period, of great skill ia the useful \ 
ornamental arts. 

Fifth, substantial prospcnty in de* 
early ages. 

Sixths undoubted oiasical |9> 
nius. 

Srvtntk, a decided religiom 
dency. 

Eighth^ the 'exhibition ttnder d 
circumstances of an nncoiH|iienlit 
si>irit. 

First, as to the remote origiii d 
the race. It is obvious that ooljr a 
great antiquity could have invaHii' 
the question as to the arigiaal ^Mt- 
ment of the island in the 
which surrounds it. Wd^^ the 
ing of the descendants of 
(called by the Latins Milraof) n' 
Ireland occurretl after the tnvtj 

of letters, it is safe ta coodiide -_ 

much of the controversy which yd 
arisen as to the exact epoch of 
migration would have b€^en ^ 
the student of history, Thi 
long anterior, we must believe 
the fact that the \txy earliest aao^! 
ists were dependent upon the at*; 
tional legends, songs, and vcrhaf 
ditions of the peo[ilc for the 
tions they have left us. It u 
be remembered that the art < 
ing was practised long 
most learned men had 6^--* 
any certain system or stai 
chronology. It was not unuJ jw^iii 
cal relations grew up bctw<^!n cwi- 
tiguous nations that any gi 
recognized epochs could bcai.r^ 
to as tests of time. The Jt 
tens alone reckoned titnc l i 
creation of the world. Other 
selected other events^ n 
their Olympiads, the }; 
the founding of Uie cit}*, and !» 
ward the Julian period- TTie Oa^ 
tian era has been reckoned diflefOHtr 
by various writer? ; some daliQg toB 
the birth of Christ, some froa ikr 



Origin and Characteristics of the Milesian Race. 687 



mciation, and some from Eas- 
^n the very early writings 
Bthe ancients, the word ** gene- 
li" is often used as a measure 
roe, though of most uncertain 
:ation. Of thirty-four of the 
noted dironologists, each varies 
or less from every other; so 
the age of the world has been 
ated all the way from 3616 to 
B.C. Thus wc see that no one 
doubt the traditions of a peo- 
Dncerning their own origin sim- 
jtause the exact date of events 
Hbe absolutely fixed. 
Mdition to these considerations 
be added the many references 
e *Vmost western isle," under 
cut naraes^ by the antique writ- 
of south-eastern Europe, to 
of whom we shall have occa- 
to refer. If to Ireland is deni- 
le right to establish her genea- 
! by tradition^ why should the 
cat scholar yield his credence 
c enumeration of Homeric he- 
whose names were sung by the 
. through Hellene long before 
portion of the recital was com- 
Ato writing? 

petting argument by analogy 
, there was one indisputable fact 
I must settle the general truth- 
js of the antiquity of the Mile- 
race in Ireland. Under what 
own as the Brehon law, land 
held by the different chieftains 
their kin, including all of full 
I who could trace their descent 
Miledh. 

ancc it became the interest of 
' person thus allied to preserve 
scrupulous care the names of 
ancestors. The ricli and royal 
ieshad their stip ended bards who 
d their genealogies on public 
£stive occasions ; while the poor- 
asmen who could not afforcyo 
>y poets or musicians found 
»m occasion for simJlsj recitals 



among themselves at funerals and 
other eventful domestic occasions, or 
whenever their title to possessions was 
endangered by false claimants. They 
were equally sure with the highest 
in the land never to forget from whom 
they had descended. In addition 
to these safeguards, the owners of all 
lands, with their lineage, wxre record- 
ed by the Brehons in the archives of 
the nation, preserved by the monarch 
or t>rov incial kings. Nor could stran- 
gers or interlopers possibly invent 
claims, or thrust themselves on in- 
heritances, Ihus guarded, by the 
knowledge which each member of 
the tribe had of his own lineage. 
No other nation in Europe had so 
effectual a system as this for preserv- 
ing a knowledge of ancestry through 
every generation to the founder of 
the race. Nor could anything he 
gained by adding to the list ; a title 
would be as thoroughly vitiated by 
inteq>olating supernumerary ances- 
tors as by omissions. Thus, if we find 
a genealogy stretching away into ex- 
tremely remote periods, and men 
holding their lands under such claims, 
it is but reasonable to infer that fact, 
not fancy, supplied the names. In 
those hard-handed days, men might 
win land by superior strength, but 
not by myths. 

That the Milesian race have al- 
ways possessed a warlike sinrit, few 
will be h'kely to dispute. From the 
days when the Scotish-Gaels from 
Ireland passed over to Britain and 
Alba to assist the Picts and Britons 
in driving out the Roman legions, 
until the present period, when In every 
land, among die leading military 
chieftains, some of Milesian blood are 
sure to be found, Ireland has never 
been without its representative war- 
riors. A characteristic so patent as 
this needs no argument to sustain 
it. 

Nor will it be disputed that in* 



/n£^n and Oiaractertsm^ff^^^imm^Kaewl 



tense ancestral pride is one of the 
marked features of the race. Some 
conclernn this trait of character with- 
out reserve; nor can it be denied 
that it is liable to great abuse if it 
makes one intolerant or supercilious 
toward others ; but it lias its compeii* 
sating uses if it leads the bearer of a 
noble nanie to emulate the virtues 
of his ancestors. Blood tells in man 
as well as in animals of the lower 
creation, and, rightly appreciated^ no 
fact is more stimulating to virtue than 
to be able to trace one's blood to 
that which flowed in the veins of 
saints or heroes. 

That the Irish race early possess- 
ed considerable skill in the useful and 
ornamental arts is proved not only 
by fretjuent reference in the early an- 
nals to the use of superior weapons 
of war, ornaments, musical instru- 
ments, silken banners and vestures, 
chariots, and architectural structures, 
but by the actual discover)- of sixrci- 
mens of curious workmanship which 
have been either accidently brought 
to light or discovered by the syste- 
matic investigations of active mem- 
bers of the Dublin Archneologi- 
cal Society and other zealous anti- 
quarians. In the way of document- 
ary evidence of the profusion of per- 
sonal wealth held by one of the early 
kings, Cathoir Mos, who was slain 
in battle in 125 a.d. by the famous 
Con of the Hundred Battles, we 
subjoin his will as published in the 
Baok of Rights y which contains many 
of the ancient laws of Erienn, and 
gives a circumstantial account of the 
*' rights, revenues, and tributes" of 
the nionarchs and the provincial 
kings and princes. It has been trans- 
lated into modem English by 0*Fla- 
herty, a well-known Gaelic linguist, 
and others : 

»• I, Cathoir, monarch of all Ireland, do 
hereby publish my will, to which, in tcstj* 
raony of its genuineness* 1 subscribe my 



will en wc »upcq 

rei|rn 10 the ctuI il 
> hequcat -j 

enr^ of t( 



I 



name and affix my ^ 

known then to all 1: 

chieftains of this our kjn. 

our death, we order that 

possessions, effects, and ^^ 

distributed in the follQwin;^. u q 

bequeath to our beloved &011 k «| 

ihe kingdom of Lcinster ; and, - ^ 

token of our affection, we piv 

ten golden shields, ten swords with gd 

den hilts, ten golden cups, ^nd our %\\ 

iiiix^ wishes that be may preserve tl 

gtory of our name, and bt* t»^- '--'^r o^ 

numerous and warlike p gdi 

crn Tara, To our second • . , , I . ,. c 8i 

rach, wc leave the territory ot Tyatli Lju^ 

ean [the present county of DitbtHi « 

part of Wicklow], over which wc bof^ 

and his posterity will rei|rtt to %\\ 

lime ; with this we also 

hundred and fifty spe. 

fabric and richest < fl 

shields of curious \ i 

golden ornainents. fifty of Ui« 

and richest swords that can b 

the armory, fifty rings of ti 

one hundred and fifty em I 

lies, and seven tniHtary si 

staffs are pure silver. 1< 

IJteas*iel, \ leave seven ) 

cHjuipped ships, fifty shic! 

with golden baskets and 

and five war chariots wit 

silver-mounted harness', 

likewise desire hira to hav 

the banks of the river An 

him be informed that it 

wish that he keep the Bcl^,.. , 

under proper rcslrnint, as ihey are 

posed to be rcf^actor>^ To 

son, Cetach, and our fifth son, I 

can, we leave possessions uln 

ficient to sustain their pi 

As our sixth son ncvci 

martial spirit or a p" 

ly would be thrown a^^ 

we therefore only bociueot ! 

gammon table; for the n 

gaming arc (he alms that are > 

a man whose spirit falls so !oi» J 

tion. Our seventh son, Aongu&» is i.> l^eittrj 

ly endowed by his broiheTSv To FfWrtt«4IW 

Timhin, our eighth sun, we s > 

nothing but our blcsMnic, for U' 

man, who was so silly ;i5 t 

tract of land, claimed as a 

he made In his sleep. T 

Criom Than, have fin 

brass maces to play wnw 

mon tables of curious woi 



4 



Origin and Characteristics of ike Milesian Race. 



two chess boards. To our icnth son, Fi- 
jaeha Baiceadh, we leave the territory of 
Imbber Slaingc [Wexford] as an afTec- 
tionsite token of our approbation of bis 
manly spirit and fearless courage. As 
we admire our nephew Tualhal for his 
exalted qu.^Hiies, we bcquciith him ten 
chariots with war-horses richly furnished, 
five pair of backgammon tables, five 
chessboards with golden men^ thirty 
shields embossed wiib gold, fifty swords 
of the roost elegant fabric and polish. 
To Mogh Chocb, our chief-general ^ we 
leave one hundred bltick and white cows 
with their calves, coupled two and two, 
connected with brass yokes ; one hundred 
shields, one hundred steel javelins color- 
ed red, one hundred burnished battlc- 
astes, fifty yellow mantles of the finest 
silk, one hundred w^ar-steeds, one hun- 
dred gold clasps, one hundred silver 
goblets, one hundred large vats of yew» 
MXf braren irumpcts. fifty chariots and 
horses, and fifty brass caldrons, with 
the privilege of being a privy counsellor 
of the king of Lcinsicr. And, finally, we 
leave our kinsman the Prince of Leix one 
hundred cows, one hundred shields, one 
hundred sw^ords, one hundred spears, and 
seven ensigns, emblazoned with the royal 
arms of Ireland." 

The large vats of yew referred to 
in the above were doubtless used for 
the purpose of dyeing — an art which 
had attained great perfection in Ire- 
land even before the Christian era. 
The frequent reference to chess and 
backgammon boards in Irish history 
is one of those minor links which go 
to prove an Indo- Greek ancestry ^ as 
chess is conceded to be of oriental 
invention, though some writers ascribe 
the modified game as we know it to 
the Greek Diomedes; while Pala- 
medes, also a Greek, is admitted to 
be the inventor of backgammon. 
That the art of preparing sword- 
blades of superior finish and indes- 
tmctible by dampness was known to 
the early Irish has been proved by 
specimens which have been unearth* 
ed in excellent condition after hav- 
ing lain concealed for ages. 

But not to dwell too long on the 
VOL. XU, — 44 



constructive capacities of the Mile- 
sian race, w^e shall briefly refer to 
the architectural features most noted 
by historians and traveller. We 
have found very few persons who 
could give or appeared to possess 
any intelligent idea of what " Tara's 
Halls*' consisted ; they could possibly 
sing about the haqj that once resound- 
ed there, but where the place was 
located, of what it was constructed, 
or when built, but the vaguest ideas 
appear to prevail. We shall therefore 
state as succinctly as possible the his- 
tory and fate of this remarkable build- 
ing- 

Tara, originally used as a kingly 
residence, was built by Heremon, 
and named after his queen Tea (ac- 
cording to some accounts about 1300 
B.C.). It was situated on a high hilt, 
in what is now^ the county of Meath, 
The English writer Nicholson says : 
** It w^as an immense pile of wood, the 
workmanship of which, and the archi- 
tectural grandeur, displayed the high- 
est taste of Grecian art." Another 
writer, Compton, says : *' In the early 
ages, Britain had to resort to Irelant/ 
for artists and materials for building 
The massy colonnades that adorned 
the porticoes of Tara's royal palace 
were composed of Irish oak» and so 
erabellished by carving and gilding 
as to look more magnificent than the 
most finished peristyles of Grecian 
sculpture." Ward confirms the above 
description by adding: **The Mile- 
sian buildings (not alone the palace 
of Tara), though composed of wood, 
were more elegant, more sumptuous, 
extensive, and beautiful to the eye 
than those erected of stone, on ac- 
count of the various engravings in 
relievo, paintings, and the fine volutes 
that adorned the columns, sculptured 
from ponderous trees of oak. On 
this account, the workmen and artists 
of Ireland have been often induced 
to abandon their own country and 



6go Ongin and Characteristics af the MiUsian Mace. 



repair to Britain^ where they raised 
many heathen temples before the in- 
troduction of Christianity." 

Though originally built of wood, 
the hislorian Warner narrates that 
King Corniac, who reigned in Ire- 
land about 254 A,D*, rebuilt the pal- 
ace of Tara of marble, on an enlarged 
scale of grandeur. This latter build- 
ing was five hundred feet in length 
and ninety-five in bread th» and sixty 
feet in height* It w^as adorned with 
thirty porticoes. In the centre of the 
hall of state hung a lantern of pro- 
digious size, studded with three 
hundred lamps; the lodging apart- 
ments were furnished with a hundred 
and fifty beds; and the hospitable 
tables were always spread with deli- 
cious fare for fifteen hundred guests, 
who daily partook of the royal ban- 
quet. There were also three side* 
boards co%'ered with golden and sil- 
ver goblets, vxod ll^e king was waited 
uponj at table, by a hundred and fifty 
of the most distinguished champions 
in the kingdom. ITie household 
troops, who were on constant duty, 
consisted of ten hundred and fifty of 
the flower of the Irish army. 

The remains of this magnificent 
structure were extant in the time of 
tJie chronicler Holinshedi who wrote 
in 1577; but its use was more noble 
than its proportions, for here was held, 
in the great hall of state, triennial 
conventions of all the princes and 
representatives of the estates of Erin, 
with the Brehons and bards, the first 
of whom recorded and carefulhy re- 
vised the laws of the kingdom, kept 
the royal pedigrees, and chronicled 
important events, while the latter 
^sang and recited the heroic deeds or 
chivalric stories with which die spirit 
of those ages was laden. 

While speaking of the early archi- 
tecture of the Milesian race, we can- 
not avoid a single reference to those 
mysterious round-towers which have 



for so many ages exerdscd the 
lations of the learned. Pepper, in 
\\\^ History 0/ Jrtiand, thinks he bat 
settled the question of theiJ' twe bv 
the name by which they are called tX 
the present time in tlie Irish language 
(hg'Uagh^ or bcU-house; also, froo 
the fact that they are fotuul 
churches, he infers that they 
simply bell-towers erected for llie 
purpose of calling woniliippcii to- 
gether; but neither of these argo* 
ments appears to us conclastvc, for, as 
the architects q{ most of the chunJics 
near which they stand are known* it 
the towers had been erected at the 
same time, or later, tliere could ha« 
been no difficulty in . 
their origin. Our ow*n 
that they were erected u: it 

watch-towers for the purp^-^^ 
serving the movements of 1 
by land or sea; quite possil 
serving as beacon -bearers, t 
friends or rally kinsmen for pur|K»& 
of defence. In a country sul>lc'r: t: 
so many divisions within and 
from without, what could \k «--* 
natural Uian the enection of sudi ^ 
servatories, which, like the Pharos irf 
Alexandria, might warn mid «^« 
from physical injury ? — ilir 
days they wiyre applied h 
purposes, and, h iih consecratt 
cautioned the new converts m^..,^- 
their spiritual enemies^ and invitat 
them to the protection of the trai 
God. Hence they acquired tiic mas 
they now possess. The fact of tllQi 
proximit/' to churches is rcadilf Ot- 
plained by the known practice cif t^ 
earliest preachers of Chiistianity a 
Ireland, who always availed tlicn>- 
selves of the sacred sites akeady e- 
tablished among the people ; and thoi 
there is every reason 10 bdie^x tto 
the churches were built by the adc 
of the towers, not the toners by difi 
churches. That they were eitdfiki 
long before the introduction of Chftt- 



Characteristics 



tianity the weight of evidence clearly 
indicates. 

In naval architecturei also, the an- 
cient Irish were far in advance of 
their British neighbors. This we have 
on the word of English govt^rnmcnt 
officers, who certainly would not 
willingly admit the fact unless it was 
incontTovertible, In Dandel's In- 
quiry into the Rhe avd Protin'ss of the 
Btitish NiW\\ it is plainly stated 
that the Irish possessed numbers of 
vessels before the British had even 
thought of constructing any^ and 
that the latter w^ere indebted to Irish 
models and Irish artisans for their 
first ships. The same facts arc ad- 
mitted in the Ordnance Sitn^ey, pub- 
lished by order of the British govern- 
raent a few years since. Nor is this 
at alt incredible when we consider 
the stock from which the Milesians 
sprang — a stock which had peopled 
the shores of all Southern Europe 
and Northern Africa with maritime 
cities. And if it is asked here how 
such advantages came to be wrested 
fit>m them by a people whose civili- 
zation came later in the world^s his- 
torVt we have only to answer that it 
primarily arose from lack of unity 
among the Milesian chiefs. The 
same kind of internal dissensions 
w^hich made old Greece an easy prey 
to Rome effected the ruin of the 
Milesian nation. 

In addition to the mechanical and 
artistic skill which the people of 
pagan Ireland possessed, it is evi- 
dent that for many ages the people 
were blessed with a high degree of 
material prosperity. That they were 
absolutely exempt from anything like 
a scarcity of provisions or seasons of 
famine, appears certain from the fre- 
quent reference to large herds of 
cattle, swine, sheep, and corn, while, 
so far as we have been able to ascer- 
tain, no mention is made of any 
period of scarcity. If official evi- 



dence be required for this opinion, 
we have it at hand in the bi-annual 
Leinster tax which the Irish monarch 
Tualhal imposed upon the king of 
Leinster in the year 137 a,d., and 
which consisted of '* 3,000 fat oxen, 
3,000 ounces of pure silver, 3,000 
silk mantles richly embroidered, 3,000 
fat hogs, 3,00a prime wethers, and 
3,000 copper caldrons,** and this was 
actually exacted for hundreds of 
years, and, though often resisted as 
unjust, its payment was successfully 
enforced by Brian Boroihme as late 
as the tenth century. When we con- 
sider that there w^ere no large cities 
at this time, and that nearly the 
whole pro\'ince was an agricultural 
district, and that from the fact of so 
large a proportion of the male popu- 
lation being constantly under arms 
but little time was left them, and pro- 
bably little inch nation, for the cultiva- 
tion of the soil, a revenue of such a 
description shows clearly that Lein- 
ster must have been not only a most 
splendid grazing country, but that 
she was also possessed of a class of 
industrious artisans and a working 
population of means far superior to 
what we find in the mass of the po- 
pulation at the present day. And 
Leinster w^as no richer in resources 
than the other provinces, 

That the Irish have always been 
a musical people we have the testi- 
mony of the writers of all ages to 
prove, Diodorus Siculus, who wrote 
before the Christian era, thus de- 
scribes the Irish of that age. He says, 
" Erin is a large island, little less 
than Sicily, lying opposite the Celt^, 
and inhabited by the Hyperboreans. 
The country is fruitful and pleasant, 
dedicated to Apollo, and most of the 
people priests or songsters. In it is 
a large grove, and in this a temple 
of a round form, to which the priests 
often resort with their harps to chant 
the praises of their god Apollo." This 



* 



(m)2 Origin and Characieristics cf tke iliUsiAm Race. 



4Kttli^i'^l view of the anotnt Greek 
U\%VnyAU \% out of thoM; ifiddental 
\frt^ji% of the ori^^in of the Miicuan 
r:u><: will' h we Vi (rcqucnily encx/un- 
tei tti tlic JfK.ieiit wrilings ; for what 
t ouM Mi^(/;rht the i'leii of the worship 
of A|;ollo heing dornkiled in Erin 
it iUr \iitf\fU: there were strangers to 
the mythology of (irecce? Ward, 
111 hi?i i)i\niur%e on //istory^m^Vts the 
KMiiiirk th.'it " no nation can be found 
111 any pait (if tlie world more skilled 
III iiiiiMi than were the ancient Irish/' 
mm\ ( 'atiilircnsiM, in whom the Irish 
irituinly had no friend, is forced to 
adinil that ** of all nations witliin 
our knowledge, Ireland is beyond 
( oinpaiison the chief in musical com- 
|M>htlion/' 

(•uMt rare was taken in the culti- 
vMtiitn of the art of military music. 
( i#/if.M.i, or n\asters, were employed 
to trai h it to the warriors, as by its 
help ( mirage was aroused, and mili- 
\i\\\ niOMMucnls eontrolled. In the 
Ni\lh riM\tui V, the IJritons and Welsh 
weio in tho habit oi repairing to the 
" jjivMl M hvH»l oi the West," as the 
»\»lUt;o of AruKigh was ealleil, to 
A\\\\\ muMc under the Irish teachers; 
,okI w e haN o it on the authority of Mag- 
no.Mi> ilMt ihoix* wcr^* at one time no 
lovx ihau >o\i'n ihousanvi matriculat- 
oxl NtvivioiUN u\ the uni\er>iitv of Ar- 
magh. It i> among the tnuiicions of 
iho MiU'Niau taco that their prv'>geni- 
tvMx at a remote iH*riv\l teru-fX^rjiruy 
;evxU\l m Igxpc. a::vl i: :s a ^:ni:ng 
.*:hi v;utv*;:x vv;;*.v iviouv^e that \*e tir.d 
,Se\i:'j^ •"v*:u:v*:xvl asv'^r.eof ;he eoxlv 
i i ' u w .i '. : • ■: X : : v. : v. c i* :^ o: :h ?r F g> r :: Jir^s. 
l^uvv. i.v gre.i: :rA\e!!cr. v:«cr.l>« 
t p,t;^:. -g ^"^\\ >e >.i^*. >e:orgutg 
,0 i.v .igv s*» S.'^s^:'x ^>>:>, clcseiy 
•. V!<' i: VI v.xl : ' V * . ■ ^.vlcrt: I •: >>. : :::>cru - 
lUvs * : V vv . v ; w: ^*f * g-ji ^ ■ * g x ;.: s 
LA g->^ e- ^ ■ K ,->;. * : > .e .trrr cM >• crit 
^Hl b- g> V'C * ' : '^"^ ' ;• :• g > Ji^\x/ri^ ;& 
jitJ ^'*:«.\ ;. J ";;c% -•*.*.. Vf /n Lie -V«*^ 



aacSextt Irish one. mhich tallies si 
pr.rL't-y m::i Brace's descriptv 
aiid KuseliiTi/s drawing. It is th 
ceschbed : - It had in a row fon 
five strings, and an additional sev 
in the centre, as unisons. Its fm 
was not unlike that of the modt 
instrument, but the pillar is cur\' 
outward, and in point of workma 
ship the whole is remarkable, be 
for the elegance of its crowded orr 
ments and for the general executi 
of those parts on which the corro 
ness of a musical instrument depenc 
its height is three feet and ten inchi 
and the longest string six inches les! 
There were two kind of harps 
common use — the one adapted tor 
litary music, called clairsrch^ and t 
other to domestic and pathetic straii 
called emit At funerals, after i 
|)edigree of the deceased had be 
recited, and eulogy pronounced, 
chorus of harps followed in dir| 
like, wailing tones. Froissard, 
s]>eaking of the Knights of the Gold 
Collar, and also of the prince w 
was to succeed to the throne of Ii 
hmd, says they were always obhg 
to comj>ose a song in prai:»e of th( 
predev essor, and sing it with the ha 
accomiunimer.t. before they coi 
l\? invested * ::h the kindly cr knigl 
ly dignity. Everjihin^ :a the his: 
ry a:ui ciiKoras cc th^ pec fie tea 
to illusrrdie :he rosjessioc ct" i ga 
ine iau<;v:jl ti>ce. w>_ch i^es ex c 

rarcvi. 

r>.c :vL:i-A:>^ :inoe::c:<s rc'±ei 
I^.jT-s w^r:i ^ --'-iricrirrscc ci : 
nee :- ::s j::uj:cv i> t.itfv arij jC-^ 
The rr:c::^r ,-: Hijcr icc H^ 

L"e r-::g"c*": :>:ev "rivjua^j: :^e Jl5 
*i> iI'*^-'> 2e.c ii :.:v: r^jv:!*. -^nTwI 

-:e :-,■ :^'.'u> 3<;:^;::v:i::. ^uu^a 



Milesian nature that Patricius and 
the earlier preachers of Christianity in 
the island were enabled to make such 
numerous and rapid converts in every 
district. During the national conven- 
tions at Tara, the Druidical priests 
were always present, and besice it was 
that St. Patrick sought that special 
time and place where the most leanied 
pagan priests were assembled, to dis- 
pute and reason with them on the 
new and blessed truths which he 
brought. As long as the old religion 
was the best they knew, the Irish 
people observed its rites with fidelity 
and zeal; but when the better way 
was shown to them^ they gladly aban- 
doned their heathen rites and adopt- 
ed the faith of the Gospel with alacri- 
ty and joy. Wherever you find a 
true Milesian, you find a man reli- 
gious at heart, however his outward 
nature has become encrusted with 
follies, vices, or even crimes. 

The last characteristic of the Irish 
people which we shall notice is their 
unconquerable spirit. Superior force 
may overcome physical strength, as 
the Saxon invaders overcame a di- 
vided and distracted country, but the 
true Milesian spirit has never been 
and never will be subjugated. Ages 
of oppression have rolled on, and the 
foreign tax gatherer and middle-man 
have consumed the substance of the 
people, but faith in right and justice 
still inheres in the old blood ; and no 
lapse of time can make that right, in the 
eyes of this peculiar, all-remembering 
people, which commenced in wrong. 
No matter through how many hands 
the tille-deeds have passed, even the 
peasants whose ancestry were owmers 
of the soil still believe that their claim 
is good to the ancestral acres. Cast 
down» but not destroyed, it is aston- 
ishing what elasticity of spirit still 
inheres in these western descendants 
of Milesius and Phenius. Assimilat- 
ing easily with other peoples in all 



foreign countries, on their own soil 
they stand aloof from the conqueror, 
anfi unless time can roll backwards, 
and the stream from whence this race 
has flowed become as if it had never 
been, the Irish race can never forget 
the glories of a past, when they stood 
at the head of science, art, and reb- 
gious faith in the west of Europe. 

Aside from the pure Milesian race 
of which we have spoken, modern 
Ireland presents at the present day a 
conglomerate composed of the de- 
scendants of the Anglo-Norman, with 
some slight traces of the Danish set- 
tlers and modern English colonizers 
who have, since the days of Crom- 
well, occupied much of the northern 
territory of the ancient kingdom. 
But what we wish to call particular 
attention to is the wide and essen- 
tially different composition of the 
present Irish and English races — a 
difference which to a great extent ex- 
plains the antagonism existing be- 
tween them (aggravated as it has been 
by ages of oppression), and which, as a 
psychological development, points to 
the improbability of ever establishing 
harmonious relations between them* 
The ancient Briton has absorbed and 
assimilated without difficulty the Ro* 
man, Scandinavian, Danish, Saxon, 
and Norman elements, with the Saxon 
greatly predominating in the mixture. 
But they have neither the Greek ele- 
ment, nor (except in a slight degree) 
anything of the Gaelic, The Irish, on 
the contrary, are substantially Greek, 
with no touch of the Roman or the 
Saxon, and but a slight infusion of 
the Anglo-Norman and Danish. The 
races are as diflferent as it is possible 
to find between the same degrees of 
latitude on any portion of the globe, 
and with some this fact would be a 
strong argument in favor of an inde- 
pendent government for Ireland j for 
races so diiferendy constituted cannot 
understand each other, though they 



694 



Nature and God. 



may use the same language for ages. 
Hence, in contemplating the future 
of Ireland, we are not surprised that 
many can see but two pictures — 
either an independent nationaUty, 
having its own representatives for 
the transaction of national business 
and the conservation of national in- 
terests, or else an entire depopula- 



tion and migration ot the Milesi 
race, leaving its broad acres a 
green fields in undisturbed poss 
sion of colonists of an alien ra 
while the elements which we ha 
been considering are daily mingi 
more and more freely through i 
length and breadth of this recepti 
all-embracing Republic of the We 



PER DOMINUM NOSTRUM JESUM CHRISTUM. 

Tremendous words ! Epitome of prayer — 
Flooding the soul with undeserved grace, 

As though we wore the Master's robe — and dared 
To gaze upon his Father face to face. 

Each colltjct that the vested priest intones 
Runs, like a river, to that same vast sea : 

" Father ! we have no merits of our oi^ti, 
But through thy Son we beg all things of thee.'* 

Saddened by sin, by holy awe deterred, 

We kneel far off, and search our shrinking hearts, 

Till from the altar float those charmed words, 
And hope grows strong and ever^' doubt departs. 

Glad music from our grateful tongue resounds. 
Sweet tears bedew our dry and burning eyes ; 

Ladder of light ! we grasp thy gleaming roondSy 
And by thee mount securely to the skies ! 



NATURE AND GOD. 



•' Has the Almighty anything to do 
with the workings of the universe? 
H,is God anything to do with na- 
ture ?" 

AVith plain people like oarsdves 
this a'/po.irs a simple question, and 
meets a rcaiy answer in arnnaation 
o: *.!ivine prv^vidence. But the 
••learned," it seems, wfil not hi¥« 



it so. They must leamcdlr inTCS 
gate the matter with cxucToIc. mia 
scope, and prism, and then, as like 
as no:, will do their best to ciph 
out an answer in ti\-or of the vofk 
inicj^r.der.ce. 

In t".ic:. this quesdoa naav well I 
c:>r.>i':ere.: the diverging j>xat of J 
tho philosopa.cal systems tiut hai 



ever existctl. Let the schoolmen dis- 
pute as they may about the origin of 
ideas, ft is certain that the occasion 
and starting-point of thought are the 
facts of consciousness arising from 
the influence o( surrounding objects. 
The {jhysical universe offers itself at 
once to the reflecting mind as a prob- 
lem for solution, and the conclusions 
arrived at as to its nature will almost 
necessarily determine the theory as to 
its origin and its end. If h is found 
mcapable of containing within itself 
the adequate cause of its own work- 
ings, the mind is necessarily led to 
the belief in a creator and a provi- 
dence; but if, on the contrary, it is 
held to be quite sufficient for itself, 
then providence becomes unneces- 
sary, and from the denial of provi- 
dence it is only a step to the denial 
of God. 

That the system held concerning 
the nature of tlie material world has, 
in factj always had this determining 
influence on the philosophical doc- 
trine of the deity, and the necessary 
truths flowing from it, is made evi- 
dent by the most cursory examina- 
tion of the many -fashioned systems 
of atheists dualists, and pantheists, 
ancient and modern. Any one might, 
therefore, be prepared fur the asser- 
tion made by Prof Tyndalh in an 
address delivered before the ** British 
Association for the Advancement of 
Science," that the progress of physi- 
cal science "is destined to produce 
vast alterations in the popular con- 
ccptfon of the origin, rule, and gov- 
ernance of things." But one could 
hardly have supposed that the said 
British Association had already ad- 
vanced so far on the road towards 
atheism that the learned professor, 
after having dived as deep as he could 
into the intrinsical nature of molecu- 
lar force and the laws of the universe, 
could with impunity hold before it the 
following language : '' If you ask the 



materialist whence is this * matter' of 
which we have been tljscoursing, who 
or what divided it into molecules, 
who or what impressed on them this 
necessity of running into organic 
forms, he has no answer. Science 
also is mate in reply to these ques- 
tions. But if the materialist is con- 
founded and science rendered dumb^ 
who else is entitled to answer? To 
whom has the secret been revealed ? 
Let us lower our heads and acknow- 
ledge our ignorance, one and all.*' 
Thus the learned professor openly 
declares that he has no way of know- 
ing, for certain, whether there is any 
such thing as a creator or a provi- 
dence. H e ack n o \vl ed ges li i m sel f i n 
doubt whether he ought not to be- 
come a disciple of Democritus and 
Epicurus ; nay, he evidently intimates 
that he is a good deal more than half- 
convinced that the old atheistical 
sophists were about right. And the 
" British Association for the Advance- 
ment of Science *" sits quietly by and 
listens ! 

Were experimentalists to confine 
themselves to the legitimate sphere 
and logical results of their explorations, 
the world at large might well applaud 
their industry, and gratefully receive 
from their hands each new, interest- 
ing, or useful addition to the sum of 
physical science. But when they pre- 
tend to discover in the siipposetl 
analysis of the attraction and repul- 
sion of a molecule of matter' that 
there is no providence, and probably 
no God, then it is high time for the 
lovers of truth to utter an indignant 
protest, in the name of human reason 
and real science. 

Diogenes, we are told, used to go 
about at mid-day with a lantern to 
give him light, that he might *'find a 
man.*' How like to his is the strango 
folly of the materialist, who sets aside 
the human reason, that alone can 
grapple with the principles of things, 



^ 



696 



Nature and God. 



and tries to read them by the tiny 
ray of his prism or the fitful glare of 
his blow-pipe, giving, as one of the 
results of his probing, Prof. TyndalFs 
learned and complimentary assertion, 
that the president and members of 
the British Association are lineal de- 
scendants of the iguanodon and the 
other slimy monsters that crawled in 
the mud of the preadamic world! 
Reason turns with a smile of pitying 
ridicule from the metempsychosis of 
the ancients, and common sense 
laughs at the idea of the soul of a 
Pythagorean dragging out its weary 
term in a wallowing hog or a crawl- 
ing lizard ; but Prof. Tyndall and his 
associates go lower still than this. 
The Pythagorean would look upon 
the soul in this sad plight as a noble 
prisoner, degraded, indeed, from its 
proper estate, yet essentially superior 
in being and faculties to the vile 
brute in which it was condemned to 
sojourn. Prof. Tyndall, on the con- 
trary, would consider that the soul 
(for he expressly admits the existence 
of such a thing) was only returning 
home — resuming its former and natu- 
ral level. Man, he considers, is such 
only by development ; he was once a 
hog. a lizard— nay, lower than either 
in the scale of animal Ix^ings, and has 
risen only by the development of 
molecuLir force. But development 
does not change essences or give 
fac uhies: it only expands them. 
Hence, were we to imagine Prv"^:". 
Tvndall condemned to the mciem- 



ps\chosis above aliudcvl to, >^ 



e wouivi 



them. From the erring speculations 
of too presumptuous chemica] analysis 
we appeal to the certain principles of 
reason. Its teachings as to the ori- 
gin and nature of the physical uni- 
verse may be summed up into four 
leading truths. 

The first of these truths is that the 
existence of the universe is the effect 
of God*s creative power. 

Something exists now — we know 
it; therefore, something has beea 
from eternity, else there would be no 
reason or cause for what exists now. 
What exists from eternity must have 
in itself the reason of its own exist- 
ence; it exists necessarily; its es- 
sence is being. That which exists 
necessarily and whose essence is b^ 
ing, can have in it neither contin- 
gency nor limit; it is immutable and 
infinite. But the universe around as 
changes^ and is limited ; of this vt 
have constant experience- There- 
fore, it is not the infinite, immutable. 
necessar)-, eternal being. Not being 
a necessary and essentially existing 
being, it has not in itself the reason 
of its own existence; hence it mus: 
have it in some other, and that other 
is the eternal and necessarily »*i^ is??y^£ 
being, which, as it is the sole reasoQ 
of its own existence, must also be the 
sole cause of all else that existsw 
Now, to say that the eternally exist- 
ing being is the sole c::;ise of the ex- 
istence of the universe, and to saj 
that the existence of ihe uaivosc » 
the effect oi Ctz^^t^i^ creative jx>wer, is 
one ar.d the sinie ihing. This y;. in 



Ih? loiiic.ilh bound ly his own rrinci- 
p'es to h.;:! the jxTcine grj:::cr as a 


brief, the c.-^urse of arcjmeni b\ 
which re:ucr. icz::n5cr-:es creatio-. 


Irv^thor s;ir;t: r..:y. rather. :o em- 
Vraoo the r/uhy brjte wi:h al'. the 
•"inlvtionate ro\ercnce due :o :\a:er- 


and cre-iiv-^n i> the :r;.v L^^ricaJ sran- 
ir.^ -:•: .r.: :\^r the s:^—^ of the prol- 
ler?. cfihe ur.:\e:se- 


r.ir^. 


rr.e 5^.:r.I iruth isw iha: the con- 


Those :r.,i:cr;.-.':<::c Cs^r.v-'u>::n< are 


:.r.u«r.cc of -Jvi wr/.vc-rse in existence 


j'les :Vv?:v. ^»h.vh ihcy h.^ve beer. i:e- 


:> the irlv: ^f G-c*c*s jTcserriaj: 

pr»er. 


daccd ar.v; the w»v th^Lt his lei :o 


T:.ix "» ::i J-, ss the cause of a diinrs 



existence must also be the c;iuse of 
its preservation or subsistence, because 
its presei^'ation or subsistence is no- 
thing but its existence continued; 
therefore, the Creator, who is the sole 
cause of the \vorld*s existence^ is also 
the sole cause of the world's continu- 
ance in existence. Moreover, that 
which, by its very essence, has 
not in itself the reason of its own 
existence, cannot, at any single tno- 
ment of its existence, Jiave that 
reason in itself, but aUays in its 
cause » so that every successive in- 
stant of its duration is as much ow- 
ing to the efticacy of that cause as 
the fir^t moment was. As, when a 
lamp is lighted in a dark room, the 
illumination of the room is caused by 
the action of the lamp, and so entire- 
ly depends upon it at every moment 
that it ceases entirely as soon as the 
lamp is removed or extinguished, so 
the existence of the creature, being 
caused solely by the action of the 
Creator, depends so entirely on that 
action that its cessation would be 
the creature's annihilation. Thus, 
God's creative act endures unceas- 
ingly, preserving the existence to 
which it has given being, and which, 
without that unintermitting support, 
would necessarily lapse into the no- 
thingness from which that act has 
evoked it. 

The third truth is, ihat every ex- 
ertion of power by any created being 
necessarily requires and depends up- 
on God's helping power. 

This truth is so expressed as to 
stand clear of all systems with regard 
to the nature and extent of this divine 
concurrence with created acts. Tho- 
mists and Molinists, Malebranchians 
and Leibnitzians, will probably never 
agree as to how far its action is re- 
quired — whether only as a co-opera- 
tor, or as the sole etficient cause of 
the creature's act; but they all agree 
in that which is the only thing we 



need to prove here, that this concur- 
rence of God's helping power, what- 
ever may be its nature and extent, is 
absolutely necessary, so that, without 
it, any action of created force would 
be impossible. This third truth flows 
immediately and necessarily from 
the preceding one. Whether the fa- 
culty of action is or is not an essen- 
tial constituent of every substance, it 
is certain that its existence has come 
only from God's creative power, and 
at every instant depends for its con- 
tinuance on God's preserving power. 
It is thus totally dependent, not only 
in its moments of rest or inertness, 
if such there be, but also, and still 
more» in its actual develupment or 
exertion. Were that supporting pow- 
er to remove its influence in the 
midst of the creature's act, the act 
and the power of exerting it would 
cease instantly. I'he acting sub- 
stance is like an atom of being, float- 
ing on the broad ocean of divine 
power. Permeated and vitalized by 
the supporting element, its energies 
are ready and strong for their work ; 
but let the invigorating element pass 
from under and around it, and in- 
stantly it Hesparahzcd and inert — just 
as the human body, when the vital 
principle has taken flight, though 
as admirably organized as ever, and 
as fit to put forth muscular force un- 
der the influence of the energizing 
soul, stifl lies helpless and ready for 
dissolution, because the soul is gone. 
Thus the helping power of God is 
the vital principle of every- created 
energy and the co- producer of every 
created act, so that of all the countless 
myriads of exertions of force that are 
at this moment taking place, or that 
ever have taken place, or ever shall 
take place, in all the countless myri- 
ads of molecules that make up the 
mighty universe, there is not one that 
does not, immediately or mediately, 
depend tor its existence on the help- 



698 



Nature and God. 



ing power of the God who gave the 
universe its being, and keeps it in it. 

The fourth truth is, that the or- 
derly distribution of created forces, 
which constitutes the harmonious 
variety of the universe, and which 
we term " the laws of nature,*' has 
been formed solely by the will of the 
Creator, and subsists only in virtue 
of his directing ix)wer. 

Th« life of the physical universe is 
a tremendous wonder. Its essence 
is, as that of all created life must be, 
succession — and succession is change, 
a series of beginnings and endings, 
of generation and decay. These 
changes are owing to the action of 
the forces treated of above, all tend- 
ing towards the two great results, 
combination and dissolution, but ex- 
erting themselves with an endless va- 
riety, both of purj^ose and of encrg)% 
from the awful power that whirls the 
spheres or writhes in the convulsions 
of the volcano and the earthquake, 
to the delicate touch that weaves the 
petals of the rosebud or mingles the 
decaying violet with its parent soil. 
This variety of action indicates and 
springs from a variety of faculties or 
powers, and these faculties reside in 
the ultimate, indivisible components 
or elements of matter. Now, that 
these elements should act or not act, 
that they should act in this way or in 
that, is evidently not a matter of their 
own choosing. The mysterious me- 
chanism and admirable variety of 
their ca[)abilities is not their own 
work. They are just what their 
Creator makes them and have just 
what their Creator gives them, and 
their capabilities are simply means 
which he has established for ends 
of his own appointment. Fashioned 
by his hand, obedient to his direc- 
tion, and, as we have seen above, 
helped by his universal and unceas- 
ing co-operation, these countless 
hosts of tiny laborers spring to their 



appointed work; and, lo! the uni- 
verse is moulded into being in all its 
grandeur of proportions and beauty 
of detail, proclaiming with its ten 
thousand tongues the wisdom of the 
mind that planned it 

Wondrous indeed is the designing 
of the tremendous machinery', but, if 
possible, still more wondrous is its 
working, day after day and age after 
age. That which most of all renders 
it wonderful is the astonishing plia- 
bility of the elements, the adapubi- 
lity which makes them at home in 
any conceivable condition, and ready 
to take part in any conceivable kind 
of operation. The beings that make 
up the material universe arc variously 
divided into organic and inorganic 
into gaseous, liquid, and solid, into 
the animal, vegetable, and mineral 
kingdoms. Now, the constituti^-e 
elements of these different depart- 
ments of nature are not marked off 
in species that can do this or that 
one kind of work, hold this or that 
one kind of position, belong to this 
or that one department of nature, 
and no other. On the contrary, back 
and forth they go, w ith the niost as- 
tonishing facility of interchange, from 
one department to another, from gase- 
ous to liquid, from liquid lo solid, and 
from solid back again to liquid and 
to gaseous. The element or partidc 
that floats as oxygen in the air, can 
mingle with the water of the running 
stream, be absorbed by the thirsty 
soil, pass into the yellow -faced daisy 
growing on the bank, then mount into 
the texture of the nei^hl)oring oat 
and from the fallen and decayeti giant 
of the forest go to form part of the 
coal that glows in our lire-places, the 
rock that builds our dwellings, or the 
iron that veins the earth with railwa)-?; 
or, remaining still in the vegetable 
kingdom, it can enter into any of the 
countless plants that furnish food to 
the brute creation, and, after tiavcrr' 



ing perhaps generation after genera- 
tion of various species of animals, be- 
come, either in their flesh, or in the 
form of grain or other products of the 
earth, the food of man, and, eniering 
into the composition of liis body, 
either be treasured up by tlie Crea- 
tor SLS a constituent of that body in 
its resurrection, or, passing off in the 
vapors of the breath or other exha- 
lations of the body, begin again its 
strangely varying series of migrations. 
4'Iver as it goes, its surroundings 
change — its position^ its manner of 
action, its way of affecting the human 
senses ; in a word, all its phenomena 
vary, but itself remains always the 
same. Then how wonderfully must 
the Creator have constituted that lit- 
lie atom of being, in whose tiny com- 
pass are embodied such an all but 
infinity of capabilities ! And what 
we have said of that one is true of 
all Incalculable millions of them 
lie in the bulk of one square inch of 
matter, and these myriads of millions 
are multiplied till there are enough 
of them to make bodi earth and fir- 
mament. All through the unimagin- 
able multitude, energies are working, 
changes taking place. Throughout 
all the species of visible objects these 
transmigrations of component parts 
arc going on^ as they have been going 
on for ages, one set of individual 
beings after another rising and falling 
into decay, the immense tide of ma- 
terial elements ebbing and ffovving 
from province to province of nature's 
domains; and yet, in all this tremen- 
dous multiplicity of change and inter- 
change, there is no confusion, no im- 
*lue njonoiioly on any side to the de- 
struction of any other^ but ail pro- 
ceeds, in weight an<l measure and 
fairest proportion, to the perpetuation 
of the universal harmony. 

Wondrous truly is the working of 
these laws of nature I But what are 
these laws of nature? Where is the 



code in which they are compiled? 
Wlio is the legislator that has so wise- 
ly framed them? Where the execu- 
tive power that so faithfully and un- 
tiringly sees to their application and 
observance? Endeavor with the nar- 
row-minded materia] ist to find the 
answer to these questions in the ex- 
amination of matter itself; bring your 
scrutiny to bear, if by some impossi- 
bility you can, on one of the primary, 
indivisible elements; you cannot 
analyze it, for analysis only separates, 
and separation is impossible in an 
indivisible element ; but walch all its 
workings, calculate its forces, estimate 
all its variable capabilities, and then 
ask it how and why and whence 
all this — your only conclusion, while 
searching thus for your inlonnation, 
must be just such an avowal of igno- 
rance as Prof. Tyndall made. Take 
two or more of the elements together, 
and watch their relative actions and 
reactions — you have but multiplied 
the mystery. Adtl on till you have 
reconstructed the universe, and, the 
mystery growing as you advance, you 
are back to wherp you started from, 
with the gigantic riddle before you 
further than ever from being solved. 
You have been going on the wrong 
track. Analysis will never do. Take, 
now, the other direction. Do credit 
to your reason by acknowledging thu 
universe to be the effect of a cause; 
look out of it and above it for that 
cause; own it to be the creating God 
— and all is clear. The Creator's 
plan of his universe is the one only 
reason for the properties of the uni- 
verse's elements. Jt is not lx?cause 
the elements of matter have such and 
such capabilities that therefore we 
find in the universe such and such 
species of beings; but, on the con- 
trary, it is because the Creator weuld 
have his universe made up of such 
and such species of beings, that there- 
fore the elements of matter have the 



lapabilities necessary for forming 
those species. He might have cho- 
sen to constitute the universe differ- 
ently; then the elements would have 
tiad a ditferent nature ; he has chosen 
to have it as it is ; therefore the ele- 
ments are what we find them. Mole- 
cular force is a fact; but molecular 
force cannot explain itself The 
beautiful molecular arrangements of 
crystallization are a fact ; but neither 
the arrangements nor the molecules 
that form them can explain them- 
selves. The explanation is outside 
of them ; it is the will of the Creator 
adapting means to ends for the form- 
ing of the universe he has planned. 
No other reason for the nature of 
things can possibly be. That which 
is not the reason of its own being 
cannot be the reason of its kind of 
being. To start, therefore, on the 
analytical quest of the too presump- 
tuous materialist, in search of the 
principles of things, is implicitly to 
deny at the outset all belief in a 
Creator, and consequently to con- 
demn one's self to a discovery of 
mere facts or phenomena^ without 
any knowledge of whence or why or 
how they are ; whereas the synthetic 
reasoning of the true philosopher, 
starting from the Creator's will, gives 
us not only the facts, but also their 
whence and their why. Their how, 
neither materialists nor philosophers 
can know% because it is neither a 
physical phenomenon nor a necessa- 
ry truth, but a deep-lying, contingent 
secret of God's own devising, which 
he simply has not made known to 
us. This is equally and, we might 
add, still more necessarily true, if from 
the region of the purely material we 
pass to that of the spiritual and 
material combined. The nature of 
the union between soul and body, 
and esjiccially the manner of the 
brain's instrumentality in the process 
of thought, are utterly beyond our 



ken. We know that the 
tality or co-operation of the braio k 
not essentia! to thought, since nr^di- 
tion informs us that the disembodied 
soul can know^ and love God, ami 
thus think the highest kind of ihougla 
without the assistance of the bran. 
Hence, though there must be same 
congruity between the phenocnciKiD 
of thought and the compound action 
of soul and brain by whi V eli- 

cited, still it is a mere c< rt- 

lation, not residing in the civacncc d 
either soul or brain, and conseqycDtlj 
not to be come at by any ps^chob* 
gical or chemical analysis. Only br 
who has established it could iit tih eel' 
tainty inform us of it, and he has not 
chosen to do so. 

Thus the whole philosophy of tlic 
physical sciences is comprised m these 
four simple yet immensely cociifff^ 
hensive truths : God has created llie 
universe; God constantly prcseno 
tjie universe in existence; no eaoer* 
tion of molecular or other creaiol 
force takes place or is possible witil- 
out God's active co-operation; the 
arrangement of the universe ill «S 
various species of beings is the efet 
of the Creator's will alone, and tht 
orderly perpetuation of ibe same il 
simply the result of the Creatoi^ w* 
ceasing direction of the molccdlv 
forces (which, as stated in the thofd 
truth, can act only with his ccKOpcEi*^ 
tion) to the ends for which be hu 
constituted them, this being the only 
real meaning of ** the taws of nainre." 

These pnnci[»les are, of coufse^ not 
at all antagonistic to expenneotri 
science, nor need they in the letf 
restrain the acti\'ity of its r e acanJ xs. 
They only start it in the r^ht direc- 
tion, give it the compass to sieer kf, 
and wish it ** God speed,** Under 
their guidance alone ts scienee po^ 
sible. Refusang to be guided by 
these data, fitraklied both b^ rcMmm 
and revdatioii, the matenaltst guoMt 



Nature and God, 



out theory after theory in support of 
his avowed or dissembled atheistic 
views ; and one after another these 
theories have been seen to crumble 
into dust in homage to the truth. 
The true philosopher^ racaiiwhilei 
standing on the mountain-top to 
which reason and revelation have lift- 
ed him, sees stretched beneath him 
the wide expanse of creation, com- 
prehends at a glance its origin and its 
destiny, reads the secrets of its na- 
ture as far as man's mind can read 
ihera, breathes free and buoyant in the 
atmosphere of creative Providence 
which he recognizes so intirnately 
pervading all things — the omnipre- 
sent influence of God, *^ in whom >ve 
live, and move, and have our being'' 
— ^nd, while the materialist bows his 
head in the shameful declaration of 
self-imposed ignorance, sings in his 
heart a companion hymn to the can- 
ticle of the inspired author of Eccle- 
fsiasticus : 

The firmament on high is iUg beauty 
of the Lord, the beauty of heaven with its 
glorious show. 

The sun, when he appeareth, show- 
ing forth at his rising, an admirable in- 
strument, the work of ihe Most Hi^h. 

Great is the Lord that made him, and 
at his word he hath hastened his course. 

And the moon in all her season is for 
a declaration of times and a sign of the 
worUL 

Being an instrument of the armies on 
high, shining gloriously in the firmament 
of heaTcn. 

The glory of the stars is the beauty of 
heaven ; the Lord enlighteneth the world 
on high. 

By the words of the Holy One they 
shall stand in judgment, and shall never 
fall in their watches. 

Look upon the rainbow, and bless him 
that made it ; U is very beautiful in its 
brightness. 

Il encompasseth the heavens about with 
the circle of its glor\- ; the hands of the 
Most High have displayed it. 

By his commandment he maketh the 
snow to fall apace, and sendeth forth 
swiftly the lightnings of his judgment. 



Through this are the treasures opened 
and the clouds ^y out like birds. 

Hy his greatness he hath tixed the 
clouds, and the hailstones arc broken. 

Ai his sight shall the mountains be 
shaken, and at his will ibc south wind 
sbaU blow. 

The noise of his thunder shall strike 
the earth, so doth the norihcfn storm and 
the whirlwind. 

And as the birds Hghlinfj upon ihe 
earth he scaiiereth snow, and the/alHng 
tlicreof is as the coming down of the lo- 
custs. 

The eye admireth at the beauty of the 
whiteness thereof, and the heart is as- 
tonished at the shower thereof. 

He shall pour frost as salt upon the 
earth ; and, whet) it freexeth, it shall be- 
come as the tops of thistles. 

The cold north-wind blowcth, and the 
water is cotTgcaled uith crystal. Upon 
every gathering together of waters it shall 
rest, and shall clothe the waters as a 
brcast-plaic. 

And it shall devour the mountains, and 
burn the wilderness, and consume al! 
that is green as with hre. 

A present remedy of all is the speedy 
comingof a cloud ;and a dew that meelotli 
it by the heat that cometh shall overpower 
it. 

At his word the wind is still* and, with 
his thought, ht- appcaseth the deep, and 
the Lord hath planted the islands therein. 

Let them that sail on the sea tell the 
dangers thereof, and when we hear with 
our ears we shall admire. 

There arc great and wonderful works, 
a variety of bea?;ts and of all living thingi^, 
and the monstrous creatures of whailc?^. 

Through him is established the end of 
their journey, and by his word aM things 
are regulated. ^ 

We shall say much, and yet sha!l want 
words ; but the sum of our words is : He 
is all. 

What shall we be able to do to glorify 
him? for the Almighty himself is abovo 
all his works. 

The Lord is terrible and exccedirtj 
great, and his power is admirable. 

Glorify the Lord as much as ever you 
can, for he will yet far cx.cecd, and his 
magnihcencc is wonderful. 

Blessing the Lord, c.\alt him as much 
as you can, for he is above all praise. 

When you exalt him, put forth all your 
strength, and be not weary, for you can 
never go far enough. 



702 



Nnv England in the Seventeenth Century. 



Who shall see him and declare him ? 
and who shall magnify him as he is from 
the beginning. 

There are many things hidden from us 
that are greater than these ; for we have 
seen but a few of his works. 

But the Lord hath made ail things ; and 
to the godly he hath given wisdom. 

It is sadly strange how wide-spread 
is the canker-sore of antipathy to the 
intervention of the Almighty in hu- 
man things. The spirit of the age, as 
is usually styled the latest phase of 
popular wrong-headedness, is nowa- 
days the spirit of deism. Compara- 
tively few are so bold as to deny that 
there is a God ; but very many are 
anxious to confine him to his own 
ethereal realms, far away from the 
sphere of this lower world. Nature 
and God they would have move on 
separate levels, nor permit the Deity's 
entrance into nature's confines, under 
penalty of being accused of an incon- 
sistent interference with nature's laws. 
The materialistic naturalist is only 
one of a class ; his delvings are but 
the trench-work for the would-be 
edifice of man's self-sufficiency in his 
sphere — in a word, of deism; and 



every exposure of the shallowness of 
his sophistry is equally a refutation 
of those who seek to profit by his 
conclusions. Any one who pays at- 
tention to the drift of modem thought 
knows with what self-complacent flip- 
pancy pompous sciolists in ethics and 
theology set aside the supematuril 
the operations of divine grace, dog- 
matic revelation, the Christian mys- 
teries, the necessity of definite faith 
— in a word, all the foundations of 
revealed religion. The system that 
has thrown off the salutary restraints 
of divinely constituted authority re- 
jected the guidance of the divindj 
constituted teacher of the world, and 
thereby given loose rein to the mad- 
ness of pride, and the vagaries of 
man's erring devices may well be 
proud of its work. 

" Why have the Gentiles raged, and th« 
people devised vain things? 

" The kings of the earth stood up, and 
the princes met together, against the Lofd 
and against his Christ. 

" Let us, said they, break their bonds 
asunder, and let us cast their yoke from 
us. 

" He that dwelleth in heaven shall laugb 
at them, and the Lord shall deride them." 



NEW ENGLAND IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 



American history is distinguished, 
in one respect, from all other histo- 
ries, inasmuch as it carries us back to 
the very beginning of a great people. 
No fables obscure its origin, nor do 
we see it through the dim light of 
tradition. It stands out clear to the 
eye of the student, who may follow, 
step by step, the nation's growth and 
development down to the present 
time. And we believe no part of 



American history is more remark- 
able than that which relates to the 
founders of the Puritan common- 
wealths; for, however great may be 
the dislike on account of their narrow 
views in matters of religion, he who 
studies their character impartially will 
acknowledge that they possessed a 
high degree of intellectual actinty, 
and that their success in govenuDg 
themselves was wonderful, consider- 



ing the age* Their intolerance to- 
ward any other faith than their own 
sprang from a conviction that the 
great work which they had under- 
taken — namely, to found a Biblical 
commonwealth — could not be suc- 
cessfully carried out if they allowed 
those who differed from them in belief 
to settle in their midst. Tlie literal 
word of the Old Testament was to 
be their guide in framuig laws. 
*^ Whoever shall worship any other 
God than the Lord," says the pre- 
amble to the code of Connecticut, 
'* shall surely be put to death." And 
this is followed by a number of enact- 
ments copied, word for word, from 
Exodus, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy- 
But if many of their statutes, viewed 
in the light of the present day, were 
harsh, we cannot but admire their 
aptitude for self-government. This 
was first manifested on board the 
Mayflower^ where some of the infe- 
rior class having muttered tiiat, when 
they reached the shore, **one man 
would be as good as another; and 
they would do what seemed good in 
ihcir own eyes/* the wiser ones were 
induced to call a meeting; and at this 
meeting a document was tlrawn up 
and signed which for several years 
was the only constitution of the Ply- 
mouth colony. It was as follows: 

•* In the name of God, amen. We whose 
names are underwriuerip ihe lova! subjecis 
of our dread sovereign lord, King James, 
by ihc grace of God, of Great Britain, 
France, and Irclaod, king, defender of 
ihc faiih, have undertaken, for ilic gJory 
of God and advancement of the Christian 
faith, and honor of our king and country, 
;i voyage to plant the first colony in the 
northern parts of Virginia, do by these 
presents solemnly and mutually, in the 
presence of God and one another, cove- 
nant and combine ourselves together 
unto a civil body politic, for our better 
ordering and preservation, and further- 
ance of the ends aforesaid, and by virtue 
hereof to enact, constitute, and frame such 
just and equal laws, ordinances, acts, con- 



stitutions, and olliccs, from time to time, as 
shall be thought most meet and conveni- 
ent for the general good of the colony, 
unto which we promise all due submis- 
sion and obedience. In witness whereof 
wc have hereunto subscribed our names, 
at Cape Cod, the nth November, in the 
vcar of the reign of our sovereign lord. 
King James, of England, France, Ireland, 
the iSth, and of Scotland, the 54th, a.d, 
1620/" 

At the time of landing, the pilgrim 
fathers were also organized as a 
churchy and thus \ve find a town and 
parish immediately established. The 
soil was helii by virtue of a patent 
which had been obtained from the 
king, after much difficulty^ in 1618, 
while they were yet in Holland. But 
it is not known how far their jurisdic- 
tion over it extended, as the docu- 
ment is lost. Barry, in his History cf 
Alassai'huseiis^ says : ** If ever dis- 
covered, we will hazard the conjec- 
ture that it will be found to cover 
territory now included in New York," 
The hardships which the pilgrims suf- 
fered during the first winters on this 
desolate coast did not lessen their de- 
termination to make their settlement 
one in which only those who believed 
what they believed should abide; 
and when John Lyford, a minister of 
the Anglican Church, arrived and un- 
dertook to preach, they at once sent 
him away to Nantasket. The fol- 
lowing year others joined them from 
the mother-country; and, although 
the wilderness back of them was 
roamed over by the Pequots and 
Narragansets, they soon penetrated 
it, and, as early as 1622, we find 
settlements established in what are j 

now the states of New Hampshire, ^| 
MainCj and Massachusetts. The " 
last-named colony, which was des- 
tined to overshadow all the others in 
importance, did not exist as a dis- 
tinct political body until 1628, when 
John Endicott was appointed agent 
for the Massachusetts Company, and 



^iw England in the Seventiem 



became the first governor of the Bay. 
On the west its boundary was the 
Pacific Ocean, as we see by the fol- 
lowing extract from the patent : ** All 
that part of New England lying be- 
tween three miles to the north of the 
Merrimac River and three miles to 
the south of the Charles River, and 
of every part thereof in the Massa- 
chusetts Bay; and in length between 
the described breadth from the At- 
lantic Ocean to the South Sea,** But 
while the resdess disposition of the 
Puritans moved them to go further 
into the continent* it was not the 
isolated migration of individuals. 
They went in bands, and carried 
with them the organization of a 
regular community. No sooner 
are they comfortably settled down 
anywhere than they begin to agitate 
for the establishment of a church. 
On this weighty matter they would 
turn to Plymouth, the primitive set- 
tlement, for advice, and the result of 
one of these conferences was the 
building of a meeting-house at Sa* 
lem, on the basis of Independent 
Congregationalism. As the patent 
of the Massachusetts coltjny simply 
vested in the emigrants tlie proper- 
of the soil, without providing pow- 
of municipal government, the 
inhabitants of the Bay lost no time 
in applying for a royal charter, 
which was granted, and which con- 
ceded to them and their posterity all 
the rights of native-bom subjects. 
Remark, however, that, while the 
power was given to administer the 
oath of allegiance and supremacy, it 
was not expressly ordered ; while, fur- 
thermore, they were allowed to make 
their own laws, provided these did not 
contra vene the laws of the realm. This, 
however, did not satisfy the people, 
and we soon find them agitating for 
something else. The charter granted 
by Charles I. merely gave vitality 
to the Massacliusetts Company, which 



remained in ' ! . and w^ i{«ie 

a distinct bi ^ the trannibB- 

tic settlement over which it excit* 
ed Its powers. The i|ueitJoo vn 
how to identify company and colovf. 
A very simple method wus dem4 
namely^ to make the charter telT 
emigrate* And this plan irai cw- 
ried out without hindrance from tte 
king, who did not foresee the ooaae> 
quences which would ensue frcMm tkt 
transfer. The instrument contaiMi 
no clause forbidding such a ttmmk 
to America, and he be)icve<:l the oslf 
result would be to change the pbcc 
for holding the meetings of the co» 
pany from London to Boston. Thr 
founders of Massachusetts, howcvcTt 
like those of Plymouth, were bent or 
creating a society unlike any othc^— 
Saxon, and at the same time Jevbk 
— oae in which the principles of the 
Witenagemote of their forcfatliOi 
might blend with the Mosaic law x aod 
to carry out such an experiment th^ 
needed all the authority and pfrotf 
which having the charter i «i 

hands would give. In lli 49- 

dertaking, they were not irofibloi 
with scruples about allegiance ti 
their sovereign, and hclil with tlK 
primitive Greek colonists, that « 
leaving Fatherland they went **lii 
form a new state as fully to all inicM 
and purj^oses as if they had beat in 
the state of nature and were maUm 
their first entrance into civilized «• 
ciety."* 

Not long after gc;i 
of tlieir charter, the 
the Bay were comforted 
val of three ministers, wJi^^_ 
and zeal went far to kct 
among them the spint of i j 
These were John Cotton, 7! 1 
Hooker, and Samuel - . i u^af 



commg gave nsc to 



thJl 



' the God of heaven had supplied llic 



* HutCyiWMI, vol. 1. pv 4}, 



NfW England in the Stifeutecnth Ccntury\ 



colonists with what would in some 
sort answer the three great temporal 
necessities — Cotton for their clothing, 
Hooker for their fishiftg, and Stone 
fur their builthng." How fast the 
number of the orthodox was increas- 
ing may be judged from the fact that, 
in 1636, in the Massachusetts settle- 
ment alone there were nine church- 
es; while before 1650 the number 
had grown to twenty-mne. In 1634, 
y John Winthrop, their first governor 
p under the charter, was succeeded by 
Mn Dudley, and in this change wc 
observe for the first time the sensi- 
livencss and jealous spirit of a derao- 
cmcy. It had been whispered about 
that Winthrop desired to be contin- 
ued in oftice. This was enough to 
arouse a strong opposition among 
the freemen, wlio determined to make 
their power felt» and the result was 
the choice of Dudley, And, if llin- 
ihrop's yimrfial speaks true, not a 
little of what is nowadays called 
*♦ wnre-pulling " was resorted to by 
his successful opponent. About this 
time, the religious harmony which 
!iad been so far preser\*ed was rudely 
broken, not by an Anglican minister, 
but by one of their own number. 
Roger Williams was the first whose 
preaching entered like a wedge into 
the rock of Puritan bigotry and ex- 
clusiveness. He held that '' the pow- 
er of Uie magistrate extended only 
to the bodies and goods and out- 
ward estates of men," and that per- 
secution for conscience' sake was a 
•* bloudy tenent." >ie had opposed to 
hinri» however, all the clergy whose 
influence as yet was supreme, and, 
although his words were listened to 
and remembered, the authorities of 
Massachusetts ordered him to leave 
the colony. Nor were tlie people 
of Plymouth willing that he should 
have a resting-place in their midst, 
for they were ** loth to displease the 
Bay ;" and he had to depart into the 
VOL, xiL — 45 



wildemess, where Canonicus, chief 
of the Narragansets, and Mianto- 
nomo, kindly received him/and made 
him a gift of all the country around. 
This gift was the beginning of the 
settlement of Rhode Island. 

The second wedge destined to split 
Puritanism was appUed by Anne 
Hutchinson, a woman of rare tal- 
ents for controversy, "of a ready 
wit and bold spirit," and familiar 
with all the theological spetiila- 
tion of the day. Her discourses 
were oliietiy addressed to her own 
sex, and, the wives of the colo- 
nists being generally well educated 
and craving for intellectual excite- 
ment^ her audiences were numerous. 
At these meetings, or ** gossip ings,**" 
as they were called, Mrs. Hut- 
chinson would ** prophesy," and ex- 
pound passages of Scripture with all 
the authority of a minister. She did 
not confine herself to this, however, 
but, constituting herself a censor of 
the morals of the clergy and people, 
she held up to derision their grave 
deportment, peculiar style of dress, 
and other ** illusive signs of godli- 
ness/' which she declared might of- 
ten be a mask for hypocrisy. As in 
the case of Roger Williams, many re- 
lished her sermons who dared not 
avow any sympathy for her, and, af- 
ter being excommunicated, she of 
her own free-will left the common- 
w^ealth, and finally was killed by the 
Indians on the banks of the stream 
which has been named after her, in 
Westchester County, New York. 

During these rehgious excitements, 
the people continued to manifest the 
same restless spirit which hati cha- 
racterized them from the first. We 
hear them complaining of '* want of 
room," and in the spring of 1636 we 
see the Rev. Mr. Hooker leading his 
congregation into the wilderness, his 
wife accompanying him on a horse 
litterj for she was of feeble health 



7o6 



jVettf England in the Seventeenth Ceniury. 



and not able to sit on the pilUon, llie 
place which they chose for a house 
was afterward called Hartford. The 
same year the Kev. Mr. Worham 
conducted his flock from Dorchester 
to a spot which they named Windsor, 
not very far from where Mn Hooker 
had settled. Thus was founded the 
state of Connecticut. So rapidly now 
was the country filling up \^nth the 
yeomanry of England that the king 
took alarm. He feared all hia spb- 
jects were going to leave him. At 
the same time, the archbishops and 
other dignitaries of the national church, 
vexed that so many were escaping, 
demanded that a number of vessels 
on the point of saihng should be de- 
tained in the Thames. They, more- 
over, persuado<l the king to recall 
the charier of Massachusetts, When 
news of this reached Boston, the peo- 
ple held 3 meeting, and it was resolved 
'* not to return any answer or excuse 
to the council at that time, as it could 
not be done but by a general court, 
which was to be holden in Septem- 
ber." Perhaps their spirit of indepen- 
dence was increased by the breadth 
of water which separated them from 
the mother-countr}% ** The ditch be- 
tween England and their new place 
of abode was so wide that they could 
not leap over it with a lope-staflf." • 
More threatening measures soon fol- 
lowed, and a royal decree was issued 
giving the archbishops of York and 
Canterbury, and ten others, full pow- 
er to govern the plantations of New 
England temj>orally and spiritually : 
while ships were got ready to carr)' 
over a governor armed with a com- 
mission from the Privy Seal. When 
the people of Boston heard of this, 
they again assembled. Two forts 
were built and entrenchments thrown 
up at Dorchester and Charlestown. 
Happily for the peace of the com- 

^Jolinson, a,M. II, CoU, 



raonwealih, the new gove 
arrive. Another order, bon 
issued for the return of the 
and the monhrch*s anxiety I 
er possession of ihis 
warned the people of the Bay lol 
fast to it, The civil war which | 
after broke out in England, and \ 
ended in Charles losing 
gave them a period of 
not the king's attention, 
been drawn away from ibe 
own troubles, it is hardly 
that they would have 
to succumb to his will; 
time there were » " 
in the Bay, whjv 
could not muster niore 
sand men* This first aft 
their liberties had the salutj 
of hardening the country \ 
more into a republic. And < 
suit we find, in 1643, a 
formed between New Ha 
mouth, Massachusetts, and 
ticut. The preamble to tij 
articles of confederation 

"Wo therefore do caiie«|y 

botmden duty wjihout J 
a present consociation 
for mutual help and strcj 
future concernments, that 
religion so in other respc 
continue one/' 

Remark that Rhode la 
a member of the union. 

Roger Williams and those 
had gathered round him had! 
their own free-will withdraw 
the churchf and no fcUowii 
be held w^iih them. 

No sooner, however, 
from alir 
nal coil 

seed sown by Roger W'l 
Anne Hutchinson was 
germ, and books in def^ 
wider toleration irer.- 
among the faiihfuL 'ITic 



Kew England in ike Sei^rnteenth Century. 



707 



ty of Presbyterianism in 
encouraged some of the 
) importune ihe magistrates 
he establishment of Prcsby- 
churches. But the majority 
people were still haunted by 
op Laud, and were fearful 
hange in the mode of wor- 
ht work evil to their institu- 

apparent purpose of advanc- 
pous freedom," they declared, 
nade to disguise? measures of 
dliest hostility to the frame of 
|yernment/' Strange to say, 
pement for liberty of worship 
led in Pijjiiouth, and demand- 
U and free tolerance of reU- 
> all men that would preserve 
il order and submit unto go- 
B, and there was no limita- 
fexception against Turk, Jew» 
Rrian, S<^ciman, Nicolaitan, 
I, or any other/' 

following is the petition of 
%tOT% for toleration : 

Bnnot, according to our judg- 
Beover a settled fonn of govcrn- 
\te according to the l:\ws of Eng- 
Neither do wc so undcrsland and 
» our own laws and liberiies as 
:rcby ihere may be a sure and 
able enjoyment of our lives, libcr- 
i estates according to our due and 
rights as free-born subjects of the 

nation. There are many thou- 
Iso, in these plantations, free-born J 
nd peaceable men, who arc dc- 
f om all civil employments; and 
s of the Church of England, with 
sterity,are detained from llic seals 
covenant of free grace. Wc en- 
; redress of these grievances ; and, 
lings being granted by the bless- 
5od to us in Christ, wc hope 10 

now contemned ordinances of 
ghly prized ; the Gospel, much 
ldi break forth as the sun at noon. 
bristian charity and brotherly love, 
frOKcn^ wax warm ; zxal and holy 
on, more fervent ; jealousy of 
y government, the bane of all com- 
ilths, quite banished ; secret dis- 



contents, fretting like cankers, remedied ; 
merchandise and shipping, by special 
providence wasted, speedily increased ; 
mines undertaken with more cheerful- 
ness ; fishing, with more forwardness; 
husbandry, now withering, forthwith flour- 
ishing ; and villages and plantations, 
much deserted, presently more popu- 
lous." 



Copies of this petition were rapid- 
ly circulated, and soon reached the 
Dutch possessions, Virginia and the 
Bermudas. It was the first formida- 
hie league for religious freedom which 
had arisen in the Tuntan colonies, and, 
fearful of the result should parliament 
hear of it, the clergy sent Mr. Win- 
slow of Plymouth to England, fully au- 
thorized to defend their policy, Mark 
what followed t Parliament remem- 
bered how the transatlantic Puritans 
had syn^pathizcd with tt in its strug- 
gle with the crown t how Massachu- 
setts bad ** sent over useful men, oth- 
ers going voluntarily to their aid, who 
were of good use and did acceptable 
service to the army ;" and, as a reward 
for such faithfulness, disclaimed all 
interference. ** We encourage," they 
said, ** no appeals from your decision. 
We leave you with all the freedom 
and latitude that may in any respect 
be claimed by you."* 

But the Commonw^ealth in Eng- 
land was premature. In May, 1660, 
Charles IL became king, and the 
colonies once more looked for danger 
from abroad. Reports, true and false, 
concerning them were not long in 
reaching the court at St. James, and 
it was told the new monarch that 
the union of the colonies in 1643 was 
a combination expressly intended to 
throw off all dependence on the mo- 
ther-country. The attitude of the 
colonists, however, was so defiant 
that he preferred not to molest them 
immediately, and New England was 

• AUn. R*c9rJx, t-ols. U. and Ul. 



70S 



New England in the Seventeenth Ctnturj. 



allowed for a time to manage her 
own affairs. In the meanwhile, Mas- 
sachusetts, which had already pushed 
settlements across her border into 
New Hampshire and Maine, was ex- 
ercising her jurisdiction in all that re- 
gion. She was the carrier for the 
other colonies, and rapidly extending 
her commerce. She had no custom- 
house ; her policy was free-trade, and 
her future promised to be a happy 
one. But her very energy and pros- 
perity became a source of danger. 
The merchants of England began 
to complain of the commercial free- 
dom which the colonics enjoyed, and 
which, if not checked, " would not 
only ruin the trade of this kingdom, 
but would leave no sort of depend- 
ence from that country to this." The 
committee on foreign plantations 
heard their complaints with only too 
willing an ear, and it was resolved to 
" settle collectors in New England as 
in other places, that they might re- 
ceive the duties and enforce the laws." 
This was soon followed by a royal 
proclamation which forbade the im- 
portation of commodities from Europe 
which were not laden in the mother- 
country.* Moreover, the scheme to 
bring back the charter of Massachu- 
setts was revived, and, as the colonies 
were just at this time engaged in a 
war with Philip, chief of the Wampa- 
noai^s. which cost them half a million 
of dollars and six hundred buildings 
consumed by tire, it promised to be 
successl'ul. Kdwaai Randolph, arm- 
ed with a letter from Charles II., was 
sent to the Hay, " the most prejudi- 
cial plantation to the kingdom of 
Kni;land," and used all his insolence 
and crali to bring the j>eople to sub- 
mission, liut they loMly declared 
that the mother-country had no rea- 
SvMi to comji'ain if the navic.ition act 
;vas not otH.\vevl. Free -trade was a 

• V,>L UL M. H. CoU. 



part of their rights, inasmuch as 
charter gave them full legislative] 
ers. Randolph, thus snubbed, n 
his way into New Hampshire, n 
he endeavored to prevail on the 
pie, who were waxing strong u 
the protecting wing of Massachic 
to renounce allegiance to her. 
the summer of 1677, he retunx 
England, indignant at the aitituc 
the Bay, and immediately prese 
articles of high misdemeanor ag 
the governor and company. He 
wise reminded the king that thci 
ter had not been brought back, 
advised the issuing of a writ ol 
warrafito against it. Nor did h« 
get to speak a word 1h favor of 1 
copacy, and urged that no marri 
should be allowed in the colonic 
cept such as were made by mini 
of the Anglican Chttrch. 

In the meanwhile the peopl< 
Massachusetts grew more cxc 
The clergy were aroused, and o 
sides, week-days as well as the 
bath, the only topic of convert; 
was the probable fate of the ch. 
under which for more than fifty \ 
they had thriven. Increase Mai 
the leader amongst the Puritan 1 
isters, called on them to stand 1 
'* The loyal citizens of London/ 
cried, ** would not surrender t 
charter lest their posterity sh 
curse them for it: and shalfwe.t 
ilo such a thing? I hope thei 
not one freeman in Boston thai 
be guilty o\ it : " But the crown 
determined to assert its pi»wer. 
abandoning the method of obtar 
the instrument by writ o\ quj : 
/\:r:/,\ entered procee^im::? in cl 
cer\-, and issueii a wrr of s^'trf h 
a^-air.st the govcrr.or ard cornr 
of Massachusetts. By th^s proc 
n-: or.'y w.-.s the charter declared 
tV-:e !. 'lu: i: \va> to :e cancelle-.i . 
.:nr.:hi'iate\I. .\s soon as judgrr 
was encenxi up, Massachusetts a 



New Eftgland^irt the Seienttcnih Century. 



f69 



\y politic ceased to exist, and 
ame in law what she had been 
are James I. granted the instru- 
ct. It may appear strange that 
commonwealth should have done 
King more than protest against 
h treatment; but we mustremem- 

there was no longer any Fres- 
erian party in England to sym- 
bizc with the Puritans, Charles 

was an absolute monarch ; for 
?ral years there had been no par- 
lent to call him to account, and 
iras uncertain when another one 
lid meet. Holland and the mo- 
r-country had made peace, and 
British fleets might have ravaged 

seaboard where most of the set- 
aents stood. Moreover, King 
lip*s wars had impoverished the 
K But what chiefly induced the 
pie to submit was the hikewarm- 
I of the other commun wealths in 
ltd to the confederation which 
seqyently had lost its power of 
^nce. Had they been united, this 
lult on their liberties might have 
I a different ending. Before any 
r government could be set up, 
irles died, and James II, mnunt- 
the throne, rhis, however, made 
change in the policy of the crown. 
tph Dudley, a native of Massa- 
sctts, and a son of Governor 
>mas Dudley, was created presi- 
t of New England, and Randolph 
I appointed secretary of the colo- 

counctl* It was now the turn 
he other colonies to feel the king's 
mny* Plymouth, which had ne- 
had a charter, was at his mercy; 
le Connecticut and Rhode Island 
e seized with fear on account of 
Its* Randolph, who was stubborn 
lis determination to bring them ail 
ierthe yoke, tost no time in appear- 
before the Committee for Trade 

Plantations with articles of mis- 
leanor against the two last-named 
inionweakhs. His principal com- 



plaints were that, like Massachusetts, 
they had violated the laws of trade 
and navigation and forbade the An- 
glican worship. Accordingly writs 
oiquo warranto were issued, and poor 
Connecticut turned in her distress to 
Governor Dongan, of New York, 
for advice. He at once counselled 
**a downright humble submission,'* 
hoping thus to have her more speed- 
ily annexed to his own province, one 
of his favorite schemes. But the 
presidency of Dudley soon came to 
an end; and in December, 1686, a 
person far more detestable than he 
arrived in Boston with a commission 
for the government of all New Eng- 
land. I'his ruier was Sir Edmund 
Andros» He belonged to an ancient 
family of Guernsey, of which his fa- 
ther was bailiff in 1660, and, in the 
general pardon granted to the inhab- 
itants of that island after the Resto- 
ration, both parent and son had been 
honored with a special exceptioni 
because they had *' continued invio- 
lably faithful to his majesty during 
the late rebellion,'* anrl consequently 
stood in no need of pardon* In 1667, 
P'.dmund, who had attained the rank 
of major in the army, was commis- 
sioned l)y the Duke of York governor 
of his territories in America. While 
serving in that capacity, he had given 
ofl*ence to Connecticut by attempting 
to encroach on her domain : and his 
expeditions might have proved sue* 
cessful but for the courageous stand 
which was made against him by Cap- 
tain Bull at Saybrook Fort. He was 
knighted for his services, and con- 
tin libd governor of New York till 
ijGSo, when he was recalled in con- 
se(|uence of charges of embezzlement 
preferred against him. This, how- 
ever, did not lower him in the es- 
teem of his patron^ who, shordy after 
mounting the throne as James H*^ 
sent him to govern New England, 
A man more uncongenial to the 



7IO 



vtw 



iHj?inna in 



femeeftti 



Puritans could not have been select- 
ed. The very flag which he brought 
[ pver — a red cross on a white ground, 
and in the centre a crown wrought 
in gold, with the letters "J. R./' 
was enough to turn them 
against him ; while the soldiers who 
accompanied him gave almost as 
much scandal — " those that w ere 
brought a thousand leagues to keep 
the country^ in awe ; a crew that be- 
gan to teach New England to drab, 
1 drink, blaspheme, curse, and damn ; 
a crew that were every foot moving 
tumults, and committing insufferable 
' riots among a quiet and peaceable 
paople." 

To ** countenance and encourage" 
ihc Anglican worship was one of 
the principal orders he had received, 
ami soon after landing he called to- 
gether the ministers of Boston, and 
spoke to them ** about accommodation 
as to a meetinghouse that might 
so contrive the time as one house 
might serve two assemblies." But 
Increase Mather had thoroughly in* 
fused his own sj>irit into them, and 
the clergy answered *^ that they could 
nut with a good conscience consent 
that their meeting-houses should be 
'made use of for the Common- Prayer 
, warshi[»/' This reply so astonished 
[ Andros that he coukl scarcely believe 
his cars. But as soon as he realixed 
I that they were in earnest, he sent 
Randolph to demand the keys of the 
Old South Meeting-house. The con- 
igregation, however, refused to let 
["him have them, and it might have 
[been necessary to make entrance liy 
I force had not good man Needham, 
[the sexton, become frightened, and 
opened the door. 

From this day forth Episcopacy 
maintained a foothold in the countr}% 
But in order more thoroughly to t^- 
I fttiUarize the people with it, he re- 
quired the holidays of die Episcopal 
Church to be eater^ in l\iiley"s At- 



manac for the year 16S7, a 
ver done before ; and 
date of January 30 were piiiiltd^ 
the w ords ** King CKaHes mi 
while at the beginning of Uie 
nac was a list ^c^i I 
the Commonwealili 
being left in blank. Havioj 
set up his rule in Massachi 
turned his attention to the other 
lonies. "The province of Maine 
was already by the terras of his 
mission included within the hmits 
his government, while Rhode 
and Plymouth offered no 0[ 
ami readily came under ht& 
Connecticut, however, showed a 
position to hold back, and Kaiidol| 
wrote to her governor that ibhe 
belter surrender her charter at 
This she would not do^ ;sniX Aiidfl 
was obliged to journey all the 
to Hartford tor it ; and whether 1 
got it then or not ts a disputetl 
The common belief is that tJ»c isistn 
ment was laid on a table before 1 
the lights suddenly extin^uiahcdiv 
when ihey were relit it had 
peared, having been hurried tL\ 
and hidden in an oak-tree. Pal^ 
in a note, vol. iii. p, 543, of his ^ 
tory of New Etij^hnJ^ says; ^ Ttw 
were duplicates of the charter 
Hartford ; and it is supposatile 
while one of them was di$poi»ed 
as alleged, Andros, having obtaiM 
possession of the other, did not 
that anything was missing/* Th 
was Connecticut the hist to h 
During the next two years the coi 
try was deprived of every veiiige 
self-government 

It is, therefore, not to lie wocKlfl 
ed at that a widespread canspiraiq 
should have been organized to 
about a revolution and indepei 
dencc. Nothing hwt the f?fMr7if!ii 
of James IL an 
ham of Oraug* 
which would perhaps have &ced dM^ 



Mi 



Puritan commonwealth from British 
doniination. Bulkeley, in his IVtll 
€md Do0m^ alludes to rumors in the 
autumn and winter of 1688 of ** a i)lot 
on foot in Connecticut and other 
parts of the country to make insur- 
rection and subvert the government." 
He also speaks of a concert of action 
with Massachusetts, and this, too, be- 
fore anything was known of the 
movements of the Prince of Orange. 
The accession of the latter to the 
throne of England nipped the revo- 
lution in the bud, and so far relieved 
the colonies that they >vere willing 
to abide yet awhile longer in a con- 
dition of dependence rather than 
face the chances of a bloody and 
costly struggle. 

We will now l)riefly examine the 
laws of the Puritans, and see how it 
was that they governed themselves, 
and this at a period when Europe, es- 
pecially the Continent, was groaning 
under absolute monarchy every where, 
triumphant over the ruins of the feu- 
dal liberties of the Middle Ages. 

At the time of landing, the Pilgrim 
fathers were already organized as a 
church ; and by the meeting held 
on board the Mayflmvcr^ and the 
instrument then drawn up and sign- 
ed, we may view them likewise as a 
community forming a township, which 
began its functions the moment they 
touched the soil 

In New England, the township, 
such as we find it to-day, became fully 
organized as early as 1650, and by it 
the spirit of self-government was kept 
from dying out It drew Its vitality 
direct from the freemen, who in their 
meetings on the green, where they 
came to discuss public affairs, were 
made to feel that to be present on 
these occasions was a home duty 
which could not be shirked. And 
these meetings remind us of what for- 
merly took place in France and Eng- 
land under the parochial system, 



when the village-bell would summon 
the peasantry' together in front of the 
church-door, where every one was at 
liberty to express his views on the sub- 
ject under debate.* In a New Eng- 
land town al! the male inhabitants 
w^ere not voters. To possess the fran- 
chise it was necessary to be a member 
of the church, and those who were not 
had no voice in affairs, and may be 
considered simply as wards of the 
orthodox. Connecticut, however, 
was an exception to this rule. There, 
in order to vote^ it was only neces- 
sary to be twenty-one years of age, 
have real estate to the amount of 
twenty pounds, and be recommend- 
ed to the general court *^ as of 
honest, peaceable, and civil conver- 
sationj* In Plymouth, those w*ho 
possessed the franchise and neglected 
to use it were fined twenty shillings, 
At elections, beans and Indian corn 
were used; the corn signifying an 
affirmative vote, beans the contrary. 
And it is interesting to know that 
stuffing the ballot-box is a crime 
not ]ieculiar to our day. In the 
records of the Massachusetts Gen- 
era! Court, we find the following 
entry : John Guppy, " being under a 
great fine for putting in more corm 
than one for the choice of a magis- 
trate, upon his request to this court 
hath his fine abated to twenty shil* 
lings/' 

The administrative power of the 
township was vested chiefly in a 
small number of persons called select- 
men. They alone had the right to 
call a townmceting \ but if ten voters 
demanded one, they had to comply. 
Then came the constables, w hose duty 
it was to keep the peace ; the town- 
clerk, who recorded all town -votes, 
grants, births, marriages^ deaths j the 
assessor, who rated the township; the 
collector, who received the rate ; the 

• De TocqucTille, Ameitm Rigimu*i 1% Riv^u* 

tian. 



■ 



712 



New England in the Seventeenth Century. 



treasurer, who kept the funds; an 
overseer of the poor; a road survey- 
or ; a tithing-man ; a timber-measur- 
er ; a sealer of weights and measures ; 
fire-wards, who directed the citizens 
in case of a fire ; and one or more 
fence-viewers. All these officials were 
chosen by the freemen, and any one 
refusing to accept office was punish- 
ed by a fine of forty shillings. After 
the township followed the county, a 
territorial division without any poHti- 
cal existence, and which was created 
as the settlements extended solely for 
the better administration of justice. 
Then came the commonwealtb. Here 
we find the will of the people express- 
ed through representatives in an as- 
sembly or general court, which met 
once a year. In Connecticut, how- 
ever, it met twice. As early as 1634, 
the legislature of Massachusetts was 
divided into an upper and lower 
branch, namely, the assistants and 
house of deputies ; the fonner chosen 
by the whole colony, the latter by the 
towns, three from each. The office 
of assistant originated as follows: 
When John Carver, first governor of 
Plymouth, was succeeiled by William 
Bradford, the freemen at the same 
election named Isaac AUerton to as- 
sist him, giving as a reason that the 
new governor was just recovering 
from a fit of illness. CraRlually the 
number of assistants in th.it colony 
was increasoii to seven. Massachu- 
setts, however, by her charter was 
limitcil to eighteen, which number 
did not satisfy the people, who were 
unwilling to have all the |K>wer of 
the commonwealth in so few hands. 
To remevly this, they created a dis- 
tinct body of legislators each house 
having a negative on the other. Pre- 
vious to i6j;5, the Bay had no codi- 
iievl statutes; but in 1641 one hun- 
dred.! laws, known as ** the body of 
liberties," were compilcvl by orvler of 
the asseniMv. Not a little ridicule 



has been heaped upon the Pnrit 
for adopting *' this literal transc 
of the laws of Moses." But a c 
ful reading of the body of liba 
will show that they were familiar 1 
Magna Charta, and had skilfully 
terwoven in the code much of 
wisdom of English legislation, 
the body of liberties twelve oflfei 
were capital. In England at 
same period one hundred and : 
were punished witii death. " No 
nopolies, save on patents or ne« 
ventions, were to be granted. 
lands and heritages were to be 
from fines, and licenses upon ali 
tions, and from heriots, wardships, 
eries, primer-seizinSy year-day, ws 
escheat, forfeitures, and the whole t 
of feudal exactions customai^- g 
the death of parents or ancestor 
Hereditary claims being rejected, 
laws of primogeniture and entail 1 
so far modified that the eldest 
was only entitled to a double por 
of the paternal estate, and the o 
sons, if the father died intestate, d 
equal portions, after setting off 
portion of the eldest.'* t 

Juries were obtained as folk) 
Before the meeting of a court. 
clerk issued " warrants to the c 
stables of the several towns withiz 
jurisdiction for jurymen proportic 
ble to the inhabitants of each," . 
the inhabitants then elected the 
quireil number. Petit jurors reed 
four shillings a day, while gr 
jurors, who served for one vear. 1 
allowed three shillings^ It often h 
pened that the verdict of the j 
would be that there were sen 
grounds of su5|^icion. bu: not enoi 
evidence to convict : whereupon 
jud^e would proceed to g;ve s 
tence and puniNh for onecces 
which the parry haii j^peort^ 



' FVlTT 



i-:-^. tf ir*j9. tql u PL tOL 



New England in ihe Sctrnfeenf/i Century. 



713 



have been guilty by the evidence, 
although ** not convicted of the par- 
ticular crime he was charged with." • 
** Wicked cursing of any person or 
creature" was punished by a tine of 
ten shillings for a single oath. For 
** more oaths than one at a time, be- 
fore he removed out of the room or 
company where he so sware/^ the 
penalty was twenty slullmgs. If the 
oflfender could not pay the amount, 
he was set in the stocks. It was for- 
bidden to play cards or any game for 
money, or ** to observe any such day 
as Christmas, or the like.'* Tavern- 
keepers were forbtddeu to ** suffer any 
to be drunk, or to drink excessively 
— viz., half-a-pint of wine for one per- 
son at a time — or to continue tippling 
above the space of halfan-hour^ or at 
unseasonable times, or after nine of 
the clock at night." Whoever gave 
way to his tongue in scoldings or by 
loud, boastful, impertinent speech, 
was •' to be gagged or set in a duck- 
ing-stool, and dip|jed, over head and 
cars, three times in some con- 
venient plane of fTcsh or salt water, 
as the court or magistrate should 
judge meet."t And in order that 
no man might plead ignorance of 
the laws, it was required by the 
- general cotirt that every family buy 
a book containing them, and, if 
they could not pay for it in money, 
wheat would be received ; and the 
constables of the towns had to see 
that the rule was kept. The price 
of these little law-books was twelve- 
pence in silver, or one and a half 
pecks of wheat, or two-thirds of a 
bushel of peas, at three shillings a 
bushel. \ 

The subject of education early 
engaged the attention of the peo- 
pJc. The General Court of Massa- 



• Hmtchlnson. \, p. 453, 
t Mttri. Rtcttrth, Ir. p. 513, 



chusetts, in 1636, voted four hun- 
dred pounds— which was as much as 
a year's rate of the whole colony — 
towards the building of **a j>ublic 
school or college;" and in 1637 an 
institution of learning was com- 
menced at Newtown. The name 
was soon after changed to Cam- 
bridge. Before the end of its first 
year, John Harvard, a clergyman, of 
Charlestown, bequeathed it one-half 
of his property and his whole library, 
and to keep fresh the remembrance 
of this gift the college took his name, 
in the Bay and Plymouth, schools 
were maintained by Liw% and the 
general court of the last-named com- 
monwealth voted, for the support of 
its first onei the revenue from the 
^* Cape fisliery," The people of 
Swanzey, at one of their town-meet- 
ings, voted that **a school be forth- 
with set up in this town for the teach- 
ing of grammar, rhetoric, and arith- 
metic» and tongues of the Latin, 
Greek, and Hebjew; also to read 
Knglish and write; and that the 
salary of ^£"40 per annum, in cur- 
rent country pay which passeth from 
man to man, be duly paid to the 
schoohnaster thereof, atnl that Mr. 
John Myles, the present pastor of the 
church here assembling, be school- 
master ; otherwise to have power to 
dispose the same to an able school- 
master during the s-iid pastor's lift:."* 
The code of Connecticut, adopted in 
1650, ordered that each township of 
fi(\y householders should maintain a 
pedagogue, while in towns of a hun- 
dred householders a grammar-school 
was to be set up where scholars were 
to be prepared for Harvard. More- 
over, it was the duty of the selectmen 
to see that parents did not neg- 
lect the education of their children. 
In the same commonwealth, a law 




was passed, in 1677, that every town 
neglcctmg to keep a school ** above 
ihree months in tlie year should for- 
feit live pounds." 

For reading-matter the founders 
of New England were badly off com- 
pared with the present age. Al- 
though printing was introduced into 
Massachusetts as early as 1639, there 
were few presses established, an<l not 
a single newspaper was issued during 
the century. Books were scarce, and, 
as we sec by the following list of the 
more pojjular ones, they were nearly 
all of a religious character. First, of 
course, in their estimation, was the 
Bible. Then came Bunyan*s Fil- 
pim*s Progress, The Bay f saint Book^ 
printe<l at Cambridge in 1640, con- 
taining the whole Book of Psalms, 
translated into English metre by 
Rev. Mr. Weld and John Eliot, of 
the Raxbury Church ; both of whom 
knew the original Hebrew. Eliot*s In- 
dian Bible, completed and printed in 
1664* Nnv Rui^tanifs Salamander Dis- 
covered^ printed in London, in 1647. 
A book with a long tide, namely, 
The Heart of New England rent at 
the Blasphemies of the Ptesent Gene- 
ration ; or, A Brief Tract avuerning 
the Doctrine of the Qnakers, demoft- 
strating the destnutive nature thereof 
to Religion^ the Churchy and the State, 
ivUh Considerations of the Remedy 
agtfimt U. By John Norton, Teach- 
er of Christ Church. Boston. 1651. 
Mr. Cotton's Milk for Babes, a 
much-esteemed catechism. The Neuf 
Engiami Primer^ containing matter 
for children, beginning with the al- 
phabet and ending with a strange 
poetic dialogue between Christ, a 
youth, and Satan* The Assembly Cate- 
chisHL Another book with a long title, 
namely* The Simple Cobbler of Agga- 
utam in America^ willing to help memf 
his natixr country, lamentably tattered 
both in the upper leather and soh\ with 
ail the honest stitches he ran take. 



And as wtlliitg never io be paid f 4 
work by old English ii^ifnied f^, 
is his trade to paUh aU ihe jf^mr iny 
gratis. T/ierefore^ / prat^ Gtnikmn^ 
keep your purses. By 'llieodorc de 
la Guard. London, jinnter in Popr'f 
Head Alley. 1647. This C4ihoiif 
work in verse was a satire aimed il 
the follies rife in New^ England afid 
the mother-country. Its real aotbor 
was Nathaniel Ward, minister of Ip^ 
wich. The Day ef £>i?<>m^ a pocOcal 
descri]>tion of the last judgmaiW 
by Michael Wigglcsworth. Inocne 
Mather's RenujrkaNe PtMnideneft^ K 
book of poems by Mrs. Anne fitad* 
street, daughter of old Governor Dud* 
ley, and wife of Governor Bcadstre^ 
The Nnv England Almanaek, prrntod 
in London, 1685. by John "^ :ir- 

tographcT to the king. .utk 

book contained an engraved m&fiof 
the New England colontci whkk 
made it especially popular. • 

The Puritan churches were repaid 
Hcan in form, and held the right » 
choose their own minister, and dad* 
plinc their own members, withoil 
interference of synod and assemblji; 
Kach church had a pastor, whcae 
duty it was to exhort and pntjr; 1 
teacher, who had charge of diffiodt 
cases of conscience, and prepared 
the young for church fcltowship; a 
ruling elder, to keep watch orec 
the brethren and sisters, and w]M> 
went from house in house wamtif 
the careless ; lastly, there were dtt- 
cons, generally two in nurnl>er, who 
managed the secular aflfaini of the 
church. The office of ruling dJer, 
however, was not always acccpuhle; 
and in the Wcnham Church Recofdi 
we find a vote of tlie congregadott 
doing away with it. 

But in regard to the ^f their 

ministers the civil pow< iierfeitt 

as we see by the following enactmeo!* 
passed by the General Court of Mas- 
sachusetts in 1654: 



- 



■* Forasmuch as it highly icndeth lo the 
advancement of the Gospel ihat die 
ministers ihercof be comfortably main- 
tftined, and it being the duly of the civil 
power to use all lawful means for the 
attaining of that end, and that hence- 
forth there may be established a settled, 
encouraging maintenance of ministers 
in all towns and congregations within 
this jurisdiction, this court do order 
that the county court in each shire shall, 
upon information given them of any 
defect of any congregation or township 
within the shire, order and appoint that 
maintenance shall be allowed to the 
tiiinistns and shall issue out warrants to 
the selectmen to assess, and to the con- 
stables of the said towns to collect, the 
samCf and to distrain the said asscss- 
mcnis on such as shall refuse Co pay. 
And it is hcfcby declared to be our in- 
tention that an honorable allowance be 
made to ihc ministry respecting the abil- 
ity of the places ; and if any town shall 
feel themselves burdened by the assess- 
ment of the county court, they may com- 
plain to this court, which shall at all 
times be ready to give relief to all men/' 

At a towD-meeting hi Ipswich, 
Massaditisetts, February 25, 1656, a 
majority of the freemen voted ^100 
towards a house for the minister. 
Pari of the mmority resolved not 
to pay, as they had not given con- 
sent for the levy of that sum. The 
question was submitted to the legis- 
lature, which declared that the Ips- 



wich vote was good both for those 
who favored it and those who did 
not, and that the pastor must have 
a house. 

The clergy were not always paid 
in money, as we see by a report to 
the Massachusetts Assembly in 1657 : 

'*Ilingham has one hundred families: 
Mr. Hobart has twelve persons in his 
family ; jCcp a year, payable one third in 
wheat, one-third in peas, one-third in In- 
dian corn ar\d rye, which is cleared olf 
annually. He carries on no farming^. 
Weymouth has sixty families : Mr. 
Thatcher has a family of seven persons, 
and /'too salary in a.11 sorts of corn. He 
cuhivatcs no land/' etc., etc. 

Here we must end our brief sketch 
of New England in the seventeenth 
century. We fain would go on, and 
speak of the persecution of the Qua- 
kers, the dispute m regard lo baptism, 
and other rehgious dififerenLcs which 
at length caused the failure of the 
experituent to fotmd Biblical crmi- 
nion wealths ; but space will not per- 
mit. We must add, however, that, 
in our opinion, these grim Puritans 
sJiould be judged with a little more 
charity than is frequently shown them 
in these days of spiritism » Mormon* 
ism, and infidelity. They had at least 
faith in God, which is more thaa 
triany of their descendants have. 




NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



Arrn Janls, By Dr. Ilergenroiher. Trans- 
lated by J, B, Robertson, Esq , with an 
Introduciion by him, giving a History 
of Gatlicanism from the rcii^n of Louis 
XIV. down to I he present lime. New 
York : The Catholic Publication So- 
ciety. 1S71. 

The only fault we have to find 
with this valuable book is its late 



appearance, ** Janus " is now among 

Catholics consigned to infamy and 
oblivion, and its detestable principles 
have been branded with the note of 
heresy by the Council of the V'ati- 
can. It is simply now, as it was in 
reality almost entirely from it"; first 
publication in this country, one of 
the w^eapons used by anti-CatboUc 



fi6 



N'tw Publications, 



writers aRfainst the church, and the 
more prized by them because /<>r^«'^ 
in a double sense of the word by 
trailors within our own walls. It 
has been already amply and ably re- 
futed by a learned contributor of 
The Catholic World, in Vol. XL 
of this mag^azine. and, in our opinion, 
that refutation has still a great value 
in regard to some points which it 
has discussed more thoroughly than 
is done in the work before us. F, 
Kciigh in England, and Dr, Schee- 
ben in Germany, as well as some 
other writers in magazines, also re- 
viewed and confuted "Janus " in an 
able manner. Dr. Hcrgenrother's 
buok was, however, the most com- 
plete and masterly of the answers to 
** Janus," and its prompt appearance 
within two months from the time 
when the book to which it was an 
answer was published in Germany 
prevented to a great extent the mis- 
chief which that venomous produc- 
tion was intended to work among 
wavering and ill instructed Catho- 
lics, A more prompt issue of the 
English translation would have been 
of great service during the time of 
the discussions accompanying the 
session of the Vatican CounciL But 
even now it is welcome, and will be 
very useful as an arjnory of defence 
ag-ainst the assaults which the ene* 
mies of the Holy See will continue 
to make on its divine prerog.ilivcs. 
Mr. Robertson's introduction adds 
greatly to the value of the book as 
a treatise for general reading. The 
author of "Janus " uttered the last 
word of a dangerous error, or con- 
glomeration of errors^ whose mildest 
and most tolerable phase was theo- 
logical Gallicanism, whose doctrinal 
spirit ctlliiresced and withered in the 
Jansenistic heresy, and whose out- 
ward form reached its utmost growth 
in the rebellious, schismatical. anti- 
Papal conspiracy of Scipio Ricci, 
Richer. Febronius, Joseph II.. and 
the German prince-archbishops who 
signed the Punctuations of Ems. 
The pure theological Gallicans of 
the type of Bossuet and La Luzerne 
liavc been generally loyal io the 



church, For si long lime the 
See thought it best t«> lc;3ivc 
theoretical errors in a certain 
of toleration, and a solemn judg 
of the church has condemned 
formally only within tbc Last 
year. Their firm adhesion u 
principle that the judgment d 
Pope, concurred iti by the m;t 
of the Episcopate, is iiifallibk 
always made it certain that 
would submit to a detmitJon I 
CEcumcnical Council, by which 
errors should be rectified. Jn j 
of fact, the dissension between 
small number of bishops anc 
body of their brethren has 
happily terminated by such a 
cil in a way which has brougl 
censure upon their i 
stigma upun their orth' 
last reprcscnlalivc of trie- i ,^1] 
bishops of France, Mgr. Marel. i 
making the best effort in his p( 
to argue his case, and openly 
manding for it a fair tnal and I 
ment. has submilted in the i 
frank and ht»nor.'\blc manner ta 
decision of the Council of the 
ticau defining Papal ' t| 

Thus this controversy is i , j 

for ever settled, without any 
of scission or schism fto far as C 
cans arc concerned, and, therel 
without danger to the faithful g| 
rally in any country. 

With the more extreme 
Roman party, however, the case 
been and is quite different. T 
errors have never been lolen 
but have been condemned as [ 
as tlicy appeared. Of Janscnisi 
is not necessary to speak ; but ni 
system which we may call Fcbn 
an ism we may say a tew words^, 
cause it is the last express.it>u of 
incoherent heresy which h.T5 
uttered by " Janus,'* Several ol 
most prominent advocates, |^ 
Richer* Von Hontheini htmseIC 
is no other than " FcbronniK 
least one of the archbishops 
signed the Punctuations, and. do4 
less, others of the same partT» 
canted their errors, and freed 
solves from censure, as many 



L 



New Publicatums. 



717 



senists also did in France and 
elsewhere. We sincerely hope that 
those who have been misled into 
similar errors at the present time 
may imitate their example. But 
for them there is no hope of a re- 
conciliation to the church except 
through a radical change of their 
principles. Those who held dis- 
tinctly to the supremacy of the 
Roman See and the infallibility of 
CEcumenical Councils were led by 
their own fundamental principle to 
admit that they had come short of 
the complete and integral doctrine 
of the church so long as they hesi- 
tated to confess the infallibility of 
the Pope. They required only the 
definition of the Council of the 
Vatican to scatter all their doubts 
to the winds. But, unhappily, the 
writers of "Janus" and their dis- 
ciples acknowledge neither the su- 
premacy of the Pope, nor the 
infallibility of councils, nor even 
that of the church at large. If 
they add contumacy to their erro- 
neous doctrines, they make them- 
selves heretics in the most radical 
sense of the word, so that there is 
but one alternative for them, entire 
submission and renunciation of their 
heresy, or excision from the external 
communion of the faithful. Some 
have cut themselves off from the 
church by their open protest against 
the Council, and a few who are 
ecclesiastics have been suspended 
by their bishops. It is impossible to 
imagine a more untenable position 
than that of these unfortunate per- 
sons. Their only hope lay in the 
success of their efforts to thwart the 
action of the Council of the Vatican. 
Having totally failed in this attempt, 
they cannot keep up any plausible 
appearance of adhering to the Ca- 
tholic communion. Nothing is be- 
fore them, therefore, except cither 
to join the Greek schism, like Pichler 
and Guettee, or to throw overboard 
all pretence to Catholicity and re- 
lapse into rationalism. Some of 
these men have been formerly use- 
ful and honored in the church. We 
mourn their defection, and earnestly 



desire their return ; but if they per* 
sist in their rebellion, the church 
will do as she has always done, pur- 
sue her course without heeding 
their outcries, and leave them to 
perish in the abyss into which they 
have madly thrown themselves. 

Lecture of the Most Rev. John Spald- 
ing, D.D., Archbishop of Bajiimorc, on 
the Temporal Power of the Pope and 
the Vatican Council. Delivered at the 
American Academy of Music. Phila- 
delphia, December 9, 1870. Revised 
and enlarged by the author. Phila- 
delphia : McLaughlin Brothers, Print- 
ers, Nos. 112 and 114 South Third 
Street. 1870. Pp. 24. 

This pamphlet is published in the 
most elegant and ornate style, as it 
is most fitting that it should be, 
considering the high dignity of its 
author, the still more august cha- 
racter of its subject, and its intrinsic 
excellence and importance. It is 
needless to say that there is no one 
so fully authorized to speak as the 
representative and mouth-piece of 
the entire hierarchy, clergy, and 
laity of the Catholic Church in the 
United States, as the Most Rev. 
Prelate in the first Metropolitan 
See. The document is not, it is 
true, official ; but, in point of fact, 
it has the same moral weight as if it 
were. The Archbishop of Baltimore 
has expressed the convictions and 
sentiments of the entire Catholic 
body in which he is the first digni- 
tary. Happily, the action of the 
bishops, clergy, and laity throughout 
the United States proves this state- 
ment in the most convincing and 
brilliant manner. The direct inten- 
tion of the prelate in this lecture 
was, nevertheless, not to make a 
protest against the spoliation of the 
Pope, an act which he had already 
performed within the precincts of 
his own see, and which the Bishop 
and faithful people of Philadelphia 
had also accomplished for them- 
selves,but to instruct his auditors and 
readers in the grounds for sustain- 
ing the temporal sovereignty of 
the Pope. It would be superfluous 



to speak of the qualifications of the 
Most Rev. lecturer in respect to the 
execution of this task. We cnn only 
express our ardent desire and re- 
commendation that the lecture 
may be read by every Catholic, as 
well as by every other American 
citizen who desires ta know the 
truth and right concerning the mat- 
ter treated of. We hope that the 
most energetic measures will be 
taken to give this pamphlet uni- 
versal circulation throughout the 
country. 

BRir.HTi.v's Federal Digest. A Digest 
of ibc Decisions of the Federal Courts, 
from the Organisation of the Govern* 
went lo the Present Time. By Freder- 
ick C. Brightly, Esq., of the Philadel- 
phia Bar, author of The United States 
Digest^ A Digest af the Laws of Pennsyl- 
vania^ A Treatise oh Equity^ etc. Vol. 
ir, pp. 976» Philadelphia: Kay & 
Brother. 17 and 19 South Sixth Street, 
Law Booksellers, Publishers, and Im- 
porters. 187a, 

Ifone of the old believers in the 
vi^tnti annorum tucttbrat tones could 
revisit Westminster Hall in this age 
of all the economies, how wonder- 
stricken would he not be ! Economy 
of time through steam and elec- 
tric ity. economy of physical labor 
through every imaginable form of 
machinery, economy of mental toil 
by the aid of compendium and di- 
gest, would immediately convince 
htm that it is not an idle boast of 
this generation that its genius has 
compressed the work of many cen- 
turies into one. He wotild remem- 
ber how often the niaxim» stare 
decisis, had been dinned into his ear, 
and withTivhat interminable labor he 
was obliged to search for those de- 
cisions of the wise men of England 
among the dusty heaps of parchment 
and rcd-t;ipe which, from their dark 
alcoves, seemed to mock his indus- 
tr)^ and zeal. Who can measure the 
labors of an attorney or barrister of 
the old time, or f<»rni any conception 
of the toils of the early law-writers, 
when atternpttng to reduce to sci- 
entitle arrangement the principles 



which had been slowly ^ ' Iwr 

judicial legislation thr«^^ rv 

sive centuries? H was Uic cu<irls. 
and not the parliament, by wtiiei 
was created the great body of llie 
common law, the iex ne^n wripUf.nf^ 
constituting the broad foundation 
of all the systems of 
govern the great Englr 
nations. What a multi 



cisions! Oh! for the D 



Itu i*htCh 

n 

rlt- 

mised by the Fates, but Wi, .... j>ot 
yet arrived. The strongest brain 
w^as well-ntgh exhausted by Us pit*- 
I i mi nary efforts in forcing'a pasictfe 
through mountains of dim old mjaii* 
script records before il bad airrfvt^ 
at its real task» the climir * aad 
assortment of the pricelt .jf 

wisdom and social ethics wnt* n were 
to be found buried and scattered 
under those huge masses 4jf %pcthi 
pleading, all crusted over with |»ffv 
lixities, tautologies, and bewtldeniif 
rctinements; clothed Jn a horribk 
jargon of French and Latin, Oh* 
for the Digester, to rescue the Kenu 
and Storys of those days fram tiM 
labors of the law-Hcrculcs* 

Truly^ the man who writes a good 
dictionary of any language is eniitlcd 
to high honor, for he confers upon 
society a vcrj' great benefit. In ItH 
manner, the man who. by ' a| 

industry and profound h ac- 

complishes the task of bnnipBg 
within the reach of inicU^gCtit 
non professional persons, as urcll 
as of professional lawycri* a 
knowledge of the ju ris prude iicc 
of their country, sulfictcnt at 
least, as BKick stone insists, for sli 
the purposes of an educated gentle^ 
man, well merits the applause af bis 
fellow citizens. A glance mt the 
Digest of the Decisims </ tike Fti^ 
ral Cottrts^ from ike Orj^am^t^im 
0/ the GiK'erftmeftt t0 ike Prtsemi 
Time, prepared by Mr. Fr- '^"-- *- C 
Brightly, will satisfy our i^ 4 

much information of th«- n i;ar*l 
practical importance, touching the 
interestsof inventors and - *'--*, 
of commercial men, si % 

underwriters, stockholdrr^ in ail 
kinds of corporations, and, t» Set, 



New Publications. 



719 



of all men who are in daily contact 
with the world of business, can be 
procured even by those who have 
not been trained in the hard school 
of Coke-Littleton. 

To the professional lawyer this 
work must be of the greatest utility. 
Hitherto we have had no digest of 
the decisions of the Federal courts, 
which have now become voluminous. 
In this work of Mr. Brightly, we find 
them briefly but clearly given, dis- 
tributed under appropriate titles, 
and faithful to the substance of the 
original text. As he says in his pre- 
face to the second volume, very 
recently issued from the press, it 
has been his aim to give the princi- 
ples of law, decided in each case, in 
the fewest possible words, consist- 
ently with clearness of expression. 
We think that he has done so in an 
admirable manner, and that this 
constitutes the true value of his 
work. A mere condensation ot the 
cases which, it seems, some of his 
critics would have preferred, could 
not have met the real requirements 
of the legal profession and the pub- 
lic. There is added to the digest 
a table of all the cases, with a refer- 
ence to the volume of reports in 
which each is to be found. 

Mr. Brightly's Digest of the 
Laws of the United States had pre- 
viously won for him the confidence 
and gratitude of the entire legal 
fraternity, so that, when this still 
more important work was announc- 
ed, it was immediately greeted with 
delight by the bench and the bar 
throughout the country. It is cer- 
tainly in every way worthy of his 
high reputation as a lawyer of pro- 
found learning and as a law-writer 
of great accuracy and perspicuity. 

The Life of Madame Louise de France, 
Daughter of Louis XV. Baltimore: 
Kelly, Piet & Co. 

That one of the Royal family 
should seek the seclusion of a con- 
vent at a time when corruption and 
wickedness reigned supreme in the 
court of France forcibly reminds us 



that the grace of God is no respecter 
of persons. 

The life of Mother Terese de St. 
Augustin was one of loving devo- 
tion to her dear Lord, who had so 
wonderfully called her from the 
midst of the world's most enticing 
allurements to follow the severe 
rule of the Carmelite Sisters. From 
her cell she spoke to her father, 
recalling him now and then from his 
own profligate course to the con- 
templation of a life given to God, 
and in every place where her sacri- 
fice was known the good gave glory 
to God that one surrounded by the 
fascinations of royalty, with a pros- 
pect of all that the world could give 
of pleasure, should consecrate her 
life and give her first love to him 
w^ho had chosen her for his spiritual 
spouse. 

The book is attractive both in its 
interior and exterior, and the pub- 
lishers have done well in giving 
to the young such an example of 
self-sacrifice in days when people 
coolly ask, " What is the use of mor- 
tification ? " 

Felix Kent ; or, The New Neighbors. 
By Miss Mary I. Iloflman, author of 
Agnes Hilton^ Alice Murray^ etc. I vol. 
i2mo, pp. 430. New York : P. O'Shea. 
1870. 

There is not much diflference be- 
tween this story and Miss Hoffman's 
last one, Alice Murray, which we 
noticed in The Catholic World 
for July, 1869. It deserves the same 
praise and the same censure. Miss 
Hoffman's leading characters in her 
story are all too good to be genuine. 
We fear so many good people living 
in any one vicinity — people always 
evenly good — arc not to be found ; 
at least we have never found them. 
The scene of Miss Hoffinan's story 
must be a model place, and one 
which we judge exists only in her 
own imagination. Otherwise the 
book is good moral reading, and we 
welcome it as an addition to our 
not very extensive American Catho- 
lic literature. 



720 



New Publications. 



Thb Young Catholic's Guide. A 
Monthly Magazine devoted to the in- 
terest of Catholic Youth. Vols. I., II., 
and III. Chicago : John Graham. 

A handsome illustrated volume 
of nearly six hundred pages, con- 
taining Tales, Sketches, Biographies, 
Puzzles, Poetry, Hymns set to mu- 
sic, etc. We know of no book late- 
ly issued more suitable as a pre- 
sent, and none likely to be more 
acceptable as a gift to the young. 



Tractatus de Ecclesia Ciiristi. Auc- 
torc Patritio Murray, in CoUegio S. 
Patricii apud Maynooth in Hibcrnia 
Professore, Romahae Acadcmix Re- 
ligionis Catholicx Socio. Dublinii. 
1866. 

This treatise is contained in three 
considerable volumes, printed in 
clear and large type, very conveni- 
ent and agreeable to the reader. It 
includes the treatise on the Pope, 
and treats the whole topic de ecclesia 
in a thorough and exhaustive man- 
ner. The author's arrangement and 
method are admirable, and his Latin 
style remarkably clear and perspicu- 
ous. The work has several peculiar 
merits. One of these is, that the 
author employs in dogmatic theo- 
logy the method used so advantage- 
ously in moral treatises, of qualify- 
ing doctrines or opinions according 
to their relative j^rades of extrinsic 
authority, with citations of authors. 
Another is, that he refers to those 
authors who have treated distinct 
parts of his topic with special clear- 
ness. Still another is that he men- 
tions the sources from which he has 
drawn objections. And a fourth is 
that he does not repeat the same 
thing twice, but refers back when- 
ever the same argument comes into 
play more tiian once, to the place 
where it is to be found. Dr. Murray 
has done credit to himself, to May- 
nooth, and to the learned clergy of 
Ireland, by this excellent and scho- 
larly production, which has been 
honored by a letter of congratula- 
tion from the Holy Father. A whole 
series of questions of the utmost 



present importance respecting the 
object and extent of the infallibility 
and authority of the church art 
treated by him in an able manner, 
and with much more completeness 
than is found in our ordinary text- 
books. Although published before 
the Council of the Vatican, this 
treatise is in strict conformity with 
its definitions on every point. Ob 
the whole, we regard it as the best 
of all modern treatises on the 
church, and, therefore, of the great- 
est utility to the clergy and all stu- 
dents of theology. 

Lktiones Quotidian/E de Vita, Honcs- 

TATE ET OfFICIIS SaCERDOTI'M ET 

Clericorum, ETC. Auctorc, P. Josepbo 
Schneider, S.J. Pustet. iSya 
These daily readings are taken 
from Holy Scripture, Decrees of 
Councils. Pontifical Constitutions. 
Episcopal Pastoral Letters, and the 
works of the Fathers and other pious 
authors. The book is a solid and 
admirable manual for spiritual read- 
ing, and we cannot too highly re- 
commend it to the Rev. Clergy and 
to candidates for Holy Orders. 

Ecclesiastical Celibacy ; or. Why Ci- 

tholic Priests do not Marry. ByRcr. 

J. A. Bcrgrath. Pensacolaj Fla. 1870. 

Pp. 56. 

A little pamphlet intended to 
refute the ordinary objections to 
the celibacy of the clergy. It is 
clear in its statement of the reasons 
for the practice of the church. The 
objections are put in popular form, 
and the answers are spirited and to 
the point. 

BOOKS RECEIVSO. 

From McKriiY & Co. — Memoirs of a Guirdiu 
Angel. Translated fiom the French of M. 
lAbMG. Chardon. 

From Patrick Do.nahok.— Jesus and Jerusakn. 
or, The Way Home. 

From P. G'She A.— Romance of the Charter Oak: 
A Picture of Colonial Times. By William Setoa 
In two volumes. Vol. I. 

From Chaklbs G. Denthkr. Buffalo. — Life ofthr 
Rt. Rev. John Timon. By Charles G. Dentkcr. 




CATHOLIC WORLD. 

) 



VOL. XIL, No. 72.— MARCH, 1871. 



ON THE HIGHER EDUCATION', 



The thoughts to which we design 
to give expression in the present arti- 
cle have been suggested by some 
essays on the same subject in the 
Ctviila Cattolkti. \Vc intend to re- 
produce in part some of the sugges- 
tions of the very able writer of the 
essays just alluded to, with other 
considerations of our o\\ti ; and, as it 
is impossible to draw a line of de- 
marcation between the borrowed and 
the original portions of our own es- 
say, we merely acknowledge our in- 
debtedness to our illustrious contem- 
porary, without claiming the authori- 
ty of its great name for any special 
proposition we may advance. 

What measures are desiral>le in 
order to improve the quality and ex- 
tend the influence of our higher edu- 
cation ? This is the question we 
propose to be discussed. We are 
not undertaking to ^w^ it an ex* 
haustive examination or discussion; 
but what we do have to say will 
have reference to it in some of its 
bearings, and, we may hope, if it 
does not command entire and uni- 
versal assent, will at least provoke 
thought, inquiry, and discussion, thus 



preparing the way for the manifesta- 
tion of truth and leading to useful 
practical results. 

The first and principal proposition 
we desire to set forth is that the 
basis and chief part of the higher 
Catholic education should be the in- 
culcation of a sound and complete 
philosophy. It is philosophy, and 
that alone, which really educates the 
mind ; that is, develops, strengthens, 
and perfects its natural principles and 
powers, thus making it actually in- 
telligent. Other branches of study 
are more properly defined to be in- 
struction, since their end is to furnish 
the mind with materials for the in- 
tellectuai faculties to make use of in 
science or art. We are only repeat- 
ing what has been often said by wise 
men, when we affirm that false phi- 
losophy is one principal cause of the 
most destructive errors and evils of 
the present epoch. The lack of true 
philosophy exposes a great multitude 
of badly or imperfectly instructed 
persons who rank w^ith the educated 
class to the influence of these errors 
and evils, even though the most es- 
sendal truths and moral principles, 



4 



fijxiered, «eoordiag to Act of Confess, in the year 1870, by Rjn,\ I. T. Hscksr, \n the Office o( 
the Ubrarkn of Cooi^resa, &t Wasbioi^toa, D. C, 



subverted by the said errorSi have 
been laught thetii by the way of 
faith and tradition. Ideology is at 
the basis of evetything. All first 
principles are rooted in it Substitute 
for it something false, and everything 
is corrupted at its very root. Re- 
move it» and all reality or living force 
in principles is lost, and only sensible 
phenomena remain as the object of 
either the intellect or the will. In 
some conditions of society or states 
of life, the wisdom which is necessa- 
ry for securing all the ends of life is 
sufficiently given by the purely reli- 
gious teaching of the church. Those 
who are not exposed to the danger 
of false philosophy or pseudoscien- 
lific scepticism, and who do not need 
much intellectual culture, find all 
they want in the instruction that 
comes by the way of faith, which is 
indeed of far greater value than all 
science. But those for whom it is 
the great present duty and need to 
provide a higher Catholic education 
in this country, do not Inrlong to that 
class. They are exposed to the 
above-mentioned dangers, and they 
desire an intellectual culture of great* 
er or less extent beyond the mere 
common elementary schooling, which 
culture they are determined to get if 
])0ssible. The purely rehgious in- 
struction of the catechism and the 
Sunday scmion are not enough for 
such as these. They are enough to 
give thcTn the faith and a certain 
knowledge of their duty, so that they 
are Inexcusable if they are false eith- 
er to the one or the other. But they 
are not enough to give them that 
understanding of the reasonableness, 
historical evidence, excellence, and 
glory of the Catholic religion, the 
absurdity, baselessness, intrinsic and 
extrinsic worthlessness of all forms of 
heresy and infidelity, which is desira* 
ble for diem. The Council of the 
Vatican has decreed that, 



•* If any one shall say «^ 
can have just rcxson for tv^ i ^ 

assent and caltmg into duuLi ilu 
which they have received ffom |he 
ing of the church, until t! 
completed a scicnli6c dcr i| 

the truth of their faith ; tcx hnn t>€ 
ihema.'* ♦ 



■J 



Yet die same council larncnl 
perversion of many ihe 

ful through false jjIi , y* 

danger exists, therefore, that we 
spoken of What w*e desire to sin 
that careful education in sound 
losophy is, for those who are en 
gercd by false philosophy, the 
and strongest safeguard next to 
gious teaching and .sacraincntaJ { 
Says the Infallible Teacher of C 
tians, the holy council approvifij 

" As generations and cenmHes 
let the understanding, knowlrd^ 
wisdom of each and every one, oT 
Tiduals and of the whole chordi, 
apace, and increase exceedingly.* f 

Crescal mteiligetttia^ s^Uniia^ u 
Ha, Every one knows whai is < 
ly meant in the Catholic schoo 
sckntia and tapkntia. It is the< 
and philosophy. The lallcr b 
properly called science than the 
er, since it proceeds throughout 
principles of natural reason, 
deals with that portion of the 
which is demonstrable by iniiti4 
or mediate evidence. Philosofi 
also wisdom, safUnfia^ as well 
ence ; as is proved by all the scl 
tic philosophers at length in iht 
liminary treatises of their metl 
sics* The advancenicnt c»f phi 
phy is» therefore, most • 
sired by the entire Cathoi - - .^,41 
as a great good, and wc have 
to inquire tl)e nature and extd 
that good which is 10 be caqx 
from it It is not nccosajy Iq 

t idnm, Cip. Ir. im jim^. 



fucatwn. 



long in arguing out this part of the 
subject; for all Catholic writers are 
agreed that philosophy adds to the 
intellect, already elevated and enligh- 
tened by divine faith, a new and 
splendid ornament, by giving it the 
understanding of that which reason 
is able to investigate in the highest 
realms of truth — that it is an armor 
of defence against all the poisoned 
weapons of false philosophy, and an 
irresistible weapon of offensive war- 
fare against the same dangerous ene- 
my. The universal practice of the 
church is in accordance with this 
idea. Everywhere, in the schools 
which are directed by the hierarchy, 
philosophy forms the basis of the 
higher education which is given in 
the course of collegiate studies. This 
Is the case in our own colleges and 
seminaries in the United States. It 
is not, therefore, precisely of the ne- 
cessity of promoting the study of the 
elements of logic and metafihysics in 
our colleges, that we tind any parit- 
cular reason to speak at present. 
We have in view a kind of education 
which is given to those young per- 
sons who study for several years after 
the time of childhood has passed, 
but who do not go through a colle- 
giate course, and wc have reference 
to the education of girls as well as 
lo that of boys. 

So far as the boys are concerned, 
there can be no question of the ne- 
cessity of making philosophy the 
principal part of their education. 
Some of them, after passing through 
this kind of medium course of in- 
struction, study law, medicine, or en- 
gineering. Others go into mercantile 
life, or some species of business in 
which they have the hope and the pro- 
spect of gaining a considerable share of 
wealth and inrtuence. The youth of 
this class^ when they amve at man- 
hood, have also open before them a 
great many positions and offices in 



civil and political life, in which they 
will have the opportunity of render- 
ing most essential services to religion 
and morality. In this country of 
speech-making and newspapers, there 
is a chance for a great number of 
persons who are tolerably smart ami 
well infonned, to bring what know- 
ledge and sense they have into play 
in the narrower if not in the wider 
circles of influence. Then, not least 
in importance, there is the army of 
school-teachers that will come into 
greater and greater demand in ever- 
increasing numbers, as Catholic 
schools increase in number and ex- 
cellence throughout the rapidly m- 
creas i n g C a th ol ic co m muni ty . N o w , 
we maintain that the same reasons 
which have induced the wise ancients 
to make philosophy the basis of the 
university education, hold good in 
the present instance. ^Vhat can be 
more efticacious as a discipline to 
train the mind to think and reason 
correctly, to detect sophistry, to re- 
ject captious and plausible errors, than 
a sound training in the elements of 
logic? The want of this training, 
and the loose habits of thinking and 
writing which follow from it, are most 
consj>icuous among a great number 
of the writers for the ant i- Catholic 
press. That admirable controversial- 
ist, Bishop England, fretiucntly di<l 
but little in refuting an antagonist, 
except to point out the errors of lo- 
gic into which he had fallen. It is 
amusing to see what a figure is cut 
by the loose semblances of objections 
from English Protestant writers when 
they are laid hold of by the iron grip 
of Dr. Murray of Maynooth* The 
palpal >lc effects of the neglect of phi- 
losophy in modern non-Catholic edu- 
cation are the best proof of the im- 
portance of giving it the first place 
in CathoUc education. This is true 
not only as respects logic, but also of 
metaphysics. All modern literature 



724 



i« full of erroneous^ pcmiciotiSy aod 
tDfidel maxims, data, and conctusions. 
Jast ai logic if oecessaiy in order to 
mtikc one cupcit in detecting and re- 
tiring CaUc reasoning, metaphysics 
arc 11 r<ltT to protect and 

arm ( ust false principles, 

crruntMjuh uptfnuiiN, the infidel con- 
dujiions of sophistry and pseudo-sci- 
ence. If this sound philosophy is 
not learned in Catholic schools, the 
wrctrhcd jituff contained in the so-call- 
ed mental philosophies of authors 
like Bain, or at least some jejune 
and (lull system fitted to disgust the 
pupil with the very name of philoso- 
phy, will be imbibed in its stead. 
The extensive and miscellaneous 
reading in which our young people 
indulge will fill up their minds with 
false notions which are logically irre- 
cont ihilile with the doctrines of the 
Vathulic faith. Thus a state of men- 
tal contradiction will be unconscious- 
ly* gradually* but inevitably produc- 
ed» which will breed ditliculiies, per- 
jilexilics, tem[)tations against faith, 
ami in many instances will result 
sooner or later in secret or open 
apostasy and infidelity, 

Voung women as well as young 
men are exposed to these dangers, 
because to a ^;reat extent they be* 
come familiar with the same kind 
of literature. The non-Catholic fe- 
male schools give an instruction 
which is on the same intellectual 
level with that of young men, and in 
some institutions the two sexes are 
educated together in the same classes. 
Women arc engagrtl in editing, unit- 
ing, translating, and teaching, to a 
ver\' great extent. It is often the 
caj^* iliat a priest will be obliged to 
rail on his philosophy and sdeoce 
to retnovr the di^- 

cuUtcs^ arv ; rvligioiis 

doctrine tbe intnds ot the (ctnak 
caiechuiiiefis irho come to hun to 
be prepared for recepcioii iolo the 




Oh ike Higher 



9niu| 

iibo^ 



Catholic Church, or to be 
lished in the faith« tirom 
have been drawn awsybf abod 
cation. Women^ in our socktj* f 
they are intelligetit aod i 
come in contact with the traajkn 
of men, and share in the intdlectii 
movements around them Ln aaci 
a way that a sound instruction 
philosophy of religion is of great 
to keep them safe Irom imbi 
ror, and to give them a wholeMM 
influence in opposing it, both ai hoar 
in the bosom of their own fAniik^ 
and also in the society arotmd tier 
All these things appear tons to shot 
the propriety of placing the mtdl&- 
tual standard of education in ots ^ 
male seminaries at a high grade 
this be admitted, we think it folbft 
that the study of philosophy ott^ 
to be a principal part of the 
in these institutions. At least, 
elementary instruction ought to k 
given to the pupils generally, aod i 
higher course be opened to a 
number who desire a more ninnitir 
education. 

In order that instniction in pld^ 
sophy should produce the 
fruits, it is essential that it ibodi 
follow only thos. iiiethodv 

ciplcs^ and au: which 

the sanction of tbe church, €r, le 
least, arc altogether c:Kempt Ir 
even a just stisfitcion that she rr^ 
them with di&approl>ation* h 
scarcely necessary to enlarge 
on the evib of disooed in 
cmX iostnictioit, or the 
of unity, it is, moreover, too obnM 
to need pnooC th«t ibere is 
of attaining this ttnky or 
solid progrcsB, mkss that mmy wU 
one of anckat and tmditiaBd 
dom, that old aod rojral itiad of Ai 
school of Socfmtes» oC Sl 
a]»d tbe sediKval 9clMKitmeo, 
their iBoclenisttccessQQL Itii 
evident that pliBgaQ|ibical 



aoi 




needs, as much as theology, to be 
watched over and directed by infalli- 
ble authority ; and, moreover, that the 
Holy See in which that infallible au- 
thority is divinely lodged is special- 
ly intent, at the present epoch, upon 
the exercise of this prerogative, Pius 
IX,, in the letter to the Archbishop 
of Munich, Gravissimas Inter ^ thus 
succinctly and clearly dehnes the 
doctrine so abundantly taught in his 
FontLfical Acts in many places, and 
|ways acted on by the Holy See ; 

•• Ecclesia ex poteslate sibi a divino 
Auctore cuTtiraissa non solum jus, sed 
ofScium pTxserthn habet non tolcrandi» 
sed proscribendi ac damnandi omncs er- 
rorcs, si ita fidci integriias, el aiiimannti 
sal us posculaverini ; ct omni philosopha, 
qui ccclesiic films esse vclit, ar ctiam 
pkilosophix ofTicium incunibit^ nihil uii- 
quam dicerc contra ca, quae ecclesia do- 
eei. ct ea retraclare, dc quibus cos eccle- 
sia monuerit, Senteniinm autcm, qure 
COfitrarium cdocct, omnino, erroneain et 
ipsi fidri cccleshc ejusque auctjritale 
vel maximc injtiriosam esse edicimus et 
declaramus." 

•* By the power committed to her by 
licr divine Author, the church has not 
only the righi» but» above all, the duty of 
not tolerating, yea, rather, of proscribing 
and condemiting all errors^ whenever the 
tntcgnly of the faith and d^e salvation of 
souls demand that she should do so ; 
and the obligation is incumbent upon 
tvtry pkihsoplur who wishes to be a son 
of the church, as well as upon phihiophy 
4isilj\ never to utter anything contrary 
to those things which the church teaches, 
and to retract cvemhing which the 
church censures. Moreover* we pro- 
nounce and declare the opinion which 
leaches the contrary altogether ern^- 
Httf/dJ^ and in the highest degree injuria 
0HS to the fmtk of the church itself, as 
well as to her authorify,^* 

The dogmatic decrees of the Coun- 
cil of the Vatican are pervaded 
ihroughout by the same doctrine, 
so necessary for our times, and it is 
distinctly declared both in the fourth 
chapter of the First Constitution^ 
and also in the corresponding canon ; 



*' Porro ecclesia, qu^ una cum apos- 
tolico nitincre docendi, mandatuni acce- 
pit fidei depositunicustodiendi, jus ctiam 
et officium divinitus habet falsi norninis 
scientiam proscribendi, ne quis dccipia^ 
tur per philosophiam ct inanem falla* 
ciam. 

" Si quis dixerit, disciplinas humanas 
ca cum libcrtatc tractandas esse, utearum 
asseriiones, ctsi doctrinse rcvclat^ adver- 
gcntur^ tanquam verse rciincn, ncque ab 
ecclesia proscrtbi possint ; anathema sit." 

" Moreover,, the church, which, toge- 
ther w*iih her apostolic office of teach- 
ing* is charged also with the gtiardiati- 
ship of the deposit of faith, holds like- 
wise from God the right and the duty to 
condemn science falsely so-called, lest 
any man be deceived by philosophy and 
an empty illusion. 

*' If any one shall say that human 
sciences ought to jae pursued in such a 
spirit of freedom that one may be allow- 
ed to hold as true their assertions, c^^cn 
when opposed to revealed doctrine, and 
ihat such assertions may not be con- 
demned by the church ; let him be ana- 
ihcraa." 

Every one who knows anything of 
the oflicial acts of the Holy See, par- 
ticularly those which have emanated 
from the present reigning Pontiff, is 
aware that the condemnation of errors 
in philosophy, as well as other branches 
of knowledge, is not restricted to those 
which are directly and e.xplidlly con- 
trary to dogmas of faith, but extend 
to those which are indirectly, remote- 
ly, and implicidy contrary to the re- 
vealed trudis. Pius IX. has repeat- 
edly condemned in strong terms that 
utterly tincatholic and heterodox opi- 
nion, that the obligation of interior 
obedience to the juflgments and teach- 
ings of the church is restricted to the 
matter of revealed dogma and here- 
sy* It extends to all truth which is 
connected with or related to faith, 
and all error in regard to that truth. 
Anrh lest there should be any loop* 
hole left open through ^vhich a dis- 
obedient, disloyal, and self* willed Ca- 
tholic might creep^ the Council of 
the Vatican has been careful to give 



726 



the whole weight of its authority to 
aiiolemn admonition, which doses the 
Constitution on Faith, and in which 
the obligation of obeying all the dc- 
rrecs of the Holy See against errors 
which are not expressly heretical, but 
which approach more or less to 
heresy, is declared. It is impossible, 
therefore, on any pretext, to call the 
law imposing interior assent to the 
{Iccrees of the Holy See a /tx dubiit. 
It was always in reality a kx aria ; 
and now the authority of the Coun* 
eil of the Vatican has given it a re- 
duplicated certainty, which is pro- 
claimed to all Catholics in such clear 
atid unmistakable terms that none of 
them who are at all well instructed 
can have any excuse for being in 
error. 

Those who are acquainted with 
the recent history of philosophy as 
cultivated in Catholic schools arc 
aware that the Holy See has had 
frequent occasion to censure systems 
or propositions put forth in Germany, 
France, and Belgium, Some of those 
whose opinions have been censured 
have loyally submitted, while others 
have made a contumacious resistance, 
which has ended in a total apostasy 
from the faith. Most of those who 
have deviated from the right road 
have been in perfectly good faith 
and animated by the best intentions. 
Until of late, the church had not 
sjKilcen her mind so clearly or exer- 
rised her magistracy so decisively in 
the department of philosophy as she 
now does. But if we do not profit 
by the lessons given to others, and 
avoid the errors into which they 
were unwittingly drawn, our con- 
duct will he both foolish and inex- 
cusable. Foolish, because no author 
or system can live after being smit- 
ten by the ban of the church; inex- 
cusable, because it is the greatest of 
crimes to promote knowingly and 
wilfully disunion, schism, rebellion 




On the Higher Educaiwn 



against the \ oX the 

The only h .rcfore, for 

true progress m philosaphy 
our students in this country^ d 
any goo<l fruit from phiJoBx^pl 
instruction, must be [ ^ ' a i 
of obedience to Uu ,.4e 

thority in the church if^^chin wl 
nghful domain philoftopby is pti 
by its close and intimace rddtial 
faith and theology. 

It is not, however, to l>e 
stood that a mere enunieratioii ol 
philosophical doctrines riefincti 
the church and of the errors *hc 
condemned suffices to furnish all 
necessary data atid conditions f<it»! 
formation of a sound and camp 
system of philosophy. 1 1 ifi 
in addition, that wc ff 
tion given us by the i i ; 

her ordinary and diffused t 

leaching and practice, as t*. ,,1^ ^U 
ral sources and metliods by 
solid science may be attained, 
in philosophy as in theology. In 
latter science, beside and beyond 
sum of clearly revealed and defil 
dogmas and the authoritative Cai 
lie doctrine derived from thetB, 
church points us to the Scriptoie^ 
the sources of Catholic traditioQi 
the fathers and doctors of the cJii 
and to the schola^ or body of \ 
proved theologians, as the ttsaw 
or conduits from which we arc to 
rive theological knowledge. We 
not forbidden to use our own 
in research or deduction, or diM 
raged from the eflfort to make {! 
gress in iheulogical science. But 
are directed to use our reason aiK 
strive after progress according to 
rule and method of the CalM 
school, and in the same line with | 
predecessors and masters. The fl 
ject and endeavor of a certain 
ber of persons who were amlntioi^ 
head a new school in theology 
should reconstruct sacred sdcDc«v 



On the Higher Education. 



carding the scholastic theology of 
past ages, has been met by a prompt 
and sharp rebuke from the supreme 
authority. In [ihilosophy, likewise^ 
there are plain indications of the 
mind and will of the church that we 
should pursue the track of scholastic 
doctrine and investigation. The as- 
sumption that the philosophical teach- 
ing made use of for ages in the Catho- 
lic schools is essentially erroneous or 
deficient, and that we ought to take a 
new point of departure, found a new 
philosophy, and reform the whole 
system of philosophical instruction, 
can only mislead and end in utter 
failure. Enough time, talent, and 
labor have been thrown away in that 
direction, with no other result than to 
evoke the thunders of the Vatican 
upon the towers of Babel which their 
builders sought to raise toward hea- 
ven, but which have tumbled into 
heaps of rubbish. The cultivation 
of the higher sciences is in its 
early* incipient stage in the Catho- 
lic Church of the United States. 
May we be wise enough to take 
the right track from the beginning, 
and to follow out consistently the 
Catholic method! Thus far, in our 
colleges and seminaries, Latin text- 
books have been used^ and these are 
usually examined and approved by a 
competent authority before they are 
published or adopted into use. But 
we are not speaking of the instruc- 
tion given in these institutions. Our 
remarks refer altogether to a kind of 
instruction which is to be given to 
pupils who cannot make use of Latin 
text-books, and for whom, therefore, 
manuals must be provided WTitten in 
the English language. 

We are not disposed to contest, 
against F. Kleutgen and other emi- 
nent European writers, the great ad- 
vantages of the Latin language as a 
medium of instruction and the lan- 
guage of philosophical science. But, 



in point of fact, it is simply impossi- 
ble to make use of it for the purpose 
we have in view. Not only the pu- 
pils, but even many of the teachers 
in the schools of the class we refer to, 
are and will be unable to read a Latin 
book. The text- books must be Eng- 
lish, and we have been more than 
once written to by teachers of Catho- 
lic schools on the subject before us, 
with the request for advice respecting 
the preparation of a suitable text-book 
of philosophy in English, Some one 
or more manuals of this kind, either 
translated from the Latin or original, 
are likely to be produced very soon ; 
and, as schools multiply and improve, 
we are in danger of being flooded 
with them by rival institutions, au- 
thors, and publishers. There is but 
one way to prevent this misfortune, 
and that is that every text-book 
should be subjected to a rigid super- 
vision by the ecclesiastical authority. 
This is not the only thing, however, 
which is necessary. W'c need not 
only to be guarded from the pest 
of bad or imperfect books, but to 
have good ones prepared by the most 
competent hands — by men who are 
learned in philosophy, who are obe- 
dient to the church, and who are 
capable of expressing in the best and 
plainest English, in a clear, lucid 
style and method, and in a way 
adapted to the mental condition of 
their students, that philosophical doc- 
trine w^hich is most commonly re- 
ceivetl in the church. We recom- 
mend this matter to the attention 
of those who are especially interested 
in and concerned with Catholic edu- 
cation in this coimtry, and to the 
same class of persons also in Europe; 
for much that has been said applies 
as well to other countries as our own, 
and it matters little in what language 
a manual of this kind is originally 
written, since it can be adapted to 
any other language by a skilful trans- 



728 



On the Higher Educaiiott* 



laton The desideratum is to find a 
manual of instruction in philosophy, 
suitable lor the medium class of 
pupils, which may be translated into 
Enghsh, or to produce an original 
work oi that sort. Whoever supplies 
this want in a satisfactory manner 
will render a great service to the 
cause of Catholic education, and 
exert an influence for good over the 
young generation now forming whicli 
cannot be estimated. 

We do not^ however, by any means 
restrict our definition of that philoso- 
phy which is so essential to education^ 
to logic and metaphysics. We in- 
clude in it ethics, physics, politics — in 
a word, all regulating and universal 
principles which give law to science, 
art, the relation of man to society 
and the race, to his temporal and 
eternal end. Dr. Brownson has often 
and wisely said that all Catfiolic 
dogmas are also universal principles. 
A thoroughgoing and completely cdu- 
cated Catholic is one who knows, be- 
lieves, and is regulated by all these 
principles in respect to the whole 
duty of man, A Catholic must be a 
Cathohc in science, histor)% literature, 
professional or mercantile life, politics, 
and all social relations, as well as in 
the profession of the creed and the 
reception of the sacraments. The 
tout ensemt*ie of all these principles 
is what we call Catholic philosophy 
in its wide and general sense, as in- 
cluding all the branches of what is 
properly called education, to which 
instruction or the acquisition of in- 
dustrial knowledge stands in the same 
relation that flesh, skin, hair, com- 
plexion, and dress do to the skeleton 
— that is, they complete, beautify, or 
adorn and protect the body of which 
the skeleton is the framework. Such 
a taut ensemble of Catholic principles 
would be a summary of all those 
truths in a positive form which are 
the opposites of all tlie modem and 



prevalent errors in ever 

of thought which the S 

tiff Pius IX. has condemned 2] 

ous to the temporal and eternal 

being of mankind in his great 

clical and Syllabus of 1864, 

We have already sufficiently; 
en of the danger arising from 
false opinions in general, and tl 
cessity of inculcating the souni 
true principles. But wc shall a 
more particularly one departocK 
education in which it is imporu 
give our American youth tiie 
kind of instruction, on account^ 
particular circumstances of our 
country. This is poJidcal ^ 
the science of the origin, and 
and laws of governnicnt, tfie 
tution and laws of political ^ 
or the state. The first n:aso( 
bestowing particular care up04 
education of American youth i 
litical science is, that they are c_ 
to exercise the rights and dutt< 
citizens in a republic by partk 
ing in its government. 'VKis is 
vious and so little likely to bcqu 
ed that we need not stop to aig 
out at length. The second ro 
is, that alse and dangerous tm 
principles, and doctrines in i 
to politics arc so commaD 
prevalent among us. These 
doctrines are dangerous to our 
tical and social well-being. Ther 
also dangerous to Catholic failli j 
loyalty. For they are in contra 
tion to the teaching and actioa 
the Holy See in reference to its 
temporal sovereignty^ and to the 
ral and reUgious relations of 
government and society to thccfa 
in Christendom. They breed a L 
and habit of mind which is mdn 
to sympathize with that j>ariy 
Europe which b hostile (o 
church, and engaged in a pcipeO 
war against its head, the Konq 
Pontiff. They have no right to 



name so often given them of " Ame- 
rican principles/' for they are not the 
principles upon which our govern- 
ment and institutions are based; but 
they are widely prevalent among 
Americans, and it is therefore neces- 
sary that the true principles of poli- 
tics — those which arc in hamiony 
with Catholic doctrine^ and at the 
same time in harmony with the true 
and genuine American idea — should 
be taught to our youth in the most 
explicit manner. 

There is another most important 
branch of study which needs to be 
brought into more direct subservien- 
cy to the ends of Christian and Ca- 
tholic education, and that is his- 
tory. The true Christian, and, there- 
fore, the true scientitic method of 
Studying history, is to study it in its 
relation to the great plan of God for 
the redemption of the human race. 
The outline of universal history ought 
therefore to exhibit i>rincipally the 
relation of different races ajid 
epochs to the genuine and perfect 
human civilization ^ founded and pro- 
gressively developed through the 
divine revelation. The separate por- 
tioos of history which deserve to be 
most minutely studied are those 
which are most intimately con- 
nected with this divine movement 
af civilization, which is, in other 
words, the temporal reign of 
Christ uijon the earth; and those 
which are most closely connected 
with the nation or country of the 
Student himself. The common 
course of historical study has been, 
for those who have had an English 
education, chiefly confined to Greek 
and Roman history and the history 
of the modern Christian nations. 
We say nothing to disparage the 
study of these portions of history in 
suitable books, although we might 
justly make* some severe criticisms 
upon the manner in which most of 



our English authors have executed 
their task. But we think it highly 
important that the earliest history of 
the race should receive mo/e atten- 
tion, and be presented in such a way 
as to exhibit the unity of ihc human 
family, and the other fundamental 
facts of the historic revelation. The 
history of the Jews ought also to be 
made more prominent, and the con- 
nection of sacred and profane his- 
tory brought into clearer light 

It is, however, chiefly upon the 
importance of imparting a kjiowledge 
of the histor>^ of Catholic Christen- 
dom that we wish to insist as a ca- 
pita! point. We do not mean eccle- 
siastical history in its technical sense. 
We do mean the history of the ac- 
tion of the Catholic religion upon 
those peoples whom it converted, in 
educating them into national great- 
ness, developing Christian civiliza- 
tion, and stimulating all kinds of 
noble and heroic deeds. This part 
of the domain of history has been 
much neglected » and among those 
who have received the ordinary Eng- 
lish education is almost unknown. 
The history of the popes as the lead- 
ers of Christendom, the heads of the 
civilizing movement, the true fathers 
of the human race, forms the noblest, 
the most interesting, the most im- 
portant chapter in modern history; 
one also of the least known, but 
which ought to be made familiar to 
all educated Cadiolics. The forma- 
tion of the Christian English nation, 
the Scottish, the French, Spanish, 
German, and other nations, is to be 
classed under the same category. 
The history of Ireland must, of 
course, be especially dear to those 
to whom it is the place of native or 
ancestral origin, and, in point of fact, 
is better known Uian that of othei 
countries in relation to its Catholic 
aspects among the Catholics of Irish 
descent. The United States has also 



730 



Oh the Higher Educaiion. 



had lis chapter of Catholic history. 
Some writers of great fame, as, for in- 
stance^ M. Montalembert, M. Oza- 
nani, and Mr. Allies, have iiiTitten ad- 
mirable works upon these neglected 
chapters of history. Others, hke 
Balmes, have written treatises on the 
principles and methods of Catholic 
civilisation. Many biographies of 
the great heroes and heroines of 
these epochs have also been pub- 
lished in different languages. What 
we desire and advocate is the incor- 
poration of the principles and facts 
which are found largely developed 
in such works into suitable text-books 
for use in the course of instruction 
given in Catholic schools; with nu- 
merous and well -executed illustra- 
i' I-., such as those w^hich adorn the 
// A'/j a/ Irrhmi by Miss Cusack, 
and Duruy^s Htshry of France. Apart 
from their deficient or objectionable 
character in regard to doctrine, M. 
Duruy*s Series of HiiUyncal Manuals 
is a specimen of what we have in 
OUT mind, and wc may also mention, 
among modern English books, Smith's 
History 0/ I^ikstttte. For younger 
children, the illustrated books of that 
singularly gifted man, F. Formby. 
are in every respect models of per- 
fection » 

The great point to be gained with 
the coming generation of Catholics 
is to make them see and feel the 
grandeur and magnificence of their 
religion, that they may glory in it, 
and that all their pride and boast 
may be in rhoir faith and their Cat ho- 
he descent. It is time to break the 
prestige of heathenism and pseudo- 
liberalism, and every other illusion, 
and manifest to the multitude that 
which has so long been known to 
the ////r, thai there is nothing on the 
earth really worthy of admiration ex- 
cept the Catholic Church, the spotless 
Bride of the Son of God, the queen 
of the world, for whose sake the 



J— cMH 



nations have been created^ 
whose glory and triumpli aloD« 
is prolonged, and the endless 
events woven on its loom. 

It is understood, of course, t 
complete Catholic education 
comprise in its course a 
system of religious instruci 
strict sense of the word 
exposition of Catholic dogi 
doctrines in faith and morah. 
that, as fonning the link be4 
rarional science, in the strict 
and the science which is b^M 
faith or religious knowledge, 
most necessary and useful to 
the motives of credibility of the ( 
tian and Catholic t '- -ihi 

the evidences of CI ^ 

the authority of the *. 
basis of rational convict] a 

in a thorough knowledge oi \ 
motives of credibility, can a€f< 
shaken in the n)ind of one wli 
been taught logical and com 
Christianity — that is, the doctril 
the Catholic Church. It i-s hm 
overtuni it even in a mind f 
knows only the paralogisms and 
tradictions of Protestantism* 1 
in connection wHth a sound ph 
phy and a just exposition of hii 
this rational demonstration oi 
Catholic religion forms a |>yTaal 
broadly based, so strongly and 
metrically built, that it is capali 
withstanding for ever every \tmi 
amount of assault, and coinii 
the homage of the human ian 
even when that homage \% reluct 
given through the pcrvcndty oC^ 
obstinately determined to resol 
oppose the tt-uth. The formaik 
this science in the mind, togethtf 
the development of iaiih and v 
h what we consider to be true Ci 
lie education. 

\Vc do not fincy that this ti 
lion should be giv^en solely aim 
clusivcly by the study su>d redta 



1 



in class, of lessons from a series of 
text-books. There are many other 
means and instruments of education 
besides class recitations. There is 
reading, which completes and en- 
riches what is gained by study. 'Iliere 
are the debates and literary exercises 
of societies formed among the studi- 
ous youth. There are lectures both 
for the inmates of institutions of learn- 
ing and for others. There is conver- 
sation and social intercourse, the in- 
fluence of mind upon mind, the per- 
petual and powerful effect of a com- 
mon and public profession and 
avowal of right, just, and noble 
principles. I'here is an atmosphere 
surcharge*! witli wholesome^ invigo- 
rating influences, holding in solution 
the very aliments of intellectual life 
aod energy* The religion of Christ is 
intended to make a new world ; and it 
is by the combined effects of a multi- 
tude of causes set in action by indivi- 
dual minds and wills, which are stimu- 
lated by the light and heat of divine 
grace and truth, that this new^ world 
shapes itself out of the materials of the 
old. Those who act most immediate- 
\y upon the intellect, next after the 
preachers of the divine word, are 
the authors of Catholic literature. 
We have certainly pointed out in 
this article work enough for a host 
of them during the next century. 
We hope our words will not be lost 
U{K>n those who aspire to become 
authors. There is no greater want, 
at present, apart from those things 
which are necessary to salvation, for 
English-speaking Catholics and also 
non-Catholics who are seeking the 
truth, than an ample supply of good 



books of every sort. This ought to 
be sufficient to induce those who 
aspire to authorship to direct their 
efforts tovvards the production of 
books which will be really useful, 
and to excite those who are capable 
of writing such books to exercise 
that power by contributing their 
quota to tlie intellectual treasur}% 
We know of no better example to 
propose to the favored persons 
whom God has enriched with the 
higher intellectual gifts, than one 
whom we have already mentioned 
— M, Frederic Ozanani. At the age 
of seventeen, deeply impressed by 
the conviction which his excellent 
instructor had imparted to him, that 
the Catholic religion is the source of 
innumerable benefits to the human 
race, he formed the resolution of de- 
voting his pen to the propagation of 
this religion. His sentiments and 
determinations are expressed with all 
the artior of a generous youth, in let- 
ters written to his friends at this pe- 
riod. From that time he devoted 
himself to the studies which were 
proper to prepare him for his task, 
and all know with what brilliant suc- 
cess he executed it, altliough his life 
was comparatively short. Let those 
who are able and worthy to enter on 
the career of letters follow his exam- 
ple. Let them not throw away their 
time upon useless and frivolous works, 
or even upon those which are of minor 
utility, but, rather, seek in the vast 
fiulds and the rich mines which await 
their labors, for the finest fruits and 
the richest treasures their diligence 
can gather for the good of their fel- 
low- men. 



732 



The Two GadmfitkiwWm 



THE TWO GODMOTHERS. 



ritOU Tll« &f AW»H OF FSHNAK CABAtt^EKO. 



Don Fenian, Uncle Romance, I 
must have a story, lo-thy. 

Vnde Romance. Another! Haven't 
I told your worship that I get my 
stories not out of books, but out of 
my head ? 

Don F. And haven't I answered 
you, " No matter" ? So tell on. 

Unc/e i?. But, senor, they are 
things just picked up along the way, 

I>m F, Uncle Romance, we ought 
to please each one according to his 
taste, and I assure you that you give 
mc great pleasure when you tell me a 
story. 

Unde R, Say no more. Your wor- 
shij> has caught me where the hair is 
short, and 1 can't resist; but my 
memory is getting so faded that it 
has almost lost the color of many 
things. However, Til try to lay 
hand on something recent. • 

Off somewhere, on a high rock at 
the foot of a sierra, a village has 
dimbcd, and seated itself like a 
stork*s nest on a tower. I won't 
tell you its name, but. as they say, 
relate the miracle without mention- 
ing the saint. 

In it there lived two men who had 
for godmothers the one Good, and 
the other Had, Fortune. They called 
one Don Josd el Colmado, f and the 
otlicr Tio Juan Miseria. } Don Jos6 

* And to recent that the two types which the 
dory prcvcQti bAvt icftrcely pftssed «wb>\ If 
tht French can say that ftcutcoe^ runs the 
streets in P«ri», with how much more rc«*nn 
inAy we Ay th&t it ntn« the fields to AocUiluiiAt 

— KOTB or AlTTHORKSS. 

t The highly ftrored. 
i Uncle J oho Mum: r>'. 



began by peddling hncn 
cloth through the streets ; 
he set up a shop, and bHi 
bought land, and went to £sj 
As Good Fortune blew him 
out ever slopping to take In 
became one of the richest rrN 
place, and well liked by all^ 
he was neither stingy nor gt| 
almsgiving and a good 
He did not make a great 
use big terms that he did na 
stand, as more than four* 
who talk on stilts have beeij 
to; for it isn't natural, arid 
they siudy^ the more ihcf < 
with some blunder, some i 
goes to the centre, f He 
stuck-up^ but plain and casT| 
king's highway, for money 
turned his head, nor gnral 
made him proad* In : 
Jos^ and his w*ere good 
liis house, as in that of 
all wxre devout, even to 
carrier. 

In the house of M' 
thing is always amt^ 
no flour, was nolhsiig 
nakedness, wrafigltng^ 
ing, and slaps to sileace 

One day, Don Jomk 
Miseria, who made h» a 
such a state that jxhb w 
touched him with a pair «Ca 
spoken to him» estceftc 
next summer, and m^ 
grudged sixpence aot 
lie looked so sara^ i 

* Cotninan c^reariov ^v 




almost necessary to give him " Who 
goes there ?*' from a distance, 

"Praise be to God! May God 
bless your worship !" said he, as he 
entered. 

'* And you, loo, man; but how 
sulky and frowning you come r 

*• Why shoul^i't I, when I bring 
somewhat less tnan six feet of hun- 
ger, my in skies eating each other up, 
and an empty belly? All is drought 
with me* But yoyr worship's looks 
— so quite filled out and satisfied — 
S5ay, * Thank God, my paunch is 
liill !' " 

" It is true that I have nothing to 
complain of.'* 

"I believe it; your worship may 
well be contented. If you rent a 
public fiehl, it yieUls you at ihe rate 
of twenty for one; your sow always 
litters thirteen ; while I am the very 
^rasu/fa* of bad luck," 

*'Juan, there have always been, 
and always will be, m this wodd, 
some tliat cry and some that laugh. 
I But to come to business, I have sent 
for you to go to the palace of For- 
tune for me, and tell her, in my name, 
. that I am satisfied and want nothing 
more. For this service I will give 
you two hundred reals, t with which 
you can begin to better your con- 
dttion," 

Instead of accepting the more than 
feir proposal \\iith alleluias, and jump- 
ing at a chance such as he had never 
had in his life before, Juan Miseria 
let covetousness get the better of him, 
and said to Don Jose : 

" How, senor ! Two hundred reals 
will neither make nor break one. 
That palace is higher up than where 
Christ called three times and no one 
heard him. If I go by the canal, I 
shall get wet; if I go across the 
wild country, I shall have to encoun- 
ter wolves and rough ways. Your 

♦ Ntf^luM ultra, 
+ Ten doUara. 



worship ought to give me three hun- 
dred reals at least; the service is 
well worth it." 

Don Jose had been forewarned of 
Juan^s tricks; nevertheless, he told 
him that he would give him twelve 
dollars, and they agreed at that. 
But as Juan Miseria went out, the 
covetousness that had taken posses- 
sion of him made him turn back and 
say that twelve dollars was very 
litUe, 

'^ Will you take nine ?" answered 
Don Jos6 coolly. 

"Is your worship mocking me?" 
said Juan Miseria, ** I wit! not ^o 
for twelve, and will I go for nine ?" 
*' Well, don't go." said Don Jose- 
Miseria was taken aback. ** Have 
I got to do without those twelve dol- 
lars that I need so much ?" thought 
the poor fellow. And, turning again^ 
he told Don Jose that he would go 
for nine, 

**WiIl you take six?" asked Don 
Jose, 

** Will I be promoted from town- 
crier to headsman ? I wouldn't go 
for six if you beat me to pow^der !" 
" Don*t go, then/' said Don Jose, 
Juan Miseria went out, but had 
hardly reached the street when he 
thought better of it. for his needs 
were very pressing. ** The rich can 
kill or cure/' groaned he to his waist- 
coat ; ** ail we can do is to drop our 
ears. Oh! how I wish I had gone 
for the twelve. The proverb says 
well that covetousness bursts the 
bag." He turned back, and said to 
the cohnado : 

" Senor Don Jose, necessity knows 
no law; I'll go, therefore, for die 
miserable six dollars." 

^^ Will you take three ?*' replied the 
rich man. 

**Take three! Break a pair of 
shoes, and perhaps my bones, climb- 
ing those craggy roads, for three 
paltry dollars! They'd make a 



What of Our Fisheries? 



735 



** To send you to the bottomless pit 
for your deserts," responded Juan 
Miseriau 

♦* Know that you have eanied a 



dollar because I happened to fall 
asleep. If I had been awake, you 
should not have corae for the twenty 
reals/' spat back the witch. 



WHAT OF OUR FISHERIES? 



During the summer of 1870, we 
have seen frequent mention of our 
fishedes in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 
From time to time, we have had re- 
ports of the capture of American fish- 
ing-vessels, and in one or more in- 
stances have read reports of their 
confiscation by the admirahy courts 
of the British maritime provinces. 
If we rightly remember, General Bttt- 
ler, who represents a constituency 
largely interested in the mackerel 
fisheries, used very strong language 
on this subject in ihe last session of 
Congress. These fisheries seemed 
for a time to so seriously threaten a 
disturbance of friendly relations with 
our colonial neighbors, that we have 
been at some pains in trying to un- 
derstand the matter in question. We 
give the result to our readers, not 
only because it seems to involve ques* 
tioins of mucl> importance to the in- 
dustrial interests of a considerable 
portion of our people, but also be- 
cause it suggests an examination of 
some interesting points of interna- 
tional law. 

By the Treaty of 1818 between the 
United States and Great Britain, it 
was stipulated that citizens of the 
United States shoukl have the right 
to fish around the shores of the Mag- 
dalen Islands ; trom the southern ex- 
tremity of Newfoundland, along its 
westejn and northern shores ; and 
from Mount Joly — nearly N. N. W. 



from the east point of the island of 
Anticosti — east and north, through 
the Straits of Belle Isle, and along the 
coast of Labrador ad libitum. They 
might cure their fish on the adjacent 
shores, provided they did not violate 
|>rivate property. Such were the ac- 
knowledged rights of American fish- 
ermen in the waters of the QvM prior 
to the Rcdpnxity Trmt\\ which recent- 
ly expired by limitation, and which 
our government has as yet declined 
to renew, We suppose that no one 
will deny that the expiration of that 
treaty left the contracting parties 
precisely where it found them. Ac- 
cordingly, our fishermen do not com- 
plain of the Dominion authorities for 
excluding them from the fisheries 
witliin one marine league from the 
shores of Prince Edward Island, 
Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and 
Canada, south and west of Mount 
Joly; but they do, of right, complain 
of their unfriendly action in prohibit- 
ing American fjshermen from enter- 
ing colonial ports **for the transship- 
ment of their fares, to receive sup- 
plies entered in bond for their use, 
or even to receive consignments of 
liait sent from the United States, or 
for any other purpose than shelter in 
stress of weather, repairing damages, 
and procuring water.*' Any one ac- 
quainted with these fisheries must 
know that such a prohibition would 
be a virtual exclusion of our vessels 



n^ 



What of Our Fiskrrus) 



from the enjoyment of every right 
stipulated by the Treaty of 1 8 1 3. We 
are at once led to inquire into the 
intent of the treaty in this regard. 
We can conceive of no juster method 
of arriving at its true interpretation 
than to ascertain what has been the 
uniform and unquestioned practice 
of both contracting parties from the 
date of the convention to the present 
time. One can hardly conceive it to 
be possible that a treaty, professing 
to secure certain rights and privi- 
leges, while others are specifically 
withheld, could contain a provision 
framed with the intention of making 
its stipulations nugalor)\ And yet 
we find one of the maritime colonies 
— viz., Prince Edward Island — by an 
act passed some twenty-five or thirty 
years ago, ** relating to the fisheries 
and to prevent illicit trade," prohibit- 
ing foreign — 1>., American^ — fishing- 
vessels from entering their bays and 
harbors for any other than the pur- 
poses we have enumerated. We con- 
fess our inability to have solved this 
seeming riddle without inquiry of 
parties conversant with the whole 
history of the Gulf fisheries. But» 
having an opportunity to ask an ex- 
planation of sundry persons — British 
and American — long resident in the 
island, we were told that the colo- 
nial act| passed in pursuance of the 
Treaty of rSi8, had been misinterpret- 
ed by our own government officials 
as well as by those of the Dominion 
of Canada. The legislators of Prince 
Edward Island never intended to de- 
prive themselves of a profitable trade, 
nor to treat American fishermen as 
outside barbarians by excluding them 
from such privileges as were accord- 
ed to British merchants in American 
ports — vi/.., to lanil their cargoes for 
transshipment either to Canada or 
Great Britain, but to prevent an r7Zf'- 
cit traffic prosecuted in harifon n&i 
p&fts^ in which ATi^ricin^ aTid colo* 



nists in American %'es5cl5, wene \ 
or less implicated to Ihc injiiii 
legitimate traders, and by whad 
colonial revenue was dctei 
That this was the sole intmt o 
lonial legislative eni' rd 

to foreign — 1>., An. —64 

vessels, whether such eDact«d 
were derived from or made m ^ 
suance of treaty siipulattons^ is a 
danlly proved by the uniform | 
tice of the colonial go vernal 
themselves. Under the local bm 
bidding foreign fishing- vessels to 
ter the harbors of Prince Edi 
Island, save for the purposes tin 
si>ecified, from its date down to 
year 1870, American fishing-rd 
freely entered the colonial pafi 
purchase supplies and tranaihip 1 
fares. The colonial €!^fto«iM in 
pennitted them to enter, and gtil 
clearances at all ports of enirf , 
tish subjects engaged m ttade ' 
with resident A mcri( h« 

ness of furnishing su| ,<j 

shipping the fares of Amcncaa 
to the United States. 

Some eight or nine hundred k 
rican vessels were annually €m|i 
ed in the mackerel fisheries of 
Gulf of St. Lawrence, A' 
catchings were entered free of 
in United States ports, greatly to' 
benefit of the maritime colonisCi^ 
furnished nearly one-half of llie. 
or twelve thousand *• American •*fi 
men ; whose catching^, valued at 
one to two millions of dollais^ 
admitted dut)' free. By a libctal 
struct ion of our \^vi%^ even dl 
boats could l»e employed an teni 
to fish in connection wtth 
American vessels; and ihctr 
ings, if landed frf>m such 
were reganletl as Americtan 
fish ; even when transshipped to As 
rican ports in British bottoms! Si 
of our Canadian neighbotrs piofa 
to discover a cunning device iit 



1 



What of Our Fisheries ? 



liberal rendering of ottr laws. They 
could not, or perhaps woyld not, be- 
lieve that we were really disposed to 
be liberal toward the maritime colo- 
nics, while tinvvilling lo renew a trea- 
ty which had prbvcd very beneficial 
to but one of the contracting parties. 
One solution of the troublesome 
problem seems to have presented it- 
self to the statesmen of the Dominion. 
As Carolina and Georgia proposed 
to starve the North into acquiescence 
by withholding their rice, so our Ca- 
nadian neighbors had equal confi- 
dence in the omnipotence of macke- 
rel The Americans could not sub- 
sist without them I So the Dominion 
refused to grant licenses to fish in 
British waters. By a new reading of 
an old law, American fishing- vessels 
should be forbidden to enter and 
txade in colonial ports for supplies 
necessary for their subsistence. The 
cup of cold water, and time to re- 
pair damages, so as to enable them 
to get away, were all that should be 
accorded to the vessels of a nation 
of their own kindred, through whose 
territory and ports is their only eucess 
ta the sea for six tmntlis of the year. 
They would adopt the enlightened 
policy of China and Japan, and Ame- 
rican fishermen should be to them as 
outside i^rbarians. I'resto ! No more 
fishing-licenses to foreign vessels. 
American residents who, as British 
merchants, had been for many years 
engaged in the Gulf fisheries, and as 
British traders had paid many thou- 
sands in duties upon their shipments 
to American ports, whose enterprise 
had done all to develop a trade so 
beneficial to the British maritime pro- 
vinces, became marked objects of an 
unfriendly policy. Their British ves- 
sels were seized, and for irregulari- 
ties in their papers, where irregulari- 
ty was the rule rather than the ex- 
ception, were brought into port as 
prizes, tried, and condemned. Yet 

VOL, XIL— 47 



the guilt incurred was justly charge- 
able upon the colonial customs de- 
partment, which had full knowledge 
of the facts forming the ground of 
libel, rather tlian upon the owner of 
the vessel ; who, of course, was quite 
willing to receive the supposed pro- 
tection of the colonial officials. But 
the courts were in nowise blamablc. 
They dealt out impartial justice as 
the cases were presented. The in- 
justice was executive^ — not judicial. 
Not incited by the people of the ma- 
ritime provinces, but by Dominion 
officials and their agents, who desired 
to compel the Ajnericans to a renew- 
al of the much-coveted Reciprocity 
Treaty ; urged on by individuals, 
some of whom hoped to tlerive per- 
sonal advantage from tlie destruction 
of American rivals in the fisheries; 
while others were striving to force 
Prince Edward Island into the Do- 
minion, as a means of opening Ame- 
rican markets to Canadian products, 
under more favorable conditions than 
our government could afford to its 
own citizens. 

To enforce the policy adopted by 
or at the solicitation of the Canadian 
government, British and colonial crui- 
sers were sent into the Ciulf and along 
the Adantic shores of Nova Scotia. 
Our own government sent two war* 
steamers and one sailing-vessel to 
protect our vessels, and to prevent 
them from trespassing in British wa* 
ters. We have heard their conduct 
discussed by interested parties, some 
of whom had been seriously injured 
by the Chinese policy of the Cana- 
dians ; and though, in a single in- 
stance, one of the Brirish officers was 
accused of unnecessary severity, it 
seems to be acknowledged that, for 
the most part, their action has been 
as lenient as possible under the or- 
ders by which they were compelled 
to act. We have heard of no in- 
stance in which British officers could 



738 



IV/tat of Our Fisheries t 



be justly accused of wrong toward 
American fishermen, or even of un- 
due severity in carr}'ing out their in* 
structions. It is of ♦he instructions 
themselves that our people complain 
— of a policy that induced a course of 
action not only unfriendly, but un- 
just : unjust, because not in accord- 
ance with all previous understanding 
of treaty stipulations, or of colonial 
legislation based thereon ; unfriend- 
ly as well as unjust, because denying 
to the vessels of a friendly power 
commercial pri\ileges of far less mag- 
nitude than those enjoyed by them* 
selves in the free transit of their pro- 
ducts and merchandise to and from 
Canada through our territory and 
|iorts of entry, 

We have been surprised to find 
that, in the discussion of this fishery 
question, no reference has been made 
to the origin of national jurisdicUon 
over adjacent seas. And, though an 
examination of this point may not 
seem to favor American interests, a 
fair consideration of the international 
cjuestion involved forbids its being 
passed over in silence. Writers upon 
public law declare that exclusive vSO- 
vereignty over adjacent seas extends 
as far as necessary for the protection 
of the shores against belligerents. 
This distance has been fixed at one 
marine league, as being the extent 
of cannon range. And we are in- 
clined to think that the modern im- 
provements in ordnance must extend 
the jurisdiction of maritime states 
to a point commensurate with the 
increased range of cannon. Unless 
it can be shown that the limit of ju- 
risdiction — the marine league— is now 
fixed by the consent of maritime 
powers irrespective of the range of 
ordnance, we are disposed to think 
that this point will ulti^mately be 
settled in accordance with the en- 
lightened self-interests of tfte stronger 
man time p<ni*trs. 



This we believe to be a £ur tl| 
brief statement of our rdntiaiis 
the fisheries of the Gulf of St 
rence, and of the exceptions uk 
American merchants and 6sh^ 
to the extreme measures of 
Dominion government; whcrcl 
much injury has been entailei 
only upon American mereluQil 
upon that numerous class of oti 
t>oard population wbose sabsti 
has been mainly dependent oi 
mackerel fishery in this same i 
of St. Lawrence. But, wheaj 
might imagine that the whole m 
in question had been fully coosidl 
it is almost bewildering to IcaiQ 
the fisherus are but an item io 
fishery question. Our Caoadiaji n 
bors are impressed with the 
that a barrel of free mackc^rd dl 
be accompanied by two or 1 
barrels of Canadian flour, a few | 
sand feet of pine lumber, and a< 
of everything that Canada can. 
into our market, free from thati 
rous taxation which American | 
ducers endure, while dischargii 
debt whose magnitude is paitl|l 
to British svmpathy for a ^ 
cause '' as long as the sympathy 1 
ed British interest. But even 
not the full price of iJie 
mackerel. We hear a gr^al 
about the rapid growth of MoQl 
Toronto, and other notable I 
in the Dominion, and of their' 
gress in manufactures. Moniit 
vals some of the larger factucii 
Lynn in the production of 
and shoes. She also prodnGi 
dia-rubber goods to a large an 
St. John, New Brunswick, and 
UnL, Nova Scotia, make doofs, 
dow-sashes, etc. Canada 
provinces have really made 
ful progress in textile fabhcs, 
all those lesser articles of 
lure for which the Northem \ 
of our country have been loog 



A Beautiful Legend. 739 

brated. This progress is indeed sur- might sing of their constant loy- 

prising. The surprise is not so great, alty : 

however, to those who are advised ^'I did but purpose to embark with thee 

that this "astonishing" growth is On the smooth surface of a summer's sea; 

- 1 A • S>i_ i-i But to forsake the ship and make the shore 

almost purely American. Inese Ca- when the winds whlsUe and the tempests 

nadian manufactures are only indus- ^^^" 

trial "bounty-jumpers"— ever will- We cannot help thinkmg that the 

ing receivers of their country's gold, free admission of their industrial pro- 

but preferring Canada and the "sta- ducts, added to the other small items 

ble government of our forefathers " we have mentioned, would be a high 

when debts are to be paid. They price for uncaught mackerel. 



A BEAUTIFUL LEGEND. 
I. 



Softly fell the touch of twilight on Judea's silent hills ; 
Slowly crept the peace of moonlight o'er Judea's trembling rills. 



In the temple's court, conversing, seven elders sat apart; 
Seven grand and hoary sages, wise of head and pure of heart. 

III. 

** What is rest ?" said Rabbi Judah, he of stem and steadfast gaze. 

** Answer, ye whose toils have burthened through the march of many days." 

IV. 

** To have gained," said Rabbi Ezra, " decent wealth and goodly store 
Without sin, by honest labor — nothing less and nothing more." 

v. 

** To have foimd," said Rabbi Joseph, meekness in his gentle eyes, 
** A foretaste of heaven's sweetness in home's blessed paradise.'* 

VI. 

** To have wealth, and power,' and glory, crowned and brightened by the 
pride 
Of uprising children's children," Rabbi Benjamin replied. 

VII. 

** To have won the praise of nations, to have worn the crown of fame," 
Rabbi Solomon responded, foithful to his kingly name. 



740 A Beautiful Legend. 

VIII. 

'^ To sit throned, the lord of millions, first and noblest in the land," 
Answered haughty Rabbi Asher, youngest of the reverend band. 

IX. 

" All in vain," said Rabbi Jairus, " unless faith and hope have traced 
In the soul Mosaic precepts, by sin's contact uneffaced." 



Then uprose wise Rabbi Judah, tallest, gravest of them all : 
" From the heights of fame and honor even valiant souls may fall : 

XI. 

" Love may fail us, virtue's sapling grow a dry and thorny rod. 
If we bear not in our bosoms the unselfish love of God." 

XII. 

In the Quter court sat playing a sad-featured, fair-haired child ; 

His young eyes seemed wells of sorrow — they were God-like when 

smiled ! 

XIII. 

One by one he dropped the lilies, softly plucked with childish hand ; 
One by one he viewed the sages of that grave and hoary band. 

XIV. 

Step by step he neared them closer, till, encircled by the seven, 

Thus he said, in tones untrembling, with a smile that breathed of heav 

XV. 

" Nay, nay, fathers ! Only he, within the measure of whose breast 
Dwells the human love with God-love, can have found life's truest rest 

XVI. 

" For where one is not, the other must grow stagnant at its spring. 
Changing good deeds into phantoms — an unmeaning, soulless thing. 

XVII. 

" Whoso holds this precept truly owns a jewel brighter far 
Than the joys of home and children — than wealth, fame, and glory i 

XVIII. 

" Fairer than old age thrice honored, far above tradition's law, 
Pure as any radiant vision ever ancient prophet saw. 




Only he, within the measure — faith-apportbned— of whose breast 
Throbs this brother-love with God-love, knows the depth of perfect jest.'* 



Wondering gazed they at each other once in silence^ and no more : 
He has spoken words of wisdom no man ever spake before T' 



Calmly passing from their presence to the fountain's rippling song, 
Stooped he to upUft the lilies strewn the scattered sprays among* 

XXJI. 

Faintly stole the sounds of evening through the massive outer door; 
Whitely lay the peace of moonhght on the temple*s marble floor, 

XXIIL 

Where the elders lingered, silent since He spake, the Undefiled^ 
Where the Wisdom of the Ages sat amid the flowers — a child I 



ST, PATRICK. • 



In this age of degenerate litera* 
ture, of demoralizing fiction, and 
scarcely less fictitious and dangerous 
biography, full of misstatements and 
scepticism, the pubHcation of any 
work conscientiously and truthfully 
written should be hailed with genu* 
ine satisfaction. The large work be- 
fore us, containing the hfe of the 
Aposde of Ireland, wTitten by a reli- 
gious whose name is not unfamiliar 
to tlie reading public, is precisely of 
tills character, and as sucli we wel- 
come its appearance in behalf of the 
Catholics of America. 

Perhaps the highest eulogium that 

• The Li/i 0/ St, Patrick^ Afcsth fif Irtlnmi. 
By M, F. Cusack, Irelaad. Iriih Nati0ftal Pub- 
iitmtifmx, Ktnmart ConveHt^ Cif, Ktrry^ Kcw 
! The Catholic PixblicaLionSocieiy. 



could be passed on the life and ser- 
vices of St. Patrick is that nothing 
new can now be said of either. So 
well defined has been his character, 
so prominent and successful his mis- 
sion, and so lasting an impression 
have his labors produced on each 
succeeding generation for fifteen hun- 
dred years, that he has continued to 
find numerous biographers in each 
age and in many countries. Even 
the controversies which have spnmg 
up in latter times regarding the pecu- 
liar tenets which he taught have serv- 
ed more and more to elucidate every 
incident, however trivial^ of his ex- 
traordinary career. In the course of 
these discussions, libraries the least 
attainable have been ransacked, old 



74^ 



Sl Patrkk. 



books long forgotten and unread 
have been taken from their dusty 
shelves where they had reposed for 
centuries, raanuscrlpts hitherto con* 
sidered worthless have been collat- 
ed and translated, till now in our 
day there seems to be no circum- 
stance connected however remotely 
with his name that has not been dis- 
covered and published to the v^^orld. 
Until lately it was the fashion with 
many non- Catholic writers, and 
those, too, who had some pretension 
to historical knowledge, to maintain 
that St. Patrick during his sixty years 
of missionary labor in Ireland did 
not preach to the people of that 
island the doctrine of the Catholic 
Church in its entirety. Some averred 
that he was an Episcopalian who did 
not acknowledge the supremacy of 
the See of Rome; others as stoutly 
argued that he was a staunch Pres- 
byterian, the precursor, as it were, of 
the notorious John Ivnox; while not 
a few, unable to appreciate the false 
logic and falser statements of the otli- 
cr anti-Catholics, cut short the whole 
matter by denying his e3cistence, and 
by declaring him a myth, a mere in- 
vention of that well-abused body of 
men to which such inventive pow- 
ers are ascribed, ** the monks of the 
Middle Ages." Of these three orders 
of doubters, the last is the most sen- 
sible, or rather the least foolish ; for 
if it be admitted that the historical 
personage known as Sl Patrick did 
really exist and did preach to the 
{jeople of Ireland, he w^ould be blind 
indeed who would not also concede 
(hat his training, consecration, autho* 
rity, and teachings were derived 
from, and in conformity with the doc- 
trines of, the church from the da)'S 
of the apostles to those of Pius IX, 
^ The manuscript documents and 
biographies and the printed books 
relating to the acts of this distinguish* 
cd son of the church are so nume- 



rous and so well authenticate! 
put not only the fact of his existc 
but the credibility of the works 
pularly ascribed to him, be}*oQcl 
possibility of denial. His own 
fession^ written by his own haw 
under his immediate supervii 
would, if no other evidence 
forthcoming, be sufficient prool 
his identity. ** I, Patrick/' he sa] 
the commencement of tliis tern 
able document, " a sintier, the r 
and least of all the faitliful, and 
tempdble to very many, liad for 
father Colpomius, a deacon, the 
of Potitius, a priest, who Uvc( 
Bannavem Tabernise, for he ha 
small country-house close by, w 
I w^as taken captive when I 
nearly sixteen years of age, I 
not the true God, and I «ras bn 
captive to Ireland, with manjr I 
sand men, as we deserved, for 
had forsaken God, and had not 
his commandments, and were 
bedient to our priests, who admai 
ed us for our salvation." And 
describing his escape from bom 
and his sojourn in Gaul, the 
continues ; 



"And agftin, after a few year*, t 
with niy relations in BriUtr., who m 
od mc as ^ son, and earnestly besoi 
mo that then, at least, after 1 had 
through so many i rib ul alio ns, I wool 
nowhere from them* And there 
in tli« midst of the night, a m,in 
appeared to come from h .x{ 

name was Victoricus, and \ i 

mcrablc letters with him, our m? tri 
he gave to me ; and I read the m 
mcnccmcnt of the epistle con 1 

Voice of the Irish ;' and, as %^ 

the beginning of the icttci. i m juijlj 
heard m mj mind the voice of ihoM I 
were near the wood of For'*" --'--I 
near the western sea ; and tl; J 

*W« entreat thce» holy yo;, ,,. i., 
and walk still amongst us/ Arid inir 
was greatly touched, so that I could 
read any more, and so I awok^ 
be to God that, after very laiftr 



EVUil 

-A 



Sl Pairkk. 



the Lord hath granted tUetn their de- 
sire J" 

The original of this most interest* 
ing narrative is lost to us ; but there 
are at least four very ancient copies 
of it yet extant— one embodied in 
the Book of Armagh^ some years ago 
deposited m the librar}- of Trinity 
College, Dublin, Ijy the Protestant 
primate, Dr. Reeves ; one in the Cot- 
tonian collection in the British Muse- 
um ; and two in the Bodleian Library, 
Oxford. There was also another in 
the library of the Abbey of .Vaast 
at Arras, in France, which shared the 
fate of that building when it was de- 
stroyed tiuring the first French rev- 
rtution. llic B&ok of Armagh was 
"written in the early part of the ninth 
century^ by Ferdomnah the scribe, 
id its authenticity ha^ been endorsed 
i>l only by such scholars as O' Curry 
and O' Donovan, but by the late Dr. 
Todd, a distinguished Protestant sa- 
voiit^ and more particularly by the 
learned Irish antiquarian, Dr. Graves, 
Protestant bishop of Limerick. It 
begins with a short original life of St. 
Patrick, and continues with a tran- 
scription of his Confession^ as stated 
in the book itself, and which bears ex- 
trinsic evidence of having been copied 
from a much more ancient ms., pro- 
bably that of the saint himself. 

To St. Fiacc, one of St. Patrick's 
earliest and most distinguished con- 
verts, belongs the honor of being his 
master's first biographer. ** St. Fiacc 
of Slctty;* says O'Curry, »* is the au- 
thor of a biographical poem on the life 
of St. Pati'ick, in the Ga^dhlic lan- 
guage, a most ancient copy of which 
still exists, and which beans internal 
ct'idence of a high degree of perfec- 
tion in the language at the time at 
which it was composed. It is un- 
questionably, in all respects, a genuine 



•Author of .S/* P^trkk^ A^^itU of In: land : 
A Mrmeir 9/ kiu Lift ttnd Mtuion, 



and native production, quite untinc- 
tured with the Latin or any other 
foreign contemporary style or idiom/' 
The oldest and most authentic copy 
of this poem is also preserved in 
Trinity College, and is, according to 
Dr. Todd, one of the most venerable 
monuments of Christian antiquity in 
Europe. 

Then there are no less than six 
different biographies of the saint 
printed in Colgan's Trias Taumaiurga 
from original manuscripts or authentic 
copies, all written at various times 
from the sixth to the twelfth century, 
but all agreeing on the main facts of 
his Ufe. The first is said to have 
been written by a disciple of St. 
Patrick, and a namesake; the second, 
found at Biburgensibus, in Bavaria, 
is credited to St. Benignus, the suc- 
cessor of St. Patrick in the see of 
Armagh; the third, ascribed to St. 
Aileran, who died about the middle 
of the seventh century, was discover- 
ed at the celebrated Irish foundation 
of St. Gall, in Switzerland. The ori- 
ginals of some other compositions of 
this author, it may be here remarked, 
are now in Trinity College Library. 
The fourth life is supposed to have j 
been composed by Probas, an Irish ^| 
monk of the same century ; and a " 
fifth, and the latest, by a member of the 
Cistercian order, Jocelyn^ of Furness 
Abbey, who vv rote toward the close 
of the eleventh century. Additional 
value is attached to this comparative- 
ly modem book from the fact that 
the author refers to those written 
in pre%'ious times by the authors 
above mentioned, and which even in 
his day were considered works of great 
antiquity. But the most important 
in Colgan's collection is the Tripartite 
Life^ so-called from its being divided 
into three distinct parts» supposed to 
be the work of St. Evin, who lived 
in the sixth century. It is undoubt- 
edly a production of great antiquity. 



whoever was its author, for the ma- 
tcrialii fur the sketch of St. Patrick 
in the B&ok &/ Armai^h, which, as we 
have seen, was written in the ninth 
century, are taken from this codex. 
Various other old authors in England, 
hke Bede :^ni\ Wilh'am of Malmesbu- 
ry, alluding to the conversion of the 
Scoti by St. Patrick, refer to these 
authorities, while many continental 
writers, who doubtless had access to 
the hbraries of the numerous Irish 
abbeys that existed in Europe in the 
centuries intervening between the 
conversion and the iJanish invasions, 
in mentioning St, Martin of Tours, 
St» German us, and the monks of 
Lerius, incidentally coincide with the 
Irish biographers in their accounts of 
the saint's preparation for his great 
work of propagating the faith in the 
** barbarous island beyond the Iccian 
Sea/' 

The person and the mission of St. 
Patrick being thus establiished beyond 
the possibihty of doubt, it may be 
well to inquire what was the nature 
of that mission, by whose authority 
he undertook the performance of a 
task apparently beset with almost in- 
surmountable dilhculties, and what 
was the doctrine he taught those 
wliom he sought to lead into the 
path of the true faith. 

We have seen that he begins his 
Con/ess wn by attributing his enslave- 
ment to his neglect of religion and 
his disobedience of her ministers. 
While in captivity, herding his master's 
flocks, he had ample time to reflect on 
his errors, and to expiate his youth- 
ful follies by rigid fasting and prayer, 
praying, as he tells us, "a hundred 
times by day and a hundred times at 
niyht ; " and we may therefore con- 
clude the devotion and self- mortifica- 
tion so efficacious in his own case 
found an earnest advocate in him 
when a missionary. His veneration 
for the saints may be inferred ^oiu his 



carrying with him to Irelaiid dMI 
ics given him by Pope Celesdliet 
his distribution of tliem among 
principal churches which he foun 
in Ireland, and from his com^ 
companionship for so raan\ J 

St. Gcrmanus, who, it is v i\ 

carried strapped to his breasi tx s^ 
iron casket containing relics difl 
the thirty years of his rpiscop 
That he believed in the invocatia 
saints, there can be no doubt : fa 
relating the story of his •- '«^ 

captivity, he tells us : ** I vs vu 

tempted by Satan (of which 1 
be mindful as long as I shall h< 
this body), and there fell, as it wci 
great stone upon nie^ and there 
no strength in my limbs. And 
it came into my mind, I know noth 
to call upon Elias, and at ihc s 
moment 1 saw the sun rising tn 
heavens ; and w hile I cried out * Eli 
with all my might, behold, the spl 
dor of the sun was shed uj i 
immediately shook from ni 
ness." The saint is equally <^qUi4 
expressing his admiration for mof 
tic institutions. In alluding to 
past labors he cries out, ** Whcrrfc 
behold how in Ireland they 
never had the know ledge of God, 
hitherto only worshi;»pcd undl 
idnls» have lately become the pco 
of the Lord, and are called the 
of God. The sons of the Scod f 
the daughters of princes are 
be monks and virgins of Chrisu 

His belief in the Most Holy Tria 
is thus forcibly stated : 

'* For (here i% no other Gckd, nor 
\va$, nor shall be hereafter, excrpt 
Lord* the unbegotten Father, wil^ 
begioninp, by whom all things have i| 
being, who upholds all thtng&, ;is 
have said ; and his Son, Jesus Chi 
whom, togciher with the Father, w« \ 
xMy to hare nUvafS existed * " 
origin of Ihe world* sp^ritu.t 
Father* ineffably begotten be. -.^ 
beginning; and by him were the 



things iti.idc ; was made man^ death be- 
ing overthrown, in the heavens. And he 
haih given bira all power over every 
name of things in heaven, and earth, and 
hell, that every tongue should confess lo 
him that Jesiis Christ is Lord, and whose 
coming wc expect ere long to judge the 
living and dead ; who will render to 
every one according to his works ; who 
hath potired forth abundantly on us both 
the gift of his Spirit and (he pledge of 
immortality ; who makes the faithful and 
obedient to become the sons of God and 
co-heirs with Christ; whom wc confess 
and adore one God in the Trinity of the 
holy Name." 

The Confession y however, being of 
a general and to a great extent of a 
personal nature, and not a declara- 
tion of faith, no allusion whatever is 
made to the sacraments or dogmas 
of the church. We must look to the 
declarations ofhis imnicdiate followers 
or those who lived near his time for 
a more particular account of the doc- 
trine inculcated by the great aposde. 
A Celtic missal is still in existence of 
which the late Dr, Todd said, ** It 
is by no means impossible that the 
MS. may have been the original mis- 
sal of St. Rhuadhan himself, the 
founder of the monastery of Lothra, 
who died a.d. 584.'*^ In it, accord- 
ing to Rev. Monsignor Moran, the 
ceremonies proper to the celebration 
of the holy Sacrifice of the Mass are 
thus described : 



"The Mass begins with the litanies of 
ihc saints, which arc preceded by ihe an- 
tiphon Prcaivimus. Then follows the 
Chria imxceUis D^o, with the collect or 
prayer, and ihe lesson from the First 
Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter xi„ 
relating to the blessed Eucharist. In (he 
vcrsicle which follows, the blessir*^ of 
salvation is asked for ' those ^ ho are 
present at the sacrifice/ Tl e Gospel is 
that of St. John, in the s>M.ih chapter. 
The Creed, loo, forms pii* of ihc Mass, 
which is a remarkable |.eciiliarity of this 

• 35f, Patrick, ApaUU c/Irtlsnd, etc. 



missal at so early a period, for the use of 
the Creed did nut become general in the 
church until many years later. What, how- 
ever, is most important for our present 
purpose, not only arc the words of conse- 
cration given as used at the present day, 
but also the subsequent prayers. Vagree- 
ing literally with the Roman cmon down 
lo the memento for the dead ;" and thus, as 
in the nineteenth century, so in the church 
of our sainted fathers of the sixth century^ 
was used that beautiful prayer, * Humbly 
we beseech thee, O Almighty God, com- 
mand this offering to be carried by the 
hands of thy holy angel into thy he-ivenly 
altar, in the presence of thy divine Majes- 
ty, that all of us who receive, through the 
pariicipaiion of this altar, the most holy 
body and blood of thy Son, may be ftllcd 
with every* heave nl}^ blessing and grace, 
through the same Christ our Lord.* Such 
is the language of this venerable monu- 
tnetit, whose writing, to use the xvords 
of Dr, Todd, is of itself a sufhccnt guar- 
antee that * it js certainly not later than 
the sixth century.' In addition to the 
ever}' day Mass^ the Missa CtfHJiatta^ this 
missal presents 10 us a Missa Apostol^m^ 
a Alissa Martyr^m^ a Afissa Sane font m ti 
Siinciafitm Virg^initm^ also a Mass pro 
patniteniibus vivis^ and, in fine, a Mass 
pro moriuis,'" 

St. Sechnall, in the preface to his 
hymn to St, Patrick, relates that 
upon one occasion^ while the saint and 
he were about entering a certain 
church, they heard a choir of angels 
chanting a hymn at the offertory of 
the church, of which the beginning was 
" Sancti Veniie ChrisH corpus'' The 
ancient hymns, also, preserved sonic 
in manuscript, but mostly in the popu- 
lar memory from time immeniorial, 
and still in use among the Irish-speak- 
ing portion of the people, bear addi- 
tional testimony of how thoroughly 
orthodox were the teachings of their 
apostle, and how inerndicable they 
became fixed in the national memory. 
In these, frequent and reverent allu* 
sion is made to the Mass and the 
Real Presence ; one in particular, pre- 
served in the Antiphonanum Ben- 
ch&rense^ has tJie following lines : 



746 



5/. Patrick. 



" oh \ come, ye lioTy oncf:, 
Ctirist's body receive ; 
Cofine. drink the &ac:re4 blood, 
For life It will jEive." 



On ihe subject of confession, we 

find, in the Canms of St» Colum* 
banus, the following rule kid down ; 
"Special diligence must be used in 
confessing our sins and imperfections 
before the celebration of Mass, lest 
with an unclean heart we should ap- 
proach the holy altar." 

In those ancient wimesses of the 
primitive Irish Church, we find also 
wann expressions of attachment to 
the Ploly See J and devotion to ihe 
Mother of God appears to have been, 
at that early age of the faith, as mark- 
ed as it is at present in Ireland, An 
old Gaelic litany in honor of the Bless- 
ed Virgin is still preserved, in which 
the most endearing and exalted 
epithets that that copious language 
of the affections could supply are 
addressed to our common Mother, 
"whom all nations shall call Bless- 
ed." 

But it could not well have been 
otherwise. All St. Patrick's associ- 
ates and instructors, from the day he 
resolved to devote himself to the 
conversion of Ireland till the <!ay he 
sailed for that country, were in close 
communion with the See of Rome, 
and were not only remarkable for 
their rare mental gifts and the sanc- 
tity of their lives, but for their strict 
adherence to the doctrine and discip- 
line of the church. It is not probable 
that he ever saw his uncle, St Mar- 
tin, whose death is set down as oc* 
curring in a.d. 404 ; but, as he re- 
mained in the neighborhood of Tours 
several year^ after his escape from 
captivity, he could not but have be- 
come acquainted with the co-laborers 
of that illustrious bishop, and be 
within constant hearing of his mani* 
fold virtues. In 418, Gcrmanus was 
consecrated Bishop of Auxcrrc by St, 



Amaior, who was moved 10 iKta 
point A successor by a htAt 
vision, his own end fast apprq 
ing. Gcrmanus was not only 
by birth and education, but a j 
of high reputation, a theologian 
cond to none of his time iii W^ 
Europe, and a man who, after 
coming a minister of God, prad 
the most rigid self-denial » and ii 
cated the strictest adherence to 
teachings of the church and 
swerving fealty to the Papal 
Under the direction of such a 
St. Patrick unreservedly placed ^ 
self for instruction and guidancey 
continued as his pupil foe m 
thirteen years. He read the Ca 
with St. Gcrmanus, and received I 
him all the necessary trminioj 
theology and civil law consid 
necessary to qualify him for the 
rious task of conversion of whic 
never seems to have lost sight. 
order that he might study the 
nastic system as then cxtstinj 
Europe, he frequently visited 
celebrated abbey and schoob 
Lerius, on an island of thai 
the Mediterranean, and* doubi 
held many consultations widi 
founder, Honoratius, and the 
less illustrious Vincent whose cl 
ter has been so admirably drawl 
Monlalcmbert* In 429, SS. 
snd Germanus were sent to Br 
by Pope Celestine to regulate ti 
siastical affairs in that cotrnfrr 
preach against the 1 
and St Patrick, at tli 
latter, accompanied thciia 
maincd some rime with his ci 
nions, sharing their pious labon^i 
again returned i'> " ' 
the return of t; Id 

ing year, he advised Si« Patrick, 1 
that he had served a long iKiirii 
had completed^ as it were, his 



0««fl 



and had personally become acquaint- 
ed with religious organi nation and 
the requirements of missionary life, 
to visit Rome, and obtain the sanction 
of the Holy See to go to Ireland. 
•* St Germ an us sent the blessed Pat- 
rick to Rome," says St. Aileran^ 
writing in the seventh century, " that 
thus he might receive the sanction of 
the Bishop of liie Apostolic See to go 
forth and preach, for so order re- 
quireth; and Patrick, having come to 
Rome, was honorably received by 
the holy Pope Celestine; and, relics 
of the saints being given to him, he 
was sent into Ireland by the same 
pope." The Tripartite Life has the 
following version of this visit : 

" Patrick having set out for Rome, 
after visiting the shrines of the apos- 
tles with devout veneration, found 
favor with Pope Celestine, who was 
the forty-fifth from St. Peter. This 
pope, as the conversion of na- 
tions belongs by right to the success- 
ors of St. Peter (cum successore Petri 
jure incumbat conversio gentium), 
had already sent the illustrious Dea- 
con Palladius, with the apostolic 
number of tweh^e companions, to 
preach and announce the word of 
God to the Irish/'* 

Accounts differ as to whether St 
Patrick was actually consecrated by 
Pope Celestine himself or in his pre- 
sence, or whether it was not in an- 
other part of Italy on his way from 
Rome to Ireland. One thing, how- 
ever, is certain, that he found favor 
with Celestine, who fully com mis- 
sioned him to teach and preach the 
G:>spel in Ireland, and presented htm 
with copies of the Holy Scriptures 
and rehcs, and bestowed on hira the 
nante of Patricius;t and it is also well 

• CotgiUl, |>. f»3. 

t Tiic uri(4>nfll niime of St. Patrick was Suecat^ 
ss wc learn from ibc Irr/nrtite /.//<. DurinR; 
his enslavement lie was cuUed CfftArig^Ae, in 
Cyclic 0ift toh0 itrrti/itur mAttert. In Gaul lie 
WAS aAerward kooiyn by tlut of M«.umy and U 



settled by the researches of Kcv, 
Monsignor Moran that on his return 
journey, while at Elborice, the pre- 
sent Ivrea, being for the first lime in- 
formed of the failure of the mission 
of Palladius in Ireland, and the death 
of that heroic saint among the Picts, 
St, Maximus (in Gaelic rendered 
Amator), then Bishop of Milan, con- 
secrated him^ being fully aware at the 
time of the pope's commission to the 
future apostle.* We thus find an un- 
broken chain of facts connecting the 
Apostle of Ireland with the church in 
the most Catholic sense, and with her 
visible head on earth. The extended 
novitiate of the saint may to us mo- 
dems seem unreasonable ; but when 
we consider the gravity of the task 
before him — the conversion of an en- 
tire nation from paganism to Chris- 
tianity, and the consequent radical 
changes likely to be produced in its 
civil polity — we can scarcely deem it ^J 
too long. Besides, at that period ^| 
Ireland was the remotest country of ^ 
Western Europe, and in case of a dis- 
puted point arising, requiring an 
authoritative decision, communica- 
tion with Rome would have been 
necessarily slow, often difficult and 
dangerous, and sometimes altogether 
interrupted by the frequent wars of 
inten'ening nations. It was, there- 
fore, of the greatest importance that 
the head of the churcli in Ireland 
should be thoroughly conversant not 
only with the dogmas but wHlh every 
detail of the discipline of the church 
and the government of religious or- 
ders j that he should, in fact, be 
competent to act as pope's legate 
as well as chief bishop of the island. 



Tivas only after his visit to Rome that he »ssuintd 
the mwwe o( /'airuiHs, or Patrick, misUkenly 
iransUicd in tlie 7>//ifri'//^ as signifying "hoBt- 
nge-libeniting^ man," 

♦ *' Putrlrk ulso turned aside from hi* journey 
to & certain wonderful m*n, a chief bishop, by 
name Amator ; and from bim St, Patrick received 
episcopal consecration,"— ^V/a Srcunda^ Ctfjgan. 



748 



The events in the early life of the 
saint are related in the book before 
us by its gifted author in a clear, 
concise, and highly artistic manner. 
One of the best chapters in the whole 
work, certainly the most critical, is 
that principally devoted to the in- 
quiry as to the birthplace of the 
saint, and, after an impartial and 
comprehensive examination of all 
available authorities, she comes to the 
not improbable conclusion that he 
was born at a place in Scotland now 
called Kilpatrick, AngHc^ Patrick*s 
Church. Wc know that the popular 
opinion among the Irish people is 
that he was bora in Gaul or France, 
an opinion arising, we imagine, from 
the mistake of supposing that he 
must naturally have been bom at the 
place where he was captured, and for 
the partiality for France which has 
long been fck by the Irish, and their 
consequent desire to accord to that 
nation the honor of having given 
birth to their great apostle, as well as 
from the recognized historical fact 
that the saint's mother was a sister or 
near relative of St. Martin of Tours, 
and, consequently, a Frank. This 
not very important question, how* 
ever, is not yet definitely settled, and, 
perhaps, never will be; but, from the 
testimony of St Pati'ick himself, 
from tiie statements of his ancieiU 
biographers^ and the researches of 
modern antiquarians, we think it al- 
most certain that he was born in 
North Britain, in the neighborhood 
of Kilpatrick or Dumbarton ; that 
his father was a descendant of a 
noble Roman family who acquired 
property and lived there after the 
evacuation of the British territor)^ by 
the Legions, and that his mother 
was a native of Gaul ; that at a 
period when he was only a youth his 
family crossed to Annorica or Brit- 
tany (Northern Letha) to visit their 
relatives, and wliile there the country 




St, Patrick, 



was invaded by a maraa^g 
of Britons from the is!-^-^' 
plundered the inhabitants ,\ 

many of them, including bt. Totq 
father, Calpumius, and carried 
and his sisters to Ireland, where ( 
were sold as slaves to diifcrciu 
tere.* 

But while it is of liiUe 
what foreign country the dpostle 
born* it is of the greatest importi 
to know, or rather it was of 
utmost importance to the sac 
of his mission, that he was a 
eigner; for to this lact is 
under Providence, the woodl 
progress he w*as enabled to 
in the conversion of ail the 
ants of the island in so companti 
short a time. It has been truth 
said by a late writer on Irish 
tory that the idea of nationality ii 
proper sense is of modem existi 
in Ireland, and it may likcwisa 
said with equal justice that m^ 
fiftli century it had very little 
encc in any sense whatever. 
Feis, or triennial assembly 
Tara, was a mere shadow, witE 
thority certainly to < 
widiout power to coii 
ancc of its members or to enli 
statutes. The island, small as it 
territorially, and thinly popi 
it must have been, was cut ap 
several petty kingdoms, prari 
independent of each oi 
the federal sovereign, I 

* %Ve have undoubted bistorksl ujtlioHt] 

sUvtry existed Jn IreUod up to uUe tin 

conv^rsiou of the counuv oy St. riu«iek,( 

sUrcs or bondsmen of torexn Drill Ic 

many caies part of ihe renuiar Uibtit* 

Inferior to superior chieK rbu* «rc ^d 

following enlri» la tbe Bf»k f/ JCifkit i 

HA Ghei%r(\ : 

'^The stipend of Ihe King of R<crikr%k 

From the Kin{( of Eire wltlioiitMictvi 

Ten tuni«:s browti-rcd, 

Ten fnrc'iiinefv w tfn'ui r»ard^ca%a M 

And the K ^^nmmad. 

*' l'"»vc N^ tv 

Five Uu.,., ... - ^^ s..,j ..ci Iht 

snrfece or tbe wcm. 
Fire ikir4i*Ued, truly fine WQac&," 




government of semi-civilized princes, 
who were constantly at war with each 
oiher, every feud occasioning a resort 
to arms, and every battle^lost or won, 
producing fresh feuds and engender- 
ing undying hatred. No one thought 
then of working for the good of the 
whole nation, or fighting for her honor 
and protection. Each man's country 
was bounded by the limits of his 
principality ; his government was the 
uncontrolled will of his chief or head 
of his sept ; his patriotism, to defend 
that chief, to despoil a neighboring 
province, or to wipe out in blood a 
real or imaginary insult offered to his 
clan. 

No one can have a higher appre- 
ciation of the genius, bravery, and 
many other high qualities of the Irish 
people of to-day than the writer, but 
it would be worse tlian folly to deny 
the former existence of a condition of 
afikirs which time and time again 
has been attested by the most reliable 
historians, as it would be likewise to 
ignore the lessons which may be 
learned from the faults and vices of 
our pagan ancestors. Who will un- 
dertake to say that, had St. Patrick 
been a scion of ihe house of Hy Nial 
of the North, the Laeghcnians of the 
East, or of any of the septs of Mim- 
ster or Connaught^ his progress 
throughout the entire island would 
have been so victorious and unim- 
peded ? 

In their dissensions the Gaels were 
not unlike the ancient Greeks. A 
fierce and warlike people, confined 
within narrow limits, they found pas- 
time in internecine warfare ; and, like 
the Hellenes, they were fond of devot- 
ing the repose that follows strife to 
martial poetry and music, casuistry 
and oratory. Thus, St. Patrick, on 
his second arrival in Ireland^ found 
the people he had come to convert 
exhibiting the very opposite extremes 
of character— the unthinking reckless- 



ness of the rude soldier united to a 
high appreciation of music, poetry, 
eloquence, and all the arts which ex- 
cite the imagination. liow^ well he 
understood the nature of the people, 
and how dextrously he availed him- 
self of their every weakness to draw 
them from the darkness of paganism 
into the pure light of Christianity, 
can be seen in the extraordinary 
rapidity of their conversion, and 
proves him to have been a man of 
rare sagacity; and it was in this 
knowledge of human nature, human* 
ly speaking, lay the secret of his suc- 
cess as a missionar)'. His undaunted 
appearance before the despotic Laeg- 
haire, unarmed and almost unattend- 
ed, and his deliberate denunciations 
of that monarch, could not but have 
excited the admiration of the grim 
warriors who surrounded him, while 
his eloquent exposition of the beauties 
of the Catholic faith and the glories 
of the Christian's heaven must hsivc 
touched the hearts and fired the im- 
aginations of the bards and Druids 
who always thronged the court ; and 
it is interesting to notice that the first 
two converts he made at Tara were 
a distinguished warrior and the chief 
poet of the island. These were the 
first who arose up to greet him against 
the monarches express command; 
" the others remained sitting with 
their chins on their shields." * His 
destruction of the idol Crom Cmaghj 
near the Boyne, and another said to 
to have been at Cashel, in open day, 
in the presence of vast multitudes, fur- 
nishes additional evidence of a cour- 
age inspired by no w^orldly or human 
ambition. 

Indeed, St Patrick's life, in more 
senses than one, may be said to have 
been providential His bondage in 
Ireland, under a cruel and avaricious 
master, exposed as he was to all sorts 



I 



of bodily privationTojSw him, as he 
relates, from ignorance of God, inured 
him to alJ the hardships that he was 
destined to suffer as a missionary, 
enabled him to acquire a knowledge 
of the Gaelic language, which, under 
other circumstances, it would have 
been impossible to have obtained; 
but, above all, it gave him an insight 
into the contradictory but subtle cha- 
racter of the race he was destined to 
evangelize which proved of incalcula- 
ble advantage to him in his subse- 
quent labors. His life in Gaul after 
his escape from bondage, the teach- 
ing and example of the austere Bishop 
of Auxerre and the companionship of 
the monks of Lcrius, his short but 
fruitful visit to Britain, and his jour- 
ney to Rome, all tended, each in its 
degree and place, to qualify him for 
the pecuhar and onerous duties of his 
after-life. Thus fortified by instruc- 
tion and experience, we behold him 
setting out for a conquest greater in 
its results than any the ambitious 
brain of Alexander ever conceived or 
the stern genius of Caesar accom- 
plished — the^ subjugation unto God 
of a nation which, in the centuries 
unlimited^ was to spread his name 
over continents then unknown. 

The future apostle landed in Ire- 
land A.D. 432, being then in his fort>'- 
fifth year, the very perfection of his 
physical manhood. In figure, he is 
represented as being over the ordi- 
nary height of men, but attenuated 
by early su^ering in slavery and in 
consequence of his strict obscr\^ance 
of the rules of fasting and abstinence 
laid down by his instructor, St Ger- 
manus, of whom it is said " that, from 
the day on which he began his minis* 
try to the day of his death, a period 
of thirty years, he never touched 
wheaten bread, nor did he allow 
himself the common seasoning of 
sadt with his barley, the only food 
which he permitted himscll*' In 



temperament he was gra^ 
stem, and« though sometimes 
to acts of severity^ was easily | 
to compassion at the sight of 
cal suffering or mental atHictioQ 
like most great men who have 
themselves a place in the woiU 
tory, he had an unbending wi 
a temper prone to suddetl bm 
anger ; in his case, however, su 
and kept in check by watch! 
and continual self-denial. Htl 
was a tunic, or long garmei 
coarse wool or serge, which cc 
the whole body and reached qi 
the feet; a cuculla^ or small bo 
the head, which ended rn a poinl 
when not drawn over the heac^ 
over the neck and shoulders^ 
an inner garment of hair-doch 
wore the tonsure, but 00 
his head other than the caciiQi 
his feet were bare, sa^^e as thc| 
partially covered by sandab. 
can thus easily paint lo 
this imposing figure^ clad with 
simplicity, as he stepped asb< 
the mouth of the little ri%-eT O 
Wicklow^ with his few faithiul 
dants, to begin the great labor 
life, the cffecte of which were I 
last time itself; hut what imagti 
can picture the thoughts of this 
and holy man as he again 
soil of that island hotn which» 
than a score of years before, 
caped as a fugitive from boiM 
Surely his prophetic %ision must 
reached down ^ the corridors ofl 
and he must have had a (btra 
least, that in the dim futtire htm 
of temples in a then unknown i 
and beyond *^the fanhest 
would be dedicated in his honoi 
that millions who nevm' av 
rope or wor^i^pcd mi. her 
would yet rise op ud a 
blessed 

Among what may be 
human Tiitnes oC Sl Putrid^ 



were three for which he was pre-emi- 
nently remarkable : his sense of jus- 
tice, his directness of ]>urpose, and 
his unflinching administration of law 
and enforcement of discipUne, His 
first act on landing in Wick low w^as 
characteristic of the man. Having 
met some (ishermen on the beach, he 
asked them for as much fish as would 
temporarily relieve the wants of his 
companions, who were famishing with 
hunger after their long voyage. This 
request was churlishly refused, where- 
upon he cursed the river, so that no 
fish have ever since been taken from 
it^ Leaving that inhospitable coast, 
he proceeded northward, and cast 
anchor in Strangford Lough. Sepa- 
rating from his comrades^ he went at 
once to the house of his old master, 
Milcho, to pay him the price of his 
ransom, and^ if possible, to convert 
him to Christianity ; but that hard- 
ened old pagan, while he doubtless 
took the money, refused to listen to 
the teachings of his quondam slave, 
and died in his sins. His visit to 
Tara soon after, his undaunted mien 
in the presence of the pagan Ard- 
Righ, his intellectual encounter and 
overthrow of the Druids * before the 



* " There wts no such thln^ at ail at a Druid 
race. There is nothing whatever known In de- 
tail of Uie * worship,' or ol the philosophy, or re- 
Ul^on^ of ihe Druids ; but there is no aulhority 
wbm Lever for suppo^ins: that they or any portion 
of Ihe people of Ennu, even in putgan times, wor- 
shipped ihc pbiK'ts or tore, ' Si%mhui»^* so often 
mentioned in the text, was not a goddess at ail, 
but Uic udme of a season—that^ namely* which 
succeeds the ■summer, the word being derived by 
Cormac— whose Glossary is of a,d. goo— from 
i^tnh^ suoiraer, and /mih, ending, or thti end. 
There was no such order as of ' Druid Tirjiins," 
There was no such Ihinjj as * I'crpetual Fire * kept 
tip except in Christian chuTchen, The allu^tions to 
Druidical ntfs are vv holly void of authority ; and 
there was no such thing as a *nam ' or a ' trili- 
thon,' either in name or icuse. anywhere alluded 
to* The sole instance of idoi-worship recorded 
IS that of the Crom Crmxck ,* and this Ls not re- 
ferred to us Dtuidical at all. It ticems to have 
been an ima^t^ 'Jf ^ serpeutfono— <-f^w signifying 
riroperly a maggot. There is no aJluaion to any 
^alta^' used, or ' sacrlhccs' of any kind oJfered 
up, by the Druids of Ireland. All assertions of 
this kind are entirely unwarranted, save by the 



assembled princes and wise men of 
Erinn, the immense number of peo- 
ple of all classes whom he converted 
in consequence and baptized in t^ie 
Boyne on Easter- Monday, are so 
wcli known and so fully described 
by the gifted writer of the present 
Life that it is unnecessary to do 
more thaa allude to them here as 
the first foot -prints in that holy 
march which ended in complete 
victory for the church, 

Ireland, at that time, wms divided 
into four large divisions or kingdoms, 
answering very nearly to the present 
four provinces, with a small central 
kingdom em|facing the present coun- 
ty of Mcath, and probably a small 
portion of the surrounding counties. 
Here w^as Tara, the seat of the Ard- 
Righ, or federal king, and, conse- 
quently, St. Patrick, true to his in- 
stincts; selected it as his first objec- 
tive point; but Connaught was the 
place he most ardently desired to 
visit, for it was from the woods of 
Focluti, in that country, that he had 
heard, in his ecstatic trance, the 
'* Voice of the Irish " calling on him 
to return. Thither he accordingly 
went from Meath, and remained there 
for seven years, preaching and bap- 
tizing, ordaining pric^^ts, and building 
churches, and only left when the en- 
tire province was converted to the 
faith, though, strange to say, the last 
remnant of paganism found its final 
refuge there, and some faint traces 
of it were observable in the west as 
late as the thirteenth century. From 
Connaught he proceeded northward 
through the present Donegal, and, 
after passing and repassing through 
Ulster, rested for a short time at Saul, 
his first stopping-place, and where he 
had built his first church, or, rather, 
changed a barn into a church, called 



inventive imai^tnatioas of the school of pseudo- 
anil qu ana ns of the last ifcnermtion."— 0*Curry*» 
Notts en tht * Imvaihn*' 



751 



Sf, Pairick, 



to this day Patrick's bam. Leinster 
and MunstCT were visited in succes- 
sion ; and so thoroughly and minute* 
ly was the island explored that there 
was not to be found a nook or comer 
in it, however remote or inaccessible, 
that was not illuminated with the light 
of tlie Gospel Everywhere were erect- 
ed churches in numbers almost incre- 
dible, did we not know» from their 
ruins, that they were hastily constnict- 
ed and small in dimensions, to meet 
the requirements of a scattered popu- 
lation; monasteries and convents were 
founded in every available spot ; and 
schools, soon to become the glory of 
Christendom, were estaHished in the 
most central locations m each of the 
four kingdoms. A hierarchy was or- 
ganized, of which the apostle was the 
primate, and Annagh his metropolitan 
see. Dioceses and parishes were set 
apart as well as the limited topogra- 
phical knowledge of the period allow- 
ed* Paganism had vanished like a hid- 
eous dream, war ceased, peace reign- 
ed supreme throughout the length and 
breadth of the regenerated island ; and 
all this in half the lifetime of the man 
who, as the instrument of God, had 
wrought this great change. Well and 
nobly had the apostle responded to 
the ** Voice of the Irish;" well and 
faithfully had he responded to the 
grace that enabled him to be the suc- 
cessful agent in wiimiug so many souls 
to heaven. 

Having thus completed his labors, 
the apostle, directed, it is said, by an 
angelic visitant, proceeded to Down- 
patrick, where having ended his 
earthly mission, he passed gently into 
the other life to receive the reward 
of his good works, 

Sudeten as was the conversion of 
the Irish, it was equally permanent. 
The hurried change of one belief for 
another might seem to have been 
one of those paroxysms which some- 
times seize nations to be followed by 




violent reaction. But no. Tho 

planted by St, Patrick waft so I 

rooted in the hearts of the p 

that neither civil war, foreign 4 

nation, centuries of persecutioi 

exile has been able to uproot il 

might have been otiierwise, prr^ 

if the apostle, with a for i{ 

this world, had not in \n>. ^_,._rj 

sions selected the proper me 

control ecclesiastica] a flairs allc 

death — ^men whom he considere 

pable of keeping in good prei 

tion the fair edifice he had ci*i 

and beautified. Hence wc fim 

centuries after his death a lonj 

of learned and pious bi&hops < 

pying the sees he had foundcdi 

thousands of illustrious scholars^ 

missionaries issuing from the sd 

he had established, and swan 

over the face of Europe. He 

knew what seems so hard to b< 

derstood by the so-called phi 

phers of tins century, that »d| 

conducted on Christian principle] 

the best su[>ports of the cause of 

church and of religion, and are th 

fore indirectly the true nuneerici 

virtue and morality. 

The author of the life befbc^ 
devotes no inconsiderable ponjcM 
her work — too much, we an? incl 
to think — in describing the numa 
miracles of the saint. Many of t 
are attested by the most reliable 
thorities, and challenge belief 
from the most sceptic ; others 
on popular tradirion, if not so wdl| 
ven, show at least the fond rccol 
and the profound veneratioa 
entertained by the IrUh race for 
great apostle. While unwi] 
discriminate between these two 
cs, we venture to state ihiit, tn 
humble judgment, the gr 
his miracles was the con 
the nation itself — a nation so 
to strife, and so adverse to the 
trine of peace, so imagmativ^ 



yet so attached to its peculiar habits 
and customs — in so short a time, and 
without the slightest trace of the hor- 
rors of martyrdom and persecution 
which have ever followed the foot- 
steps of the Catholic missionary in 
every part of the world. Until the 
" Reformation/' the source of so 



many woes to mankind, no martyfs 
blood bedewed the soil of Erinn, and 
we hope» now that that once fonni- 
dable heresy, Protestantism, is falling 
into decay, the Green Isle will re- 
main in the future as stainless as it 
was in the time of St. Patrick and 
his successors. 




OUR LADY OF LOURDES, 



ntOK THX FIUEKCH OF HXKRI LASSKKKS, 



The prefecture of Tarbes is quite 
near the cathedral. Between the 
two buildings Hes an ancient ceme- 
tery of the priests and canons of 
the church. Tradition tells of se- 
veral noble flimilies of the land who 
have had vaults b tliis burying- 
ground, which contains illustrious 
ashes. The prefect thought this 
place specially suited for his stables 
and carriage -house. From idea to 
execution was never a long rond for 
Baron Massy. He had the founda- 
tions dug among the tombstones 
and bones, and the dwelling of the 
oflicial horses was soon to be seen 
rising above the cemetery. The pre- 
fect placed these buildings about ten 
feet from the front of one of the old 
portals of the cathedral, so that 
the hubbub from the stables would 
be heard through the house of God. 
Such a forgetfulness of all the re- 
quirements of decency could not but 
profoundly move and afflict the eccle- 
siastical authorities. Mgr. Laurence 
vainly endeavored to make Baron 
Massy understand that this ground was 
Jeered, and belonged to tlie church, 

id that the feet of horses ought not 
VOL. xn,— 48 



to disturb either the rest of the dead 
or the prayers of the living. But 
the prefect, as we have said, never 
knew how to retreat. To dismiss his 
workmen, to seek another place^ all 
this would have been an acknow- 
ledgment that he was in the wrong. 
Hence, in spite of his lively desire 
to keep in the good graces of the 
prelate, he paid no atteniion to his 
hints on this score. He still kept 
the workmen employed at building 
the stables in the ancient cemetery. 

On this persistent violation of the 
tombs Mgn Laurence came out, as 
it were, from his reserve, and made 
an energetic protest. He addressed 
it to the minister, and demanded the 
removal of these unseemly and scan- 
dalous buildings. 

The prefect was stung by the firm 
and dignified attitude which the bi- 
shop took^ and, according to his cus- 
tom, increased in obstinacy. He has- 
tened to Paris to argue with the mi- 
nister. He tried to win the council* 
general over to his side ; he consult- 
ed the laws ; in a word, he entered 
heart and soul into a struggle the 
details of which it will not be worth 
while to relate. The question was 
discussed for some months, and final- 



Owr Lady ef Lonrdes. 



\y decided according lo the wise 
exceptions of Mgr. Laurence. The 
grass now grows over the site of the 
demolished stables, and a willow, in 
the midst, marks the resting-place 
of the dead. 

But from the day on which the 
bishop made his protest, the harmo- 
ny which had pre\'iously existed be- 
tween the head of the diocese and 
the head of the department was for 
ever destroyed. This harmony was 
succeetlcd in the heart of the prefect 
by a warm feeling of irritation. He 
was no longer favorable to compro- 
inise ; perhaps quite the contrary. 
Just as lie had invaded the domain 
of the church in the pitiful question 
i(bout the stables, likewise in the 
dsc of the apparitions he felt more 
and more inclined to enter the spiri- 
tual domain of the bishop. The 
rein which had held him back up to 
the present time now gave way. 
Slight causes sometimes produce 
great effects. 

XI, 

DuRiNr, the months of March and 
ApnU both before and after writing 
10 the minister, the prefect had em- 
ployed his acute intellect in striring 
to fmd somewhere outside the super- 
natural a key to the strange occur- 
rences at Lourdes. Inquiries had 
been uselessly renewed by the police 
and M. Jacomct. Neither the chief 
of police nor M, Dutour had been 
able to catch the child tripping in 
her stmcments. The little shepherd* 
ess, who knew not even how to 
read and write, disconcerted by her 
simplicity the plans of shrewd and 
learned men. 

A disciple of Mcsmer and Du Po- 
let vainly endeavored to mesmerize 
Bcmadt^tte. His passes had no pow- 
er over her peaceful nature, little in* 
dined to morl>id nervousness ; they 



only succeeded in giving hi 
ache. The poor child 
periments with the same 
which she evinced in the 
rions which she underwi 
God willed that she ^thoul 
posed to all tests, and that s 
come out triumphant from 

A wealthy family of 
charmed by the appeanmc 
nadettc, proposed to adopt 
ing her parents a hundred 
francs, with the privilege 
near their daughter. The 
estedness of these good pe 
not at all tempted, lliey 
to remain poor* 

Everything failed — stt^t^ 
offers of enthusiasm, the 
of most acute mind$« 

However great his borroi 
ticism, the pnHuremr imfii 
Dutour, could not find eith 
code of criminal instructia 
penal code any text n f^ 

measures against Ben 
her imprisomnent. Such i 
would have been illegal^ 
to be followed by most 
consequences. In the cyc 
penal law, Bemadette was g 

The prefect realiced all th 
roughly as if he had been { 
But he thought he might 
same result by some othe 
and that he might proceed 
prisonment as an admttiistmj 
sure which seemed, on the 
visable. 

xn. 

In the immense arsen^ off 
one very effectr | 

found, creatH ^ 

opinion, th' <J 

tention of \ . .... ^ ... 
against himself^ but which 
come in ilie hands of mAGi 
pidity a most powcfftd 



Our Liidy of Lonrdes, 



of tyranny, We speak of the law 
concerning the insane* Without any 
pul>lk debate or the possibility of 
defence, on the certificate of one or 
two [ihysicians declaring him to be 
attacked by mental disorder, any un- 
fortunate man may be suddenly seized, 
and by a simple administrative mea- 
sure confined in that most horrible of 
prisons, the mad-house. We believe, 
we are forced to believe, that in most 
cases this law is applied with equity, 
owing to the respectability of the 
medical profession. But how this 
respectability justifies the suppression 
of all defence, of all publicity^ of all 
appeal ; how the prif ate decision of a 
couple of physicians can be dispens- 
ed from the trii»le guaranty by which 
the law has generally surrounded 
such acts of the magistracy — this is 
beyond our comprehension. Physi- 
cians are undoubtedly skilful, and we 
acknowledge that to find two of them 
perfectly agreed gi\'es great proba- 
bility to their joint opinion; but is 
this certainty sufficiently strong, suf- 
ficiendy certain, to use a pleonasm, 
to give irrevocably the right of taking 
away without further procedure the 
liberty of a citizen ? 

Physicians are honorable. This, 
too, we gladly admit, and we vene- 
rate more than one member of this 
illastrious profession. But in the 
question of madness, cannot their 
preconceived notions and philosophi- 
cal doctrines incline them sometimes, 
even in spite of themselves, to most 
lamentable errors ? In a book which 
has had some celebrity, one of them, 
M. L^lut, has reckoned among the 
mad Socrates, Newton, St. There- 
sa, Pasciil, and a host of others 
who have been equally the glory of 
humanity. Would such a master or 
his disciples deserve the right of im- 
pfisontng as madmen all whom they 
so judged, without defence, without 
publicity, without appeal, and sim- 



ply on the strength of a consultation 
among themselves ? Nevertheless, 
M. L^lutis a remarkable scientist, one 
of the medical celebrities, and a 
member of the Institute. What pledge, 
then, can be offered for the rabble 
of the scientific world, the village 
doctors in little country places, who 
inherit the honors bestowed by our 
ancestors on the apothecary and bar- 
ber ? 

Convinced of the impossibility of 
the supernatural, the prefect, M. Mas- 
sy, did not hesiute to have recourse 
to this redoubtable law for a solu- 
tion of the difficulty that had so sud* 
denly arisen in his department. 

xtii. 

Having learned that the Blessed 
Virgin had again appeared and com- 
municated her name to Bernadettc, 
the prefect sent to Soubirous' house a 
commission of two physicians. These^ 
of coursci !\e selected from among 
those who had no more respect than 
himself for the supernatural — from 
among those who had drawn their 
conclusions in advance from their pre- 
tended medical philosophy. These 
two physicians, residing at Lourdes, 
one of them being an intimate friend 
of the procureur imfMal^ had been 
endeavoring for three weeks to main- 
tain all sorts of theories about cata- 
lepsy, somnambulism, and hallucina- 
tion, and had been struggling despe- 
rately against the inexplicable radi- 
ance of the ecstasies, against the ap* 
pearance of the spring, against the 
sudden cures which daily drove to 
the wall the doctrines they had 
learned from the faculty. 

It was to such rnen, under such 
circumstances, that the prefect thought 
it wise to confide the examination of 
Bemadctte. 

These gentlemen examined her 
head. The system of Gall did not 



' 



7S€ 



ittay oj 



^miran. 



indicate any bump of madness. 
The child's answers were sensible, 
without contradiction, without inco- 
herence. Nothing disorderly was 
found in her nervous system ; on the 
contrary, a perfect equilibrium and 
profound calm. A slight asthma op- 
pressed her chest ; but this infirmity 
liad no connection with any cerebral 
derangement. 

The two physicians, who in spite 
of their prejudices were conscientious, 
stated all this in their report, and tes- 
tified to the perfectly sane and nor- 
mal condition of the child. 

But, since she persisted in her ac- 
count of the apparitions, and since 
these gentlemen did not believe the 
possibility of such things, they felt 
justified in sayijig that perhaps she 
mighi be under an hailudnathn.^ 

In spite of their an ti -supernatural 
ideas, they did not venture, in pre- 
sence of the fact of her state of phy- 
sical and intellectual equiliboum, to 
use a more positive expression in re- 
ference to the child. They felt in- 
stinctively that it was not their scien- 
tific certainty, but their philosophical 
prejudices, which concluded in this 
manner, and answered the question 
by suggesting another. 

The prefect, however, was Dot 
over-nice, and the report seemed to 
him entirely sufficient. Armed with 
this, and in virtue of the law of the 
30th of June, 185S, he resolved to 
have Bernadctte arrested and brought 
to Tarbes, to be lodged for a time in 
the alms-house, and eventually, of 
course, \\\ the mad-house. 

To strike at the child, however, 



feet by Drs, and , <\ Wa 

do nut mcnlion Uicac two phy intue. 

since ibcy came out onlv for a RiuuiciU Uutn pri- 
vate lilc to mukc llus oflicia.) rcpiift, Jind, »s we 
believe, deceived themselves wlthoul hciog K^U- 
ty 0} any wiltut injustice. If ih.y have any ex- 
ceptions to make to our narrative^ we ha!cl our* 
•elites in readiness to ulce ioto account any leu«r 
Iroin them an Uic subject. 



was not all. A barrier niuit M 
posed to the extraordinary moYa 
among the people. M, Rouland 
insinuated in his letter that Uits «i 
be possible without oveisteppin] 
law. It was only necessary to 
sider die grotto as an oratory, t| 
der to despoil it of the er-wArr 
the offerings of believers. 

If the behevei^ offered any I 
tance, a squadron of cavalry was 
at Tarbes in readiness for any CJ 
A riot would have crowned hij 
cret desires. 

It only remained to put thes 
rious measures against BernadettI 
the people into execution, as the 
fectoral infallibility haii recogi 
their urgent necessity to ward ol 
threatening attacks of superstkiQ 

XIV. 

Tt was the time of the i\ffn$tii 

vis tort ^* and M. Massy found ill 
circumstance an occasion for 
to Lourdcs. 

"The prefect,'* says a celelM 
writer, ** was about to impose a h 
burden on those under him, and 
inaugurated in a very repulsive 
ner; he might have compfehe 
if he would, that some consolid 
bcrties are necessary in com; 
for the sacrifices which society 
acts. And, aUhough the liUnt 
praying in certain places, of btii 
tapers there, or of drawing ih- 
few drops of water* or leaving be 
an offering, may not appear of 
importance to the state, or threi 
ing to public order, or offeimi 
individual honor and liberty, m 
thek*ss, it profoundly consoles 
who enjoy it, . , . AUow 
to live. Remember amid your < 
merce, your wealth and powcsv 

• Tbift ^tft ft commltiKm mt>t|i«rlsHI II 
with cxcmplianm und olb.er «ach im 
ed Willi the miihtafy €oittCripUiMi« 



OtiT Lady of Lmtrdes. 



the greater number of those whom 
you govern need to ask of God their 
daily bread, and only receive it by 
a kind of miracle. Faith is bread 
of itself; it sweetens the black and 
hardened crust ; it makes men wait 
long and patiently. And when 
God wills to open one of those re- 
freshing spots where faith springs more 
abundantly, and renders help more 
promptly, do not close it up; you 
yourselves have need of it, Yow 
will find it a great economy on the 
budget of hospitals and prisons/' ♦ 

Such, however, were not the opin- 
ions or sentiments of Baron Massy. 
Alter ha>-in gi levietl in the name of the 
government that terrible tax of blood 
which is called conscription, he ad- 
dressed an official discourse to the 
mayors of the canton. A propos of 
miracles and apparitions, he invoked 
the interests of the church and the 
state and those of the pope and the 
emperor. Each of his phrases and 
periphrases and paraphrases began 
with piety and ended with the ad- 
ministration. His premises were 
those of a theologian, his conclusions 
those of a prefect. 

" M. le Pr^fet," said the official or- 
gan ot the prefecture in an issue 
three days later, " has shown the 
mayors that the scenes which have 
recently transpired are to be deeply 
regretted, and that they tend to thnnu 
contempt on re/igian. He has taken 
special pains to make them under- 
stand that the fact of the creation of 
an oratory, a fad sufficiently constitut- 
ed by the deposit of reti^us emblems 
and tapers, has been an attack upon 
the civU and ecclesiastical authority^ 
an illegality which the administration 
feels bound to bring to an end, since, 
aeecfrding to the terms of the /aw, no 
public chapel or oratory can be 
founded without the authorization of 

• Loui» VcuUlot, Unitrfrt of Aufi:uit a8, i8£«. 



fhe goi*emment and the advice of the 
bishop of the diocese. " • 

" My sentiments," the devoted 
functionary addsj "ought not to be 
suspected by any one; everybody in 
the department is aware of my i)ro- 
found respect for religion. I think 
that I have given sufficient proof to 
make it impossible for any one to 
put a bad construction on my acts. 
Therefore, you will not be surpris- 
ed, gentlemen, to Icam that I have 
ordered the chief of police to remove 
the articles left at the grotto to the 
mayor's office, where they will be at 
the disposal of those who have de- 
posited them. 

** I have* moreover, directed that 
those persons who have pretended 
to see visions shall be arrested and 
brought to Tarbes for medical treats 
ment at the expense of the depart- 
ment, I am about to prosecute as 
circulators of false reports all those 
who may be found to have contri* 
buted to the spread of those absurd 
rumors which have lately become 
current/' t 

According to the organ of the pre- 
fecture, these words were received 
with unanimous enthusiasm. 

The truth is that many highly dis- 
approved of the violent course on 
which the civi! authority had enter- 
ed, whde others, belonging to the 
sect of free-thinkers, imagined that 
the hand of the prefect was strong 
enough to stay the irresistible march 
of events. 

Outside, the philosophers and sa- 
vants were heartily rejoiced. The 
Lavedan^ which had been silenced 
for two months, so cotnpletely was it 
upset by facts, now recovered its 
voice to chant a prefectoral dithy- 
rambic. 



♦ Ert imi^^rmh^ Mmy 8. 
f We quote this dtscourse from tn arlicle in 
Ert ImfdriAl*^ (be ox%%xL of the prefeclUTC, 



i 



7S8 



Immediately after his discourse, tlie 
head of the department quitted the 
city, leaving his orders to be execut- 
ed. 

The measures which the prefect 
had determined on served as a com- 
plfinent one to the other* By the 
arrest of Beniadette, he struck at the 
cause ; by removing the objects left 
at the grotto, he reached the effect. 
If, as was very probable, this warm- 
blooded people, feeling wounded in 
their faith, their hberty, and their 
right to pray and enjoy their re- 
ligion, should endeavor to offer 
any resistance or be guilty of any 
disorder, the squadron of cavalry, 
despatched in haste and riding with 
loose rein, would put all things 
under martial law, and refute ** su* 
persiition " by the all -powerful ar- 
gument of the sabre. Just as he 
had begun by changing a religious 
question into one of administration, 
M. Massy was now ready to trans- 
form the administrative into a mili- 
tary question. The mayor and the 
chief of police were directed how to 
carry out the wishes of the prefect, 
each in his official sphere. The for- 
mer had orders to cause the arrest of 
Beniadette, the latter to visit the 
Massabielle rocks, and despoil the 
grotto of all which the gratitude or 
piety of the faithful had deposited 
there. 

Wc will follow both, commencing 
with the mayor, according to the or- 
der of rank. 

XV. 

Although M. Lacade, the Mayor 
of Lourdes, had hitherto avoided giv- 
ing any decision concerning the ex- 
traordinary events which had trans- 
pired, he had nevertheless been pro- 
foundly impressed by them, and it 
was not without a certain amount of 
fear that he beheld the administration 




and both 



cniermg upon its c4)urBe 
He was greatly perplexed* 
not foresee what attitude the 
would take. True it was thai 
prefect had announced tlie po«i 
of sending a squadron of cjtvaj 
assist in maintaining order iq 
town of Lourdc^ * aiicM 

this very ann'-. nt rem 

him uneasy* Ihc 6U|>en)atufi 
pect of the question and tlie \ 
cles alarmed him also* He dij 
know how to act amid the condi 
forces of the prefect's authoht| 
strength of the people, SLnd the p 
of heaven. He would have hki 
reconcile them all. To sit&tati 
courage, he went to the /^rva 
impiriai^ M, Dutour 
gether visited the n 
cate to hira the ore it 
of Bemadette. They c 
M. Pcyramale how, accoi. 
text of the law of June 30, \%^ 
prefect was acting in tlic fulnefl 
legal right. 

The priest could not restraoi 
indignation at such a cruel aii4 
([uituus proceeding. 

Could such tyranny be iifad 
in virtue of a law made by 
of the many Lycurguscs whim 
ebb and flow of revolution liad 
on the threshold of the Palais 
bon ? 

♦» This child is innocent ! " Im 
claimed ; ** and the proof of 1 
that you, M, le Procurcur^ and 
magistrate al^o, in spite of aA 
inquiries, have been unable to 
the slightest pretext for |>cr»ccu 
her. You well know ihat tbci 
no tribunal in all France that w 
not recognize her innocence, 
the sun : not one attorney who ity 
hesitate to ileclare an ^r 

cial action simply m< 

** The courts have not acted its 
case,*' aiwwered M. Dutnt 
prefect is going toconHiii 



Our Lady of Lourdis. 



as insane, and this on account of his 
desire to have her cured* It is simply 
an administrative measure which does 
not concern religion, since neither 
the bishop nor the clergy have pro- 
nounced on the facts, which have 
transpired without their participa- 
tion.'* 

" Such a measure," answered the 
priest, kindUng as he spoke, " would 
be an odious persecution, more hate- 
ful because, under a hypocriiical 
mask, it aflects to protect its victim, 
and conceals itself under the cloak of 
the law in order to strike down a poor^ 
defenceless being. If the bishop, 
the clergy, and I myself wait for more 
certain light on these events before 
we can determine their supernatural 
character, still we know enough of 
Bemadette to judge of her sincerity 
and the soundness of her mental 
facuUies. No one dares to assert 
any cerebral derangement. Who, 
then, are best able to judge of her 
madness — these two physicians or the 
thousands of visitors who have been 
struck by the normal character and 
condition of her intellect ? Your 
physicians, even, did not risk any 
positive assertion; their conclusion 
is purely hypothetical. The prefect 
has no right to arrest Bernadette/' 

** It is legal" 

** It is illegal. • I, as a priest and 
the dean of this town of Lourdes, 
owe a duty to all, and especially 
to the feeble. If I were to see an 
anned man attack a child, 1 would 
defend the child at the peril of 
my hfe, for I know the duty of 
protection which is incumbent on a 
true pastor. Understand, then, that 
I will act in the very same mEmner 
even if that man be a prefect, and 
his weapon a bad clause of a bad 
law. Do you go and tell Baron 
Massy that his gendarmes will iind 
me at the door of that poor family, 
and that they will have to pass over 




my body before they can touch one 
hair belonging to that htUe girl" 

" But—" 

" Let us have no huts. Examine, 
inquire; you are perfecUy free to 
do so ; no one will dispute your right. 
But if, instead, you wish to persecute 
and to strike at the innocent, under- 
stand this clearly, that before you 
attack the last and least of my flock, 
you must begin with me.'* 

The priest had risen. His lofty 
stature, his strongly marked features, 
the force and energy that diey dis- 
played, his resolute gesture, and his 
ardent emotion, all served as a lively 
comment on his words. 

The procureur and mayor w^ere 
silent for a moment. They now 
turned to the measures relative to 
the grotto. 

** As to the grotto," continued the 
priest, "if the prefect wishes, in the 
name of the law and his own especial 
piety, to despoil it of the objects 
which innumerable visitors have de- 
posited there in honor of the Blessed 
Virgin, let him do so. The believers 
will be saddened, and even indig- 
nant ; but let him be assured that the 
people of this country know how to 
respect authority. 1 have been in- 
formed that there is a squadron of 
cavalrj' all mounted at Tarbes^ await- 
ing the prefect's order to hasten to 
Lourdes. Let the squadron dis- 
mount. However hot their heads, 
and however wounded their hearts, 
my people w ill hear my voice ; and 
without any armed force 1 will be 
responsible for good order. With 
the armed force, I will not be respon- 
sible." 



XVI. 

The energedc attitude of the cur^ 
of Lourdes, whose immovable firm- 
ness in matters of duty w^as generally 



< 



- 



y6o 



Our Lady of Lcurdes. 



known, introduced a new and unex- 
pected element into the problem, 

^I\\Q procureur imperial had nothing 
to do with the administrative mea- 
sure; his accompanying M. Lacad^ 
to the priest's house had been only 
an act of friendliness. All the bur- 
den of the decision was to fall upon 
the shoulders of the mayor. 

M. Lacade was certain that the 
curd of Lourdes would infaUibly carry 
out what he had proposed. As to 
effecting a surprise, and arresting 
Beniadette suddenly, such a thing 
could not be thought of; for the 
Abb<^ Peyrarnale had been forewarn- 
ed, and would keep his eyes open. 
We have before mentioned the im- 
pression made upon the mayor by 
the supernatural events which were 
daily occurring before his eyes. The 
apparent calmness of the municipal 
magistrate concealed an anxious and 
agitated man. 

He communicated to the prefect 
the conversation which he and M. 
Dutour had had with the cur^ of 
Lourdes, and the position and words 
of the man of God. 

The arrest of Bemadette* he add- 
ed, might result in an insurrection 
against the constituted authorities. 
With regard to himself, he further- 
more .stated that, considering the 
determination so expressly stated by 
the cure, and in view of the probable 
results of sucJi a measure, he felt 
obUgcd to refuse to carry it out per- 
sonally, even if such a refusal were 
to necessitate his resignation of the 
mayoralty. 

The prefect might, if he saw fit, 
act directly in the matter, and order 
the arrest by the armed police force. 

XVII. 

While Bemadette was left in un* 
certain liberty, M. Jacomet, in high 
spirits, and decked with his scarf of 



office, prepared to cxcr-j? a: 
Massabiclle rocks the uri:.,r ii: iJ 
Massy. 

The rumor that the tirefeci 
about to despoil tlic grotto had ^ 
rapidly through the town, and th| 
it into quite an exciteracnt. Th< 
tire population were shock ed^ as 
monstrous sacrilege. 

** The Blessed Virgin;* ihcj i 
*♦ has deigned to descend amoQj 
and to work miracles, and see 
tliey receive her] This will si 
bring down the anger of benv*^ | 

The coldest hearts wcx^^ fl 

deep feeling of indignatii ^ .fl 

appear and to grow among the 
pic. From the starts however^ 
Peyramale, and the other prioM 
the town, spoke words of peaces 
sought to calm the more irritiUed 

**My friends,** 'do 

com pro mist; your 
submit to this law, even it tc iie 
If the Blessed Virgin is really in 
affair, she will know how ta 
these things to her own glory j 
any violence on your part will 
show a lack of faith and coafidc 
in her power. Look At the tnail 
They did not revolt against the 
]>erors I They triumphed sitnplfl 
cause they did not fight" 

The moral authority of the 
was very great* Uyi there were 
warm heads and indigrtant 
A slight accident might have bl 
about great mischief* 

The ex-votos and other obji 
the grotto made quite a bulky 
and could not be removed by 
M. Jacomct went to the stage-b 
to procure a wagon and horses. 

" I don*t let my horses for 
work/' replied the master. 

"But/* exclaimed Jacomet, ** 
cannot refuse your horses to tl 
who are ready to pay for lliem/* 

'* My horses are for post 
and not for tliis sort of work. I 



Onr Lady of Latitdes. 



76 T 



to have nothing to do with this piece 
of business. You may enter a com- 
plaint against me if you wish. I re- 
fuse to let you have my horses," 

The cliief of pohce went to other 
places. In al! the hotels, at all the 
livery stables, which are very numer- 
ous in Lourdes on account of the 
neighboring baths, at all the private 
bouses — ^everywhere he met only a 
blank refusal. His situation was 
quite tr)ing. The crowd watched 
him going vainly from door to door, 
followed by the poHcemen^ and wit- 
nessed his frequent disappointments. 
He heard the murmurs, the laugh- 
ter, the bitter gibes, that his fail- 
ure produced. The weight of public 
attention pressed upon him as he 
fruitlessly wanrlered from street to 
street He vainly raised the sum 
which he had at first offered for the 
hire of a horse and cart, Tlie poor 
people all refused. Finally, he reach- 
ed thirty francs. Thereupon the 
crowed laughed and hooted, and re- 
minded one another of the thirty 
pieces of silver. At last he founds at 
the house of a farrier, a girl who, 
for this amount, furnished him the 
vehicle. 

WTien they saw him coming out 
with the cart and horse all harnessed, 
the indignation of t^he multitude knew 
no bounds; for it was not want which 
had detennined the venality of the 
proprietors. These people were not 
poor. 

J acorn et directed his course to- 
wards the grotto. The police es- 
corted the cart. An immense crowd 
followed, silent and gloomy as a 
thunder-cloud, and charged with all 
the electricity of a tempest. 

Thus they arrived at the Massa- 
bielle rocks. The cart, which could 
not come close up to the grotto, was 
stationed a short distance off. 

Under tJie vault of the grotto, 
tapers burned here and there, sup- 



ported by candlesticks decorated with 
moss and ribands. 

Here were crucifixes, statues of the 
Blessed Virgin; there religious pic- 
tures, chaplets, and necklaces ; jewels 
sparkled on the ground or in the cracks 
of the rock. In some places, caq>ets 
had been laid under the statues of the 
Mother of God. Myriads of bou- 
quets had been brought by pious 
hands in honor of Mary, and these 
first-fruits of the month of flowers 
perfumed the sylvan oratory. 

In a couple of baskets, and on the 
ground, shining pieces of copper and 
silver and gold might be seen, form- 
ing a sum amounting to several thou- 
sand francs, the first spontaneous offer- 
ings towards the erection of a church 
in honor of the stainless Virgin, whose 
sacred character won the respect even 
of robbers and thieves, for, in spite of 
the opportunity afforded by the soli- 
tude and the night, no criminal dared 
lay sacrilegious hands upon these 
gifts. 

M. Jacomet leaped over the rail- 
ing constructed by the workmen, and 
entered the grotto. He seemed agi- 
tated. The police followed close 
behind him. The crowd looked on 
in silence, but this exterior tranquil- 
lity had something appalling in its 
very calmness. 

The chief of police commenced by 
making sure of the money. Then he 
blew out the candles and gathered the 
beads and the crucifixes and pieces 
of carpet, which he handed to the 
policemen to carry to the cart. 
These men did not appear to relish 
this work, and accomplished it with 
manifest sadness and respect for the 
objects which they carried. 

All this occupied some time, owing 
to the distance of the cart. M. Jaco- 
met once called to a little boy, ** Take 
this picture to the cart." 

The boy reached out his hand, 
when another child, at his side, cried 



M. Massy was not much annoyed 
by these accidents. He had no more 
faith In punishments sent by heaven 
than in cures from the same source. 
The threatening and inflexible attitude 
of M. Peyramale in opposition to the 
projected arrest of Bcrnadette was 
a much more serious consideration, 
GfOd did not, by any means, disturb 
him as greatly as the cure. 

The refusal of M. Lacade to pro- 
ceed with this violent measure — a 
very unaccountable act on the part 
of that timid functionary — the visible 
dissatisfaction of die mayors of the 
cantons with his discourse — the signs 
of popular irritation which had been 
brought out by plundering the grot- 
to—the uncertainty how far the po- 
lice anil soldiers would obey (for 
many of them shared the general 
enthusiasm and veneration for Bema- 
dette)» all caused him to reflect. He 
saw that in such circumstances her 
imprisonment might be followed by 
the most disastrous results. 

Not that he shrank from braving 
a riot. Certain details which we 
have already noticed would lead us 
to conclude that he secretly desired 
it- But an uprising of the popula- 
tion accompanied by the resignation 
of a mayor, and complicated by the 
interference of one of the most re- 
spected priests of the diocese, and 
followed, in all probability, by a com- 
plaint to the cabinet for false impri- 
sonment, and an energetic protest 
from the Catholic press, could not 
fail to produce an effect upon a mind 
so practical as Baron Massy's and 
so attached to the duties of his 
office. 

It caused the haughty prefect great 
annoyance to be checked in the exe- 
cution of a plan which he had so 
publicly announced ; nevertheless, he 
would not have been obliged to act 



thus if the report of the physicians, 
instead of being an ttn certain conjec- 
ture, had made some positive asser- 
tion of the madness of Bernadette/ 
And if she had been really attacked 
by some mental disease^ nothing 
would have been easier than to order 
a second examination by some well- 
known and trusted scientific men of 
the place, in order to impose their 
decision upon the community. But 
M, Massy, being conversant with all 
the examinations of Bemadette, felt 
that not one physician would fail to 
recognize the perfect soundness of 
her mind, and her accurate intelli- 
gence and good faith. 

In such a position, opposed by 
moral and physical impossibilities, 
the clever prefect found himself 
brought to a halt, and, despite his 
proverbially headstrong disposition, 
he saw further progress hopelessly 
barred. He was condemned to in- 
action. But to turn entirely around 
and retrace his steps, by revoking 
the measure already carrietl out by 
Jacomct at the Massabielle rocks — 
this was a solution that never enter- 
ed the brain of Baron Massy. Tlie 
plundering of the grotto was an " ac* 
complished fact " — of course it must 
be maintained. 

But the little seer remained at lib- 
erty from her morning to her even- 
ing prayers, ignorant, undoubtedly, 
of the tempest that had passed so 
near her. 

The civil authority by this abortive 
effort proved the impossibLlity of con- 
victing Bcrnadette of any cerebral 
disorder. In allowing her to remain 
free, it rendered, in spite of itself, a 
public homage to the perfect integrity 
of her intellect. Incredulity, by such 
clumsy blows, simply wounded itself, 
and served the cause it hoped to 
overthrow. We only accuse it of 
bungling. It is very difficult to 
struggle against evidence, and in such 




764 



S, Barin^-Gauid on Chrisiuml/y, 



a combat great blunders are often in- 
evitable. 

M, Massy reraained invincibly 
rooted in his original designs. The 
only concession which he made to 
events w:is to discard means that 
were plainly useless, and even periU 
ous to his plans, and to turn his course 
around obstacles which could not be 
broken down or surmounted. In a 
word, he changed his tactics ; he still 
adhered to his resolutions. 

The imprisonment of Bemadette, 
after all, was only the means to an 
end. The end was the radical over- 
throw of ** superstition " and the ulti- 
mate defeat of the supernatural, 

M. Massy did not lose heart. He 
was " perfectly certain," as he loftily 
remarked, of eventually extricating 
himself from the difticulties of his si- 
tuation. What! he^ — Massy — prefect 
and baron of the empire, vanquished 



by the prattling of .1 'lepherd- 

ess» upset by the en^ ^ ui of J 
imaginar}^ apparirion ! — such an iq 
seemed impossible alike to his ] 
and genius. 

Although forced to give itp 
plan of imprisoning poor BcmAdctir 
as a lunatic, he %ras none the lt» 
eager to check the rising torrent J 
fanaticism. 

The doctrines and cxplanattS 
which had for some lime been the 
favorite theme of the t' " ^rn 
suggested to li is em barra it 

new plan, which seemed to him d^ 
cisive. 

In order to understand how it wis 
that the prefect came to change \m 
plan of attack, it will be wdf to cut 
a glance over what had ' .ice 

in the camp of the . \m 

party, 

TO S1I CO^ITIKUKP. 



S. BARING-GOULD ON CHRISTIANITY. 



The first part of Mr. Gould's work, 
treating of ** Heathenism and Mosa- 
ism," was reviewed in The Catholic 
'^VoRLD for April last, and we now 
pay our respects to the second part* 
which treats of ** Christianity." Mr. 
Gould is a man of some learning, of 
more than ordinary ability, and wTites 
in a style well adapted to the subjects 
he treats. We have seldom read a 
book in which we have found more 
that is true and at the same time so 
much that is untrue. The author is 
a contradiction, and a contradiction 



• Tkf Ort£in and DtveUf^ment »/ Rtlififims 
' M*ite/. By S. Biring-GoMld. MA, Part 11. 
Chnstinniiy. New York : D, Appletao A Co. 
i<7o. ttmo, pp. 38S, 



is his work* He assumes scairdiy t 
position that he does not reject, ct 
reject a proposition that he does oot 
first or last tlefend He accepts the 
principle of private jud-™--* sad 
rejects it; adopts Proi : ■ 

principle, and yet gives one ot tbf 
best refutations of it th:!t hn% rerrullr 
been written ; he hoi c'n 

catholic, that it ret-- m- 

nomies, contraries, or oppcsites; solvci 
all problems, and yet he leares ss in 
doubt whether he believes ioan imilii' 
terial soul, or even in the exbcteacc 
of God— in anything or in nothil^* 
We have done our best to ondcT* 
stand the author, and to inierpitt I 
in this second part consisicntlf ' 




Baring-Gould on Christianity. 



himself; but we have found it impos- 
sible by any logic we possess to dis- 
cover any relation between his pre- 
mises and his conclusions, or to un- 
derstand how the superstructure he 
professes to erect does or can rest 
on the foundation he would seem to 
lay. In his preface, he says : 

*' Starling from ihe facts of human na. 
ture and the laws the}^ reveal to us, as 
spread out before us in tiistorj^ can we 
attain to the existence of God» to immor- 
tftliry*and to the fimdamcntal doctrine of 
Christianity, the Incarnation? 

"Hillicrio Christianity has leaned, or 
has been represented as leaning^, on au- 
thority — on the authority of an infallible 
rcxi» or o( an inerrable church. The in- 
^dcqu.icv of either support has been re- 
peatedly demonstrated, and, as the props 
have been withdrawn, the faith of raauy 
has fallen with a crash. The religious 
history of the church exhibits three phas- 
es. The first when dogma appealed to 
men and met with a ready response, the 
second when dogma was forced on man 
by nn authorilative society, and the third 
when dogma was insisted on, upon ihe 
authority of an infallible lext. Men re- 
volted against the church, opposing the 
text against it: men revolt now against 
the text, and on what does dogma stand? 

'* To this question I offer an answer in 
this volume. Unless theology can be 
based on facts anterior to text or society, 
to facts in our own nniure, ever new, but 
also ever old, it can never be placed in 
an unassailable position. For if Chrts- 
tianity be true, it u^ust be true to human 
nature and to hum:^n thought. It must 
supply that to which both turn, but which 
they cannot, unassisted, attain." (Fp. vii., 

viii.) 

Here is clearly stated his prob- 
lem and the principle of the solution 
he adopts. He is restricted by the 
very terms in which he states the 
problem for his solution to the facts 
of human nature, and consequently 
can propose no solution not war- 
ranted by an induction from those 
facts. But he himself maintains ex- 
pressly, over and over again, that in- 
duction does not and cannot give 



certainty, and gives at best only a pro- 
bable hypothesis. This in the outset 
casts suspicion on his solution, what- 
ever it may be. " If Christianity be 
true, it must be true to human na- 
ture and to human thought. It must 
supply that to which both turn," 
But suppose that it docs theoretical- 
ly, that is, meet and respond to all 
the facts or wants of human nature, 
that does not prove it true ; it only 
proves that, if true, it would satisfy 
human nature* But that it is true, 
must be proved aliunde^ or not be 
proved at all. 

Does the author mean to teach 
that religious belief originates in the 
facts of human nature, in the crav- 
ings of the human soul, and the ef- 
forts of the human understanding to 
obtain their satisfaction ? This seems 
both to be and not to be his doctrine. 
One while, he reasons as if it were, and 
other times as if it were not. If it 
be his doctrine, it cannot be true ; for 
there are no facts of human nature 
that could have originated rehgiuus 
belief. No conceptions we can form 
of ourselves without religion can sug- 
gest religion. We readily concede 
that the heathen religions, which 
were wholly under human control, re- 
ceived their various forms and de- 
velopments from the special views 
and wants of those who adopted 
them> but not the essential religious 
belief itself Men must believe in 
religion, tn the Divinity, and die obli- 
gadon to worship him, before they 
can invent or develop a religion or a 
particular form of religion. Then 
such or such a particular form or de- 
velopment of religion would be only 
the creation or evolution of men, of 
particular men or of a particular na- 
tion, and would bear no mark of 
universality, or have any authority 
for reason or conscience. 

But however this may be, the au- 
thor certainly means that the facta 



766 



S, Baring'Gau!d an Christimtiiy, 



or wants of human nature arc the 
test» measure^ or criterion of religious 
as of all other truth. He maintains 
throughout that man is himself or 
has in himself the measure of truth, 
is himself his own yard-stick. Wc 
know this doctrine very well; it is 
an old acquaintance of ours. If it 
is meant that man, in order to be 
fhe recipient of religious truth, must 
be a rational creature capable of 
knowing or apprehending truth that 
lies in his own plane, when it is pre- 
sented to him, he says little more than 
a truism. To know is to know* and 
one cannot know unless able to 
know; but this is nothing to the pur- 
pose. What the author means is that 
the human mind has the mould of 
truth in itself, and that there is and 
can be for man no truth that he can- 
not and does not cast in that mould. 
As the mould in no man is large 
enough to take in the whole truth, 
and as the mould in size and shape 
differs with every individual and is 
the same in no two men, that only is 
true for each individual which he 
judges to be true. What each one 
thus judges to be true is by no 
means the whole trudi, but merely a 
special aspect of truth — truth as be- 
held from each one's own speci.il 
point of view ; and to get the whole 
truth we must gather together all 
these special aspects, and mould or 
co-ordinate them into one harmonious 
whole. 

Tliis is the author's real doctrine, 
if doctrine he hns, and it shows that 
man is a very inadequate measure 
of truth. If the mind grasps a spe- 
cial aspect of truth, and is so far a 
true measure, it still leaves the great* 
er part of truth unajiprehended and 
unmeasured, and therefore is far 
more false than true. Moreover, the 
author's doctrine has t)ie slight dis- 
advantage of disproving itself; for, 
while it asserts that man is the mea- 



sure or criterion of truth, tt«lif i 
ing truth purely relative, ▼! 
with each individual, really a 
that he is no such measure or 
rion at all, and ha*; in hrnwei 
jKJwerof distingutshir q 

and falsehood, Trui ri 

riable, always and ever>^ where 
same ; most certainly, if wc & 
the author^s definition that ** 
is what is," that is, being, and a 
qucntly cannot vary as mcn*s 
of it var>'. Then, again^ if the 
thor is right, the human tniml 
grasps the truth itself, and has at 
only a vieiu of truth, and that a 
of it only under a partial and sf; 
aspect. A partial view * ■ ^^ \ 

only under a Kpccial or | r 

peet, is precisely the del: i r 

ror as distinguish.^ble ii . J 
falsehood. Hence, by making ■ 
his ottTi yard-stick, the author M 
all means of distinguishing truth r 
error; indeed, denies thai they 
distinguishable, or that there i» 
difierence between them. Haw, t 
maintain that man is or has tii 1 
self the measure of truth ? AE 
can be said is, man is the mcasun 
the truth he receives, or, in the 
guagc of mortals, man can 
only the t^th he is able to rca 
anti can know only wliat be 
know, which, we grant, \Sk mik 
table. \ 

As this point is fundamcnul 
the author, and is just now the I 
ionable doctrine with those who h 
not the truth, we wtU dwell on 
moment longer. That, the an 
tells us and others also tell us, w 
1 judge to be true is true far 
that which I itt\ is beautiful is h 
tiful for me^ and that which I 
to be good is good for mc^ lh« 
it may be fabe, ugly, and crtj 
another. This is the langiuge 
folly or despair. Grant, withontc 
ceding, that thought is the 



S. Baring'Gould on Christianity. 



or criterion of the tnith we recognize 
and are able to hold, as Mr, Gould 
asserts over and over again ; we 
must still bear in mind that thought 
is only on one side a fact of human 
nature or the act of man, Mr. Gould, 
after Cousin, says that thought cm- 
braces three elements — the subject, 
object^ and their relation or form. 
The subject cannot think without the 
object, nor unless the t\so are in im- 
mediate relation. The thought, then, 
is the joint product of the subject 
and object. No man has in himself 
or can be his own object, othenvise 
man would be God, both intelligible 
and intelligent in himself* Descartes 
said, Co^^ii\ ergo sum^ a paralogism^ 
of course ; for my own existence is as 
much affirmed in cogih^ I think 
or am thinking, as in sum^ I am j but 
passing over this, and assuming that 
he meant, as, when hard pressed, he 
said he meant, simply that in the act 
or fact of thinking he learns or be- 
comes conscious of his existence ; he 
becomes conscious of his own exis- 
tence no more than he does of the 
existence of something which is not 
himself, but is distinguishable from 
himself* I cannot think without think- 
ing something ] that which is tliought 
is always distinguishable from him 
who thinks. The subject is never the 
object, nor the object the subject. 

It is not, as they against whom we 
JU'e reasoning pretend, the subject, but 
•^e object that determines the form 
of the thought, otherwise language 
would have no sense, be no medium 
of communication between man and 
man, and men could never under- 
stand one another or hold any truth 
in common. The fact that men have 
language, that they do understand 
one another, or can and do commu- 
nicate their thoughts one to another, 
is a proof that truth does not vary 
with every individual ; that to a cer- 
tain extent, at least, they think the 



same object, and that the object im- 
poses upon their thought the same 
form* Hence, what is truth to the one 
is equally the truth to the many. It 
is on this fact that the possibihty of 
instruction depends, and the mutual 
intercourse of men in society, nay, 
society itseIC 

Descartes knew not what he did 
when he pretended, from the simple 
fact of the consciousness of his own 
existence, to deduce, after the manner 
of the geometricians, the existence 
of God and the universe ; for nothing 
can be deduced from an existence that 
is not contained in it as the part in 
the whole, the property in the essence, 
or the effect in the cause. Hence 
the mistake of those who attempt, 
like the author, to deduce from what 
they call the facts or phenomena of hu- 
man nature the great truths of religion 
— the being of God, the immortality 
of the soul, and the liberty of man. 
They assume that the facts of con- 
sciousness are facts of human nature 
alone, and argue from them as such ; 
whereas, the facts they detect in the 
human consciousness, and on which 
they really base their reasoning, are 
not subjective, but really objective. 
The argument of Descartes for the 
being of God, or rather of St. An- 
sel m, from whom Descartes directly 
or indirecdy borrowed it, based on 
the fact that we have present to our 
minds the idea of the most perfect 
being, than whom none can be great- 
er, is a good and valid argument ; 
for such an idea is objective and, 
therefore, reah not subjective or form- 
ed by the mind itself, though Des- 
cartes erred in calling it innate in- 
stead of intuitive. The analysis of 
consciousness, that is, of thought* 
detects objective elements, which 
conduct to God or the whole on to- 
logical order. The error of Cousin 
was not in proving the being of God 
from facts whicli he discovered in the 



768 



5, BariHg'\ 



field of consciousness, but in suppos* 
ing these facts* or principles rather, 
arc purely psychological. Suppos- 
ing them to be psychological \ti their 
nature and origin, the God obtained 
by way of induction from thera was 
and could be only a generalization or 
an abstraction, as is the God attain- 
ed by induction from any other class 
of facts, as Mr. Gould clearly shows 
in his volume on *' Christianity." 

Thought connotes the object as 
wdl as the subject, and, the object 
determining the form of the thought, 
thought is true not relatively only to 
the thinker, as our author contends, 
which simply means that it is true 
the subject thinks as he thinks, but 
true objectively, and is what all 
minds must think that think lh<^ same 
object. Hence the truth thought is 
objective, and, as far as the thought 
goes, true absolutely. We, therefore, 
dismiss the fundamental assumption 
of the author as repugnant to the 
truth. 

S. Baring-Gould is apparently 
an eclectic in theology, whatever 
he may be in philosophy. **That 
which mankind wanted, and wants 
still/' he says in his preface, p. ix., ** is 
not new truths, but tlie co-ordination 
of all aspects of the truth. In every 
religion of the world is to be found 
distorted or exaggerated some great 
truth, otherwise it would never have 
obtained a foothold : every religious 
revolution has been the struggle of 
thought to gain another step in the 
ladder that reaches to heaven/' Was 
not tlie Rcfom>ation, so^alled, in the 
sixteenth centurj', that gave birth to 
the various Protestant sects, a reli- 
gious revolution ? Was that a strug- 
gle of thought to gain another step 
in the ladder tliat leads to heaven ? 
Certainly not, if we may believe the 
author, for he contends lltat Protes- 
tantism added nothing to the stock 
of truth always held by the church 



—was purely negative. TIhb< 
says: 

" In like manner, CathoUcI?!!! 

all the posttive ideas rr ^ b| 

sects. If, from the !^ t el 

Ideal, nothing exists, j 

exist, outside of Caib' | 

the essence of Catholicism t:> Ji« '^n 
is and all that can be. that U ti> 
comprehend in itself ad that 
love, know, and practice, C 
must contain cveniUing tV:~* ^-^^ 
and schismatical bodies bf 
6im. It wilt, however, affir 
what ibcy affirm in part; f 
all that they admit, but U u : 
great deal more besides. 

"This fundamental notion of tlio I 
of Catholicisni has been thum c\p 
by Le Mnistre in his ' Letter io a 
tanr Lady/ ' It is now,* he javc, 
een hundred and nine years titat % 
tholic Church has been in the vofJ4« 
has always believed what U belt 
now. Your doctors will ic[i 
sand times thai wc have in 
if we have innovated, i 
that it needs such long ' 
straic it ; whereas to prove ^ 
varied— and you are only t i 
no trouble is needed- 

*' • But let us consider sui 
rior to all the schisms that 
the world. At the commrncci 
the tenth century, there i 
faith in £uro{>e« Consider 
an assemblage of positive 
Unity of God, the TrinUf, 
lion, the Real Presence, eic, 
plify our idea, let us suppo< 
of positive dogmas to an 
The Greek Church, h-. 
procession of the Holy * 
prcmacy of the Pope, li 
forty-eight points of \ 
see, we believe all that 
though she denies two tli 
Your sixteenth century st.;,ii ^lu^c 
ters much further and denied ;i li< 
other dogmas ; but those w i 
tatned ate common to tts. 
Catholic religion : ' ' 
sects believe — ihh 

" ' The sects, be 
are not nli^ont^ H 
is to say, they ai^ H' m= 
for directly the? alfiran - 
Catholic* 

" ' U lollows as a consc«|ttcoo« oCj 



'iicetf»eBM 



■4 

1 



lai 



5, Barinff-^ 



on Christianity. 



most perfect certainly, that the Catholic 
who passes into a sect apostatizes ver- 
itably» for he changes his belief, by de- 
nying to-djy what he believed yesterday ; 
but the sectary who passes into the 
church abdicates no dogma, he denies 
nothing that he believed ; on the contrar)-, 
he begins to believe what previously he 
had denied. 

" ' He that passes out of a Christian sect 
into the Mother Church is not required 
lo renounce any dogma, but only lo 
avow that beside the dogmas which ho 
believed, and wliich we believed every 
vrhit as truly as he. there are other ve- 
rities of which he was ignorant, but 
which nevertheless exist/ 

"Let us illustrate this truth In the 
same wayihatwc illustrated it in refer. 
encc to philosophy* 

** Catholicism proclaims the union of 
the divine and human natures in Christ. 
Atinnism appeared, and, abandoning 
more^Iess completely the first of these 
two l^^iS, it reproduced the second 
atone. What did Arianism affirm ? The 
humanity uf Christ. CaihoUcIsm equally 
affirms this, it hclieves all that Arianism 
believed. What did Arianism add to 
ihAt article of laith ? A negation of the 
first term, iV., Nothing* 

*' Catholicism proclaims the co-exis- 
lencc of grace and free-will, that is to 
say, of divine and human action, the first 
the initiative of the second, as the in- 
crcate is necessarily the origin of the 
create. Pelagian ism started up and left 
on one side, more or less formally, the 
first of these two terms, and reproduced 
the second alone. What did it affirm? 
The existence of human liberty. Catho- 
licism had allii^mcd it long before, and 
believed in all that Pelagianism held» 
What, then, did Pelagianism add to this 
ariictc of belief? A negation of the first 
term* i.^, Nothing. 

'* Catholicism proclaims the double ne- 
cessit}' of faith and good vvorJcs. Luther 
arose, and, omiiiing the second of these 
two points, admitted the former alone. 
What did he aflirm ? The necessity of 
faith. Catholicism has insisted on this 
with unchanging voice. W^hat did Lu- ' 
ther add ? A negation of the second 
point, f.^., Nothing, 

"Finally, Catholicism proclaims the 
Sacraments, the Eucharistic Sacrifice, the 
Real Presence, etc, Protestants reject 
these ; in other terms, they substiiuie for 
thtrra simple negations, which are nothing. 

VOL* xn. — 49 



*' As every heretical or scbismaticaJ 
sect retains this or that verity which 
suits it, to the exclusion of other truihf, 
and as this process takes place from a 
thousand different points of view, it is 
sufficient to add together the articles 
separately admitted by these commu- 
nions, mutually antagonistic, to arrive at 
the sum of all Catholic verities. 

"Also, it is sufficient to strike out the 
points which each rejects, or to subtract 
them from the total, to arrive at xero, and 
thus to show that there is no one phase 
of truth which ihcy do not deny. 

*• In the first case, they conclude direct- 
ly for Catholicism, which is the cntitety 
of which they arc the fragments; in the 
second, they conclude indirectly, by show- 
ing that outside of Catholicism is nothin|f 
but a process of disintegration of all be- 

lief." (Pp. lea-'ieo.) 

It would seem frotn this that a re- 
ligious revolution may be a struggle 
of thought to take another step down 
and not up the ladder that reaches 
to heaven, and spring from the per- 
versity of men's minds and hearts as 
well as from their love of truth or as- 
pirations to God, But pass over this. 
Suppose that every heterodox religion 
or sect fastens upon some aspect of 
truth which it distorts or exaggerates, 
and that, if the special aspects of all 
are brought together and co-ordin- 
atedj we should have the truth under 
all its aspects. We should still have 
only an aggregate of special or par- 
ticular views of truth, not truth itself 
in its living unity and universality. 

The author tells us that every sect 
retains as the centre of its organism a 
fragment of truth. This is not strictly 
correct, for truth itself is one and 
irrefragable. The sect has not a 
fragment of truth, for the body of 
truth is not broken and scattered as 
was the body of the Eg>^ptian god 
Osiris J it has only a particular or 
fragmentary view of truth, or truth 
under a particular aspect, which 
it falsely takes to be truth in its 
unity and universality* Were we, 
then, to collect and co-ordinate the 



i 



770 



5. Baring'Gonl 



itamiy. 



particular or special views of all the 
various sects and heterodox religions 
of the world, we should have not tlie 
truth, but simply a human view or 
theory of truth, which, being only a 
\*iew or theory, is abstract, lifeless, 
impotent, and of no value. But how, 
and by whom, is this collection of the 
special or particular truths, or views 
of truth, to be made ? The author 
professes to have subjected them all 
to his impartial judgment, but in them 
all, according to him, there is a part 
that is true and a part that is false. 
By what princijile, rule, or criterion, 
then, does he judge them, and deter- 
mine what in them accords with the 
true and what is untrue ? He him- 
self is, and, according to his own 
principles, must be, his standard, and 
only standard, of judgment, or, as we 
say, his own yardstick, by which he 
measures them. But he can, he him- 
self insists, determine only what is 
true to him, or from his f>oint of 
view, not the true in itself or the true 
universally. He can, at ])est, give only 
his views of truth, which, like those 
of all other men, will necessarily be 
only relative, only views of some 
special aspect of truth, and conse* 
quently must necessarily, on his own 
principles, be as partial, as one-sided, 
or as inadequate as the religions or 
sects he attempts to judge. His 
judgment settles nothing, and the 
result of all his efforts would be not 
the attainment of Catholic truth, un- 
mixed with error or falsehood, but at 
best only the founding of a new^ sect 
against all sects, yet as much a sect 
as any of them. 

It is the fault of Nfr. S. Baring- 
Gould, and all writers of his class, to 
assume to summon all religions — 
Christianity, Judaism, and the various 
forms of Genlilism^bcforc them, and 
to judge them as if they had a uni- 
versal and infallible standard of 
judgment to which all must con- 



form or be condemned 

founders of these reli 



followers had or have noL Ti 
disdain to speak as the advocate, 
always affect to speak from 
bench as the judge ; a n ri v j ui 

by no law or standai hat 

their own minds, and really pronoun 
but their own private judgoifi 
They judge by themselves as th 
own rule of judgment, and, oofl 
quently, as they are fallible and vi 
able as all mew are, tlietr jii4piid 
arc only their personal npti)]oiis,«lai 
ing on the same level with the up 
ions of those they judge, and 
at best no monc ITie only 
who could examine att sects a 
heterodox religions, and detenu 
what in them is true anii vkat 
false, is the Catholic, who has in 
teaching of the church the 
truth, the truth under all its as|ie< 
and in its unity and universality. 
has in her doctrine an ohj< 
or standard of judgnicnt t. • ^ 

and they are alike amenable, the i 
fallible touchstone of tnith^ aiul tlie 
fore is able to take from each lect 
heterodox religion its part of Oi 
and reject its part of error, Btit 
has no need for himself to do it, 
he has already the whole truth-" 
and probably a great deal more d 
all, he could obtain by doing it 
who has not the whole truth« 
truth in its living unity and cathi 
city, cannot do it ; and he who hil 
has no need to do it The eclectia 
Mr* Gould proposes is, theneid 
either impracticable or untieces» 
The author does not f>rec»elj 
with Uie fool in his heart, •• Go4 
not;'* but he i his being 4 

not be demi3i He calk 

existence of Gud ' an irrational 
ity,*' and says^ if we admit his 
ence at all, we inust take it on t 
as an axiom, lluit the being 
God is an axiom as well as a theoifl 






S. Baring'Gauld on Christianity. 



and cannot be demonstrated syllo- 
gisticallv, we concede, for God is the 
universal, and there is no truth more 
universal than he to serve as the 
major premise ; but that does not prove 
that his existence is " an irrational 
verity/* and taken simply on trust. 
It is a false psychology that restricts 
reason, as the author does, to ratio- 
cination or discursion. It is our uni- 
versal faculty of knowing. The 
axioms of the mathematician are 
indemonstrable, but not therefore 
irrational. They simply need no 
demonstration, and are as really ap- 
prehended by the reason or rational 
faculty as are the conclusions ob- 
tained by demonstration or reason- 
ing from them, 

Mn Gould is right in assuming 
that reason can operate only from 
principles — T\ot facts, as he says — and 
therefore in asserting that the prin- 
ciples are indemonstrable; but he is 
wrong in regarding the first principles 
of reason as beliefs. Beliefs are mat- 
ters that are received on authority or 
extrinsic evidence, that is, extrinsic 
both to the mind believing and the 
matter believed. But the first prin- 
ciples are of all matters those which 
we know best, for we know them by 
imniwliate intuition, and they are 
matters not of belief but of science, 
and the basis of all science. They 
undoubtedly must be given to the 
reason or intellect, and not obtained 
by it ; but they are given intuitively 
by the author of reason, which is 
nothing without them, and is consti- 
tuted by them. The assent of the 
mind to them is immediate, direct, in- 
tuitive, and is knowledge or science, 
not belief The author forgets that 
to know is to know, and that to 
know is to know that we know. 
To know, nothing is needed but 
the intelligent subject and the intelli- 
gible object in immediate relation. 
Demonstration is not knowing, but 



only a means or condition of know- 
ing what is not immediately intelligi- 
ble, is simply stripping the object of ite 
envelopes, and presenting it in direct 
relation to the intelligent subject, 
which assents or dissents intuitively. 
In the longest chain of reasoning, the 
cognition of each link is immediate 
and intuitive- Either, then, we know 
not at all, or we know the first princi- 
ples of reason, and nothing is more 
rational or less irrational than the 
constituent principles of reason, 
which Reid strangely obscured by 
calling them primitive beliefs. 

Understanding this, the existence 
of God is not only a truth, but a 
rational truth, even if indemonstra- 
ble; for it is a truth of science as 
well as of faith or revelation ; and so 
far from reposing on faith, jt is the 
basis of all faith as of all science* 
Nor is it true, as Mr. Gould contends, 
that the Divine Being, though not syl- 
logistically demonstrable, is not iiruv- 
able, and as really known as any truth 
is or can be. It is demonstrable even €X 
€ons€quentiis^ or from the consequences 
that would follow from denying it. 
The denial of God is necessarily the 
denial of being, the only object 
intelligible per sr, therefore, of all 
knowledge, all existence, and the 
assertion of universal nescience and 
universal nihilism. But no one can 
carry his denial so far as to deny the 
existence of the denier; and if any 
one or anything exists, there must be 
a God. 

But we do not agree with the au- 
thor that men have originated the 
idea of God by meditating on their 
own personality or on the facts or phe- 
nomena of nature. Men started with 
the knowledge that God is ; they 
u'cre taught it by God himself; and 
those imperfect conceptions of God 
10 which Mr. Gould refers as the 
beginnings of such knowledge, and 
which reason and sentiment develoj* 



7T^ 



S, Barwff-Gcutd m Christianity. 



and complete, arc reminiscences, and 
simply mark the deterioration or the 
loss of that knowledge in the human 
mind. I'he savage is the degenerate 
man, not the type of the primeval 
man. As men commenced with the 
belief in God, it is for those who 
deny his existence to prove that he is 
not. We shall not undertake to re- 
fute them. An atheist is not to be 
reasoned with, since, if his denial be 
true, he has neither reason nor exist- 
ence, and is simply a nonentity, and 
nonentities are not susceptible of 
being refuted. 

Mr. Gould considers that the w^orld 
is composed of antinomies, or contra- 
ries, such as reason and sentiment, 
faith and reason, authority and lib- 
crty, God and the universe, the in- 
finite and the finite, time and etcmity, 
and that the great problem to be 
solved is to find the middle term 
that unites and reconciles these and 
other antinomies without destroying 
either term. What is this middle 
terra, or this universal reconciler of 
the two extremes ? Here the author 
grows obscure or misty, and we have 
some difficulty in following him ; but, 
as far as we are able to understand 
him, this middle term, or universal 
mediator, is the human personality. 
He seems to adopt, in substance, the 
doctrine taught by Fichte, of a two- 
fold Ego — ^the one absolute, the other 
relative. Thus he says : 

'•Religion and philosophy arc not two 
contradictory system k, but are the post* 
tiTC and negative poles, of which the axis 
uniting and conciliating them is the idea 
of the indctiQitc, which, expressing two 
complex terms, the body and the spirit. 
the finite and the infinite, represents the 
constitutive and fundamental nature of 
man. 

** The idea of the indefinite at once 
iuppostt and exilndis limitation. The con- 
sciousness man has of his own person- 
aJity distinguishes him to himself from 
ert-rjthing else. This consciousness im- 



plies, whilst it denies, limitation. If 
what I rail the strotimeni of ibe lii<| 
nite. When he affirms hin)»ell. be dii^ 
gaisbes himself from another. To 
cognize another is to place a llitilt 
which his own personally halts aD< 
ishes. But although his f>craotia)ity 
and finishes at a litnit thrnuk^h rrl^ 
to oihtfs, it is iti itsclJ . 
though hnving a begintii^ -^rc 

ceivcs itseJf to be. without ^u%\. To 
ccive the annihilation of th« const 
stHr is simply impossible. \\ |^u doq 
this, make the experiment.'* (P. 24.! 

II1C middle term is, thf-n tli.' -^'i 
nient or idea " of the in j 

at otice supposes and e \i 

lion.** ** T^he con scion 4 

of his own personalitv 4 

him to himself frotn cv.. „ d 

It '* implies, \^hilst it cieiucs, itOMi 
tion.'* But this liiQitation is ODtjri 
relation to others ; *^ it is in itself J 
limited;** that is, inftnilc, l^ ' ^ 
God, The human person is :^ 

limited and unlimi' a 

finite, and hence a^ 
mean between the two extremes. Tl 
universal reconciler is ihcrelbn! tl 
vague sentiment or idea of the toil 
finite furnished hy our conacioQSM^ 
of our own pcr&onalitj. The 
nomy would reappear if we were 
fix our eyes on either cxtreiQ«v *> 
disappears only so long as we i 
contented to dwell in the vague, i 
do not attempt to determine wlicli( 
I-niyself am infinite or finite ! Th 
may be very satisfactory to the 
thor; but wc \^ho ask for dear j 
definite ideas would tie very dii 
obliged to him if he would tdl 
how a subjective idea or sentiioct 
can remove an antinomy which 
obj ec ti \ el y » or a parte rri, 1 1 is 
thing to reconcile antinomies in idfl 
or sentiment, and artother thicig 
reconcile them in tr^ atid to brii^ 
them into a real dialectic baimoiiy. 

The author confirms our iutcqvo 
tation in the following pas»Lge : 



Baring-Gould an Christianity, 



"Man will never be truly known cith- 
er by examming him in his finite aspect 
as a creature, one of the animated atoms 
of the world, or by investigating him in 
his infinite aspect as a spiritual force; an 
active intellect. The animals arc limit- 
ed ; they find their life, iheir repose, their 
happiness^ within limits ; but limitation 
ftCities man. Let him try to abstract him- 
self from limits, and, like the Bud- 
dhist ascetic, he falls into Nirvana, which 
Is zero, a simple negation. Limitation is 
requisite to constitute his personality; 
ilHmitation is necessary to make that 
personality progressive. 

*' But whence docs man obtain his un- 
limited personality ? It cannot have been 
5|fiven him by anything that he touches, 
th«t surrounds him. for all matter is by 
its nature limited. This is the problem 
which religion solves, by luying down as 
a fundamental axiom the absolute exis- 
tence of God, the source and author of 
^c existence of man. Man criated by 
^Cfi€f is phctd het-w^en the infinite mid the 
finite / hi is the middie term uniting them 
(hn^ttgh his conscience of the indefinite. 
Obedient to his true nature, bounded on 
all sides and in his own faculties, he in- 
clines toward the indefinite ; and trans- 
piercing all limits, as electricity pene- 
trates all bodies, he rises by a progres- 
sion without term toward the in&nite/* 
(P. 26 ) 

Man, we venture to assert. Is not 
placed by the creative act of God 
between the infinite and the finite, 
as if participating of botht for this 
would imply tlie existence of the finite 
is independent of that creative act. 
Besides, there is and can be no exist- 
ence between the infinite and the 
finite. The indefinite has no real 
existence, Man is the mean not be- 
tween the infinite and finite, but be- 
tw^een the infinite and nothing, and the 
nexus that unites him to the infinite, or 
the m^ditts t^nnimts^ is the creative act 
of God, without which he would be 
the nothing from which he Is created. 
Man is not a middle term between 
the infinite and the finite, for he is 
himself finite in body, soul, and 
spirit, and lives and makes progress 
only by virtue of the creative act 



of God, which is manent in him, 
as the cause of his existence, of his 
faculties, his power of progression, 
his activity, whether of body or mind. 
From Fichte the author passes to 
Hegel, whose method he professes to 
follow. He attempts to show that by 
the Hegelian method all antinomies, 
or opposites, are conciliated. But 
how is this done ? It is done, he has 
said, by the human personalttVi the 
Ego, whose existence, revealed by 
consciousness, is the connecting link 
between the infinite and the finite, 
which is, as we have seen, not the 
fact. The human personality is a 
connecting link, by virttie of the di- 
vine creative act, between the iufin- 
ire and nothing, the true idea of the 
finite. The sense or idea of the inde- 
finite conciliates nothing, for the sim- 
ple reason that there is no indefinite in 
the world of reality. Whatever is or 
exists is either infinite or finite. Either 
the antinojTiies are real or they are un- 
real. \{ unreal, they are nothing, and 
there is nothing to be conciliated ; if 
real, they can be conciliated only by 
a middle term as real as themselves, 
which cannot be said of either the 
idea or sentiment of the indefinite, 
for it is only our ignorance or want 
of a more complete knowledge that 
causes anything to appear as inde- 
finite. Indeed, we deny the alleged 
antinomies themselves, in the sense 
of contradictions, save in our imper- 
fect science. Could we comprehend 
the whole, all things as they stand in 
the divine mind or decree, we should 
understand that all the works of Go<l 
are dialectic, as the works of the Su- 
preme Logic, or Logic itself, must be, 
and also that there is no antinomy 
between the creator and creature. 
There are two terms, indeeti, but no 
antinomy, because there is a real mid- 
dle term, the creative act of the first 
term, which conciliates them — a real 
aftiki which unites them as subject 



774 



S. Baring-Gould on ChristiA 



and predicate in a single indissoluble 
judgment The human perMjn.^l»ty, 
the Ego, I-myself. nmy or may not 
apprehend this real copula ; but it is 
absurd to pretend that it is it, or that 
it can supply it by any conceptions 
it forms of itself. Mr, Gould*i> philo- 
sophy, as that of Hegel, is rugged 
enough in form, all brisding with 
abstractions, and constructed and 
understood not without much hard 
labor; but it is not very profound, 
and when mastered is seen to be very 
superficiab No really profound phi- 
losopher could have written, "The 
act which aftimis the relation between 
the divine type of absolute perfection 
and us, is oursdvrs in our hberty and 
free-will judging according to our 
reason, our will, and our sentiment" 
(p* 37)- Hiat is, it is an act on our 
part of free-will, which we may cither 
perform or not as we choose; and, 
moreover, the act 15 ourselves, which 
supposes the act and the actor to be 
identical. The fact is Uie reverse, 
and it is the act of God that affirms 
the relation, not our act, for God him 
self creates the relation, and we can- 
not deny it even in thought, or frame 
a form of words that does i^ot im- 
ply it. 

The author, after having told lis 
over luid over again that the concili- 
aiing term is Ego or the consciousness 
of our personality, giving us the idea 
or sentiment of the indefinite, tells us 
finally that it is the Incarnation, which 
he rightly asserts is the great central 
(act of Christianity, from which all in 
our holy religion radiates or is logi- 
cally dcducible ; but so little does he 
know of theology and its history tliat 
he supiK>ses this is a grantl discover)^ of 
Hegel, destined to eft'ect a theological 
revolution. But what docs he under- 
stand by the Incarnation ? Evidently 
nothing more nor less than the Ego, 
or our personality, which is, according 
to him, the middle term between the 



finite and the infinite, and putic 
ing of both. 

But before getting at the Ini 
tion, which reconciles all antina 
the author entcrtain.s us with \\ 
speculations on God ai ' J 
He concedes the **hy}> 
God is, ^nd is the ci \ 

things, but maintains th 1 \a 

God till he creates the world, 
that he creates lor the crcji 
sake alone, not, as Christiantty % 
es, for himself as final cause 
rejects, not improperly » the cW 
that composes God of ! X 

of our own nature cam , b 

finity, or that he is the pcrfccy* 
what is inchoate and ineocii 
in us, which supposes him 
only a general! t, 

are made after t i . Uk 

of God, and in our niiiure cofiji 
in the sense that he is» as ^ 
mas says, *' umtH(ud& rernm ^m* 
we can, of course, appeal to tl( 
tributes of our nature, of our 1 
illustrative of hw, or as helping' 
a fuller degree to apprehend hi 
fcctions. But Mr, Gould, folic 
Hegci, denies to God^ or, as be 
the Absolute^ all altribui€3^ aO 
ties, and all activity in himself ( 
sort, on the ground that the] 
ply relation, and no relation i 
dicable of the Absolute. \Vc I 
speak for himself: 



** But Ihis concepttoti of God l« 
humanistic. To kay IhaJ "1 
powerful, infintlcly wise, . 

infiniiely holy, is hu( ''■ ._j; < 

man qualities to the n^ 

"These qualities aie -tjh^mv tnC6 
able apart from the eststriice 1 
world and niAn. It wc |$iv« Hita 
qualities, save for the sjtkc of M 
his existence within the 8Cos>e cil 
facnities, wc mu«t allow that be 
world was, they were not ; l>ee;»iiiei, 
from the existence of the wotld awl 
those qualities arc siniply incoooeH 

*' Power is the exercise oi tmpmsioi 



Baring-Gould an Christianity. 



againsi a body that resists. Suppress 
the idea of resistance, and the idea of 
power disappears. Wisdom is inconceiv- 
able apart from something about which 
It can becalled into operation. Goodness 
implies something toward which it can 
be shown. Justice cannot be exerted in 
a vacuum where there is neither good nor 
evil, right nor wrong. Can God do wrong ? 
Impossible. Then h is as unsiiiiablc lo 
apply to him the term holy^ as it is to 
employ it of slick or stone, which also 
cannot do what is wrong. 

** We pass, then, to the second stage of 
rationalizing on God. 

" The God that we have been consider- 
ing is personal, and an ideal of perfec- 
lion, with infinite attributes. 

'* But this conception is defective, if 
not wrong ; for it has been formed out of 
our empirical faculties, the im^igination 
and the sentiment, and is simply an hy- 
pothesis dressed up in borrowed human 
attributes. 

"The idea of infinity which rejects 
every limitation, leads to the denial of 
attributes to Qo^. For, if his intelli- 
gence be infinite, he docs not pass from 
one idea to another, but knows all perfect- 
ly and instantaneously ; to him the past, 
the present, and the future are not; there- 
fore, he can neither remember nor fore- 
sec. He can neither generalize nor ana- 
lyse ; for, if he were to do so, there 
would be some detail in things the con- 
ception of which would be wanting to 
hira ; he cannot reason, for reasoning is 
the passage from two terms to a third ; 
and he has no need of a middle term to 
perceive the relation of a principle to its 
consequence. He cannot tliink, for in 
think is to allow of succession in ideas, 

*• He is, therefore* immutable in his 
essence ; in him arc neither thoughts, 
feelings, nor wilL Indeed, it is an abuse 
of words to speak of being, feeling, will- 
ing, in connection wiih God, for these 
words have a sense limited to finite ideas, 
and are therefore inadmissible when treat- 
ing of the Absolute. 

. ** The vulgar idea of God is not one 
ihai the reason can admit. He is neither 
infinite, nor absolute, necessary', univer- 
sal, nor perfect. 

"He is nol infinite; for God is infinite 
only on condition of being AIL liut a 
God meeting his limiialion in nature, 
the world, and humanity, is nol All. 
Also, if he be a person, he will be a be- 
iog, and not merely being. 



"He is not absolute; for how can he 
be conceived apart from all relations ? If 
he be a person, he feels, thinks, wishes* 
and here we have relations, conditions 
imposed on the Absolute, and he ceases 
to be absolute. 

"He is nol necessar}- ; the idea repre* 
scniing him as necessary is tlie resuU of 
a psychological induction ; but induction 
cannot confer on the ideas it discovers 
the character of necessity. 

•* He is not universal ; for an indivi- 
dual however great, extended, powerful, 
and perfect, cannot be universal. What 
is individual is particular, and the par- 
ticular cannot be ihe All. 

** He is not perfect ; for how can he be 
perfect to whom the viniverse is added? 
It was nccessar)% or it was not necessary ; 
if necessary, he was imperfect without 
it; if not necessary, he is imperfect wiih 

it" {Pp. I0O-I02.) 

When theologians ascribe distinct 
attributes to God, they never regard 
them as something added to the be- 
ing or essence of God, or as distin- 
guishable from it, or from one ano- 
ther, except in our mode of apprehend* 
iog them, proceeding from our inabili- 
ty to comprehend him. 1'here is in 
God no distinction between his es- 
sence and his attributes, and none 
between one attribute and another; 
God is under no relation exterior 
to himself, but he is in himselfp in 
his own essence, the principle of 
real and all possible relations. He 
does not think or reason as we dt>, 
but that does not prevent him from 
being infinitely intelligent, nor from 
being the adequate object of bis own 
intelligence. He may know ail 
things without any succession of 
ideas; all at once, for all are pres- 
ent to him in his own ideas and in 
his own decree. " Indeed^ it is an 
abuse of words to speak of beings 
feeling, willing, in connection with 
God, for these words have a sense 
limited to finite ideas,*' Very true 
when applied to finite existences, but 
not necessarily when applied to the 
infinite being or being in its plenitude. 



i 



776 



5. Baring-Gould an Christianity. 



Being b the praper term to apply to 
God, for he reveals himself to Moses 
as I AM THAT AM. The term ab- 
saltiie, which tlic author uses after 
his Gennan masters, is badly chosen, 
for it is an abstract term, and expres- 
ses only an abstract idea, obtained 
only by our mental operation. God 
is no abstraction, for if he were he 
would exist only in our mind. There 
are no abstractions in the real, 
and God is the infinitely real. '* He 
is not infinite, for God is infinite only 
on condition of being All," Is he 
not all that is? Nature, the world, 
humanity, do not limit him, for he is 
their creator, and their being is in 
him. They add nothing to him, for 
they are his acts, and simply show 
forth his power. It is idle to pretend 
that the exercise of power is the limi- 
tation of power. In the same way the 
other objections urged are answerable. 
The author denies power to God, 
because ** power is the exercise of 
superior force against a body that 
resists. Suppress the idea of resist- 
ance, and the idea of power disap- 
pears." Of one sort of power, per- 
haps; but is there no power where 
there is no resistance ? If not, what 
is tliere for body to resist? It is 
not the resistance that creates the 
force; and if there were not, prior 
to il> power inherent in the sub- 
ject of the force, there would be 
notliing for the resisting body to re- 
sist. Why, die author has not mas- 
tered the very rudiments of the sci- 
ence he professes to teach. We do 
not pretend to comprehend God, or 
that any created mind can form an 
adequate idea or conception of him. 
All our conceptions of him are inade- 
quate, and seem to impose on him the 
limitations of our own finite minds; 
but these limitations of our thought 
do not really limit him, or prevent 
him from being in himself unlimited, 
infinite, perfect being. 



We continue oar ctta.tions&x>fl 

author : 

** The rational concept! on of God I 
he is; nothing more. T<t - "" »*?! 
aUribuic is to mike him a : « 

*• The sentimental c<>^-^^^ 
that he is the pctfectio tool 

tendency of scnihncnu... .*. .^ ia 
that he is absolute. 

** Both are true and both aro folic; 
arc true in their positive asiCTtiofii; 
arc false in their nega^tions, 

** Bclorc the world was, God w 
Absolute, inconceivable &av^Q as 
We cannot attribute to him any q 
for qualities are inconceivable ap^rt 
matter. 

•* Properly spealcing. the aame of 
is not to be given to the Ab»oluC« 
creation; the Ab^lutc is ihf? <?nlf | 
sophical name admissible, • 4 

satisfactory, for it is ncp^A t 

idea of God before mi ^ 

IncomprchcnsibltT by rn s, 

"This transcendent q 

to the world and to 1 ; 

&&cd, immanent, immutiuic /^.-j»t^, 
in vacuum, unttaltuJ, unreiwaltii. 

** By love, the Al • -ills the \ 
into being, and /- . tlui it 

me be clearly utiUc, ^....Mj— he U at 
absolute and rtlaiivc. and as leUtl' 
is God, and clothes himself in atiiifc 
Toward creation he is good, frite, 
nay, the perfection of goodite^s. 
and justice, the Ideal of the besri, 

*• The creation i* the first ^.trn \\ 
carnation is the second. 1 
necessarily io the second ; » 
sage from relations simple to rclH 
perfect ; it is the bringing withlil 
ran^e o( man's vision the Dittii« ( 
sonalily." (Pp. 113, 113.) 

Here wc have very pure Hcgc 
ism, HegePs tricomity, or Trini^ 
first, Gad as pure being, of whid 
can predicate nothing cxccpl th 
is ; the second tenn is the Wow 
Idea, in which are contained all p 
btlities; the third term is Uie 
Ghost, the realtxation of the pofifl 
or its progreiisive redaction of tlic 
to actual exiMence, G€h\, consid 
inhrmielf.i 

as he has no I ntc 

or emptiness, in which sense he ii 



5. Baring-Could on Christianity. 



equivalent of not -being — das Nkhi- 
seyn — or, as Mr. Gould says, " equi- 
valent to zero." The second mo- 
ment in his being or life ts the Word, 
or the development of the Idea^ or 
possi ble w orl< 1 — das Ideen, Th e t h i rd 
moment is the consummation of the 
Idea, or the production of the actual 
world — dm Wcsen. Does Hegel 
mean that this is the real processus^ 
or only that it is by these three mo- 
ments we form our conceprtions of 
God and creation ? — that is, is it an 
ontological or simply a psychological 
process ? We are not familiar enough 
with Hegel to answer positively, and 
our author, who prolesses to under- 
stand him, leaves us in doubt whether 
it is the one or the other, if, indeed, 
he recognizes any distinction between 
the two. Mr. Gould is a pure psy- 
chologist, as is, in fact, Hegel him- 
self, since he uses the term absoiute^ 
which, as abstract, can have only a 
psychological sense. He, as we un- 
derstand 'him, like Schelling, holds 
the ontological and the psychological 
to be identical, and the development 
of thought as indistinguishable from 
the development of God ami the uni- 
verse. All the German schools of 
philosophy that pretend to be onto- 
logical are really psychological, and 
find their principle and starting-point 
in the cogitOy ergo sum of Descartes* 

But, however this may be, it is clear 
that our author regards God^ before 
or without creation, as the Byssos of 
the Gnostic schools and the Void of 
the Buddhists, and becoming Plenunt 
or Pleroma only in the act of crea- 
tion, or in realizing the Idea or Word 
in the production of the universe, 
''Before the world was^ God was the 
Absolute, inconceivable save as be- 



ing.' 



*We cannot attribute to him 



any quality, for qualities are incon- 
ceivable apart from matter (sub- 
stance ?)»" " Properly speaking, the 
name of God is not to be given to 



the Absolute befare creation y ** This 
transcendent pnnciple, superior to the 
world and to all thought, is the fixed, 
immanent, immutable Being, [has he 
not said the word teiff^ is abused when 
applied to the Absolute?] force in 
vacuum, unrealized^ unrevealed." If 
before creation the Absolute k un- 
realized, it is unreal — no real being 
at all ; a mere possible being, at best; 
an absolute abstraction ; therefore, 
nothing, and righdy said to be the 
equivalent of zero, or to equal das 
JVkht-seyn, 

But **by love the Absolute calls 
the world into being, and becomes 
God." This is conclusive. Yet there 
are some difficulties to be cleared up. 
How ran the Absolute love, since the 
author declares over and over again 
that love implies relation » and the 
Absolute excludes all relation ? Then 
bow can an abstraction, a mere pos- 
sible but no actual God, generate 
the itka or word, and call the world 
into being ? The absolute admits no 
predicates, we are told, and is the 
equivalent of zero, that is, is nothing. 
Nothing cannot act, and nothing can- 
not make itself something, nor void 
of itself become plenum. Even an 
imperfect existence cannot become 
perfect or complete itself but by the 
power or assistance of another. The 
possible cannot make itself actual. 
How, then, say the Absolute becomes 
God by creating, and attains to 
reality in his own productions? 

Certain it is that the Hegelian 
tricomity is not the ineffable Chris- 
tian Trinity, The Christian doctrine 
is tlie reverse of the Hegelian. Chris- ^J 
tian theology does not conceive God ^H 
first as possible, then as idea, and then ^^ 
as actual, but conceives him in and of 
h i m sel f, as Ens necessarium et reaie, an d 
holds him to be actus purissimuSy and 
that he eternally is, not as our author 
regards him, as a Becoming — daslVer- 
den. The Hegelian tricomity is cos- 



778 



Baring-Gould on Christiamiy. 



mic ; Oie Christian Trinity is theistic, a 
distinction of persons in God^ — distinc- 
tions ad intra, not ad extra. A great 
pan of the difficulties the author en- 
counters grow out of his ignorance or 
nnisconccption of the Christian mys- 
tery. He says God in himself has 
no relations, and has them at all only 
when the universe has been produced, 
and, therefore, terms implying rela* 
tion cannot be applied to him. God 
has no object for the manifestation 
of any attribute except an exterior 
object in the universe ; and, of course, 
his knowledge, wisdom, love, and 
power begin and end with the uni- 
verse, which is 6nite. He there fore 
conceives him as an abstract unity or 
infinity. But God is complete in 
himself, according to Christian theo- 
logy, because he is triune in his very 
being. He is his own object as well 
as subject He has in the unity of his 
own being the distinction of three per- 
sons — Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
His intelligence generates the Word, 
the exact image of himself and the 
adequate object of his infinite intel- 
ligence, and the Father and the Son 
find in each other the adequate ob- 
ject of their love, and from the spira- 
tion of their mutual ajid infinite lave 
proceeds the Holy Ghost. God has, 
then, eternally in himself the adequate 
object of his infinite inteihgcnce and 
love, and, therefore, needs to go out 
of himself for no relation, quality, or 
perfection. 

The author, by denying or miscon- 
ceiving the distinctions of persons in 
God, has in his system reduced God 
avowedly to nothing. Men may 
not always know it; but such is the 
fact, that he who denies the Trinity 
really denies God, or, which is the 
same thing, makes him a dead unity. 

The author speaks of the Word or 
Idea, but what does he mean by it ? 
We do not know, and have not been 
able to ascertain. We cannot decide 



whether he regards . : i , 1 

divine mind or situr.\ .i> ..J 
the human rutnd. He liic» to < 
pantheism, at least Irica to pc 
us that he docs, and be wcm]< 
us believe that Hcgd was not 
theist, but a Christian. T 
atisurd. According to Hcg«l 
and the universe form a \ 
and there is an unbroken |ti 
sion from the mineral, the 
the animal, man, up to Goi 
that God goes through aU 
several grades of cxtstenc 
mineral in the mineral, pJant 
plant, animal in the animalt ai 
attains to self-consciousness in i 
that is, first becomes coosck 
himself, or that he is, in oiii 
sciousness of our own cxistcoc 
is idle to pretend that xh\% i< imj 
theism of a vi ] 

true, Mr. Goulii 
Idea with God himself^ but it | 
God becoming conscious of 
the human consciousnesj, Tbcl 
the Word or Idea b generaKi 
by the Divine Being in htrnKdl^ 
own mind, but in ours, ^hicli i 
it our word as well as his^ 

Now, what can the author 
by the Incarnation ? He t& < 
not to tell us, though he maki 
concihationof theunivcr Ii| 

depend on it He %V' ^i 

take it for granted tliat he 
stands it in an onhodux Ch| 
sense. Certain is it that he da 
himself understand by it thi 
Word, the second I'enKm 
everblessed Tnnityt took 
the womb of the Blessed Vitgil 
made man, and tlwcll ani6n|; 
far as we can make out his mei 
which, it would seem, he 
leaves indefinite, it is that the 
lute embodies the idea in cnj 
and especi:illy in human natuit^ 
man. This, as the idea is the 
finite, toudiing the infinite oa tk 



hand, and the ftnite on the other, 
would conciliate the two extremes, 
and all antinomies for the intellect. 
But this would only mean that God 
creates all things after his own idea 
ejsempLuis^ eternal in his own essence, 
and tlierefore dialectically, and con- 
sequently, that the antinomy exists 
only in our apprehension, and be- 
cause we see the extremes without 
taking note of the middle term which 
unites and conciliates them. This» 
we believe, is true; but it hardly 
merits the name of being a new dis- 
covery by Hegel. The same idea is 
embodied or expressed in human na- 
ture, and being in our personality, it 
conciliates the two extremes for the 
sentiment^ and presents itself to the 
human sentiment as its ideal. This 
would simply mean that man is dia- 
lectically constitutedj and has in his 
ideal the perfection of his nature. 
We are not disposed to dispute it, but 
it bears less resemblance to the 
Christian mystery of the Incarnation 
than Harry of Monmouth bore to 
Alexander, or Wales to Macedon. 

The author is excessively vagye 
and indefinite in stating what he 
means by the Incarnation. But he 
says : 

" If we rise from ibe maihemaiical point, 
the sole possible expression of jtiatter in 
its condilton of absolute indivisibiliry. to 
tbe immensity of the sidereal universe, 
from the ultimate chemical atom tli rough 
all degrees of ihe mineral reign, from the 
first vegetable enibf>'0 to the most com- 
plete animal ; if, passing onivard to man, 
wc follow him from a whimpering babe to 
the conception of his unlimited personal- 
ity in God through Christ, tracing the 
labortotis stages of the progressive devel- 
opment of humanity in history, what does 
this magnificent panorama of creation ex- 
hibit to us but the marvellous ascension 
of the finite under the form of the inde- 
Unite toward God, the Infinite? Christ 
is to humanity not merely the Sun of 
Mary» but tbe veritable Son of Man» re- 
suming in himself the entire creation, of 



which he is the protoplast and ihe arche- 
type. Thus, this conception of the whole 
visible univensc in its projection toward 
the infinite, from the atom and the germ 
To the Man GocK is the complete cqualion 
of the infinite ; and from diis point of view 
Christ is the Ideal of creation; whilst 
from ihe divine point of view he is tbe 
Idea of the creation. By him the Idea 
was realized in creation, and by him 
creation is raised toward the Infinite." 
(Pp. 125, 126-) 

" Christ is to humanity not merely 
the Son of Mary, but the veritable 
Son of Man, resuming in hhiiself the 
entire creation, of which he is the pro- 
topkist and the archetype." It is 
pretty evident from this that the au- 
thor understands by the Incarnation 
not the assumption of flesh by the 
Word, but the Word uniting in him- 
self the infinite and the finite, produc- 
ing the entire universe^ and constitute 
ing himself the ideal to which the 
human race aspires. He evidently, 
in whatever sense he understood the 
Incarnation, holds that it is coeval 
with creation, or with the procession 
of the Absolute from the idea to the 
actual, and that not the AVord in his 
divinity alone, but the Word Incar- 
nate, is he by whom all things are 
made, and who is the protoplast and 
archetype of creation. This certainly 
is not the Christian doctrine, fur that 
teaches us that it was by the eternal 
Word tliat all lhin;^s were made, by 
the infinite and eternal Word, who 
was in the beginning with God, and 
who was God, not by the Wortl In- 
carnate, for iJie W^ord became incar- 
nate after the world was created^ and, 
according to the common reckoning, 
only 1871 years ago. Besides, he 
became incarnate of the Virgin Mary, 
and he could not w^ell have done so 
before she was bom or had an actual 
existence. 

We owe the author no thanks for 
his pretended advocacy of the Incar- 
nation, which he only distorts from 



« 



the sense in which the Scriptures pre- 
sent it and the church holHs and 
teaches it. We judge no nian*s heart ; 
but we say this, that if it had been 
Mr. Gould's design to destroy all 
faith in the Incarnation, to explain 
away the whole central mystery of 
Christianity while seeming to accept 
and defend it, he could not have set 
himself more cunningly to work to 
do it. After having substituted the 
orthodox doctrine by another bear- 
ing, except in name, no resemblance 
to it, he deduces, seemingly from it, 
but really from the orthodox doctrine 
itself, several very true and impor- 
tant conclusions. Has he done so in 
order to deceive the unwary and in- 
duce them to accept a false theology 
an d a dea dly e rro r ? Or is h e decei v ed 
himself — blinded or bewildered by the 
abstractions of modern heterodox phi- 
losophy ? We know not which it is, but 
we clo know that his book is admira- 
bly contrived to deceive and mislead 
all persons not more than ordinarily 
well instructed in the Christian faith 
and theology who may be tempted to 
read it. Its real character is well dis- 
guised from ordinary readers. 

It is a notable fact that the author, 
while he insists on what he calls '* the 
hypothesis of the Incarnation ** as the 
medium of conciliating all intellectual 
and sentimental antinomies or con- 
traries, nowhere speaks of it as the 
medium of redemption and salvation, 
^rhe opinion that, if man had not sin- 
ned, the Word would nevertheless have 
become incarnate to complete the 
creative act by raising it to the high- 
est pitch, ennobling man and elevat- 
ing him to union of nature with God, 
is an opinion which may be held; 
but the more common doctrine, St. 
Thomas assures us, is, that he would 
not, which seems to be favored by the 
Holy Scriptures and by the O Felix 
Culpa which the church sings on 
Holy Saturday; and that the triumph 



over Satan is in this — that th( 
redemption in Christ man U tx 
to a higher glory, a nobler dl 
than he would have attained la 
had not sinned; so thai^ wh« 
abounded, grace much more ata 
ed. But, whichever l*e the sa 
opinion, it i^ certain ' ■ \ 

to redeem and save i if 

its penalty; to make ^ <\ 

sin; to be the propitiai^., ^ 
for the sins of the whol e wodd, I 
it was said to Mar>' : " T' ' j| 
his name Jesus, for he ^ ii 

people from their sins;" atwi 
the Baptist said to his disciples 
hold the Lamb of Ood, who 
away the sin of the world-'' M 
nothing of this in Mr. Gould's 
in connection with the Incart 
He seems not to be %x*ry dc^ 
pressed with the fact that 
sinned and fallen under the 
Satan, and needs delivcnuice^ 
perhaps, h^s reached that tj 
firmityof unljclicf, not tobelievi 
is a devil. He is intent only 
moving certain dialectical 
mental dili^culties. This m. 
cious. 

The evidence the author a< 
of the ** hypothesis of the Im 
Hon" is of the feeblest kiik 
feeble in satisfy even a tboi 
going scientist. He dtscrcdjl 
Gospel narratives^ rejects the 
cles, denies the applicability 
prophecies usually relied oo« x 
not admit the authority either i 
church or of the sacred text 
knocks from under the doctfi 
its supports, and avowedly acd 
as an "irrational verity," on 
True, he intimates that it 
taken on authority, but 
authority on which to take i 
one's own private judgmenL 
a writer has far more the appei 
of being an enemy than a fricfX 
not an open, manly enemy 



We, at least, cannot take his doctrine 
on trust 

The author appears to us to be a 
man not wanting in natural abilit}% 
who has dabbled somewhat in the 
physical and so-called exact sciences, 
and has read several modern hetero- 
dox philosophers, and one or two 
books ot Catholic theology, none of 
which has he mastered or digested, 
and has jumbled together in his mind, 
and thrown out in his book, matters 
of the most hcterogcoeoiis character, 
which no mortal man can mould into 
consistency. He advances very little 
that is original or that is new to those 
passably familiar with the topics he 
treats. What is original is not true, 
and what is true is so misplaced and 
so mixed up with errors of all sorts^ 
that it is none too severe to judge the 
work, as a whole, to be practically 
false. Yet some of the details we 



■fefHlfl 5/. yiHcefifs Afantidl in her 
hands, idly turning over the leaves, 
and looking up at the leaden skies 
that gave promise of snow. 

Aunt Alice sat in her low rocking- 
chair, near the fire, crocheting an Af- 
ghan anil humming dreamingly to 
herself the while. 

'* To-morrow will be Thanksgiving 
Day, and the Feast of St. Severinus, 
Hermit," said Margaret. ** I think 
there are too many saints in the calen- 
dar. One does not have time to 
become well acquainted with all of 
them, nor any of them, for that mat- 
ter, unless one is supereminently 



would except, if found anywhere else, 
especially his chapter on " The Basis 
of Right," which is sound. 

More we might say; but having, 
as we think, sufficiently refuted the 
[irinciples on which the author's the- 
ory is founded, it is hardly worth 
one^s while to attack the baseless edi- 
fice, which must soon fall of itself. 
We have taken no pleasure in read- 
ing or reviewing this pretentious book. 
It is one of a class of works which is 
becoming quite numerous, and which 
are all the more dangerous because 
they treat religion and the church 
with a certain apparent courtesy, and 
express their atheism or pantheism 
and their hostility to true religion in 
Christian phraseology. They are 
books which the faithful should es- 
chew. They are pervaded through- 
out by a subde but deadly poi- 
son. 



UNCANONIZED SAINTS, 



too 



pious. Decidedly, there are 
many saints in tlie calendar." 

•* There is a curious coincidence 
between our thoughts at this moment, 
Margo," said Aunt Alice, pausing 
in her swaying movement, and laying 
Afghan and needle on her lap, " Per- 
haps 1 should say a coincidence be- 
tween the Subject-matter of our re- 
flections. The same, with a differ- 
ence. I have been thinking of the 
uncanonized saints, and their name 
is Legion. They have a calendar, 
though, which God keeps for them, 
and its records are traced in letters 
of gold." 

" What manner of sanctified souls 



782 



Uncanont 



ajrc yoQ thinking of, aunty ? Unknown 
martyrs » silent confessors, or imseen 
apostles?" And Margaret looked 
smiJingly down in her royal stateli- 
ncss at the little figure by the fire, 

** Not any of these," answered Aunt 
Alice, beginning to rock slowly back 
and forvvanl as she spoke. ** My 
uncanonizcHi saints are the patient, 
long-enduring victim- wives of cruel, 
indifferent, or intemperate husbands. 
Although an old maid, I believe 1 
speak without prejudice. 1 have 
seen, indeeti, hap[)y marriages ; but 
I have known such misery to result 
from ill-assorted unions, have wit- 
nessed such terrible persecutions, such 
wearing away of body and soul, car- 
ried on under the sacred name of 
conjugal allegiance and matrimonial 
rights, that many a time I have thank- 
ed God for being lonely — and alone/* 

'* But what particular train of 
thought has led to such reflections 
this afternoon, aunty ?'* asked Marga* 
ret, drawing an ottoman from the cor- 
ncr, and seating herself beside the 
old lady. **^iui do you really be- 
lieve that many marriages are un* 
happy ?" 

" I know such to be the case. I 
have not lived fifty years in the world, 
among all kinds of people, without 
having made some observations, such, 
too, as have strengthened and con- 
firmed my earliest conclusions." 

*' 1 am thoroughly interested, and 
you are in talking humor. I^et us 
discuss the subject freely and fully ; 
that is, ns well as two women of 
limited theoretical experience and 
feminine prejudice can be expected 
to. Or, rather, you shall expound, 
while I sit at your feet and listen — 
to learn/* 

Aunt Alice smiled and leaned 
back in her chair. She is not tliin, 
dear reader, neither does she wear 
curls. Her form is plump, her face 
is kindly and beautiful, her hair is a 




soft brown, streaked with gray, 
is a gentle* mothcfly'looking 
maid, 

**To begin, or continue, w 
ever you please,** resumed Mar] 
** Do you think men are ever asii 
roughly unselfish in their Imi 
women are?** 

" Unless in exceptional 
no. I^>?e is everything to a 
it is but an episode in t^ - ■'' \ 
man* She carries her t \ 

her wherever she gcjcs. Ail 
long her thoughts dwell upon 
is never absent from her mmd. 
puts it away from him thraugb 
busy hours of intercourse wiili 
world of his fellovr-men^ and 
lifts anew the silken thread 
the rush and tear of ] tii 

have given place to iSim^ 

of rest and peace* Man u natui 
more selfish titan woman ; he is 
pablc of great sacrifices, but he ka 
nothing of the ihous ' ' ' d 
ring acts of selfabn' J 

a woman*s life is « i 

beginning to end. 
try to understand this 
they do. An 
makes but an 
Why ? Because 
pasuion spent» he wcarit 
tual sweetness, and by 
seeks to assert his natural i 

*' Ami so you think, aunty, thai 
is an unnatural, unfeeling t»QmC( 
said Margaret musingly* 

" Far l>c it fmm nic to bold 
press such an opinion, Marg^atef ;• 
my uncanonized saints are 
ous, nevertheless. ITicrt- - 
who seem to make the 
of their wives the one dc I 
and purpose of their exist »d 

every impulse *n| be 

cruelty and unki who» ^ 

they come to stand bctore the |4 
mcnt-seat of God, I believe 
found as truly guilty of inunicr 



ind this y 

ardent k.^c* .J 
indififerent htUM 

c, the in ' 1 



Intanonised Samfs. 



783 



fjgh their hands reeked dripping 
^the staiDs of blood. Dreaming 
■lid lang-syne, this aitemoony 
"turned my thoughts backward 
«n this very subject. I have in 

mind an instance of husbandly 
tecution and wifely endurance 
ch is bot one of many similar 
!S that might be related. I shall 
LS brief as possible. 
If Mar)' Barton had a fault, it was 
jssive amiabiliry. Every one lov- 
her, and her happy, joyous nature 

a passport to all hearts. She 
Ifcvers by the score ^ and could 
fchosen from among the best in 
■ftiDtry. She marriedj to please 
felationSj a man who was in eve- 
respect much her inferior. He 
led a wife to take charge of his 
Be and attend to his personal 
iforts. It cannot be denied that 
displayed weakness in thus unit- 

herself to one with whom she 
id have no sympathy, no feeling 
iommon. Still, she believed her 

rto be the best and wisest, 
the first days of her loveless 
riage, she dreamed of possible 
lent and comparative happiness 
le future, time soon dispelled the 
ion. Her husband made no pre- 
i€S to a love he had never felt, 

fcver capable of feeling. Not 
I with cold indiflTerence^ he 
an a series of petty persecutions, 
pared with which death would 
2 been delightful, and martyrdom 
;lcome boon. She was a woman 
efined tastes and delicate appre- 
ons. He sought to combat and 
k them in every possible way. 
fc sufficient for her to express a 
mt} have it thwarted, and any 
phce of opinion or sentiment on 
part was equivalent to a contra- 

ffrom him. Too meek-spirit- 
resent such tyranny, she gra- 
sank into a state of humble 
pission pitiable to behold in one 



whose nature had been so buoyant 
and elasdc. Her master gloried in 
his power, and prided in the con- 
sciousness of entire dominion over 
hen Children were bom to them — 
children that learned to fear their 
father's frown and dark, malignant 
scowl as deeply as they loved their 
mother's gentle smile and sweet voice. 
They were her only sources of hap- 
piness in this world, and yet he 
sought to torture her in them. I have 
known him to taunt and frighten 
them to tearSi and when, afraid to 
meet his cruel gaze, they would en- 
deavor to smother their sobs upon 
her breast, his unkind hand would 
uplift the little head, and force the 
trembling form to sit erect and si- 
lent. 

*' I have heard him order his oldest 
son, a brave, bright boy, to perform 
an action in direct opposition to his 
mother* s command of a moment be- 
fore; and when the child, rckictant 
to displease that mother, hesitated to 
obey, his unnatural father seized him 
and thrust him out into the winter 
snow, and left him there for two long 
hours. 

** One by one, as they reached man- 
hood and womanhood, those chil- 
dren married, and left home, glad to 
escape by any means from a hfe of 
misery and pain. 

" For twenty-five years did this ty- 
ranny continue. At last the victim * 
died, veritably of a broken heart, i fever 
such things are. Over her cofiin he 
may have had some moments of re- 
gret, the pangs of remorse may have 
smitten him for a brief time; but tlie 
cold, hard, cruel nature soon reas- 
serted itself, and he spurned all ad^ 
vances from his children, at a time 
when, if ever, grief and affliction 
might have opened the way to bet- 
ter thoughts. 

'* That woman learned to be a 
saint in all those years, Margaret 



784 



' God musi have something good in 
store for me,' she would often say^ 
* he tries me so fiercely here below/ 
But few knew of her trials. Perhaps 
three or four of her most intimate 
personal friends had some idea of 
their intensity, none others. How 
her whole soul must have revolted 
from that man ! What sU'uggies she 
roust have undergone to keep from 
hating him! And yet I do not be 
lieve he ever succeeded in irritating 
her into passion or angry remon- 
strance, * I have my childi-en to live 
for/ she would say. * I wish them to 
love me, and never to be ashamed 
of me after I am gone/ 

"And this m.in stood high in the 
community. He held places of trufet 
and honor; he was noted for a chari- 
table man ; in places of public assem- 
bly he ever played the philanthro- 
pist's part ; outside of his own family, 
he could laugh and jest with Uie 
gayest, and was esteemed a pleasant 
companion. Stranger hands were 
extended to him in welcome, while 
his own wife and children tied his 
coming, and many a time have I 

heard it remarked that Mr. was 

far more sociable than his wife. So 
the world goes.*' 

** What an experience !" said Mar- 
garet " What a dreadful m art yrtl 0111 , 
indeed 1 Do you think passive endu- 
rance is required of us in such in- 
stances as this, Aunt Alice ? Docs 
God wish us to sit stiU and fold our 
hands, and die, and make no sign ?*' 

"He fitteth the back to the bur- 
den, Margo, and blessed are they 
who persevere to the end. This wo- 
man had not even love to stay her 
aggrieved and broken spirit. It could 
scarcely have withstood such unkind- 
ness, to be sure ; but 1 have known 
it to outlive indifference, to have 
grown stronger with neglect, I can- 
not understand this phase, I must 
confess. But so it is, A man marries 




^ yoi! nc< 

girL u her 

stirred tiie kindly and 
impulses of his nature into 
a time. We will grant Uiat hi 
her, after a fashion. With 
is part of her rcligioru 
him all her heart, ari f* 

hopes of future hap] li 

hands. Looking down £ro< 
height of his manhood, he tal 
gift, gracefully, it may be, 
lessly, as one who would place 
bright ilower on his breast, 
there for a day. After a wi 
freshness withers, or he lines 
sameness, and throws it aside, 
man goes out into the world, 
gets amid its distractions what k 
to her who has giv< 
He may not be w • id 

may never be guilty of harshiM 
continued neglect is often mon 
ful than occasional unkindncss 
man is the complement of tia 
should be his companion. Sbi 
sympathy — from whom slioukf 
ne^s come but from her hu&bju 
*• A man may be vexed duii 
day with the cares of busini 
he can generally dii^miss tbei 
business-hours, A woman's 1 
never done, her toils and i 
ances arc perpetual. The bi 
docs not always mcin to be 
but he often is so without beifl 
conscious of it. He may u 
her trials as being nothing coi 
to his, but would he wish to 1 
plates with her ? Never. H^ 
wise for that. Day in, day ou 
after year, the patient wife a 
a host of cares and vexatiixi 
would drive her liege lord 61 
a week. She must contend ^ 
efficient servants or supply 
places, endure fatigue and J 
with sick .r u 

age her e\, . , ., ma 

nomical manner, be here, Hm 



b 



Uncanoiiized Saints, 



ever)'\vhere at once, and yet have a 
pleasant smile and crealurc comforts 
for her husband. This is well enough 
when her eflforts arc appreciated, but 
when indiflfereiice and neglect are 
her rewards, we need not much won- 
der that she sometimes degenerates 
into a peevish, fretful, and complain- 
ing woman. And yet, how many 
ma rri e d w o m en are so sit u a t ed ! An d 
because they do not always cry out 
and protest, it is said or thought they 
t\o not suflfer Poor beings ! They 
go on loving and hoping for better 
^ idlings till the end comes, and they 
open their eyes in paradise." 

** I am not so sure of that, Aunt 
Alice,'* said Margaret dubiously ; ** or, 
rather, 1 am not sure they come to 
pamdjse because of this long-suffer- 
ing and endurance. There is a sort 
of selfishness in such devotedness 
that to my thinking is quite human 
and not in the least degree heroic. 
Such women do not love in spite 
of coldness and neglect, by dint of 
effort. They do not love because 
they deem it a duty so to do, but 
simply because it is natural and truly 
womanly. Two-thirds of them never 
tliink of paradise as a possible guer- 
don, but embody all that is blessed 
both here and liereaftcr in the per- 
sons of their careless husbands. You 
are too romantic, aunty. 1 cannot 
place them on the list of uncanoniz- 
ed saints.*' 

** Ah ! Margo, how hard you are ! 
Pray^ how do you intend to live and 
love when you are married ?" 

** I have peculiar views on the sub- 
ject^ I believe. In the first place^ 1 
intend to marry a man» knowing him 
to be such, never foolishly imagining 
him an angel in disguise. I must 
see faults in him, or I shall never feel 
safe to place my happiness in his 
keeping, I intend to love him sin- 
cerely, deeply, fervently, but quiedy, 
and rationally withal. I shall not 

VOL. XIL — 50 



expect impossibilities fi^om htm, I 
shall not exclude his bachelor friends 
from my hearth, nor forbid him an 
occasional ramble with them. I shall 
endeavor to consult his tastes in every 
particular. But he must not be too 
fastidious — that is selfishness in a re 
fined form. All my joys and half 
my sorrows shall be shared with him, 
and I shall exact a corresponding 
return, with this difference — he must 
keep no shadow of a care or grief 
from me. I can forgive a hasty 
word or act; for right well 1 know 
he will have many such to forgive 
from me. He may have his little en- 
joyments, too, apart from mine, I 
shall not put a veto on an occasional 
game of euchre or whist; he may 
feel at perfect liberty to smoke in his 
own house ; but, aunty, even though 
we do live * out West,* he must not 
chew tobacco. He would not find 
me a 'rare, pale Margaret' then. 
Aunt Alice^ but a very Katharine, 
obstinate and unyielding. So we 
would jog on together peacefully and 
contentedly, loving each other till 
life's close." 

" What a strange Margaret you 
are," said Aunt Alice in a low, soft 
voice, stroking the girl's dark hair 
with tender touch. ** A mixture of 
common sense and dreaminess ; a 
true woman, affectionate and faithful, 
with a double share of practical vir* 
tue and sound ideas, God bless you^ 
Margaret !'' 

For a few moments the two wo* 
men sat in silence, the past and the 
future, one looking backward through 
the halls of time, the other gazing 
with eager eyes into the mists that 
veil the yet to be. 

A sudden slamming of doors, a 
rush of feet in the hal!, the sound of 
merry, boyish voices on the threshold, 
and the present glides between ; fair, 
smiling, radiant with happiness and 
peace. 



i 



786 



Fcast-Day Littratnre in Mexico, 



•* Margo » Margie ! Where is Mar* 

garet ?" 

♦^Here, Koland, Archie, Martin; 
here in the dark ! Wipe the snow off 
your boots, and hang your overcoats 



in the hall, before you come 
Come, Archie, light the gas." 

^nd as the garish Oame bufst 
into the room, the tljeam-^iiita 

away. 



FEAST-DAY LITERATURE IK MEXICO. 



The number and profusion of 
Mexican festivals have been gener- 
ally remarked by travellers in the 
country of San Felipe de Jesus; but 
to many observers their essential 
character remains more or less un- 
intelligible. What with days of 
Guadalupe, Christmas, and Lent, 
of pation saints and heroes, includ- 
ing a three-days' feast in honor of 
their national independence, ihc 
Mexicans have a striking abund- 
ance of holidays, even in the pres- 
ent limes of diminished celebration. 
Christmas in iS68, in the city of 
Mexico, was still reached by the lad* 
der of festivities called Posadas, com- 
prising nine nights of dance and 
cheer, in memory of a legend that for 
a hke period before the divine birth 
the Blessed Virgin sought shelter at 
various inns or posadas. Carnival, 
of late years, has been sadly cele- 
brated by masks and rags, by the 
riders in the Paseo, the dancers at 
the theatre, the Indian cooks in the 
streets. On Holy Thursday, effigies 
of Judas, the Guy of young Mexico, 
stuffed with powder and pierced with 
shooting-crackers, are sold on all 
sides; and a few days afterward, 
every sulphurous figure of this most 
infamous of pranundados iS| singly 
or in piles, blown to pieces. The 
foreigner sometimes wonders whe- 
ther in this kind of merry-making 
serious faith is dissipated; but, ex- 



1 



cept that Mexico has a surfeit a^ 
celebrations, they do not differ m 
vital spirit from those of other I 
tries. Is it any more harmful tl 
plode Judas than to bum Guy ? , 
at worst, is it more shocking to ( 
pulque at Santa Anita thati to 
gin at St. Giles? To eyes fan 
with the busy life of the Norii 
Mexican festivals, as regards c 
and drinking, seem to be in nl^n 
proportion as to certain popuUtf 
in matters of living, clof "\ 

ing. After fifty years of d 

the truth respecting which luij 
yet been well revealed, wc can 
ginc, without great help from del 
tion or discussion, what pa%crt] 
vice w*ould come to sit dovrn a 
common banquet of the Mcs 
to feast unwittingly on their 
miseries. But there is another 
of the popular life of McxicQ 
mean a neligious one from a Cal 
standpoint. What has beet) fh 
tual career of Mexicans, in feasd 
fasts? \Vhy, in ?pilc of tiombl 
vicissitudes, they are siUl 
with tlie ineflfaceablc sign of the C 
we do not now propose to studli 
inquire. But we shall endeavi 
hold to some small portion of a 
ed and perplexed topic Uiai irli] 
candle-light without which no 
problem of human life can be 
defined, let alone solved. 

Out of the fiesta vx Mexko 



Feast-Day Literature in Mexico, 



787 



grown a popular literature, specimens 
of which may be had at the plaza on 
most holidays. In the songs, rhymes^ 
and prayers of which it is composed, 
we discern the old-fashioned, simple, 
and even hearty character of the tra- 
ditional religious feast-day. Those 
who are bhnd to the devotion with 
which a great part of mankind re- 
gard the Blessed Virgin as in strict 
fact and pure truth the Mother of 
God may not recognize this charac* 
ter; but here it is, evident in loas, 
alabanzas, decimas, h}Tnns, prayers, 
everything of the kind, except tracts. 
Chief among these verses are the 
Loas, a kind of dramatic prologue, 
the fonn of which has been employ- 
ed with effect by the old Spanish 
poets. In the present instances, they 
arc intended to honor the saints 
and their holidays, by touches of 
pious nature in accord with the hon- 
est ways and humors of men. One 
represents a poor charcoal- vender 
emerging from his dingy life to pay 
homage to the light and life of God; 
another is perhaps a dialogue between 
a earner of fruits and a cobbler, ending 
in joint praises to the Blessed Virgin 
whose procession comes l>y ; another 
is the soliloquy of a pedlar, interrupt- 
ed by a song, and finally diverted 
from a statement respecting buttons, 
threads, and thimbles to ** eternal 
praises of our Mother Mary.^' Still 
another, and one of the best loas to 
be found at the plaza or near the por- 
talcs of the Mexican capital, is as fol- 
io ws '. 



LOA OF TWO CHARCOAL-SELLERS IN 
HONOR 01^' LA SANTISSIMA VIRGKX. 

FiBST Cakbonbro. 

win you buy charcoal } 
Look \ what it brgc bundle 
t brlDj^ fcocD HuhquclaLcoa, 
And my neck pains me. 
It"! 0;ood, nil of oaIc, 
And I give tt you cheap. 
Buy it, seftotilA, 
(ThA proocssioD io honor oT Our C^dy got% by.] 



God «iiive U)ee^ beautiful Queeo^ 
Daughter of the Eternal Father, 
Worthy Mother of God the Son 
Spou^v of the Holy Ghost. 
PoiVcrful, adored Queen, 
Thee ardently celebrates 
This religious people. 

SSCOKD CaKBOXSHO. 

ImmaculRtc Mar5% 
Benign, lucent star. 
Moon ^vithoul blemish^ 
Luminous, Ifn^cly, 
Thou who from hijjh lieBTea 
Protectest with (avor. 
Dost g:ive us ihy grace. 
And obialfi for us mercy. 

First CARBoKuto. 
Hear our sad prayers! 
So nmny afllictions 
Ottr ctiilflrcn suffer 
In this sea of torments! 
Thy Divine Son, indignant 
At strife and malice^ 
The scourge of war has unloosed. 

Second Cakookeko. 
Victims of his Ire, 
Arc many of us slain. 
Or lamenting a thou<iand ills. 
A house is scarce found 
Where is misery not felt ; 
InhriDiiies trouble the poor. 

FiAST Carboheko. 
Is't possible, dear Mother, 
Our miseries must ffrow — 
Thou consent that we perish? 
Art not our mediatrix^ 
Uur pleader, bciiefactres«f 
Our most adored Mother? 

Secokd Carpokeisio, 
Let the air be made pure* 
And Impieties cease ; 
Religion, peace, Sourish. 
Say to thy loving Jesus 
Thftl we who cotoplain 
Are tby adopted children 
Who will not offend him. 

Fiirst C. We will cry out oa this ocGasioa 
Secemd C. With jubilee and joy 
/i>j/ C Viva the Virgin Mar>'*! 
Second C Vira Religion ! 

The foregoing loa suggests a fre- 
quent case with the war-worn In- 
dians, the unhappiness of which no 
holiday could keep out of mind. 
Each of their handicrafts seems to 
have had its peculiar loa or loas, 
none of literary significance, but 
many of ihem interesting and amus- 
ing by reason of their odd simplicity^ 
and that popular tone which has 
made them a portion of the current 
literature of the countr}'. A barillero^ 



788 



FeasUDay LiUraiun in Mexico, 



who has been crying out, " Needles, 
tmttons, threads, ribbons, thimbles, 
and other handsome articles for ele- 
gant women," stops in his garrulity 
to oifer praises to the Blessed Lady ; 

Con hurnHde deiroclon 

y con afcclo sincerA 

Este pobrc b»rillero 
Te rinde su carftzon. 

Mereces toda aUbasaa 

Oh, virgcn Inmaculada! 

Tu crcs M»riA vcncrmdft 
Ml consucio y cspcrmnxoL 

'I'he same style of quatram pre- 
vails in all the loas. In one of the 
funniest of them, a Hachiquero^ or 
gatherer of the maguey juice, which 
forms the national drink of pulque, 
has caught a fox or opossum stealing 
it from the jjlant. He beats his little 
enemy, which cuts such startling 
capers that he suspects it to be an 
imp of Satan. But this loa is so 
characteristic that we must allow the 
excited Hachiquav to speak for him- 
self, and, while so doing, to give us a 
glimpse qI the most popular phase of 
agricultural life in Mexico : 



LOA OF A HACniOUERO, DEDICATED 

TO CEt.EBl^\TE THE MOST 

tlQLV VIRGIN. 

The st&ge on which the prologue is acted out 
represents A 6e1d, mnd the liachiquero comes out 
with a skio-bng &ad a staff. 

Abu what smaU luck 

For my trouble I have ! 

Loni; ere the dawu 

1 prepare for my work : 

The petate scarce leave I, 

Where badly 1 slept^ 

When itic frost comcf upon Iil6v 

Before the day breakji 

I begin at my scraping, 

Chllicd vrilh the cold. 

And, when least I'm tHlnkln{|^^ 

Tm plagued with a (ox. 

If the cuT^t Opossums 

Haven't ukcui the Juice, 

It's the wolves nntl coj'otes^ 

For all Ibnt 1 koow» 

Or the d Jg5 wUh the black head*. 

So, so ; I've some scrapers 

Who'rc earlier rinerr, 

Aad firfit on the iicld. 

But oh ! when I catch ^em, 

They'll not Jaugh at me f 

Doa PaacuAl aha'n t scold ro« i^ln. 



Becauie to the tits«cual tmkjt I 

So UtUe of aguamieL 

The Hachiqucro looks wldl prfricig 

aide of the platform. ~" 

But what see I« g^rcAt God 1 

Ju5t this minute he corner, 

That curst little coofi 1 

He has mounted the maguey \ 

He'» furiously scraping; ! 

He's uncovered the bote* 

And put in his nos« ! 

Ah ! now he will pay for It, 



He throws down hi n 

striking blows, whcr 
side a cacomixlle (r&ou...M 
with straw, a rocket in ilv {\ 

that he has just caught it, aii .-^ 

1 

Ah, thief of a coon ! 

Ah. vagabond, I've got vou ! 

Drink hearty— I Rive it to yon I 

Take tlits for early rising ; 

Take thy a^uamlclito ! 

Come now— « stimtp-cup; 

Just this little sup more t 

Who could ba^ r 

'T would cost W:' 

For nosing in Mv: _, , 

And getting up so suan / 

Ko doubt thy wile ^.nd fxarefta 

And all thy little - ■ - 

Expect that thr em 

At lea^il their pur 

So take another sup 

Of what's good for yoii, roipie. . 

And* that you may learn better, 

Vou shall tee your snout bumci 

He lights the rocket which the t , 
la Its mouth, and, raising it up, hegiv^ 
ber of turns around the platrorcn, as If i 
and then throwing it from hiiiit M^yt 

Without doubt It's the devil ! 

Who knows but it's a maliual 

That throws tire from his momk 

But, Lord of my life, what ud I 

He stinks like sulphur* 

The sume as Lucifer ! 

Well, though the devil own bia, 

ru smAjih hi^ h?ad. 

And when ! 

I'll turn hr •, I 

Surely, he v . • ^, 

Thus beaten to pieces ; 
So ini go and scrape ma^veya, 
As the mooa is quite low. 
And the mora is just breakia^^ 

He turns bs If to go, ao«l« miiprtetd,! 

But what I ' "'odl 

So much [I 'Oceai 

Lights, ro ig o* t^ i 

In all the Iowa ! 

All with great pleasure 

Give honor to Mary. 

I also will praise roy Mather 

Let instruments help tia. 

Singing with tender acocats 

Praises to Mary. 



FeasUDay Literature in Mexico. 



Music. 

ThoQ ijt i. ciystalliDe pearh 
FounUtn of grmce and awcetncss. 
Glorious mnd diirtnc Mother, 
ftiirror of Deauty ! 



The Hachiquerro now takes ofT his hat, and 
says: 



To thee. Immaculate Qtic«n^ 
i direct my praise t 
Thoii art llie stin that banishes 
The detestable darkne<»5 
Ot our loathsome faults 
Thy imperishable f:race 
Frees us from every hurt. 
White dove, so innocent. 
Thou art the bow of proml9« 
Unto all the living. 
Thoti art a splendid cttf, 
Well guarded for the refuge 
Of alt who call on thee. 
Cry all with one voice, 
In scorn of heresy : 
'* Viva the Mother of God, 
And OUT Mother Mary I" 



So on runs the current of enthusi- 
astic alabanzas. The scraping of the 
maguey, it may be necessary to in- 
form our readers, is required for a 
fresh exudation of tlte maguey juice^ 
or aguamiel, which trickles into a re- 
ceptacle cut out of the heart of the 
great plant, and which, when taken 
to the place of fermentation, soon 
appears as pulque, the miiky wine of 
the maguey. As may be iJiferred 
from the foregoing loa, sacred names 
are sometimes used m the prologues 
with a want of solemnity which, if 
better understood where rehgion was 
once so popular, is foreign to exact 
notions of reverence. Evidently no- 
bier and lovelier ideas than appetite 
or mirth entered into the poor Indi- 
an's observation of holidays. That 
he had, more or less, a love of the 
church which made its sign over 
every part of his life, so that even 
his feasts and songs bore a tone of 
piety, seems to be written in the lit- 
erature of the alabanzas, or praises. 
Of these the following is a specimen, 
though not the whole of a very long 
string of verses : 




precious chHd 
Of Atocha named, 
MTho helpett always the forsaken ; 
Incomparable child 
Who cnchantcat all 
With so many miracles and fj^racei 
The orphan sad 
Thy hand dolh soothe— 
lie calls thee father. 
And thou art kind. 
To the captive for!om 
Who groaiis in prison, 
Thou art a solace 
In hard affliction. 
Wonderful child, 

1 bid thee arewell ; 
Adieu, beautiful chlldi 
Dear Infant God, 
Thou art my treasure. 
My dc&ire, my welfare. 
Always I worship Lhefi, 
For ever. Ameti, 

The Child of Atocha, it need 
scarcely oe said, is ofty a legendary 
name for the Redeemer. Our Lord 
of Chalma is referred to in a number 
of alabanzas, praising "a thousand 
times the most holy mystery of cruci- 
fied love," and rendering glory to 
God, " a portent of whose love was 
given in the most beautiful image of 
Chalma. To an idol succeeded the 
semblance of heaven; the idolatry 
of Ostoteotl was destroyed by the 
true God/' What else of popular 
pathos, sincerity, and devotion is sug- 
gested by the rude poetry of the ho- 
lidays may be gathered from the fol- 
lowing strains — each valued at a 
penny by the Sunday dealers near 
the portales : 

PRAYER TO THE DIVINE COUNTB^ 
NANCE. 

My father Jesus, 

My father dear. 

Thy countenance frees U!i 

From pe^ and peril. 

MoM holy countenance 
Of God beloved, 
Thy beauty frees us 
From death and sicL 

Most holy countetuacc 
Of my Redeemer, 
From atl danf^er 
The Lord deliver us. 

Adieu, my Jesus, 
Adieu, toy Creator, 
Adieu, holy countenance 
Ot ray Redeemer. 



Which is the School of Religious FrauduUnce ? 



JESUS FULL OK LOVE. 

Jesus loving, 
Sweet father mine, 
Pardon mc» Lord, 
Ut cny offences. 

Jn the garden praying, 
For roy love betrayed; 
Parlon me, Lorii, 
Uf my offeaces. 

In horrible prison 
Tbou wast cast ; 
Forgive me. Lord, 
For my offences. 

Thy feet and hands 
To the cross were nailed; 
Forgive mc, Lord, 
For my offences. 

From the cross, in death 
Thou didst descend ; 
Forgive ine. Lord, 
For my offences. 

ny thy b)pod so precious * 
Which for me was shed ; 
Forgive mc„ Lord, 
For my offences. 



Precious are some of these rude 
tokens of a people's tragedy and of 
God's — lullabies of deatli, as it were, 
sung to an iramortal child in the heart 
of man. They axe too simple and 
loo humble for the worst contemner 
of Mexican society to sneer at. Have 
they meant nothing, think you, to the 



generation of Indians who have tU 
out in the storms anti sLiifci of t 
last fifty ycani; to tho^e ^ho, acii 
the defeats of nature, may hare gal 
ered strength to api^eal to the mci 
and bounty of Heaven ? How :i 
why and where the Mexicans hi 
failed and suffered, cannot be rcji 
ly said ; but one thing wc iw^y v\ 
ture to say, that the salvation 
Mexico must at last come ixt 
whatever faith has inspired its prayi 
*' Lord, dcHver me," is the " Piij 
to the Just Judge " sold near the W 
ace or the Cathedral on > 
"deliver me as thou hast A 

the saints from all perils; ^ jii 

as thou didst St. Marj- Mag ,., 
others ; deliver mc from troubles, froi 
dangerous roads, from swelling riwi 
from prisons and mishaps, Crota 
enemies, from the devil and his 
lites, from robbers, from e\Tl tonj 
from false witnessing, from the poipf 
of mortal sin, and from the powi 
of enemies visible and invisthld 
Thinking of all that Mexico hi 
suffered from robbers and prDnouD 
cers, let us say Amen to that pnytf 



WHICH IS THE SCHOOL OF RELIGIOUS FRAUDULENXB 

A REVIEW or SOME STRICTURES BY T1¥0 Churchmtn. 



The author of the Invitation Heed- 
ed^ on page 271 of that work, has 
the following passage : 

*' The Roman Council, which was con- 
vened under Pupc GeLisius. in the year 
4c}4, saysi ' Thougli alt the Catholic 
churches th^ouglioul the world be but 
one bridal chamber of Christ, yet the 
Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic 
Church has been preferred to the rest by 
no decree of a council, but has obtained 



the Primatcy by the roice in |lt« G099 
of our Lord and Saviour himsrif, Ssjr^ 
Thou art Ptter, etc/*' 

Mr. Ffoulkes, in bts Ckristendtd 
Divisions^ part ii. p, 1 99, hnr.inh tk 
remark that : 



"Of that sjmod. as Cave shows, •« 
ing had been heard previoui<ly to tlK 
of the False Decretals, amoa^ --^'^- 

occurs." 



Which is the School of Religious FranduUnce f 



791 



This slatement of Mr, Ffoulkes has 
been made the basis of an ariicle by 
the Armman Churchman^ copied antl 
endorsed by Uie Hartford Chunh- 
man of Jan. ai, in which Dr. Stone 
is charged with quoting the above 
decree from the False iJecrttals. 

A few words will show that this 
charge is without the shghtest foun- 
dation, and has been made in utter 
ignorance of the whole topic through 
a bhnd following of Mr. Ffoulkes. 
The Decree of Gelasius is found in 
all the collections of the Canon Law, 
ajid specifically in that of Dionysius 
Exiguus, which dates from the begin- 
ning of the sixth century, three hun- 
dred years before the time of Isidore 
Mercator, the compiler of the col- 
lection which contains the False De- 
cretals. A confirmatory testimony is 
found in a letter of Pope Hormisdas 
to the African bisliop Possessor, dat- 
ed August 13, 52o» which alludes to 
a decree of his predecessor, Dc Libris 
Recipietidis. The Mss. of the decree 
are numerous and ancient — one of 
them, that which is entidcd the Co- 
d^x Lm-censis^ being of the eighth cen- 
tury, that is, the century preceding 
the compilation of Isidore. I'he de- 
cree is also found in the CoUection of 
CrescomuSy compiled in the year 694, 
The whole question of this decree has 
been thoroughly sifted by the most 
learned and acute critics, from Baro- 
nius down to Dr. Hefele, and their 
unafiimous judgment is in accordance 
with that given by Natalis Alexan- 
der, who says, in his Ecciesiastkal 
History^ chapter v., article xviii., un- 
der the head of the *' Fifth Century :" 

*• Venerandsc sacrum monument urn an- 
tjquituiis nemo negaverjt " *' No one has 
denied that it is a sacrcii monument of 
venerable antiquity/' 

The assertion, without any proof, 
of Ffoulkes, that it was unknown be- 
fore the age of the False Decretals — 



that iSj the ninth century— is diereforc 
as false as anything ever concocted 
by Isidore Ntercator hiinself. His 
manner of speaking of the fact that 
it is contained in Isidore's collection, 
thereby hinting that it was forged by 
htm» is a specimen of his own pecu- 
liai'ly shuffling and disingenuous man- 
ner of dealinj^ with historical facts 
and critical tjuestions* The genuine- 
ness of the Decree of Gelasius does 
not in the slightest degree depend 
on the circumstance that it is found 
in tlie colkction of Isidore. An or- 
dinary reailer would infer from Mn 
Ffoulkcs*s manner of speaking that 
this decree is found only in a collec- 
tion of supposititious decrees manu- 
factured for the purpose of support- 
ing and extending the authority 
of tlie Roman See. The lan- 
guage of the writer in the Amc- 
dean Chufxfiman is still more to 
the same effect, as the reader will 
see direcdy. This is merely throw- 
ing dust in the eyes of the simple 
The Is id on an collection is not a mere 
mass of forgeries. 1 1 con tains a great 
body of genuine documents, together 
with those which are falsified or forg- 
ed. It is no mark of falsity, there* 
fore, in any document, that it occurs 
there alone and nowhere else. The 
Decree of Gelasius was copied into 
that collection, along with the great 
mass of genuine decrees, by its com- 
piler, from Dionysius or Cresconitis. 
With the forgeries of Isidore Merca- 
tor the Roman Church had nothing 
to do, as has been repeatedly and 
amply proved; they were first ex- 
posed by a Catholic prelate, Cardi- 
nal Cusa; the cause of the Papacy is 
no more prejudiced by them or con- 
cerned with them than that of Chris- 
tianity by the apocryphal scriptures; 
and the remark of the Hartford 
Churchmath that ** whenever it is 
* dark enough ' to make tiK' * Forged 
Decretals' tenable, they will be 




i 



792 



Wkich is ihe School of Religious FrauduUncef 



manned and defended/* is simply a 
gratuitous insult. The Protestant 
Episcopal Church reads among the 
Lessons of Holy Scripture extracts 
from books which she has rejected 
from the canon as apocryphal. The 
apocryphal gospels and epistles, the 
canons and constitutions of the apos- 
ties, which are known not to be gen- 
uine, works falsely attributed to the 
fathers, and even the fables of the 
rabbins respecting the history of our 
Lord, are justly and without censure 
made use of by the most conscien- 
tious writers-, as evidences of the be- 
lief prevalent at the time when the 
pieces in question are known to have 
been written. The forgeries of Isi- 
dore Mercator are^ therefore, valid 
proofs of the belief and practice of 
the early part of the ninth century, 
since they were concocted with nrt 
and plausibility, in such a manner as 
to excite no surprise or awaken any 
suspicion by reason of novelty in re- 
spect to doctrine or discipline, either 
in the Western or the Eiistem Church. 
ft is only in this sense that they 
have been used since their character 
has been delerictl, or ever will be 
used, by any Catholic scholar* As 
for the calumnies of the Abbd 
Gratr>-, they have l>ecn fully refuted 
by M. Chantrel and other eminent 
writers in France, with more care 
and ability than their intrinsic worth- 
lessness merited. The real question 
at issue, howxver, at present, relates 
simply to the Decree of Gelasius and 
to Dr Stone*s quotation of it. We 
have proved that it is not one of the 
False l>ecretals, and was not quoted 
from Isidore, and this refutes com- 
pletely the false allegation of the 
Amerkan Chunhman. 

The weight of evidence and autho* 
rity is decidedly in favor of the opi- 
nion that this decree was first issued 
I'y Gelasius (in 496 mtherthan 494), 
in a council of seventy bishops. It 



is sufficient to cite on tba 
Hefele, who ha« re cx.*»mmwf1 
whole question cr 
the arguments <v. 
Protestant scholars with caie 
notices not only Cave, but nbo \ 
son and Walch, who have 
later date to the decree, and 
to their objections in defaiL 
judgment is llius given ; 

*'Wc have no hesiurion In t\ 
with the Brothers BAlJcfini. Msnst, 
others. Pope Gcla&ius as the teal a 

of this Index.'* 

And, again: 

*' In view of all this, wc hold 1 
that the genuine and shorter text i 
decree certainly comes from Pop« 
SI us, and, moreover, from bis 
the year 496. Walch asserts* li 
with great assui«ncr, in lii^ Ifi tr^ 
Catinah, p. 32 S, that this d 




I Httfmis^ which distinctly 
same to a Roman synrMf 

We may here explain, tci m< :^ 
fit of the reader, that tht tlota 
question vi a very long i 
cuncerniug canonical and 
j^criptures, and also onho<lax 
heretical ectlcsiastical writiDj 
which occurs the passage 
the Roman Churdi 
Stone. The variant r 
and the discussioas respectiitg 
genuine original text, have »c> \ 
ing upon this passage, which i» fa 
in all alike, and s|>l. ' ", in 
Codtx Laarmu* D , e il 

with the readings of ibrre cc.l 
and the notes of Pagi and Mansi, 
be found in Mtgne's Latin /htm 
vol lix.y under the title Creidsiau^ 

rp' 5««f ^3 



Which is the School of Religions Frandulence f 



We have done now with the vm- 
fiication of Dr. Stone. Every reader 
who has any knowledge of the rules 
by which honorable writers are go- 
verned will say that, according to 
those rules^ Dr. Stone was perfectly 
justified in quoting as he has done 
the Roman Council under Gelasius; 
and that, if any critic wished to ques- 
tion its authenticity* he was bound 
to do it in a respectful manner, with 
some suflBcient and probable reasons. 

We have not, however, altogether 
done with the pair of Churchmen ; 
and we think our readers will see in 
a few moments that they would de- 
serve a severe castigation for their 
in&ingement of the canons of literary 
honor if they had not placed them- 
selves in such a pitiable light as rath- 
er to appeal to compassion than to 
awaken anger. 

The article in the Amerkan Chunk' 
mafU which is fully endorsed and 
specially commended to our attention 
by the Churchman of Hartford, we 
hereby present to our reader at full 
length, that he may take in all its 
beauties at a glance. 

J>101TS FRAUDS BY DR* STONE. 

In our notice of Dr. Stone's book wc 
gare some specimens of his garbled and 
falsified authorities, enough to cast dis- 
credit upon a!l the rest- 

We omitted perhaps the most sugges- 
tive, and ccriainiy, considering his awn 
words, the most atmising of them all, 
which we will now proceed to j^ivc here. 

On page 271, speaking of the Forged 
Decretals, the basis of the Roman canon 
taw and of Papal claims, he says : 

** The Forced Decretals may be niRtlcr for ctiri- 
out and learned inv-frstigation, but ibey Are cer- 
tainly ruled out of the dcbalt between Catholks 
mnd Prot«»Unls, Vi% bas been otlen shown. If Pro- 
tesUnlscver expect to capture the cUadcl of the 
Papacy, it Is time (or them to stop playing Chi- 
Il<s4r snlics^ before an old mound which wa5i 
nevff useit for military purposes, and which no* 
body dreams of defending. The pious fraud was 
espo&ect and reprobated ccoturles ago/' 

Would one ever dream after thai that 
Or. S. himself has quoted, with a great 



floutisb of trumpets, and as if it settled 
the matter, this same *' pious fraud'*? 
The truth is, the claims of the Papacy are 
so based on fraud and forge n^ from first 
to last, that, in the same breath in which 
lie condemns the forge r>% a champion of 
the Papacy has to quote it, because he 
can find nothing else. Just ten pages 
before, on page 261. Dr, James Kent 
Stone is annihilating Isaac Barrow ! Let 
nobody laugh incredulously— that is 
what the ambitious young convert pro- 
poses. Dr. Barrow has had the full vials 
of sacred wrath poured upon his devoted 
head, page after page, and now the 
wretched creature is to receive his death* 
blow. Mark Dr. Slonc, as with one blow 
of liis ponderous learning he crushes this 
pretender ! 

*' But since the sutbor of the Suj^tmacy hat 
appealed to councils^ let a council answer htm. 
. . . The Romnn Council wlikh was convened 
under Pope ("Jelasitis, in the year 404, says: 
* Thoui^li all the Caibollc churches throuf^hout 
the world be but e>»<^ bridal ebnjwbcr of Christ, 
yft tht Uoiy Cathoii: and Ap«it&lic Church has 
ifftn frr/i'rrM ta th* r*st hy n0 d^crttt pf a 
teuHcit^ hut hits ^htnintd the Primacy bf th* 
vaic* im the Gat^fi Hif onr Lord and Saviour hi m- 
t*iA i'tyim^. TJkau art Pfiet^ 4L\ . . . Fint. 
thiri/ar^^ is the Roman Church, the See of P«ter 
Ihc Apostle, ^' not having spot or wrinkle, or any 
iiuch thin^." * " 

Pretty well done for Dr. Stone! The 
only dilBculiy is there was never such ti 
council \ Its acts exist only in the Forged 
Decretals — "a pious fraud exposed and 
reprobated centuries ago." Dr. Barrow 
is crushed by a f(^^*y / 

Wc absolve Dr. Stone from intentional 
guilt. He is honestly ignorant, we doubt 
not. He only took this quotation, like so 
many, at second-hand, and had no 
thought that he was going to the old 
** pious fraud " for his authority. 

In Ffoulkcs's Chrisifndcm* s Divitiffnt, 
written when he was a Roman Catholic, 
and, like Or, Stone, a convert, but, »Altke 
Dr. Stone, a man of learning, he says on 
page I9g, Second Part : 

**^In the preface to the Klcenc Conntil by lUe 
author of the False DccretaK we read: 'Jl 
should he known of a truth by all Catholics that 
the Holy Roman Church owes ilH prccedttice lo 
no synndical decrees, bnt ohraJned t1»c Primacy 
from those words ot our Lord and Saviour in the 
Gospel ftpokcu to Peter.* It is true that the 
same statement, word for word» is attributed to 
tbe synod ref^rttdtohA-ve httn k*i<i under Gc' 
lafiiu«, A.D, 4014, but of that synod, as Cave showft. 
noi!iin{r had been heard previously to the age of 
the False Decretal* ttifftf^rw*'*"* it ficcur*. 



Wkkh is the School pf Religious Fraudultnctt 



Dr» Stone is prob;tbty not yet aware 
that the author oC the Forged Decretals 
xvas too ambitious to confine his skill to 
decretals oii1)\ tic tried his hand «i1so 
on councils, and cvtti ventured to forjc;e 
an introdnciion to the canons of the 
Counril oi Ntcea. 

If Dr. S. will devote himself for a half- 
dozen years to the study of what he pro. 
fesses, in his hasty compilation, to quote, 
he will have a more extended view of 
•*ptotJS frauds" than in his credulous 
fitmpticity he at present dreams. Eitpeci- 
ally he will venture on writing no such 
nonsense as he has printed about the 
submission of the Greeks at Lyons and 
Florence, when he discovers that the 
very authority cited to overwhelm the 
Grc-uks was these same Forged Decretal *» 
supplemented by forged creeds and 
forifed councils. 

But if these forgeries could Impose 
upon Bcssarion and his friends, why 
should we wonder that they have deluded 
Dr Jan^i;s Kent Stone? — Amrrican Church' 
man. 

We do not commend the above to the 
New York Table i, because that paper 
has apparently taken leave of its senses 
altogether, but The Catholic World has 
shown a little sense in making its asser- 
tions. It, for instance, would never 
think of asserting that '* Rome was never 
the capita! of the Christian cmpcrois of 
the West,'* for which astonishing informa- 
tion we arc indebted lo the liibUt, To 
the above article, which we lake from the 
Anitr'uan Churchman^ we have only to 
add the testimony of Fnther Gratry as lo 
the use made of the '* False Decrci:ils"by 
the UUramontanes in France. lie was, 
he says, compelled to reject a thesis in 
Iheir favor by a young student of divini- 
ty » whose ar|*ument was that they were, 
if not literally true, yet so far the cxprcs- 
mon of *" Catholic truth " as lo be com- 



judge for himself hovr fitting tt 
the authors of such an article 
above to put on ihc air of s\t% 
indignation against l«$idQrc Mt:x<; 
or any one else who uses ftayi^ 
falsehood for what he estcecns a 
end. Let hira lake up, after n? 
it, Dr. Stone's book^ cam pan 
style, spirit, and matter with iba 
its critics^ and make his own 
iDcnt of their relative qualitu 
respect to dignity, eanicsti]esi» 
of truth, and fairness of rcaso 
For ourselves, we drop all funhc 
marks upon these particular 
and proceed to say a few woit 
our Protestant readers whose 
have been turned toward the C« 
lie Church concerning a certain 
thod of treating the 
which relate to it ad' 
ber of their religious \ 
This niethod consi.^ 
ting on an air of gnrat 
severity, and authority; n. ,,.♦., 
be very learned masters i 
subject, and perfectly c^ 
their own investigations a 
knowledge, that the whci 
Roman authority and d' > 
structure of systematic £rui<1 
usurpation. With this is joined a 
sonieiinies of sneering and sofueuil 
of invective, against the Rofl 
Church and all her faithful adTt>rs 
and adherents, which is ci 
to the greatest lengths, 
of all this is to daunt and i 
who have begun to wavrr \\ ii^ 



a 1 

in 
dcci! 

Ill 
i 

d 



mended for thtf it pious worth. The fact ,i * "i ^ 3 

is, -this old mound— never used formili* aj^egiance to the aforesaid te,neM 

lary purposes "—is managed very much/^to shut off inquiry, and to ; \ 

as Fort Sumter was durin^^ the siege q/f to defections which hav : A 



Charleston. During the bombardment, alarming in numlicr and qtiahtr td 
byday the garrison was uithdr^vvn^ ^j^^ of intellectual ...le.! 

restored at nighL \\hcnever it is **dark ^ , , . » j 



iighL 

cnouj^h ** to make the ** Forged Deere- 
tals'* tenable, they will be raanned and 
defended. 



The sincere inquirer after truth, for 
whom alone we write these lines, may 



force, Loudness and drt 
in asserting their own autr 
make up what is wanttr^ 
and arguments. Dc 
vehement assertion w 
lack of solid and satisiactor)* r< 




tion of the claims of tlie Roman 
Church. This tone could be toler- 
ated in those only who are evidently 
in perfectly good faith, who are tho- 
roughly and zealously in earnest, and 
who are themselves completely vie* 
tiros to an old and almost invincible 
pr^udice inherited from their ances- 
tors, AV'e know far too much, and 
wc are convinced that some at 
least of our Protestant readers know 
too much of the real state of minds 
in the High-Church circles, and of 
the interior history of those circles, to 
allow them the benetit of this plea. 
There has been too much doubting, 
questioning, changing of opinions, 
Rallying with Roman doctrine, run- 
ning up to the door of the Catholic 
Church and darting away again, for 
such a tone to be assumed with any 
good taste or likelihood of imposing 
upon those who are not very simple 
and ill-informed. Only one who has 
certitude, infuHibie certitude, that his 
doctrine Is from heaven, his authority 
of God, his church the only true ark 
of salvation, is justified in giving 
peremptory decisions to those who are 
pupils in religious doctrine, denounc- 
ing the ministers of other systems as 
faUe teachers, and condemning other 
s&i^dUaut churches as counterfeits of 
the true one. It is very strange to 
see one whose mind is racked with 
doubt, and hesitating amid all manner 
of peqjIexiLies, venture to pi ay the 
master over souls in a similar situa- 
tion. It is no less strange to see one 
suddenly pass from a state of doubt 
to an outward assurance of certainty, 
when he has found no extrinsic rule 
of faith or criterion of certainty supe- 
rior to his own mind, or no new and 
decisive motive and reason of deter- 
mination which he is capable of ex- 
plauiing and proving to others. That 
party which calls itself •* Catholic" 
among the Episcopalians presents a 
most pitiable spectacle in this respect^ 



which is daily growing worse. It 
must be so from the nature of the 
case. In the beginning it was far 
otherwise* But candor, patient and 
dispassionate study, the sincere search 
for truth, and other equally honorable 
traits, cannot very long distinguibh a 
school of theological writers who con- 
tinue separated from the Catholic 
communion. At present, childish- 
ness, superstition, sophistry, a certain 
peculiar unsteadiness and shiftiness 
of mind, passionate violence, the 
most excessive spirit of private judg- 
ment and self-confidence, subjective 
sentimentalism, and, strange to say, 
scepticism akin to that of the neolo- 
gians, have become the characteris- 
tics, and are the symptoms of the 
near dissolution, of that party which 
began with such signs of intellectual 
vigor at Oxford about forty years 
ago. Those who do not work out of 
it into the Catholic Church are likely 
to become ere long rationalists or 
sceptics. 

The method of treating the subject 
of the church just now partly describ- 
ed, in fact also partly consists in a 
w^ay of arguing directly leading to an 
unsettled and doubting state of mind, 
and to the undermining of positive 
religious belief. Those who use it 
cast a vague suspicion of unreliability 
upon the Catholic documentary evi- 
dence. They bring mist and dark- 
ness over the historic develoi)ment 
of Christianity. They endeavor to 
present the whole subject of the con- 
troversy concerning the Roman su- 
premacy as extremely intricate, and 
only intelligible to those who have 
nude very profound and extensive 
researches. They ransack all records 
and documents Jbr the most obscure 
facts, the most perplexing difiicultics, 
the most captious objections, as the 
materials of the ingenious theories 
and hypotheses they oppose to the 
invincible Catholic dem oust rat ioDi 



796 



Which is the School of RcHgicus Fraudzdenci T 



which they are unable to cope with 
in a more direct anil open manner. 
This is just like the policy of those 
who assail the Scriptures and the 
positive revelation of God in general. 
It is tedious and slow work to finish 
up a controversy of this kind. Only 
a few can master it, even when it is 
satisfactorily concluded. In the mean- 
time, a certain number of persons who 
allow themselves to be drawn away 
into the marsh become the victims 
of this ruse d€ gucrtr. Wearied and 
puzzled, they lose their way ; and, in a 
hopeless despair of finding their way 
to solid ground, allow themselves to 
be led back to the place from which 
they originally started It is easy to 
see that such a mental catastrophe 
leaves the mind in a state of negative 
doubt, from which tliose who are in- 
clined to intellectual activity easily 
pass to a state of positive doubt or 
imbelieC It is contrary to common 
sense to believe that God has imposed 
on men the obligation of seeking sal- 
vation through communion with one 
definite ecclesiastical society, unless 
he has made it easy to know that so- 
ciety — to wit, the true church — by 
plain, obvious marks. Let us suppose 
that it is certain that, if but one true 
church exists in the United States, it 
is cither the Protestant Episcopal 
Church or the Catholic Church un- 
der the obedience of the Roman See. 
Those who advocate the claims of the 
former are bound to show some clear, 
decisive, easily-known marks which 
establish these claims and exclude 
those of its antagonist, in such a man- 
ner that all reasonable doubt is im- 
possible to one who is not in some 
kind of invincible ignorance. A per- 
son who is a tolerably instructed mem- 
ber of the aforesaid clurrch ought to 
have an infallible certainty that it is 
the churcd, with Thellus, Ch^rias, and 
Longinus behind him, all armed too, 
and having dreadful stains moist on 
their weapons. There was a strong 
light in the room* One glance re- 
vealed a history. Agatha put up 
both hands to her eyes to hide the 
scene which immediately followed ; 
but the fearful fascination of it over- 
VOL. xii. — 51 



Sibyh\ 

mastered her, and she gazed on it 
spell-bound. Thus she beheld the 
encounter betAveen the sua n us and 
her brother* They met neither at 
the door nor where Lygdus had been 
standing expectant ; the assas.sin, now 
desperate, making a spring like that 
of a wild beast^ and bringing at the 
same lime the long knife he carried 
with a downward, searching, and 
ravenous blow, scienritically aimed 
at Paulus's bare throat above the 
breast -bone. 

I'he young tribune, as we have 
intimated, had neither waited for nor 
in any way evaded the assault, nor 
yet had he, hke the other, sprung in 
the air ; but with quiet, unfrowning 
brow, and his large eyes turned 
upon his enemy, he made one stride 
forward to meet the panther-like rush, 
caught in his left hand the right arm 
of Lygdus, before the excellently in- 
tended blow was delivered, and near- 
ly wrenched it from the shoulder, 
causing him by the sheer ]>ain of the 
grip to drop Ins knife, and flinging him 
fairly against the side wall, across 
the whole width of the chamber. 

There Lygdus lay, astonished and 
still ; while Paulus ran forward and 
knelt by his sister*s side, taking her 
fair young head in both hands, and 
kissing her again and agaoi. Thel- 
lus, following, and Seeing on the 
couch a large woollen mamlc ot wrap- 
per, took it, and, stooping down also 
by Agatha's side, with Paulus's aid 
raised her gendy, folded the mande 
rountl her, leaving uncovered only 
the face (now smiling, and down 
which welcome tears were at last 
streaming)^ and took the young matd* 
en in his arms as if he had been her 
father, or, indeed, as a mother might 
carry her child. 

** Lead on," said Paulus. 

Upon which Thellus moved s^vift- 
ly to the door, Paulus following, and 
Chserias and Longinus making way. 



* 



S02 



Dion and the Sityh, 



In the corridor, Paulus called Chae- 
rias and some of the armed men to 
form the advance along with himself, 
and bade Longinus and the others 
march behind I'hellus, who, wnth his 
.burden, was thus protected on every 
side. They quickly emerged from 
the house; Thellus on the way ex- 
plaining to Agatha, who seemed as 
light as a baby in his mighty arms, 
that a female slave had admitted 
them (through dow^nright terror) into 
the house only after they had set 
fire to a pitch-barrel in the porch ; 
-that they had experienced even some 
trouble in extinguishing the flames ; 
^ind that she would see the smould* 
ering of burnt wood as they passed. 
He occupied her attention in this 
way to prevent her from noticing the 
mortal traces of the late struggle. 

As they passed through the gar- 
den they were silently encompassed 
by group after group of armed men, 
till they ai'rivcd tlirough clumps of 
trees at a postern in the enclosing 
wall, 

** Whither are we going?" asked 
Agatha. 

** To your mother/* whispered 
Thellus. 

The young girl closed her eyes, 
and actually slept in the warlike 
man's arms. 

Just as Chaerias was opening the 
posiern, the measured tramp of sol- 
diery (and apparently in vast num- 
bers too) was heard in the street out* 
side, as w^ell as words of command 
not to be mistaken, given in cautious 
tones by the officers to the men, 
Paulus looked uneasy. Chacrias has- 
tily closed the postern, announcing 
that the whole street w^as lined with 
Praetorians. ** Let us hasten," said 
Thellus, " to the other side of the 
garden." Arriving there, they found 
exactly th,e same phenomenon. 
"There is yet another door," whis- 
pered one of tlie gladiators, "lead- 



ing toward the Esquilinc aq 
Prenestina road.*' They b 
thither; but before they could n 
they became aware that soldief 
now in the gardca itself, ani 
the whole place was i ' j 
leaguered. Retracing i . >i 

in extreme anxiety tow*ard a tfe 
they saw torches in front of 
and perceived that they were 
cepted ; and at this moment tli( 
rible fact became evident tt| 
every part of the enclosure, na 
middle of which they had tak< 
fuge in a little shrubber>% i< 
were tlaring and troops swan 
and that, like a drag-net which 
ing closed in, the soldiers, under 
intelligent and intended plan^ 
converging from all sides towaj 
centre. 

** Eheu ! eheu !" (alas 1 alas !J 
young Paulus; **otir last hoa 
come ! Men, will you stand 
and this innocent maiden ?'* 

*' To the death !" they aJisw 

** Who goes there ?'* callci 
some one, close at hand, in ih^ 
of an educated man. 

Paulus stepped to tlie front : " 
est people," said he. 

** Methinks," returned the 
person, " that I ought to knai 
voice. Are you not Paulus, th 
tribime ?" 

**Ycs/* said he, "and wh< 
you?" ' 

** I am in search of you,'* 
the other; **but primarily in 
of your sister, the young dai 
of the -^milians." 

" What would you with us ?^, 

" I have die orders of A^ 
Caesar to deliver her into your h 

The astonishment of Faulty 
of those around him may bfi 
ceived. 

** She is already in my hand 
said, after a moment's bewUdet 
Hie oUier approached^ suitoi 




m 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



803 



by soldiers who carrietl torches, and 
Paul us saw that he had been parley- 
ing with no less a personage than 
tlte dreaded Sejanus himself. 

This fjersouage, having satisfied 
himself by a glance, first at the young 
tribune, and then at the pale and 
lovely face of Agatha (who had 
awoke only to faint completely in 
Thelhis's arms), smiled, and remark- 
ed that he had brout^ht a palanquin 
for the damsel, and that she was still 
welcome to it. Thellus had very 
soon placed her tenderly therein ; 
and Sejanus, having issued some or- 
der, which ran jn echoes from oflicer 
to officer till it died along the distant 
battalions, laid his hand lightly on the 
shoulder of Paulus, who was moving 
away, and said : *' 1 have still a com- 
mission to perform, young sir; this 
signet is to be remitted to you. You 
seemed to have gained favor in a 
very high quarter indeed." 

Paulus had his mind too full of other 
thoughts to pay more attention, eith- 
er to the object handed to him or to 
Sejantis*s words, than Just to say 
•• Thank you," and to lake the ring. 
Away then moved in separate direc- 
tions the two processions ; that of the 
soldiery to their various c[uaners, and 
that which had rescued and was 
guarding the young maiden to the 
lodgings of the Lady Aglais. 

It was midnight vNhen the mother, 
who was waiting in indescribable sus- 
pense the outcome of that evening's 
expedirion, clasped her daughter in 
her arms. We will not try to de- 
scribe that interview i we leave it to 
be imagined. 

About two houi^ later, while it 
was still dark, Sejanus, in obedience 
to a sudden and imperiously-worded 
summons, had left his bed, and was 
standing in the presence of Tiberius 
Csesar. 

** To the world at large,'* said Ti* 
berius, *'l am entirely ignorant of 



what may have befallen a certain 
damsel, ignorant where she is, dis- 
dainful of all tliat concerns her or 
hers. But you have been my confi- 
dant; you have been in all my se- 
crets. How comes, tlien, this inex- 
pliciible and monstrous account which 
has reached me, on such authority 
that, perforce, I must believe it ? 
Have you, or have you not, deliver- 
ed a certain damsel from a certain 
most respectable and noble house ?" 

" My sovereign, I have/* 

" And in this most extraordinajy 
proceeding, have you, or have you 
not, used the armed public force un- 
der your command ?'* 

** Caesar, I have/* 

"And, pray, why am I not, from 
this moment, to cast you otf as an 
enemy and traitor, dangerous to me; 
treacherous and audacious beyond 
all conception, and certainly ungrate- 
ful beyond forgiveness ?*' 

'' My Cresar, I merely obeyed the 
express orders of Augustus, who sent 
me as my warrant his own signet- 
ring.** 

Tiberius sank upon a couch, and 
visions of Rhodes, to which he had 
once before been banished for y«ars 
by Augustus, rose before his mind. 

" Augustus, then, knows aU," he ex- 
claimed, " ^Vho brought his signet- 
ring to you ?'* 

*^ Dionysius the Athenian/' 

After a few minutes of reflection, 
Tiberius resumed : 

*^ The cunclusion of this whole, 
business is, that Cneius Piso has bee 
guilty of a flagitious offence, 
have you, if any participation in it^ 
can be traced to you. You must, 
between you, bear the blame and the 
penalties (if any come); he chiefly, 
you pardy ; and I will enable you 
both to bear them. As for Lygdus, 
he must be put to deatli sooner or 
later ; it would not be amiss if it were 
now ; but we need him still for Ger* 



8o4 



manicus at least, I of course need 
him not; but PLincina and Cneius 
Piso say that he is necessary to them 
for their plans about that pernicious 
pretender. Observe this: he must 
have a round sura of money, this hyg- 
dus, and disappear for a time. With 
regard to young Paul us Lepidus 
i^milius, and his mother and sister, 
I will load them with favors ; every- 
thing which has occurred to them is 
entirely forgotten; in fact, nothing 
whatever has occurred to them, so 
far as I am concerned. 1 admire 
them extremely ; I like them very 
much. I have not had, 1 say, any 
share in, and I have not even had 
so much as any &iow ledge ol^ their 
troubles. None whatever. I am 
completely and absolutely ignorant of 
ever) thing which has aggrieved them. 
But this I will say, that Augustus 
has been rather ungrateful and un- 
just to the only son of the brave offi- 
cer who served him so well at Phih'p- 
pi ; as he w^as indeed to that officer 
himself. So far from taking away the 
property of the family, Augustus 
ought to have bestowed a new es- 
tate upon them.** 

•* I understand," replied Sejanus. 
*'^Vith this understanding," con- 
cluded Tiberius, "that is, with the 
understanding that I condemn and 
reprobate the conduct of Cneius Piso, 
and yours too, if it can be proved; 
you arc still my trusty Scjanus. Go ! 
^m Farewell*' 

^™ Sejanus took his leave respectfully 

r and gravely, but rode back through 

I the streets, grinning all the way. 

^^ wh 

r sisi 

I bv 

I de] 

I At 




Dion a fid the SibyU. 



CHAPTER 'XXI, 

One morning, about a week later, 
when Paulus showed his mother and 
sister the signet-ring remitted to him 
by Sejanus, adding that it was won- 
derful it had not been reclaimed by 
Augustus, and that he now would 



ask Dionysius, or some one, to 
it back to the em|>cTor, the 
laughed, and told hitn ll»e bistorf 
of the ring presented by the tfiuMr 
Lepidus to Agatha, But this could 
not quite explain what h-^ --^ -tcA 
Agatha mentioned that *jc. 

cabeus was to have shown i 
to Velleius Paterculas, f ' 
by carefully piecing t' 

ous circumstances^ they . . 

that Velleius Paterculus himself iwar 
have contrived the rescue ; and tkit 
Augustus never wrote a certaiti ie» 
markable letter to ^ at jJL 

But as Dionysius, a - eti, Ccr- 

manicus Cicsar, were known to \iVit 
appealed to the emperor, ImitH tt^** 
rius and Sejanus would nain 
lievc that the emperor 1 1 
tenened. Hence the . of' 

Thellus and of the gIadiaior>, acw 
the absolute abstention not onljr 
from all further molestation of 
family, but from all inquiry tnta the 
circumstances of Agatha*s n>mAfiiie 
deliverance. 

The family were notonfy at pctrt 
for the reasons just stated, but thrj 
were now wealthy. We have afaca^ 
dy mentioned that Augustus had 
given them the estate of PosflippO 
(which Vedius PoUio, the eater rf 
slave fed lampreys, had t>ec}ueaib^ 
to the emperor), instea<! of the Mxc^ 
Jian property on the Liris. But suT' 
prise followed surprif*e. Some rela- 
tives of Tiberius and of Germanjcof, 
as the reader knov^^, were in posset 
sion of the Ltris estate; and (fiudiDf 
Germanicus willing) Tiberius stfil 
word to Paulus (tiat, as he migiit 
naturally prefer the inheritance of 
his forefathers to a strange property, 
and as the value of each was neari^ 
the same, he would exchange with 
Paulus if he wished. The oflTcr 
eagerly accepted ; the bwycrs 
the necessary reciprocal con 
ces ; and the wanderers, as 



they could complete their prepara- 
tions and purchases, went to settle 
in that great castle upon the Liris, 
which had attracted their admiration 
the very first evening of their arrival 
in Latium, and within sight of which 
(as the reader remembers, at the 
opening of this narrative) they Jiad 
been all arrested by order of no other 
than the man who now, liberally and 
considerately, put them in possession 
of the mansion where the ever-burn- 
ing brazier had cast its glimmer upon 
the Lares of so many generations of 
their own ancient and lamous ^^mi- 
lian liiie» 

The beautiful ladies, Agnppina 
Julia and Agrippina Marcella, had 
left in the casde some elegant fix- 
tures and even movables (including 
certain pictures and the statues on the 
roof), which they gave, at a nominal 
price, to German icns's favorite stalf- 
officcr, Claudius (in whose stead 
Paul us had ridden Tiberius's untam- 
able horse) had by this time been 
wedded to little Bcnigna; and the 
incoming proprietors of the neigh- 
boring property easily prevailed on 
the newly-married couple to live with 
them ; the husband as a sort of stew- 
ard, who should oversee all the out- 
door slaves, and could, when Paulus 
wisheih act ably as his secretary too; 
and the wife as the bousekee|*er, 
with supreme authority over all the 
indoor servants. 

Crispus and Crisjnna often found 
time (and made it) to stroll over the 
fields for a visit to the castle; and 
for a loving talk widi the lord and 
tlic ladies whom they deemed with- 
out their [>arallels upon earth. More- 
over, Agatha had persuaded Josiah 
Maccabeus and Esther not to leave 
them just when their far wanderings, 
wild adventures, and dreadful trials 
had come to so hap[>y a temi. Es- 
ther had conceived a tender affto 
tion for the beautiful damsel whom 



she bad been largely instrumental in 
saving from so dire a fate^ and deliv- 
ering out of so appalling a captivity, 
while Agalha returned this feeling 
with enthusiasm. She spared no 
eloquence, then, to persuade Macca- 
beus and his lovely daughter to post- 
pone their return to Syria — ^lill when ? 
Here it was that Paulus appeared in 
a new character, that of a more con- 
summate orator than Dion y si us him- 
self. He stated that he had formed 
so sublime an estimate of Josiab's 
ancestors that he could not be hap- 
py till he was able to read the Book 
of Maccabees in Hebrew ; and he 
urged arguments so touching that 
Josiah (who really had far more ur- 
gent reasons for quitting Eleazar than 
for immediately returning to Jerusa- 
lem) consented to stay until he liad 
instructed Paulus in the language of 
the Patriarchs and the Prophets* In 
this course of study, Paulus gradually 
discovered that Esther taught him 
more effectually than her father knew 
how. But what learnt he from 
the sweet mouth and wondrous East- 
ern eyes of the noble maiden who 
had saved his sister? He really 
learnt Hebrew ; and as it was die 
exploits of her own glorious ances- 
tors which she was expounding to 
one who could well appreciate them, 
the sympathy and enthusiasm which 
they shared together knit tlieir hearts 
into a fond, a natural, and a com* 
plete unison. The Lady Aglais^ as 
she contemplated a youth and a 
maiden whose spirits were not un- 
worthy of each other thus occupied, 
saw far beyond, as she imagined, 
w hat either of those students dreamt 
of anticipating ; and saw it with sat- 
isfaction. 

Philip, the old freed man of the fa- 
mily, was installed at Liridium, as it 
was called, in a capacity not unlike 
that of the senesdial of subsequent 
ages. Melena, die slave, received 



8o6 



Dion and the Sihyls. 



her freedom, but would not practi- 
cally take it ; and she remained the 
special personal servant of the Lady 
Aglais. Paulus pressed ITiellus to 
give up the army (for which Paulus 
would get him permission), and settle 
near them T^*ith his daughter Pruden- 
tia, in a Hide cottage which stood 
about two miles down the river, sur- 
rounded by rhododendrons, olean- 
ders, and myrtles, and which, being 
part of Paulus's new property, he 
earnestly begged Thellus to accept 
from him as a gift, 

*» But," said Thellus, after thank- 
ing him, " you have not quilted the 
army yet yourself; and why should 
I ? Germanicus vows, I am told, 
that he wiU never rest till he has 
foiind the bones of Varus and his 
legions, and given them solemn bu- 
rial. I mean to be at die funeral, 
and so must you/' 

** Well, if we come back safe," per- 
sisted Paulus, ** you will settle near 
us in tliat cottage with your daugh- 
ter, and eat fresh fish of your own 
catching for breakfast/' 

And so it was agreed. But for a 
while there were no more wars, and 
during the lull many visitors came 
to Liridium. Among them, poor 
Longinus never came ; he had been 
foolish enough to fall in love with 
Agalha, and, deeming his love hope- 
less, avoided the family altogether, 
Dionysius had been persuaded to 
give up his pretty miniature mansion 
in Rome, and pass altogether under 
the roof of his beloved friends (who, 
indeed, owed the place to him) the 
* remainder of his sojourn in Italy; 
for to Athens he had resolved to 
return, and — ncscius futuri — in 
Athens to live and to die. Another 
person who. during the lull be- 
tween German wars, frequently came 
now to Liridium, was the accomplish- 
ed Vclleius Patewrulus. Esther as- 
sured Agatha that she knew why Pa- 



terculus appeared so freqtteti 

made himself so agreeable^ — all 
so haudiiome a man, of '^^^ ' 
sition, with manner so < i^ 

and a reputation so consHJcrjLrii 
who, besides, talked so wcU. 
hardly be other nise. Bui in \ 
Agatha that she knew why he 
so often, Esther adopted a ecru 
murcness, a certain si gniticaiicc,! 
was meant, in an innocent and | 
sense, to tease as well a> ' J 
did. Agatha's repudia it ._% 

possibility of what was i \ 

hinted was one day o\l j 

refuted by Vclleius Paterculca 
self, who, truth to tell, had 
making love to the young lady 
duously.and who, on the day in i 
tion, after being roundly accuse 
her of having contrived her de 
ancc frarn Tiberius and frott 
Calpumiau House, aske<l her \ 
his wife with her mother's and 
iher's consent. As it happened 
the invitation thus i \ 

first that .Agatha A -^ 

ceived, and as she was vcrv ¥ 
and inexperienced, she behaved, 
absurdly in her own estimation 
charmingly in his. She Uur%t 
tears ; and when he timidly ami 
tly inquired whether he 1 
feelings or offended her, * : j 

he had never done anything ol 
sort. The witty suitor then r^ 
ed, gravely smiling, tliai she hju 
dressed an inquiry to him nhich 
a husband could answer^ but th4 
swer to which he would be luosr 
py to give to his wife. But J\ 
objected that, as her son would 
quently be away from her with 
army, if her daughter were u 
away at the same time ."^hc woufc 
on a sudden left desolate ; :in#l 
consenting to the iv 
that it might be post J 
Xo this Paterculus sul>mitt«d, 
Agalha joyfully agreed. 



Meanwhile, Paulus made such pro- 
gress in Hebrew that Josiah Macca- 
beus and Esther began again to talk 
of their voyage to Jerusalem; and 
now occurred an important events in- 
deed, in the young tribune's life* 

He told Aglais, his mother^ that he 
had fallen in love with Esther; re- 
minded her of Esther's noble and 
successful cfibrts to save their darling 
Agatha ; expatiated on her grand and 
wondrous old lineage ; and asked his 
mother, iinally, whether she could 
wish for her son a lovelier, more 
graceful, more gentle, or more high- 
hearted wife ? Not one of the many 
propositions advanced by Paulus was 
denied by his mother Paulus then 
confessed that, from that night of 
strange adventure, so singulady spent 
by him and Thellus and the rest of 
his comrades at Eleazar's queer house 
(once Julius Caesafs) in the Suburra, 
when Esther's timely warnings had 
not only preserved the public trea- 
surCj but had saved the lives of all 
the gallant men engaged in a most 
critical service — from that night he 
confessed he had felt such admira- 
tion for the Hebrew damsel, that not 
only he thought of her continually 
in moments of tranquillity^ but her 
image had even gone into the din of 
battle by his side. 

** Then she may well walk widi you 
through hfe, my son," said the Greek 
lady ; ** and truly I consider her a 
virtuous, gifted, and noble maiden, 
whom I shall be glad to call daugh- 
ter." 

Paulus kissed his mother, and said 
he merely wished for a betrothal of 
a year or t^vo. Eke Agatha's with Vel- 
Icius Patcrculus, as there were ru- 
mors of impending German expedi- 
tions, and he would neither Uke to 
miss them, on the one hand, nor to 
leave his wife for them, on the 
other. 

** But will she accept me, mother ?" 



he suddenly asked, with a look of 
alarm. 

** We have accepted Paterculus for 
Agatha,'* returned his mother ; " and 
certainly, for that simple and excel* 
lent old Hebrew and his daughter, 
your offer is a much more flattering 
distinction than that of Paterculus is 
for us. And, on the other hand, I 
am certain that Esther entertains a 
very tender feeling toward you. She 
is happy when you are here, atid 
when you are absent so is she, in an- 
other sense." 

Thus encouraged^ Paulus Lepidus 
^milius, the brilliant young hero, 
whose name was in all men*s mouths, 
and who was fashioned by nature 
to be adopted into the kinship of 
such a race as that of Esthers glo- 
rious collateral ancestor, asked her 
to be his wife, and to share his large ^J 
and rising fortunes, ^H 

Esther turned pale, raised both ^ 
hands, with the fingers intedaccd, to 
her chin, and cast her eyes upon the 
ground for a few seconds without 
speaking. She then said : 

** Ah I it cannot be. And now, in- 
deed, my grandfather and I must go 
away. But it is not through unkind- 
ness; it is not for want. Your sister 
is truly a sister to me already, as you 
would fain make her ; and your mo- 
ther is to me even like my own. Nor 
am I blind to this great honor. But 
the laws of my people and our holy 
books forbid j^xie to wed a Gentile, 
Yet this believe, that you and yours 
will always be dear to Esther; and 
Esther will never kneel to that great 
God who made you as well as her, 
and who cares for all the creatures of 
his hands, without praying to him 
for Aglais, for Agatha^ and especial- 
ly for you, valiant and gentle Paulus. 
I trust we may meet in a better 
world,'* 

Almost while uttering the last word, 
which she pronounced in a tremu- 



km ?«iccv Md with indescribable 
pUhos, slit tttmcd and slowly left 
liini. 

He torbort puisuit. because the 
irbole manner and tone of the Jew- 
oh maiden carried to his mind an 
overwhelming conviction th^t her an- 
swer wa$ truly ^nal, and that she 
spoke irrevocable words. 

In the midst of his natural youth- 
ful anguish twci what she 
hid Slid iinjck i She had 
referred to the one great God, of 
' rn Diony&ius always maintained 
certain, present, personal, and 
and her language 
ed was as unlike to 
's around him 
10 the chatter- 
There was the 
^,c conviction as that in Dionysius's 
.^^.5,,,Mhv: only with more trust, 
l^^or/Jni: - devotedness, 
jac^ r,; _ Jit, more love, 
J . ujess and tender- 
j^g^ ,. _, .,-i g^^^ belief, she 
drani held, also, that we should 
Sic hcfciacf. In the next place, 
«w<f aaiM fhc **holy books of her 

^"^^^ die siomi of his thoughts 
u^rs came and went ^ h.^ 



iz^ of roookeys. 



yjiv i" 



^^ BCct diF Es^«^ ^"^ '^^ fi^^""^" 

^ ica t^ <^^*^ ^"^ ^^^ ^^"^ ' 
"^aTuB^tftc left the world. A cha- 
f^^ksi3dfeh than Paulus it would 
'^ -it^msy^^ y^^ neither mo- 

irci^'s faniFT. i^r the roll of 

!!Lf^**»^^^ ^^ ""^^^ ^^^"^ 
^^Lt Dor cinac itself, could 

-:« the buoyancy which 

^ 0jiTCis*ti^" of a few 

^ ;;.^ji a oobfc and gentle girl, 

*^ ^ppif^ame<L 

•iy^v^jjgs iW Faulus were 

^^ u^ and Agatha, in 

/f^ioaJus, who bduc- 

St the l)ctter accom- 



plishment of their designs. 
not with contempt, so much I 
indifference, that Paulas tunio 
riably away at the bare hint 
alliance with any lady, or of h 
riage at all. The pleasures o( 
ty, the attractions of the cifl:! 
gossip of the court, seemed 
tasteless to him. There was 
for him in the command of ma 
none in the consideration paid 
by great personages— none in t 
polarity he enjoyed among tbcs< 
— none even in the glory of fame 
always met Thellus with plcasui 
cordiality; and he enJM -^ 

versation of Dionysius, (| 

ing w^ith the family) had j 

thera to town. With Cl. 

he showed an interest in confd^ 
and he used, whenever the^- yti 
leisure, to engage both tliese oi 
to discuss before him tl j 

ty of the soul from dn ^, 

of view. Though a physiciaiL 
a pagan physician, Chariclcs w4 
able a man not to sec that then 
something in each human 
which shared in nowise in the 
tions of the flesh ; am/ that thi 
sciotwiess of pcnotial id^ntiiy i 
was an iiiusiou^ or (he exhi^nct 4 
immutabk essence in each ^/ ui \ 
fact He called it his chemkai ^ 
of the deathless thing which tl* 
and he developed it m the 
beautiful and convincing as w 
humorous manner, lliis, and 
nysius's demonstrations of the 
fact, on both njetaphysic^l and t 
grounds, were now Paulus's otdy 
delight. 

To his mother atid sister he 
as gentle, as tender, as devote- 
ever ; but there was a languor, a 
lancholy, in his whole bearing % 
smote them to the heart. 

One night, returning on foot, 
Charicles and DI from m 

ty at Germanicu ., whew 



commander-in-chief had unexpected- 
ly warned Paulus to hold himself in 
readiness for new wars, lliey met four 
soldiers carrying a corpse on a tres- 
tle to a neighboring dead-house. 
Paulus happened to know one of the 
soldiers by sight, and asked mecha- 
nically whose was the corpse. At 
this the bearers stopped, and a Mih 
soUlier, who l;ore a torch, uncovered 
the face and held the light over it, 
saying, " The unhappy young knight 
was accidentally killed half an hour 
ago» in a drunken brawl at a ihermo- 
polia." 

Charicles hurried Paulus away, and 
said, *' I know the face. It is that 
of your cousin Marcus, He has led 
a mad and a bad life with young 
Caligula and Herod Agrippa. Now 
that he is dead, there is no harm in 
telling you what your mother and 
sister and your itncle all knew, but 
kept from your knowledge—that he 
wa.s partly the cause of Agadia's ab- 
duction from ^^nte Circello, Ah, 
well 1 he has paid for it,'* 

Paulus shuddered a little, saying, 
** I wonder is he still living any- 
where?" 

*' Still upon that theme ?" replied 
Charicles, "^ Is there nothing, then, 
in this whole world thai can interest 
you? Here is my street. Fa/eJ^ 

As Dionysitis and Paulus pursued 
their walk, Paulus said, ** The Jews 
also belie vCt like you and the Sibyls, 
that we shall meet those fur whom 
we care in another world. I wonder 
whether the Great New Teacher who 
is to come in this our own generation 
will teach the same/' 

*' Really, my friend,*^ replied the 
Greek, ** 1 am glad you will have 
something to turn your attention in 
this new (ierman war Est modtis in 
rebus ^ Forget yonder Hebrew lady ; 
think of her as if dead/' 

** It is just what I do," said Paulus, 
with a melancholy smile. • 




CHAPTER XXII. 

The war catiie; Germanicus, with 
a fine army, in which Paulus served 
as tribune, penetrated the heart of 
Germany, won several battles, turned 
westward, found the place where Va- 
rus lost the legions, and where the 
earth was yet while with their unbu- 
ried bones, and raised a plain monu- 
n*ent over them to commemorate the 
avenging victories of Rome, Re- 
turning from these exploits, in which 
Paulus had largely increased his al- 
ready high reputation and had ac- 
quired the rank of legatus, or full 
general, Germanicus was dispatched 
to the East, with the local power and 
dignity of emj^eror assigned to him, 
and with Cneius Piso (who was at- 
tended by his wife Plancina and by ^^ 
Lygdus) attached to his person under ^H 
some indefinite commission from Ti- i 
berius. 

Time was fast rolling forward^ not 
only with the characters, sweet and 
bitter, sordid or noble, execrable or 
lovely, of this distant echo^ — this per- 
sonal story — but with the Roman 
Empire itself, as then it stood in its 
pride and its darkness (torchlight, as 
it were, illumining the face of the 
giant statue from below, and clouds 
resting on its head) ; time was fast 
running its race, Augustus Cjesar 
had died at Nola, asking those around 
his bed to give him the applause cus- 
tomary at theatres when a performer 
is finishing lus part; and Tiberius had 
begun his awful sway viidi modera- 
tion, wisdom, and amenity. 

When Paulus returned, he assisted 
in his new rank and honors at his 
sister Agatha's marriage with Velle- 
ius Paterculus, which entailed but 
little separation from her mother and 
brother, Paterculus having bought, 
some miles more to the south on the 
A p plan Road, for his future residence, 
a villa, once Cicero's (one of tlie six- 




8io 



Jtcn and fke 



teen or eighteen he possessed along 
that line), and settled tl)Cfc with his 
wife. Between the castle and the 
villa communication was easy to 
maintain \ and mother and daughter 
often visited each other. Thellus, 
who had attained the grade of fir<»t 
centurion, now quilted the army, and 
went with his little Prudentia to 
live in the river-side cottage which 
Paulus had persuaded them to ac- 
cept. Marcus Lepidus the triumvir 
was dead, and had bequeathed his 
Thessalian dogs to Paulus, and the 
bewitched castle, as it was not unna- 
turally deemed, with the estate of 
Monte Circcllo, to the Lady Aglais. 
Dionysius had gone back to his 
Athenian home. Of Josiah Macca- 
beus and Esther no tidings had ever 
been heard, save one grateful and 
loving letter from Esther to Agatha^ 
received while Paulus was at tlie 
wars. Germanicus Caesar had been 
poisoned at Daphne ; and Cneius 
Piso (suspected of the deed by Ger- 
manicus's troops) had rctunicd to 
Rome, where Tiberius, to show that 
Piso could not have been his agent 
in such a transaction, threw him into 
prison. There Piso, being astonish- 
ed at the requital his master gave to 
his devoted services, closed a year 
of despair in suicide. His wife, the 
Lady Plancina, braved the plain 
opinion of men for thirteen years 
longer, when she was at last arrested 
upon the same charge, and intlkted 
upon herself I he same death m simi- 
lar despair 

And now Tiberius had begun to rage, 
in other words, to be natural, in other 
words, to be unpleasant to maukinti 
The ladies of Rome admired no 
man's appearance more than PauUis's 
when business, or courtesy, or the 
policy which was very needful in the 
reign of Tiberius obliged him to 
show himself publicly in the capital, 
wearing the long scarlet paludamcn- 



turn in the train of the f>l 
cd, unsmiling, suspictous, i 
and murderous tyrant. 

It was a summer night wh 
lus had returned from one of | 
journeys to Rome, ami he was^ 
ing with his mother among the 
tiful statues* whicli were d 
by us at the beginning of 
as grouped like a perpetual cofl 
on the flat roof of his great an< 
mansion. The night was magni 
the air full of the perfumes of 
ers, and the landscape lay in 
beauty below, stretching Dort 
south to the horizon^ eostwafd ' 
Apennines, and on the westcn 
to the Tyrrhenian Sea, which 
ed to-night to take down all lli 
ry heavens into its heart, 

^* See, mother,*' said PaultO) 
that has been restored to cis, m 
beyond ; this fair Italy f f ""i 
fathers, where we have ; J 

the old name in honor ! 1 lisw 
pi i cable life is ! Wie use fierce 
tions to at lain things, of which, 
we possess them, we know do | 
use to make than to abandon 
But really it becomes nee 
get beyond the ken rtf Tihen^^ 
do not repent, r 
of ours to sell t 

public life, and steal oti lo the 
from which you brought lue 
youth?" 

" I repent of nothinL 
render you happy," she : 

" Alas !'* said he, •* I cxittid 
wished to keep all this wealtS 
dignity if Esther — but I wfll m 
back. As for you, mother, ya 
(ireek, and it is only for my safa 
have ever preferred luily. We 
depart wealthy at least/* 

And thus the estates both of |y 
Circello and Liridium were bolii 
former to Lucius Varius, the pan 
poet, the latter to Agatha's hos 
Paterculu^i to whom Agathi 



Dian and the Sibyls^ 



borne a son. Patercdus called the 
child Paulus ^^milius ; so that, after 
all, Liriihum would still remain bound 
up with the ancient patronymic, and 
in possession of the ancient race. 
The only pang incurred was the 
separation from Agatha ; but bet- 
ter so, Agatha herself agreed, 
than that her brother (like so 
many other noble and innocent 
daily and almost hourly victims) 
should fall under the caprice of the 
pitiless man who then held a whole 
world in terror. 

Paulus and his mother flitted away 
then, and were welcomed in Athens 
by Dionysius, whom they found en- 
compassed by such fame and rever- 
^^ce as no man had gathered round 
mm in that metropolis of genius and 
wit since the days of Socrates. He 
taught in the Areopagus (then con- 
sisting of forty assistant, and about 
twenty honorary, chiefly Roman, 
members) a philosophy of which the 
reader knows already the principal 
tenets. With this he mingled a cer- 
tain strange ond poeticaldooking 
element, derived from a study of the 
Sibylline oracles. It would be in 
discord, we fear, with the laws of a 
narrative like this, to expect (while 
the reader awaits the remaining events 
which we have to chronicle) liis at- 
tention to a full exposition ot that 
most curious of all the episodical 
accompaniments of ancient heathen 
history. We will not, therefore, 
break our tale to unfold this topic in 
the manner it would intrinsically 
deser\'e ; hoping m some future edi- 
tion to speak of it in a preface or 
appendix, succinctly, yet sufficiently. 
It is enough here to say, what half a 
page will contain, that whether from 
the fact that our blcsficd Lord was 
then actually living, or (as Dionysios 
in good faith told Paulus) from a 
welbknown Sibylline prophecy^ cer- 
tain it is that his incommunicable 



earthly name had transpired beyond 
the confines of Judea. 

No reader, indeed, of competent 
acquirements would fail to find his 
trouble and curiosity rewarded were 
he to look at the private Basle edition 
of the Sihyiline Oracles, published in 
i544it»y Jo^^nOparinus in that town, 
and edited by Xystus Bethulcius. It 
contains that most wonderful acrostic 
which became a subject of critical 
disquisition ivith a host of great 
thinkers and celebrated autliors dur- 
ing four successive centuries after the 
generation wherein Dionysius is re- 
presented by us as telling Paulus his 
opinions. We allude to the acrostic 
beginning : 

This acrostic Lactantius unhesitat- 
ingly identifies with the same con- 
cerning which Cicero (who rendered 
its meaning so far as he understood 
an enigma to be solved by the event 
alone) defended the Sibyls from the 
charge of uttering senseless or random 
oracles. Saint Augustine of Hippo 
translated it (and his venjion survives) ; 
Theophilus (seventh bishop of An- 
tioch, dating from St. Peter); St, 
Justin, philosopher and martyr; Ori- 
gen (seventh book, ag. Celsus, p. 
516); Eusebius (chap. t8), and other 
weighty authorities, all treat this 
acrostic as identical with the one 
discussed by Cicero and by Varro 
before the birth of our Redeemer. 
Natalis Alexander accepts the same 
position.! That all this was a *' pious 
fraud," invented three bun tired years 
afterward, is an explanation which 
our readers would not thank us here 
for discussing ; but w^hich, were this 
the proper place, and were we sure 
of carrying with us the attention of 
those for whose satisfaction we are 

• Fourth book, De Vtra Sa/trn/ia. chap. XV, 
f The piLs&fts;c to which we allude in Cicero 
will be louad in De I ivinntiuHr^ lib. ii. numbera 
lit and liar. See also tHe 4Lh edogne of VirgtL 



■ 




(12 



Dian and tiu Sibyls 



writing, we believe we could demon- 
strate to be historically aiid critically 
untenable. 

Be that as it niay» the initial letters 
of the acrostic spell our blessed Lord's 
two names • all down the lines, like 
a golden fringe, and relate his life 
and death in the text, darkly and 
briefly* We will quit the subject by 
merely asking if it is a pious fraud 
that the Sibyls predicted a Redeemer 
of mankvui^ born ef a llrgin, just 
a&auf to appear i What mean the 
well-known lines in the 4th eclogue 
of Virgil — 

** UUiou Cumaei venU jam carmiois aetai ; 
Jsm r*dit tt f'trgfi ** f 

If Virgil was a flatterer of his 
patrons, were the Sibyls so ? Was 
their meaning the same as that of 
Virgirs politeness ? 

This brief digression was essential 
to the issue of our present narrative, 
to which we now return. 

Paulus and his mother were enter- 
tained hospitably, as was usual among 
the Athenians, and " tasted salt " in 
every house which they would care 
to enter. They took a little villa 
near Athens, where Dionysius, and 
a lady called Damarais, who had 
known Aglais when both were girls, 
passed most of their evenings in witty 
and wise conversation during many 
peaceful years. Paulus was now 
past thirty -eight, and had never either 
felt tempted to marry or forgotten 
the Syrian girl who had refused to 
share his fortunes when they began 
to dawn so spjlendidly. He had 
studie<l the **holy books'* which Es- 
ther had stated to be the cause of her 
refusal, and there he found not only 
a religion and a code of morals 
worthy of the name, but, above all, 
the long series of predictions con- 
cerning him w*ho was to embrace all 
nations in one flock, and abolish 



such barriers as had sundered 
cruelly from the love of his y< 

At last some change of scene 
occupation became neccssaty to 
and his yearning remembrance i 
mined thedir k ^ 

be made. 1 ^q 

adieu to D tony si us, to Uarnarab, 
to Athens, and embarked m 
vessel for Syria. 



CHAPTER XXI I L 



1 



4 



It was early niomtng, tQ 
thirty-second year of the Chri 
era, when a handsome, soliikT^ 
and majestic man, wcarijig the 
tume of a Roman legacus, or gca 
stood on Mount Olivet, soutlieail 
east of Jerusalem. He was Uu\ 
west. The Syrian sun hav! dhn 
out of the Arabian sands ' 
and it flung his tall shadov^ .^ 
far over the scanty heji>agc 
the numerous s. ' ' ' 
the olive-shrub, ' 

him, across the deep taviuc ofy 
Kedron brook, belter known 
awful name attached to that 
which it blends, ** 'Hie Jch< 
Vale," shone the fiery splcm 
God's temple. Its glori' 
front, here milk-white \^ 
there breast-plated A%Hth golii^ 
pinnacles of gold, its HairC: 
half-Roman architecture caprida 
and fancifully varied by the oii 
genius of the Asiatic buibtcrs n 
Herod the Idumacan had ettifiki 
were of a character to arrest the 
curious eye, and to fill the 
stupid and indi/ferent spcctaiof 
astonishment and admiratton. , 
yet this was but the second tetufi 
how inferior to, how dtflferent 
the first ! 



The Holy C 11 

Her pn«, hU'Otl af^; 
Ot alfttMutcr. tipt u 



i 



Dion and the Sitiyls. 



"3 



lis was Mount Moriah, the hill 
od On the left, as the Ronian 
ral gazed^ facing westward, %vas 
nt Zion, the city of David, now 
palace of Herod the tetrarch, 
mpassed by the mansions of He- 
nobles, 

Here I stand at last/' thought 
us, "after so many checkered 
nes, looking down upon the most 
tiful, the most dazzling, and the 
mysterious of cities ! To sec 
ic thus may be the lot of an 
s as it soars over it, but has never 
granted to human eyes. And 
could Rome be viewed in this 
it would want the unity, the 
tness. Ah ! strange city I Won- 
s Mount of Ziou ! wondrous Hill 
[oriah \ wonderful temple I Not 
lie of Jupiter, or of Venus, or of 
s, or of this or that monster or 
; but Temple, say they, of God ! 
TcmpU 0f Gad / What a sound 
words have ! What a sound ! 
icr's Iliad, from beginning to 
is not so sublime as this one 
sc, this tremendous and dread 
illation. And there it stands, 
jng against the morning sun, in 
n marble below, in white marble 
e, in breast-plates and pinnacles 
^Id ; too proud to receive even 
without repayment, and flinging 
Is of it back. And this is the 
of the prophets whom I have at 
read J yonder, beyond the wall, 
I, is Jeremiah *s grotto ! This, 
is the age, the time, the day» the 
; to which they all point, when 
i>od of whom they speak^ and of 
na the Sibyls also sang, is to come 
n into a visibly mined and cor- 
sd world, and to perform that 
2i to do is in itself surely God- 

Bu one thing is dark even in 

glooms of mystery. How can a 

suffer? — be thwarted, be over- 

Pj at least apparently so, by his 



own creatures, and these the very 
worst of them ? What can these 
cries of grief and horror which the 
prophets utter mean ?" 

As Paul us thus mused, half-pro- 
nomicing now and then in words 
the thoughts we have sketched, and 
hundreds upon hundreds of similar 
thoughts, which we spare to recordi 
some one passed him, going down 
the Mount of Olives, and in pass- 
ing looked at him ; and until Pau- 
lus died he never ceased to see that 
glance^ and in dying he saw it yet, 
and with a smile thanked his MaJter 
that he saw it then also — especially 
then. 

The person who thus passed our 
hero was more than six feet in height. 
He was fair in complexion. His 
hair was light auburn, and large locks 
of it fell with a natural wave and 
return upon his neck. His head 
was bare. His dress was the long 
flowing robe of the Jews, girdled at 
the waist, and, as Paul us afterward fan- 
cied, the color of it was red. He was 
in the bloom of life. Our hero could 
see, as this person passed, that he was 
the very perfection of health, beauty, 
vigor, elegance, and of all the facuU 
ties of physical humanity ; and even 
the odd, and strange, and wild, and 
somewhat mysterious thought flash- 
ed through Paulus's mind : 

** My God," thought he, *' if there 
were a new Adam to be created, to 
be the natural, or rather the super- 
natural, king of the human race, would 
not his appearance surely be as the 
appearance and the bearing of this 
person ?" 

And the person who passed was 
moreover thin, and a little emaciat- 
ed. And he would have seemed 
wan, only that the most delicate, 
faint blood - color mantled in his 
cheeks. And he looked at the hero 
Paul us with the look of him out of 
whose hand none liath power to 



8 14 



Dion and tlu Sibyis, 



lake those whom he picks from a 
vast concourse and elects. And 
Paulus fek glad^ and cahu* and 
without anxiety for the future, and 
free from all bitterness for the past, 
and firm» yet grave; and, when his 
mind went actually forth to look upon 
the things that were around it» he saw 
nothing but the face and the glance. 

And now I come to the strangest 
particular of alL Paulus felt that 
this beautiful and vigorous new Adam, 
fit to be the natural and even super- 
natural king of the world, was one 
who never could have laughed^ and 
probably had never smiled. But no 
smile was so sweet as his gravity. 
And Paulus remembered anoilier ex- 
traordinary and unparalleled clrcum* 
stance: it was tliis — those beautiful 
and benignant eyes were so full of 
terror that it seemed they could 
scarcely hold in an equal degree any 
other expression in them except that 
which shone therein with what seem- 
ed to Paulus a celestial and divine 
lustre ; I mean, first, love, and, next, 
unconquerable, and everlasting, and 
victorious courage. As though there 
was a work to do which none but 
he (from the creation to the day of 
doom) could ever accomplbh — a 
dreadful work, a work unspeakable 
in shame, and in pain, and in horror, 
and yet a work entirely indispensa- 
ble, and the most important and real 
and momentous that had ever been 
performed. And the subject or hero 
of this tale, Paulus, wondered how 
in the same look and eyes, and in a 
single glance of them, two things so 
opposite as ineffable terror and yet 
God like, adorable courage, could be 
combined. 

But, nevertheless, they were both 
there; and with this mighty and rays* 
terious mental combination Paulus 
also saw a sweetness so inexpressi- 
bly awful that, at once (and as if he 
had heard words formed within his 



own heart), the reflection ar< 
in him : '* How much mof« 
would be the ^iTath of the Ul 
the rage of the J ion !^* 

And the figure of this pen 
ed onward^ and %vas hidden fi 
Paulus beyond the olive gttn 

Our hero sat down on 
stone, half-covered with herb 
fell into a vague and someii 
rowful meditation. ** Poor 
nus !" said he to himself; ** 
ly the queerest and the most 
♦ ing thing in the worid that 
the honesicst, bravest^ simfil 
fellow I ever knew ^lould h^ 
en in love so much above 
rank. But can't I look at 
I am w oisc ; I have let my 
love with a dajiiscl who is pi 
by the holy books of her peo 
marr)'ing a Gentile, V\1>aJ 
zle this world isl I ^ou}(| 
see poor Longinus onrc more 
broken-hearted he seemed 
all took wing from the cast! 
banks of the Liris ! * Ah J* 
when I met liiui in Rome a 
• perhaps we shall never me 

'* The best thing that coi 
occurred for him was that 
of Agatha with Patcrcula 
these thoughts are useless; 
fulfil Dionysius*fi commissii 
write to him to say whelhci 
been able to discover in this 
ous land the presence* the i 
or so much as the cxpeciaitoi 
person whose name corrcspoi 
that spelt out in the acrostic 
thnea the Sibyl/* 

A rusUe of the olives near li 
ed him to turn his head, ai 
of all men in the world, sho^ 
his side but Longinus the « 

♦* Why,** cried Paulus, *• I 
you were at Rome !'* 

" I have just arriveil, my i 
returned the brave man^ '*^ 
dcTs to report myself to P6i 



4 



tie Procurator of J adea, or Gov- 
ernor of Jcnisatem, Cornelius, of 
the Italian band, also a centurion, as 
you know, my tribune, has been or- 
dered to Cxsarea, and is there sta- 
tioned," 

" Well," said Paulus, " I am de- 
lighted to meet you again. How is 
Thellus ?" 

•* Curlomly enough," returned 
Longinus, *' he too is here, stationed 
in Jerusalem, He w«s tired of too 
much quiet/' 

** Good !" exclaimed Paulus. " We 
must all often see each other, and 
talk of old days." 

After a few more words interchang- 
ed, they began to descend Mount Oli- 
vet together. 

** Did you meet any one/* says 
Paulus to Longinus, ** as you came 
up the hill ?" 

** I did," said Langinus very grave- 
ly ; " but I know not who he is,'* 

They proceeded silently in compa- 
ny till, ill the valley of Jchoshaphat, 
at the bottom of the Mount of Olives, 
not far from the Golden Gate of the 
temple, a most beautiful youth, with 
rich fair locks, worn uncovered (like 
him whom Paulus had just seen), met 
them, 

*^ Friends," quoth the stranger^ 
** have you seen the Master coming 
down from the Hill of Olives?" 

" I think,*' said Paulus, after a lit- 
tle reflection, '^ that I must have seen 
him whom you mean/* And he de- 
scribed the person who had looked at 
liim. 

'* That is he," said the beautiful 



youth, '' Fray, whi(;h way was he 
going?'* 

Paulus told him, and the other, 
after thanking him, was moving swift- 
ly away when Paulus cried after 
him : 

" Stay one moment," said he. 
** What is the name of him you call 
f/ie Mas/err 

'^ Know you not ?** replied the 
youth, with a smile. *' Why, you are, 
I now observe your dress, a Roman, 
His name is lesmts.'^ 

*'What!'* cried Paulus. **Thcn 
it is a reality. There is some one 
of that name who has appeared 
among men, and appeared at this 
time, and appeared in this land I I 
will, this very day, send off a letter 
to Dionysius, at Athens. And pray, 
fair youth, what is your own name?" 

** Ah !" returned the other, " I am 
nobody; but they call me yahn. 
Yet," added he, " I ought not lightly 
to name such a name, for the great- 
est and holiest of mere men, now a 
prisoner of Herod's, is likewise called 
John ; I mean John the Baptist, John 
the Prophet; yea, more than a pro- 
phet : * John the Angel of God/ " 

*' I am," returned Paulus, ** invit- 
ed to a great entertainment at He- 
rod*s palace, this evening. Tell me, 
why is John the Prophet a prisoner 
at Herod^s ?" 

"Because he went on God*s er- 
rand to Herod, to rebuke him for his 
incestuous marriage." 

With this the youth went his way, 
and Paulus and Longinus went 
theirs. 




8i6 



Prayi 



*ir 



PRAYER. 



There arc — ^remarks Guizot in his 

Chris iian Church and Christian Sj- 
cieiy — certain hours, certain circum- 
stances and moods^ when, under the 
influence of certain promptings of 
the soul, our eyes are unconsciously 
turned upward, our hands are folded, 
and our knees are bent in prayer or 
in thanksgiving, in worship or in pro- 
pitiation. Whether prompted by love 
or fear, whether in public or in the pri- 
vacy of the closet, man turns to pray- 
er as his last resource to fill the void 
in his heart or to bear the burden 
of his fate; and, when everything 
else is lost, he seeks in prayer strength 
for his weakness, consolation for his 
sorrow, encouragement for his virtue. 
Prayer is the most natural of all mo- 
ral impulses. The child leans to it 
with zealous aptitude, and the aged 
find in it a balm in decay and isola- 
tion. Prayer rises as spontaneously 
to lips which have hardly yet learnt 
10 lisp the name of God, as to those 
of the dying who are no longer able 
to articulate. 

Among all nations and races, be 
they famous or obscure in history, 
civilized or barbarous, w^e meet at 
every step acts of invocation and 
forms of prayer. lambhchus, the 
Neo-Platonist, was right when he 
said that in every age and land the 
wisest men have prayed most, and 
the progress of a people may often 
be traced in the manner and the ob- 
ject of their prayers. Thus, for in- 
stance, while the grace asked at ta- 
ble by a civilized people generally 
means also a moral purification of 
the soul, that which an uncivilized 
people asks solely refers to the wel- 
fare of the body, the purification of 
the food from deleterious substances. 
The ancient Lithuanians and the Sa* 



1 



mojedcs used to make thctr 

serpents taste their dishes befor^ 
touched them themselves^ anit 
Indians still appeaJ to the cvi 
stead of the good spirits bcfotc 
eat. *^\VTicn the ci\ilizaiiufl 
Rome," says Porphyrius, *• wai 
the decline, th6 principal t^j^s^ 
saying grate at table was n^ 
much to propitiate the l'.j.!s 
drive out the devils, who v 
to be partial to certain *!»?[*.%, _ 
down with us, and to fasten to 
bodies," Xenophanes, on the 
hand, speaking of the Greeks^ 
** It behooves all w^ell-disposed xm 
praise God at their meais^ to in 
his blessing with a pure hearty 
to pray that he may grant m strci 
to pursue the right." Plato lelU 
modem heathen : " He ' 
of ever so little wisdoui 
omit to end his meal with a 
or a hymn/' " The ancients 
took their meals," observes Ati 
us, " without first having • 
gods; on presenting thi 
usual to say, *The - 



genius I'" The clos 



according to Diodorus o ^ 

thank-offering to Zeus, thw .>,.,. ,nJ 
The Romans believed tluit their J 
ties presided at their m ' ^ 
touched no dish until a p, 'A 

been dedicated to the gods %tnil p 
ed on the altar, ot ptiUila. After 
conclusion of the first course^ 
portion consecrated to the de 
w as throuTi into the fire, amnkt 
solemn silence of the guests, 
the servant exclaimed, ** May 
gods be propitious!*' Livius, in 
lating the murder of ii man 
Consul Quintus Flannixis^ ttmai 
*' This revolting act was commit 
in the middle of a fea&t, whea 



customary to invoke the gods and to 
sacrifice to them/^ 

Speaking of grace at table natural- 
ly reminds us of the two most civil- 
ized nations of antiquity, the Greeks 
and Romans^ with boili of whom 
prayer played an important part. 
They may not have attached to it 
the true ascetic Christian meaning, 
but they had, nevertheless, the Chris- 
tiaji idea of mercy. That prayer 
stood in high repute with the 
ancients^ and especially the Greeks, 
appears as well from the public 
as the private life of these two 
nations. Their existence was an es- 
sentially religious one. The Greeks 
had no fewer than sixteen differ- 
ent words to express prayer, and 
all their actions were connected with 
praying. The farmer prayed whilst 
sowing his seed; the populace pray- 
ed whilst the crops were growing, 
** Rain, rain, good Zeus, on ihe fields 
of the Athenians !" At harvest-time, 
the first-fruits of the soil were set 
apart for the gods. All popular as- 
semblies, deliberations of council, 
warlike expeditions, public amuse- 
ments, and even the theatres, opened 
with prayers* The Romans, though 
l>ehind the Greeks in religion and 
culture, yet considered themselves 
the most devout of all nations, and 
tlicy were indeed unsurpassed in the 
number and variety of their prayers. 
Some of their gods were appealed to 
during the earliest morning hours ; 
whole series of prayers were often re* 
died during the performance of the 
simplest tasks; at evening, leave was 
taken of the deities with a wish for a 
good night's repose. On birthdays, 
during illness, on entering upon a 
journey, etc., the gods were sought 
and propitiated. Pubhc prayers were 
held by the Arval brothers at the 
consecration of the fields on the tenth 
day of May ; by the bare-footed ma- 
trons during a season of protracted 
VOL, XII, — 52 



drought; also for the sick Pompcy; 
for the travelling emperor; for the 
happy delivery of the empress from 
child-birth. The electoral commit- 
tees were opened with solemn pray- 
er by the presiding magistrate, and 
the same was the case with the se- 
nate sessions and the popular mus- 
ters in the Field of Mars» The con- 
suls and aediles entered upon their 
official duties by pronouncing in pub- 
lie vows connected with prayers. It 
is related of Scipio African us that he 
never engaged in any enterprise with- 
out having first prayed in the chapel 
of Jupiter Stater. M. Furius Caniib 
lus prayed after the taking of Veii that, 
if any of the gods should think hiii 
too prosperous, he might be permit* 
ted to expiate the oficnce by some 
great private misfortune. Caesar ut- 
tered a prayer every time he mount- 
ed his chariot. Claudius prayed in 
public. Marcus Aurelvus could re- 
cite from memory all the prayers of 
the Salic priests. In fact, down to 
the latest period of their existence as 
a nation, the Romans were a praying 
people, and their decadence was cha- 
racterized by the preposterous na- 
ture of their prayers. Even Horace, 
though he concedes in his Carman 
Si£culare that tip public calami ties 
were mainly due to the prevailing 
godlessness, and advises the restora- 
tion of the ruined temples, was him- 
self guilty of prostituting prayer. 
** The health of the soul " which'Se* 
neca prayed for was no doubt un- 
derstood in a purt^ly physical sense. 
Tke only prayers ofl'ered were at last 
those for the auspicious result of 
some selfish object, such as the 
speedy death of a rich relation, the 
success of a forgery, the happiness 
of an adulterous lover. And when 
Rome was governed by the rites of 
the great Babylonian goddess import- 
ed from Asia, and she herself became 
a second Babylon — when voluptuous- 



8i8 



ness had sapped the pillars of Roman 
world-rule, men prayed even for Uie 
gratification of their most unnatural 
appetites. Maximus of Tyrus could 
therefore well afford to write a disser- 
tation to prove the superfluity and 
ineflficacy of prayer. 

With the prostitution of prayer 
ancient civilization also perished. 
The regeneration of mankind was 
due to Christianity and to the influ- 
ence wielded by men of prayer. 
As in ancient times, Moses and Elias, 
•the two great regenerators of their 
^ipeople, were men of prayer» so the 
I praying and fasting John paved the 
I way for the new civilization. Oar 
[iDivine Redeemer spent bis nights in 
•prayer after he had worked the whole 
day. St, Peter ascended the housetop 
at the sixth morning hour to pray, 
St. Paul sang hymns of praise at mid- 
night. The history of the apostles 
^shows us a handful of Christians 
Ibound together by prayer. And if 
^wc trace Christianity in its man- 
Ijcnnobling and, therefore, civilizing 
^ourse, we encounter a class of men 
who combined in a literal sense pray- 
er with work — those human bee-hives 
spoken of by Epiphanius, whose 
inmates had the honey of prayer on 
» their lips and thc^-ax of labor on 
their hands — the praying and toiling 
monks and hermits. The nineteenth 
century has cailed tliem pious drones, 
but impartial history repudiates the 
slander. 

For a long period they were 
tihc only bearers of civilization. 
rWhen the floods of barbarism in- 
undated the Roman Empire and 
swept aw^ay all the vestiges of an- 
cient civilization, these godly men 
fled to the arks of their hermitages 
and there laid the foundation for 
^ future culture. And when the floods 
had subsided, they came like Cincin- 
natus from the plough to save so- 
ciety and redeem it from barbarism. 




tnii 



"ITieir mere appc 
Montalembert m h 
The Afonks a/ the IVesi^ was a pro* 
test against Uie heathen raAteriaJisat 
which destroyed the Old World. Tlicf . 
awakened in man \X\c moral and reli- 
gious spirit, and taught him to prjc-*' 
tise a wholesome reaction agatn^ 
the ascendency of the flesh, Tlttjf 
and their pupils, the great faihcfs o£ 
the churchy prevented the leidififl 
minds of heathendom from re^ 
their former control over art 
literature j their genius wiis 
in youthful freshness from t\ 
deserts over the cities, schools^ 
palaces of the dying Old World, and 
infused a new life into them. Anocd 
not with the triumphs of 
and mechanics, but with pray 
knowledge, these pioneers of ci' 
tion invaded the gloomy furesU and' 
unexplored legions, led tlic wa>' to a 
new culture, and erected flaming al« 
tars which radiated light and mamitii. 
into tlie darkness and coh! that h^i 
come from the bT 
sons of St, BcnedicL 
barbarous peoples into civiluccd com* 
munities, eitabli:>hcd tlie f^^^*--'- ncd*' 
jcal school of Salerno, tl 
Baden, laid the foun^^ ' 
gen, Pynnont, and ' : i. Whcs. 

the children who livtd uu ihc gloiy 
and the heritage of ilicir faihcn ba4 
degenerated, Monte Casino was fe- 
placed by Clugny, one of ihc 
props of the magnificent &1 
reared by St* Gregory VI L ; and, 
Clugny in turn degenerated, 
diplomatic and worldly, it w:^ sopcv 
set led by Citcaux. At the of>a3afi| 
of the twelfth century, a grcai soai 
problem remained to be solved. Oi 
the one hand, the quesfian iraa 
save civili^alion from the impciidiac 
absolutism of einjierors and kta^ 
and, on tl' lom the ilissoJoir- 

ness and i> l i die nobles. It 

was to free and devate ihe 



stmcOM 

°3 



PrnyiT, 



^m 



to resist ihc usurpntion of despots, 
great and small. This y^roblcm the 
monks of Citeaux bravtly aitled in 
solving* They de fen fieri ihe Pope- 
dom — says Dubois in his Hhioty of 
the Abbey of Monmufui — against the 
encroachments of the nionarchy, and 
then coalesced with the monarchy to 
defeat the anarchical designs of the 
barons. They opposcfl like a dam 
the stream of feudalism whkh 
threatened to overthrow the monar- 
chy ; they formed, as it were, a third 
estate out of the barbarous barons 
enthroned on their mountain eyries, 
surrounded by bastions and moats, 
and I he poor serfs who herded their 
few lean cattle in the woods and 
swamps of the plain. In their con- 
vents they taught mighty lords to 
humble themselves before beggars, 
to embrace them as fellow-men, to 
wait on them at table, and to wash 
their feet with their own hands. Thus 
thirty sons of the liatightiest Burgun- 
ilian families exchanged at one time 
their fur cloaks and mail corselets for 
the monk's gown and the hermifs 
coarse woollen robe. I'his was the 
act of St. Bernard and his compa- 
nions. Fifteen German students left 
Paris to visit a convent, and never 
again left its walls. These were the 
step-brother of the Emperor Conrad 
II L and his friends. The spiritual 
authority was exerted over all classes 
of society alike^ from the proudest 
noble to the humblest serf. The 
Cistercians, especially, devoted them- 
selves to the amelioration of the ma- 
terial condition and the moral eleva- 
tion of tlie enslaved rural population, 
and by so doing they have covered 
themselves with undying glory in his- 
tor\\ They rescued the serfs from 
the oppression of the nobles, and af- 
forded them an asylum and protec- 
tion on the convent lands; they 
taught them trades and a better sys- 
tem of agriculture, and raised them 



gradually to the burgher's estate. 
It is hardly necessar}^ to mention 
here the well-known fact that 
they promoted knowledge and art, 
founded hbrarics, copied and pre- 
served manuscripts, imd advancetl 
in the convents the cause of civili- 
zation by all the means at their com- 
mand. 

Following history, wc find Chris- 
tian Europe menaced in the succeed- 
ing centuries by .another serious evil 
— ^a widely prevailing moral corrup- 
tion, luxuriousness, and heathen sen- 
suality. Again, men of prayer — the 
Mendicant Friars — became the bear- 
ers of the divine spirit and of civiliza- 
tion. Once more those whom we 
behold standing on the loftiest moral 
and intellectual heights were men of 
prayer. St. Francis and St. Dominir 
were the regenerators of their age. St, 
Thomas of Aquinas, a star of the first 
magnitude in the scientific firma- 
ment, drew all his wisdom from the 
spring that wells up at the foot of 
the cross. The profoundest thinker 
among the scholiasts was a Franci««- 
can friar. 

In the succeeding centuries, hustory 
continues to give ])rominence to men 
of prayer. Ignatius, the masterly 
strategist of a standing Christian ar- 
my, and Vincent de Paul, the hero of 
Christian philanthropy, were saints. 
The inventor of gunpowder was a 
monk. When the art of printing fa- 
cilitated the difilision of knowledge, 
manuscripts were brouglu from the 
cells of the convents ; and even in our 
own days the best edition of New- 
ton's works { 1 830-40) was printed at 
Rome, under the supervision of two 
monks. The historian of literature 
awards to Tostatus, the Spanish theo- 
logian, the rare praise that he fully 
merited the epitaph, ** The wonder of 
the world, to whom all knowledge 
w*as familiar/* His countryman, Mar- 
tinus Navarrus, one of the most learn- 



?30 



Prarcr, 



iA mm €d his day. during sixtr rcais 
rjcrrer lectured withoct fest having 
VM his rosarr. 

A iirv words in relation to die na- 
tural sciences, which have been so 
zeaiousiy cultivated in more modeni 
days: **Thc science of heaven," it 
has been predicted, *• will lift uie roof 
from the walls of the church, and the 
sciences of the earth will dig away 
the ground under her feet" But, 
though these sciences have made such 
gigantic progress, they have neither 
lifted the roof nor dug away the 
ground. On the contrar>-, experience 
goes to confirm the assertion of Chal- 
mers, who told a large meeting of 
Kngllsh naturalists in 1833 : ** Chris- 
tianity has everything to gain and 
nothing to lose from the advance of 
the natural sciences." All results 
thus far tend only to substantiate the 
teachings of the church, and the 
greatest masters of science are stiil 
sincere believers in revelation, and 
men of prayer. The father and found- 
er of our more modem astronomy de- 
dicated his works to Pope Paul III. 
I'Jic famous Kepler concludes an astro- 
nomical treatise with a devout prayer 
of gratitude to (iod for having jjer- 
mitted him to discover his splendor 
in the works of his hands. Volta re- 
gularly attended divine service. In 
Linne's writings we meet with fervent 
prayers thanking God for his mercy. 
Some years ago, when one of the most 
distinguished French naturalists, Am- 
pere, was dying, some one proposed 
to read to him a passage from Tho- 
mas h Kempis; he replied, " It is not 
necessary ; I know him by heart." 
Dr. Pergen, a German savant, in a 
programme prej)ared for the select 
s( hool at Frankfort-on-the-Main, com- 
piled a list of sixty naturalists in all 
departments of science, from Baco to 
Rudolph Wagner, who were zealous 
believers and men of prayer. Dr. liaft- 
ner declares that the popular saying. 



•- Tres ji^rad^ dao sdxei *" — ^ Three 
sciendsis. two adiests.'' b 2 calamny. 
Ttie same r-Mnaik kokis. 00 <ioubt, 
good in TCMence to the nannal sci- 
ences. ** The tmly great in science," 
says honest Ciandiits. ~ stand hat in 
hand by the side of the aitax and the 
poipit; those who pass them with 
covered heads and sneers are gener- 
aUy of very little note."' 

Passing from science to art, we dis- 
cover that the great masters of music. 
architecture, and painting have begun 
and finished their works with the fa- 
miliar formula. ** In the name of the 
most holy Trinity." Genius, rarely 
xery modest in its opinion of itself, 
has often in the hour of its proudest 
triumphs expressed that sense of hu- 
miUty which Joseph Haydn put into 
words when he listened to the grand- 
est and most impressive chorus in his 
Creation. ** It comes, " he exclaim- 
ed, " from on high !" He said of his 
ait what St. Bonaventura applied to 
his science — that he owed it to prayer. 
If we search the other walks of life 
for men of pra\ er, we meet great rul- 
ers, like Charles V., who never look 
any important step without pra\ing; 
great generals, like Sobieski, Tilly. 
Marshal St. Amaud, or Pelissicr. 
After the storming of Laghual. 
the latter sent the most beautiful 
palms to the IJishop of Algiers to be 
consecrated for Palm-Sunday's ser- 
vice. In 1S62, he sent in to the poj>c 
his adhesion as a son ami a soldier, 
stating that he would be happy to 
dedicate his sword to the defence of 
St. Peter's patrimony. The Bishop 
of Algiers often saw him fold the 
hands of Louisa, his little daughter, 
and teach her how to make the si^n 
of the cross. The hero of the Mala- 
koff died j^raying, and bequeathe<i his 
sword to our dear Lady of Africa. 
Nor are men of prayer wanting in 
the ranks of popular leaders and de- 
mocrats. O'Connell, the great Irish 



agitator, stood at the corner of the 
parHament buildings and told his 
bea<ls while the question of his peo- 
ple's freedom or slavery was being 
debated within the walls, 

if wc examine into the daily life 
of the masses, we perceive that it is 
ennobled and enlightened throughout 
by prayer. In the existence of every 
Christian people^ wc discover con- 
stantly evidences of pteiy. The 
lirst tlispatch transmitted in this 
nineteenth centur>' across the Atlan- 
tic Cable read, ** Glory to God on 
high 1" and even the walls of the tem- 
ple of European trade — the palace of 
I h e I n d u St ri a I E x h i b i t io n — w ere c o ver- 
cd with religions maxims and Scrip- 
tural texts. '* Prayer,'* says Bollin- 
ger, *' is a lever o( civilization for the 
very lowest and most i gn o ra n t. * ' The 
praying Christian, if his worship is 
not mere lip service, cannot well think 
otherwise. But the most valuable 
precepts which prayer inculcates are 
the omnipresence atid holiness of 
God, the freedom and immortality of 
man, sin, redemption, and the neces- 
sity of a strengthening and elevating 
mercy* In this domain of Christian 
metaphysics, even the minds of those 
to whom all other knowledge is for- 
eign are at home. They learn in the 
school of prayer w*hat philosophy has 
pronounced no less difficult than in- 
dispensable^ and therefore attainable 
by only a few. Hence the pheno- 
menon that the praying man of the 
uneducated classes should often solve 
problems which puzzle the learned ; 
hence, also, the fact that a single 
work on the Imiltitttm of cy/w/shouhl 
have formed more minds and ennobled 
more hearts than whole bales of po- 
pularized science and national econo- 
mics, than all x\\tfettilkfons, newspaper 
articles, and other aids to civilization 
of which our unparalleled material 
progress may boast. Civilization, in 
addition to the formation of the mind. 



requires likewise the elemion of the 
heart. There is no necessity to de- 
monstrate that prayer most etTective- 
ly accomplishes the latter, that it is 
the great lever of moral regeneration, 
a means for the growth of virtue \ but 
it may be well to dwell here for a few 
moments on the influence which a 
certain kind of prayer — ^the public 
I)rayer observed on Sundays — exer- 
cises upon the manners and culture 
of a people, 

** 'riie observance of a public day 
of rest and prayer," observes Proud- 
hon, "has for more than three thou- 
sand years been the main pillar and 
keystone of a politico-religious sys- 
tern whose profundity and wistloni 
the world will never cease to admire. 
It is a factor of civilization ; and I 
venture furdier to maintain that, 
with the loss of the reverence for the 
Sunday, the last spark of poetic fire 
has also been extinguished in the 
souls of our versifiers, for without re- 
ligion there can be no poetry. Since 
poets have become rationalists, they 
have committed suicide and killer I 
the mother that nourished them." 
The sort of poetic halo with which 
Sunday invests persons and things 
may, perhaps, best be illustrated in the 
life of the religious portion of the rural 
population. If we visit such a Chris- 
tian household on a high church -fes- 
tival or Sunday, we ftntl that even 
disease ar.d suffering wear a more 
cheerful aspect. Husband and wife 
experience a renewal of their early 
tenderness for each other. The 
charm of a mother's love is doubled. 
The child bows more readily before 
the mild sceptre of parental authori- 
ty. The farmer or mechanic, at other 
times dissatisfied with his lot, and 
longing for more freedom and equal- 
ity, is more contented. The heads 
of the family are in a more cheerful 
frame of mind The servant, this 
domestic utensil in human form^ is 



more devoted and faithful. The 
Sunday brings to the poor a clean 
shirt and a better dress, and this of 
itself has an elevating tendency ; it 
frees us from the dust of servility and 
quickens the nobler part of our being* 
Were we no longer to have a Sun- 
day, the workingman's blouse would 
drop like rotten rags from the bodies 
of the slaves of toil. On a Sunday, 
the mother of the family imparts to 
her domestic surrounding a certain 
festive appearaiite, even a certain ele- 
gance and refinement, and greets her 
visitors with bright smiles. The daugh- 
ters arc pleased, radiant with health 
and contentment, beautified by, the 
testimony of a pure conscience, adorn- 
ed by the work of their own hands, 
and seen by all their young friends 
at church, Ibe hard toil of the 
week is th us forgotten . Sunda) is the 
golden link in the iron week-day 
chain. The peasant boy and girl ad- 
mire the beautiful lagade, the Corin- 
thian pillars, the handsome dome, of 
ttieir church* They fill even the poor- 
est with |inde. For once they find 
themselves the equal of all — true breth- 
ren in Christ, The solemn service 
and the splendid music, hantlcd down 
from former ages, afford to the hum- 



blest a treat which only money cm 
purchase for the irreligious. On the 
threshold of the &;mciuar>', all caith- 
ly distinctions and pas&Ions are ]eft be* 
hind, and the soul soars on the wiDgs 
of song high above the level of the 
six days* workingnlay life. Tu ap* 
preciate this fully, one must visit oo 
a Sunday some remote Alpioe val- 
ley parish, and witness ihe tuippt- 
ness and content of the poor shep- 
herds as they come to church and 
then return again to ihcir moutitain 
homes in all directions, I'be old 
man who steps out so vigorously, in 
spite of his threescore and ten mm- 
ters ; the middle-aged couple walk- 
ing so lovingly side by ' the 
chubby children and gr;- sen 

in such robust health— all, in^ti the 
aged sire to the stripling, seem to 
know no sorrow » en \ y, or c^rc, *Ilj«y 
have seen the gold -embroidered rt>b»i 
the di;unond crosses, an»l other trea- 
sures of the churth, but their Caccs 
show no trace of that covctousncs 
with wltich the non- praying, ikhi- 
church'going drudge of the city 
eyes the massive watch-chain of hb 
more fortunate neighbor. Whence lh» 
din'erence ? It is because these peo- 
ple pray. 



THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS- 



JlSt^ T^ CcnfDITMNKl) TO X>SATN. 

Tis thou, my cruel heart, but thou 

Hast wrought the doom thou weepest now. 
Tis thou hast shouted, ** Let him die !" 
Thy every sin a •* Crucify 1" 
** I die," he murmurs — '*die for thee. 
Then sin no more : live true far me**' 



The Stations of the Cross. 823 



IIB KBCE2VBS HIS CBOSS. 

Why choose a death of fierce delay 
To agonize thy life away ? 
And why do thy embraces greet 
'The cross as if thou deemst it sweet ? 
Thou dost ! A sateless love, we know, 
Must ever glut itself on woe. 

III. 

MB PALLS TUB FIBST TIME. 

Thou fallest — all too weak ! The might 
That bears creation's infinite, 
As tho* its myriad worlds were none. 
Has sunk beneath the sins of one 1 
Ye ruthless stones, thou heedless sod, 
How can ye wound your prostrate God ? 

IV. 
HE MBBTS HIS MOTHER. 

They raise him up, and goad him on, 
When, lo ! the Mother meets the Son. 
How heart rends heart as eye to eye 
Darts the mute anguish of reply ! 
Sweet Lady, traitor tho' I be. 
Yet let me follow hun with thee. 

V. 

SIMON OF CYRENB IS MADK TO HBL? HIM. 

The soldiers fear to see him die 
Too soon for cross and Calvary : 
And the Cyrenian, captive made, 
Reluctant lends his timely aid. 
O happy Simon, didst thou know ! 
Give me the load thou scornest so ! 

VI. 
ST. VERONICA OFFERS HIM A CLOTH TO WIFE HIS PACB. 

Who calls that face unlovely now 

For furrow'd cheek and thorn-pierced brow ? 

To me it never seem'd so fair ; 

For when was love so written there ? 

Kind Veronica, get me grace 

To keep like thee that pictured face. • 

• Our Lord left the impression of his face upon the cloth. This relic of the Passion is preserved 
la Kome 



The tender women mourn his fate, 
With Mary's grief compassionate. 
How blest such mourners, he hath said ; 
'JThey shall indeed be comforted. 
And he, in turn, has tears for them. 
Daughters of lost Jerusalem. 

IX 

MB PALLS A TMIKO TIIIB. 

And yet another fall ! Ah, why ? 
Tis my repeated perfidy. 
O Jesus ! I but live in vain 
If only to be false again ; 
O Mary, grant me, I implore. 
To die this hour, or sin no more. 



KB IS sntirr, akd civbn call to dkink. 

The way — the lingering way — ^is past. 
And Calvary's top is gained at last ; 
With gall the soldiers mock his thirst. 
Then strip him in their glee accurst 
Descend, ye angels ! Round him flame. 
And with your pinions veil his shame ! 



XI. 



HB IS NAILBD to THB CROSS. 



The Stations of the Cross. 825 

XII. 

HB DIES UPON THE CROSS. 

A horror wraps the earth and sky, 
While three long times go darkly by ; 
And now " 'Tis finished !" Jesus cries ; 
And awfully the God-man dies. 
My heart, canst thou survive content ? 
Behold, the very rocks are rent ! 

XIII. 
HE IS TAKEN DOWN AND LAID IN MARY*:; BOSOM. 

Desolate Mother, clasping there 
Thy lifeless Son, yet hear my prayer ! 
Tho' never was a grief like thine. 
And never was a guilt like mine, 
Yet should I not be dear to thee 
Since he thou lovest died for me ? 

XIV. 
HE IS LAID IN TUB TOMB. 

His lovers lay him in the tomb 
And leave him to its peaceful gloom. 
Thou sleepest. Lord, thy labor done ; 
For me — for all — redemption won ; 
And I, in turn, as dead would be, 
And buried to all else but thee. 



Note.— The foren^oini; stanzas are sunn: in the Church of St. Paul the Apostle, New York, erery 
3'riday in Lent, at the devoUon of the Way of the Cross, the whole congregation siaging the follow- 
ag lines as a refrain: 

'Twas all to woo me Jesus came * 

So meekly from above. 
And I— O sin ! O burning shame !— 
I gave him death for lore. 




The publication of the Treaty of 
Utrecht, at Paris, on the 2 2d May, 
1713, was the first virtual acknow- 
Ictlgment of the failure of French 
colonization in North America. The 
treaty was decisive in its results. 
Hitherto French diplomacy had been 
able to win back, at the end of each 
successive war, the advantages gained 
in North America by the niilitar)^ 
prowess of the New England colon- 
ists and the naval supremacy of Eng- 
land ; but Louis XIV. was growing 
old, the militar)' genius of Marlbor- 
ough had destroyed the flower of the 
French armies, and the Court of Ver- 
sailles was willing to purchase peace 
at home from Harlcy and the Engliiih 
Tories, even at the price of sacrificing 
the dream of French empire in the 
New World. The tenth article of the 
treaty gave up all Hudson's Bay to 
'the English ; the twelfth, ** likewise 
that all Nova Scotia or Acadie com- 
prehended within its antient boun- 
daries, also the city of Port Royal 
now called Annapolis Royal, and all 
other things' in these parts which 
depend on the said lands and islands, 
are yielded and made over to the 
Queen of Great Britain, and to her 
croun for ever;*' and the thirteenth 
Article declared that Newfoundland 
should belong wholly to Great Bri- 
tain. Thus, at the close of a century 
from .'\rgairs expedition, the title to 
the sovereignty of Acadia was finally 
determined, in a manner more regular 
and formal, although the consequences 
10 the French colonists were far more 
distressing and irreparable in the end 
than any devastation caused by the 
English freebooter when he ravaged 
the coasts in 1613. liy the treaty, 



France loosened her hold uposi tb 
northern half of the conttnent, 
abandoned her title to the whole litt 
of the Atlantic seaboard, except Isl 
Royale (Cape Breton) ami the isUoi 
in the Gulf of St. Lawrence; 
although the fortincations of Loon 
burg stayed for a time tJic Itdc 
English conquest, and even enalilfi 
the French governors at Quebec 
prosecute with temporary 
their designs on the Ohio and 
sissippi, yet her real loss w^s. ncft 
regained in the New \\'oHd, and 
final triumph of New England* «! 
though delayed* was eventtiatty 
sured.* 

By the cession of the tcrritoty, 
Acadians found themselves in I 
unhappy position — they were calk! 
U[)on to serve two masters^ both 
actings each inexorable in the deniaiM 
for a single and unqualified allcgiaiict 
The French crown, it is truc^ 
formally relinquished its ri^ht 
sovereignty over the iiV 
Acadia, but its secret asj 
well known, and the inseparable 
of race, of their ancient allegiaiicc; 
of religion, manners, and lanpofp 
were too closely and fir 
yield to any formal 

• From m tetter of M. Pontrliarti^ls, 1 
of the Mormc, to M. tteaulli%nial», f 
Roche rcMt: 

- Dee, ■«, ffffi, 

** Since I htve leaTT--* '*-^ V-ii» mm b«Vf 
t Jiio«d of A mdie, 1 1 S ^HjQi^kmM 

of rrcovefi«ir tit a'. rn " ' 

English a/c S" 
that by the »;' : 
up the island * I 

luid tiut, if we (to tiot f cuipture \ 
nut remain for us aav pUce b 
carry on the fiihcry. Besl*!^?, i 
ntrtT to CAnnda that there ts I »- 
to (ear that tt will evcohtiih mv 
the EngHsh reUin posses&ioo,*'^ 
Murd. i 333, note. 



marie without their consent ; while, 
^pa the other hand, the strong arm 
^fe>f military power, the unconcealed 
^■tlireats of removal from the rich 
Huiked meadows that they had culti* 
^valed for a century^ their tenaciouij 
love of country, and the uncertainty 
of the future, impelled them to sub- 
mit, with tacit acquiescence at least, 
to the authority of the English go- 
^■yemors at Annapolis. By the terras 
^^f the capitulation of Port Royal, 
f confirmed and enlarged by the letter 
p( Queen Anne, of June 22, 17 13,* 
e Acatlians were permitted either 
sell their lands and remove out of 
e province, or to remain unmolested 
n condition of acknowledging tliem- 
Ives English subjects, The French 
uthoritics, who were then engaged in 
ttlmg and ffjrtifying Cape Breton, 
ere desirous of strengthening and 
nsolidatijig the new colony, and 
rong representations were made to 
duce the Acadians to remove with 
eir effects to the island ; the frown- 
[g ramparts which the French en- 
;iueers were beginning to raise above 
,e harbor of Louisburg seeming lu 
omise a last and impregnable de- 
oce against English encroachment, 
n July, 1713, Governor dc Costa* 
belle sent a messenger with letters to 
Pere Gaulin, F.M., whose missionary 
bors were confined to the Indians, 
id to Fere Felix, Recoll^t^ cure of 
ines, urging them to yse their influ- 
ence to induce the Acadians and 
Indians to remove fi'om the province 
and join the colony at Louisburg. 
One cannot fail to obsen-e in this, as 
well as in every other movement in 
the history both of Enjglish and 
rench-American colonization of that 
lay, the carelessness of both govern- 
ents respecting colonial interests, so 
as they aflected only the colonists 
themselves, the ignorance and indif- 
ference always shown by the home 

• jV. S. ArchtZH'i^ Aiken s, 15. 



authorities with regard to the natural 
ties formed by birth and labor in a 
new country, and the entire subjec- 
tion of all other considerations to the 
furtherance of imperial views alone. 
The few scattered missionaries, how- 
ever, who still remained in the pro- 
vince, and who, m the absence of the 
regular civil authority to which they ^ 
still felt themselves bound, were H 
recognized by die Acadians as their 
natural leaders and most sincere 
friends, did not look very favorably 
upon a project which demanded sucli 
heavy and distressing sacrifices from 
their people, and preferred rather to 
rely upon the hope (then probable 
enough) of the eventual restoration 
of the country to the French crown, 
and upon the promises of toleration 
and civil liberty held out by the Eng- 
lish governors. Father Felix Palm, fl 
in a letter addressed to M. de Costa- * 
belle, states the objections made by 
the Acadians to the scheme proposed 
by the French Government : 

'* Aux Minks, Sept. 23, 1713* 
" A sumiiKiry of wliat the inhabitants 
luive answered me : 

" It would be to expose us nianifcscly 
(they say) iodic of hunger, burtlicncd as 
we arc with large f;iniilies, to quit iho 
dwelling-plAces and cleri ranees ffoni 
which wc derive our usual subsistence, 
without any other resource, to take 
rough, new lands from which the standing^ 
wood must be removed without any a.d- 
vances or assistance. Onc-fourth of our 
population consists of aged persons^ unfit 
tor the labor of breaking up new lands, 
and who, with great exert ion» are able 
only to cultivate the clcarcti ground 
which supplies subsistence for them and 
tlicir ramllics* Finally, vvc shall ansiwer 
for ourselves and fox the absent, that we 
will never take the oath of allegiance to 
the Queen of Great Britain, to uie preju- 
dice of what we owe to our kint;, to our 
country, and to out religion ; and that if 
any attempt were made against the ona 
or the other of these two anicles of our 
fidelity — that is to say, to ottr king and to 
QUI law, that in tliat case we arc ready to 



838 



Early Missimis in Acndia. 



quit all ratlier than to violate in the least 
thing one of tjiose ziriicles. Besides, we 
do not yet know in wh;it manner the 
English will use us. If ihc\* burthen us 
in respect of our religion, or eat up our 
sclticments to divide the lands with peo- 
ple of their nations, we will abandon 
them absolutely. We know, further, from 
the exact visits wc have made, that there 
nrc no lands in the whole island of Cape 
Breton which would be suitable for the 
maintenance of our fanilUcs, since there 
are not tneHadows sudicicnt to nourish our 
cattle, from which wc draw our principal 
subsistence. The Indians say that to 
shut them up in the island of Cape Breton 
would be to damage their liberty, and 
that it would be a thing inconsistent with 
their natural freedom and the means of pro- 
viding for their subsistence. That with re- 
gard to their attachment to the king and to 
the French, that it is inviolable ; and if the 
yueen of England had the meadows of 
Acadie by the cession made by his ma- 
jesty of them, they, the Indians, had the 
woods, out of which no one could ever 
dislodge ther# ; and that so they wished 
each to remain ut their posts, promising, 
nevertheless, to be always faithful to the 
French. In the colonics of Port Royal, 
Mines, Figf^iguit, Coppeguit, and Beau- 
bassin, six thousand (,6,000) souls would 
have to be removed," * 

The PVench plan for the removal 
of the Acadians to Cape Breton fell 
10 the ground after a time, and was 
succeeded by a policy of reprisals 
more disastrous and harassing to the 
Acadians than to the English garri- 
son at Annapolis ; while at the sanie 
lime the English Lords of Trade and 
the colonial governors were slowly 
maturing a scheme for the forcible 
and wholesale removal of the French 
inhabitants from the province. The 
history of the expatriation of a peace- 
ful and industrious people, the narra- 
tion of the successive events during 
forty years leading up to the final 
catastrophe, the movement lo and 
fro of the temporizing policy of the 
conquerors until they felt their pow- 
er secure within their hands^ the al- 

• Mttfd. I. 336, iM^. 



temate hopefulness and anitiety 
the conquered, the eK|ieciaDDti 
aid from their kinsmen abroiad, 
times drawing near, alwayii 
ally dashed to the ground ; ihedia 
lation of the settlements by fri< 
and foe, the burning of thdr cliuK 
es, the driving out of their past< 
to whom they were devotedly attai 
ed as their most reliable and 
fish friends, and their 1' "pen 

over the continent aj ig 

islands of the West innics — inak4 
sombre-colored picture which attm 
the imagination of the observer, 
fixes his attention ^\x:Vi at tlitsriiiiC 
day. The beautiful pictures of ci 
tented industry, of rural peace 
simplicity, drawn by Longfellow 
the Ablx^ RaynaU 6nd little rounl 
part in the reality of the stem 
rigorous rule of the Englbh oiiltG 
governors at Annapolis, Fort 
ward, and Fort Lawrencr. or in 
harassing persecution \ 

tyranny to which the -^ d 

ceaselessly subjected until the fall 
the last French stronghold on 
peninsula, by the capture of P 
Beausejour, left the English goiNi 
ment free to carry out it*? Nin-g d 
templatcd [>lan of who' -pqg 

tion.' One feature i> clea 

• The ^fpnlfbfi of the Arndlarxt 1IM4 




ever ht»i»c:il the ilmractti'r u4 tb«> tl^UiA 

ernoicitt, b^s h^^t\ the a««crl1ufi uf Cb^ 

hostility of the ^ ■ '■ •■ 

tkieir union with 

in the s-cvertit «' 

country', 1 

Air thc9.e *; 

Actdians p^ 

condition itui to bc«r 

Armstrong ttitl Gitvei 

admlni&te'red to th - 

mtn<>d upon ty 1 

question with rr 

and betbrf 

foot in tije 1 

never anylti ^ 

of the fiufficirncy ot th 

the English governor u 

f^nrdcd by the ILnfi:ii».Ji 

quej^Jon of political ex . 

December, 17*0, ten y 



^•t^rm\BMt ( 



larked than any other in the history 
the Acadians — that is the single- 
hearted devotion with whicli the mis- 
sionaries devoted themselves to the 
amehoration of the political condi- 
tion of their people, as well as to the 
adminijstration of the divine consola- 
tions of religion which helped to sus- 
tain them under their burthens. That 
their faithfulness to their duty brought 
down upon iheir heads the anger and 
suspicion of the English governors, 
need not he said. Later English 
writers^ in discussing a subject so full 
of delicate, subtile, and grave prob- 
lems of political morality as the ques- 
tion of the immediate allegiance of 
the Acadians to the English crown, 
have put aside without comments the 
nature of the oaths administered by 
tlie English governors, the fact that 
tbese oaths were first taken in 1726-7, 
sixteen years after the conquest, and 
six years after the letter of the Lords 
of Trade given in the note, the 
strength of natural ties of allegiance 



qup<^« tnd while the counlry was nt profound 
(Kracc, tlie Lords of Trade wrote to Governor 
Philipps: '* As the French mliabiunL*. seem likely 
never to become good subjects whtle llie Ficnch 
l^vjvernurs and itit-ir priests retain sogrejLt an In- 
flueticc over ibem, we are of oitinir^a tlicy ought 
to be removed ns %oon as ihe Forces which we have 
pro|>osed to he sent to you shall nrrive in Nova 
Sgoiisi, ior the proieclion and scttl.tnenl of your 
[rrovince." (Murd. L 381, «<»/r.j This Iti Iter was 
la reply to one addressed by Cipovernor Phllipps 
ID the Lords of Tr»de, in which he miya, that on 
ft Alfl consideration of these affairs in council^ it 
Viie» agreed " that, whereas, my ine»trijctionB di- 
rect K\c wiUi the effect of the procliimatlon, aind 
SJtkMl ! h n e riieithcr orJcr nor sutBcicnt power to 
dr.' " -iplc out, nor prevent ihcm doein^ 

fi7. Lliey please lo their houses and 

pcii^j^ .,....-. uiid Ijltewisc for tht-- sake of Kainin^ 
ijcneatid Icccping all tliin*;^ quiet till I Khali have 
the honour of your further commandii in what 
manner to act— that it is must fur his majesty's 
service ta send hotnc the deputies with scnooth 
«^c^^d^ and promises of enlargement of time, 
wbtht ltran«imit their case home and receive hi& 
itinle*iv's further directions thereon," The on- 
•wver * if the Lords of Trade was sufficiently plain. 
The peon I transportation of a whole people, if it 
Were pofsible, would ftlvvays be an effectual 
WJiy of 'ncttUnq: polittcal and national differ- 
euces, and ^ecurLng good government in a 
ocrtintry. The practical diliicult}', o! course^ 
mjghc be the Iftrgeneaa of the population to be 
tfausportcd. 



binding them to their mother-coun- 
try, their prior occupancy of the soil, 
the force of the associations of a 
htindred years of labor in reclaiming 
the country from the wilderness and 
the sea — and have assumed that, be- 
cause a garrison was kept at Anna- 
polisi and half a dozen European 
plenipotentiaries signed some pieces 
of parchment at Utrecht, the French 
colonists in Acadia were immediately 
bound, without being parties to the 
agree nienti by all the ties of EngHsh 
feudal allegiance. Holding these 
views^ it is not surprising that those 
writers have not been sp;iring in their 
denunciations of the Trench mission- 
aries from Canada and Cape l^reton, 
who, not being subjects themselves, 
declined to become the agents of the 
English government in attempting 
to change the natural feelings and 
sentiments of the people under their 
spiritual care. The policy of con- 
ciliation, indeed, was a policy not 
much practised nor very much es- 
teemed in those days, nor were the 
inherent rights of distinct populations 
very clearly recognized; the Enghsh 
held the country by the strong hand, 
and both priests and people felt its 
weight without distinction. Scarcely 
three months had elapsed after the 
capitulation of AnnapoHs, when Fa- 
ther Justinien, the cur*5 of the settle- 
ment, was imprisoned under the fri- 
volous pretext of having left the da/^- 
ikuf^ and gone up the river without 
the order of the governor. Colonel 
Vetch ; and in February, 1 7 1 1, he was 
sent to Boston, where he remained 
a prisoner for nearly two years. The 
condition » in the meantime, of the 
inhabitants of the Annapolis River 
was wretched, and their minds were 
harassed with doubts as to the future; 
in the same year they sent M, de 
Clignancourt to the Marquis de Vau- 
dreuil, the governor of Quebec, Nnth 
a letter, in which they say : 



tyo 



Earlv 3: 



'* M. tic ClignancoiJTl will give you, 
sir, a faithful report of all ihat has passed 
since the departure of the English fleet. 
He will make yoo acquainted with the 
bottom of our hearts, and will tell you 
better than vvc can do by a letter the 
ljar<.h manner in which Mr. Weische " 
(Vetch) •* treats us, keeping us like nc- 
arocs, and wishing to peisuadc us that 
we are under great obligations to him for 
not treating us much worse \ being able, 
ho says, to do so with justice, and wiih- 
out our having room to complain. We 
pray you, sir, to have regard to out mis- 
er)*^ and to honor us with youc letter for 
our consolation, expecting that you may 
furnish the necessary assistance for our 
retiring from this unhappy counti>'/' ♦ 

Father Justinicn was permitted to 
relurn in 1714-15, and continued to 
exen ise the functions of cure at An- 
napolis until 17 20. On the 28th of 
April, o. s, (9th of May, N. s.), of that 
year, Governor Philipps issued pro- 
clamations to the people of Annapo- 
lis, Mines, and Chi^^necto, command- 
ing t*iem la taJ^e the oath of alle- 
giance without quali^cation, or to 
withdraw from the country within 
four months, without carrving away 
any of their effects, except two sheep 
for each family ; the rest of their pro- 
perty to be confiscated to the crown. 
At the same date, letters were ad- 
dressed to Father Juslinien at Anna- 
poIis» Father Felix at Mines^ and 
Father Vincent at Chignecto, order- 
ing them to summon their people to- 
gether and make known the gover- 
nor's proclamation, f The terms pre* 
scribed by the proclamation were in 
violation of the promises made in the 
letter of Queen Anne, which guaran- 

• Par ft MSS,, Murd. 1. 32*. 

t * To the Rev. K^tber JusUnien Dumnrl : 
I hereby order you to re&d to-morrow to your 
congreiralion w ken ilt the fuUcsl, the encloied 
Older directed to llie inhabitajits, ftad ftfter yovi 
hare read it, to affix U to tlie chappeU door« that 
none m^y pretend cause of ignornnce of Uie 
Mme, and if you have ftnyUiinp to oflcr on your 
ptrt I jvhaJl be f lad to gnnt any rea^onabU ttc- 
0«nds you c«a make roe, as fair as I shall be 
authorised by his majesty's inatructions.**— /.rf-/- 
Ur^Gmtrn^r Pkilifft^ April jqth, iy*>» k. 1. 



teed to the Acadians the riglit '* td 
tain and enjoy their said lands 
tenements without molestatioa 

condition of being wilting lo 
our subjects), n^ fnUy and fred] 
other our sul or may pod 

their lands ( s, or fci sell 

same, if they shall rather choose to 
move elsewhere.** • Finding ihii 
temative t)eforc them, the in! 
sent a letter by Father J 
M. St. Ovide, governor nx T otiish 
appealing to him for ind 

sistance. Some corrt , : nee I 
place between St. Ovide and Phili 
and the English go\ — - 6fV( 
the forces at his comn i :fiQ 

to carry out Ins jiroclaiii^iion, all 
cd the matter to re%t for a 1 
** sending home the deimtic*," 
says, ** with smooth words and 
mises of enlargement of time-" • 
departure of Father Justinien 
however, looked upon unlavoq 
by the governor, and lie was for 
den to return to the province 
Hpps afterward granted the pet] 
of the inhabitants of Annapolis 



send to Cape Breton for a p 
in pbcc of Father JusiinktL 
thcr Charlemagne \i*ns ap] 
cur6| and contmued t c i 

1724, when he in turn Jer 

suspicion of the govcmor and a 
cil, and was sent out of the pfCHri 



demand of us an oath ^ 
burtti- 



uatii 
OfK 

dlPfrnjii f. 
letter ot 

rri'-rv, ft '■ 






.ti»] 






places ceded to tbe )^a««ti |py 



In February of the same year, P^re 
Isidore, a Franciscan friar, came to 
Annapolis^ He had been selected by 
Fere Claude Sanquiest, Superior of 
the Recollcts, at Louisbiirg, to be re- 
sident priest at Piggiguite (Windsor). 
Major Cosby, who commanded at 
Canso» wrote to Lieutenant-Governor 
Doucett, at Annapolis, that his ex- 
cellency the governor had author- 
ized Sanquiest to appoint a cure for 
Piggiguite. Father Isidore received 
the approbation of the council, and 
entered on his mission at Piggiguite. 
An event soon occurred, however, in 
which the missionaries were charged 
with compl icily — the suspicious tern- 
per of the governor and council 
being prone to lay all their difficulties 
at the door of the ** Romish priests" — 
md which resulted in the banishment 
of Father Felix and Father Charle- 
magne from the province, and the 
transfer of Father Isidore to the 
cure of Mines. Hie Indians conti- 
nued this year to make war on the 
frontier New England settlements^ 
and in the middle of the sum- 
mer a war party of Micmacs and 
Malecites attacked the fort at Anna- 
j»olis, killed two and wounded four 
of a party of the garrison, who made 
a sally and carried off several prison- 
er.* Father Charlemagne and Fa- 
ther Isidore were brought before the 
council, and examined with regard to 
their previous knowledge of the de- 
signs of the Indians. The council 
resolved that Father Charlemagne 
should be kept in custody until an 
opportunity offered of sending him 
out of the province, and he was for- 
bidden to return on his peril The 
evidence against Father Charlemagne 
was of the most slender character, 
and no jury could be found now to 
convict him of complicity in the at- 
tack; the council being obliged, in 

• JVfTtv /*'i'fM Acadi^i, by Father FciiJ, m\s- 
Boomy ; given by Murdoch^ I. 409. 



fact, to base its judgment on the sup- 
position that he could have given the 
garrison notice of the proposed attack, 
and that he failed to do so. When 
it is known diat he had no means of 
communicating with the garrison, ex- 
cept by the river, and that both banks 
were guarded by hostile Indians, de- 
termined to intercept any communi- 
cation, it is not difficult to see that 
the verdict of the council was formed 
rather from their desire to find some 
'whom they could punish for the late 
attack (as the Indians had escaped 
them), and upon the natural odium 
which they entertained against Ro- 
mish priests, than upon the evidence 
in the case. The answers of Father 
Charlemagne himself were frank and 
straightforward, and offer a curious 
commentary upon the stateinent 
made in the report of the council 
that ** he often prevaricated, and never 
answering directly to any question.*'* 

* In Council^ zad July, 1724. Exflminntton of 
Father Cbarlemflf^ne, the Romish priest of ihii 
riTcr, bcrore the Governor and Council, 

Question ist Father CharlemAgne. why did 
you not at yoV arrival (when you waited on the 
Governor) acquaint him with ihe parly of In- 
dian! being at MInas, and of thetr designs against 
us? 

Answer. I must then have httn a wizard. 

Qu«. Did you know of any party of Indians 
when you was at Mines' 

Ans. There were Indians of thts province mett 
there with Golin, their m]Siiiotiary« on account of 
devotion. 

Ques, Did you know ofanv stranpe Tndian<t 
bcirg thcte, and that It was talked of their com 
ing here ? 

Ans. There were six strange Tn^^fnns who 
en me there the Friday before I came away. 

^)ues. Wherefore, then, did you not acquaint 
the Governor of these six Indions. when at yo*r 
arrivall he a^ked you what new5, when at th« 
some time you told him there wa^ none? 

Ans* My busiaesn if only to attend tg my func- 
tion, and not to enquire into or meddle with anj 
other business, news, or affairs; and that not 
finding any Indians In my way hither, and find- 
inK cverythinp: quiet here, I ihoufth' it was onJy 
tAlJf of the Judkns, and that they had no further 
designs. 

<yues. Do you not think that all people who 
are under the protection of any gov'tnt are 
obliged to difjcover any treason or enterprise 
carried on aj;^aiu!it it lo iis dcttiincnt t 

Ans, It may be )ustly required ; bnt I would not 
do it at the risk of «*v own person, fur 1 love my 
skin better than my shirt, and \ had rather 
have war* with the EngJisih than with ihe In* 
dians. 




an 



'ITie governor laid before the 
board a letter from Fere Felix, who 
refused to appear before the council, 
as he was about to leave the province. 
It was resolved ** that an order be 
sent to Mines, to be there published 
at the Mass-house, to discharge the 
said Father Felix from ever, at his 
utmost peril, entering this province 
without the consent and approbation 
of the government" Father Isidore 
was acquitted of any complicity in 
the attack upon the garrison ; and, 
after having received the thanks of 
the governor in council, was appoint- 
ed to the cure of Mines in place of Fa- 
ther Felix. The English then shot 
and scalped an Indian hostage who 
had been detained two years in the 
fort. He was put to death on the 
spot where Sergeant McNeal, one of 
the garrison, had been killed. The 
council also passed a standing order 
''that there should be no more Mass 
id up the river ; that the Mass- 
iouse there should be demolished, 
and that one should be built at An- 



Quci, Was yoti not detained some time there 
by the Indians that you might not gctt here to 
give infelllgcncc? 

Ann, No; I was nol^ but 1 heard they had 
tucit a de-^i^nc' 

^ues, Did not the Indiani at the church-door 
threaten to *»calp you. If you should give any nd* 
vice of their coming ? 

Ans- Thev did not tell me so. for they are bet* 

V, ihcn, as you are not npprchenslve 
*■'' r» dfd you n^'t finda way to Rive in- 

icUi^cute when they were up the river at your 
Maja house ? 

Aii«t. I could hardly make to my own hou»e. 

(j^ues. Wa& there not m person at Miius, who 
in convcT^tmn with you mentioned to you the 
neccssi* 'ilinR the Governor of tlie In- 

dians' r fear of the ill consequences 

that nu 

Ansi. 1 LuU xw tiucfa conversation with my one 
at Mines. 

Quev Why did you assemble the inliatiltnts 
lopraytrrs on thai particul rr day, which occa- 
tlcmed them to pretend au impossibitity of giving 
notice to the Governor? 

Ans. It was on the occasion of tht; Inte earths 
qua Ice. 

It is to be obserred that in the cnnr>>e of this 
ejiamiitation he often prevaricatetl. never answer- 
ing directly to any qucstlrnT» without being often 
repeated and put to him, ruiiing in long dis- 
cos roes forcignc to the point — Muid. App. t, jalvi. 



napolis, to whic h ^j\t all resoil^ 

;is an eternal mo of their said 

treachery."* It might perhape k4 
supposeii that this furious bigoty| 
wreaked upon innocent he;iiU ended 
there — the T . 

ed the fort 1 _ i 

called the Maiecites* living on tbeScj 
John River^ on the other side of tin 
Bay of Fundy, who were stntngcfs fa 
the missionaries at Tort *' * mm 
Mines, and over whom i 94 

control ; and it was n- icle4 

nor asserted that a sii^, •iiu 

had taken part in the ratcl^but tl dil 
not. Eight years afterwards, vhei 
another governor, Colonel Ara>- 
strong. had succeeded I ' ' the 

people up the nver pctitj' .attf 

their church removed to the ti 
of the settlement, or else diat 
priest might spend half his time 
the river. 1 his was rrfused on 
ground that the church had been 
moved to Annapolis on 
**a massacre €ontni>€d h% 
Charlemain and Felix fA MinQi 

* Murd. i, 4oq>-i84< 

t The firfC aeruntton made fti^iitM lh*9 

in I'hilippss lime » *i' 
notice ol the attack. 
in tiroe. It 1$ nnr r 
kilting of two '- 
fott upon a p;ir : 
in the country ' 
the priests;" bat tin 
reached hj« cooctu^ 

BUTTI ^ ■ 

(t- 

pbccd two cNQnon i 

inari-< f'f -^ '-■^■rcrant, l . , 
A( . in the stti^ > 

ami rrT\ Mine** 

fu( ' 



me on 
on IM 

ren reJ 




vera! of the people, to be pcr- 
ed by the Indians /* and they 
were told by Armstrong, "There are 
none of you but know how barbar- 
ously sonic of his majesty^s subjects 
were murdered and wounded by these 
infatuated, unthinking people/' The 
council were of opinion that their 
church shouUi not be removed, but 
that it siioidd ** remain where it now 
is, as a lasting monitnicnl and memo- 
rial of their treat iherotis villany to his 
lirittanick majesty and his subjects.'* 
The last entry of a baptism by Father 
Charlemagne in the church register 
of Fort Royal is July 25, 1724; and 
we find Pere de lireslay officiating as 
cure October 7, 1724. Father Brcs- 
by came from Tape Breton at the re- 
quest of the inhabitants, and, on peti- 
tion to the governor In council, 
received permission to take up his 
residence and jjlace of worship at the 
house called ** the Mohauck Fort." 

[n October of the same year, the 
lieutenant-governor informed the 
council that he had received a letter 
from Father Felix, informing him of 
his (Felix's) return to the province, 
and that he had taken up his resi- 
dence at Shickanecto (Chignccto) on 
the assurance of a letter from the 
governor of Ca[)e Breton in his fa- 
vor* Father Felix was accompanied 
by two other Recollets, raissionaiies, 
who also addressed letters to the lieu- 
tenant-governor, asking permission 
to officiate. The council, however, 
was inexorable, antl ordered Father 
Fchx and his companions not to re- 
main in the province at their peril; 
but as its auUiority did not extend 
practically beyond cannon-shot of 
the fort at Annapolis, there was no 
means of enforcing the order, and 
Father Felix continued to ofliciate 
for several years. In January, 1725, 
Father Ignace, a Flemish priest, wdio 
had been sent by Father Jocunde, 
the superior of the Recollets in Cape 
VOL, xiL— 53 



Breton, with a recommendation to 
the people of Mines, arrived at An- 
napolis with the deputies from that 
settlement, and requested the per- 
misshon of the government to offici- 
ate. The governor and council hav- 
ing demanded and received from him 
assurances that he would confine him- 
self solely to his religious labors, and 
that he would take no part in the 
political affairs of the province, ap* 
pointed himChignecto,*Mn the ho[)e,'^ 
as they said, " of rooting out Felix." 
At a meeting of council on the 2 2d 
of January, Father Pierre, who had 
gone to Cobequid without leave, was 
ordcretl to be " banished the coim- 
try/* and the council threatened the 
people of that settlement with severe 
penalties for referring a question of 
building* a church 10 the Bishop of 
Quebec. Father Charlemagne, who 
had been imprisoned since July pre- 
vious, was sent to Cape Breton in 
the spring of this year (1725).* 

In 1726, the venerable Indian mis- 
sionary, Father Gaulin, finding hitn- 
self greatly harassed by the hostility 
of the provincial government, surren- 
dered himself prisoner at Annapolis^ 
and petitioned the governor and 
council for leave to remain as a mis- 

• The Enf^lUU chaplain of the fort. Rev. Ro- 
bert Cuthberi^ was dlfmisserj abuut the same 
Uoic for ouoihcr cau<ie. 

'■ Is CoL'NciL, Sept. M, 1734. 

**Tbc board unanimously dg^tccd that ^vhcreAS 
it appears that die Rev. Mr. Robert Cuthbert 
hnttt nbsttnately pemsteJ in kccfitng company 
u'ifh Margaret Dotigb<k!i, contrary to nil reproofti 
ami admonitions from Alejisindcr DougU&%. her 
husbtind, and contrary lu hi^ own promibc^ and 
the good advice of his honour the I icu tenant-go v- 
cfrtor; thai he, the said Rev. Mr. Robert Culh- 
bert, should be kecpi in the garrison without pott 
liberty : and that his scundaton^ afl'air, and the 
satt<^fjiiction demanded by the injur/d hu«iband, 
be trannnitttcd, in order to be determined at 
hotnc; and thai the honorable licutcn:ini-govern* 
or may write for another rainlister m his roam. 

'-Then the Revd. Mr. Robert Cuthbcrt beiog 
&ent for to give his re.-t$ors for stopping oHT Alex* 
andcr Douglos;^' goud^i, etc.. fl*c is represented in 
said Douglass' petition^ \ibO;, havin<; come, and 
beiiiff a«;kcd, made answer^ No! that he did not; 
he lui^ht have ihera when he pleased, and that 
he did not inst'^t upon anything either for tiiei, 
his wife, or child.''— Murd. App- 7, c, xlvL 



- 



refusing lo have anything to do with 
the affair. Father de Chevereaux 
stoj>ped at Cape Sable, where be 
commenced a mission among the In- 
dians; and Father St. Poucy, after 
having sent to Louisburg, returned 
again to Annapolis. The govern - 
rncnt immediately ordered him to 
depart on the first opportunity, but 
the inhabitants petitioning strongly 
in his favor, he was allowed to re- 
sume his functions as cure. He con- 
tinued lo officiate until 1740, when 
he api>lied for a pass[>ort, signifying 
his intention to leave the province 
by way of Mines. He returned to 
the province from Louisburg in the 
nutumn of die same year, and wrote 
to (governor Mascarene, who had 
succeeded Armstrong, announcing 
his intention of establishing himself 
as missionary at Chignccto. The 
government refused, however, to 
sanction his return to the province, 
and Father Laboret was appointed 
cure of Chignccto. Father de St. Poucy 
was succceited at Annapolis by Fa- 
ther Nicholas Vauxlin (Vauquelin), 
who continued to perform the func- 
tions of cure until June, 1742. Hie 
first mention made of Father de Lou- 
tr*?, of the Society of Foreign Mis- 
sions, wlio afterwards played so con- 
spicuous a part in opposing the mea- 
sures taken by the English govern- 
menl to drive the Indians and Aca- 
ilians out of the province, is found 
tfi a letter addressed to him from 
Governor MascarcJie in Janu.iry, 1 74 1 . 
Mascarene was a man of ability and 
moderation of temper, and there is 
every reason to believe that, if his 
successors in the government of the 
province, Cornwall is and Lawrence^ 
had followed the jvolicy of concilia- 
tion which he initiated, the discon- 
tent and anxiety of the Acadbns 
and the hostility of the Indians would 
have Lepn soon replaced by a loyal 
and contented submission to the Eng- 



lish government, and the disgraceful 
outrages upon justice and humanity 
involved in the expulsion of the Aca- 
c'ians, which make one of the worst 
chapters in the harsh history of Eng- 
lish colonial government, would have 
been avoided, Lawrence especially 
was a man of essentially bad charac- 
ter ; his disposition was incurably vi- 
cious and cruel; and he proved him 
self a suitable instrument for carry- 
ing out such a scheme. 

In the summer of 1741, Father de 
Godalie, vicar-general of the pro- 
vince, returned from France, and took 
up his residence at Mines; the per- 
sonal relations existing between him 
ami Governor Mascarene were of a 
very friendly nature, and a frequent 
correspondence was maintained be 
tween them. 

In June, 1742, Father des En- 
claves, who had been stationed at 
Mines, replaced Father Vauxlin at 
Annapolis, and cojuinued *-ure of the 
mission u!itil the tlnal exi>ulsion of 
the Acadians, in 1755, when he 
shared the fate of his people, and 
was carried off prisoner to lioston.^ 
Governor Mascarene writes, in June, 
to Father de Godalie: 

•* I Received yoar L^ucr by Grand Piet- 
rot (big Peier), :ind am Glad to hear th;U 
you got Bafe to Meins, Monsr. des En- 
claves is also airived here A when Monsr.. 
Laborcit is got t*> Chiconccto and Mons. 
St. Poucy has qaitifd yc Province, wch. I 
desire may be as soon as possible, the 
Missionarys will be settled according Jo 
tlic Rcgulalton passed in Council,'* 



• Father Jean ItaptktedoA Enclaves came from 
France to t'jtnada. in lyaS. M. Taschcrciu, lo 
his Kif.. not«s on Mmtons in Acadia, quoted by 
Dr. U'CallaK^i^n in voL x, of AVw IVrX- Di^m- 
ijunis^ says he relumed lo France soon after 
*?S1» worn out by ajje and bfjor. lie was, how- 
cver« afftciaiinf^ at AtinApalis in 1754, as appears 
by his letter of that year to Mr, CottcreU, &t 
lialifax, rcspcciinK the site »ta new chapel which 
lie was then buildin|r. And Governor Pownall, 
of lloilon* in a letter to Governor La%ircnce. to 
t7-<3i. mentions hrs beiiij^ llien a prisoner, with 
other Krcnch AcadiADt. in Massachuftetts.— 
Aikcni's *V. S, Archiva^ ill., n&U. 



836 



Early Missions in Acadia. 



He goes on to point out that, on a 
vacancy taking place, the parishioners 
must first ask and obtain leave of the 
government to send for a priest to fill 
the cure. When the new priest arrives, 
he must rejxiir to Annapolis, and be 
there approved by the governor and 
council before he officiates, and that 
similar permission must be had for the 
removal of a priest from one parish to 
another.* In the latter part of this 
yeiV, two priests arrived in the pro- 
vince from Quebec — Fathers Miniac 
and Ciirard. 'I'he Bishop of Quebec, 
in a letter adtlressed to Ciovernor 
Mascarene, registered SejUember 16, 
1 74 J, says that, as M. de la (ioudalie 
informs him that he is unable alone to 
perform the duties of grand vicar, he 
sends Mascarene the Abbe Miniac. a 
man of birth, capacity, and experi- 
ence, who hail Ken lor a long time 
grand vicar and archdeacon, and suli- 
i ::s the governor's favor for hmi.^ 
The journey proved tedious and \x- 
ti^uuing, I iie younger T^rie-*:. liirani. 



Fa:; 
Mi.' 



v.e 
' M.>. 



1 o;: 



.. :>:cv wr : 
lK-.e-;.r J 



■ \\:: ) 
Al-' e 



., A 



and wrote to Fathers Goudalie. Min- 
iac, and Girard. The council order- 
ed that the two priests coming into 
the province contrary to the regula- 
tions may remain till spring, bat art 
not to exercise any functions. Ihe 
Abbe Miniac arrived at AnnaiM:j!i> in 
the spring of 1745, antl s;iti?>fied the 
governor and council as to the j>u:e- 
ly spiritual objects he and Father 
Girard had in view in coining i:.:!"* 
the province. It was then re.vlioi 
that Father Miniac should rcmc:n :\ 
Riviere des Canards, in Mines, ^.xA 
Father Giranl at C'obcquid: but 2 
reijuest for a secoml nii;»s:unarv at 
Pessacpiid was reiused, one U::;. 
deemed sufficient. 

With the founding of IIaiif,:\, :?, 
1749, and the larger and more >>.- 
tematic eft>ris at ;he Kngli>h sc:::l-- 

t>'.:V>v./, iha: r.ii Piic^t shall be I»eizx::Tfd .r.*.. 
Till* h s Mj-estv's l*r..\ i:u e Hul b\ ar..: w..:.1 !i< 
HiUicc con sen: an-! a;i(Moha:i-in ftrnt a>Wc-i jr. 

TJ-.j: 1: ..: a:;. : .::- t.ic !rJij"i.-.j-.:N |:-j:-_ -c 
I > ar.y \f\ \h> V.\',\>-\^\ <\x\\ \\^r^\ a Pr «%: . . a. 

1 ■■::■: ■.■: a v.. .i-. ■. . :::?-. ^ .iil :- > ^. ...;^c- ;:-::- 
i'. ::.:•...-..- >i J. ^v. - t,. ve- r:-.-..! •;*,.« 
:.' r.a^ ». : e. J" : I ■ ■: S.i. -. I... ^ . ^. -^ . ; • 

\ : »c J* . \ ..:..o . • \ c !-^-. c ' : -. . • • : • \-. 



r ..-. . .--r . 
a: .: ^-w 1 ::.. : . 



■ N ■ ."V. 



N .. <v . t .X-. 






. : N . 



•lS Aiv^Ni 



r : ■. .-v *. .'. , 



Early Misshns m Acadia. 



ment of the territory, dating from 
that period, the history of tlie rela- 
lions lift ween the colonial govern- 
ment an<l the Acadians underwent a 
sudd e a and radical change. Within 
six years, priests and j>eoplc liad dis- 
appeared from the province, and were 
dispt^rscd in helpless and scattered 
groups over English colonies, llie 
larger military force at the disposal 
of the English governors at Halifax 
enabled them to carry out, without 
further delay, the long-contemplated 
plan for the forcible removal of the 
whole body of the Acadian popula- 
tion. 'Ihe history of their expulsion 
bas been often written, and has been 
made tainiliar, by poets ami essay- 
ists, to all readers. It is a chapter in 
the history of the English colonial 
government of the eighteenth cen- 
tury which will not easily lose its in* 
teres t so long as the associations of 
country and the sacred intimacy of 
family ties find a place in men's 
hearts. The missions were broken. 
Fathers des Enclaves, Dandin, 
Chauvreauk, and Miniac were put 
on l>oard the Engli.sh fleet, and car- 
ried off prisoners with the people 
among whom they had labored long 
and faithfully,* Father de Loutre 
saiJed for France after the capture of 
Fort Beausejour^ but iv'as taken pri- 
soner on the voyage by an English 
cruiser, and sent to Elizabeth Castle, 
in Jersey, where he remained for 
eight years, f 

• F«tJier Mnillard. who, niter the fall of Ltniiv 
biiri^, kintl c&ubli.vhed m mHsion }n the easlern 
IMTt nf the pravince^ was invited by the provin- 
ci»l j^ovcrnmciit to take up his re^idi^ncc Ai Hali' 
fax in 17*9. in order to quiet the Inilian*. 

t It is to be regrettciJ timt the uld ca.Iuiiio)% 
cbMTf^ing Knther dc t.ou'.re wilk Iia\ in|C been mn 
accessary to thie shooting: of Captain Hiiw, under 
a flbg: of truce, by the ladian^, tn 1750. should 
hare found a place in the volume of .V. .TT. /hKu- 
iMi>ir/r pubtivhed by llie t'lovincial Government. 
It is unpardonable that* in*, work demand ini^ the 
titricttrit impartiality, tlie commisHoner appointed 
to «up4:nniervrl the editson— a tnuxi na.nicd Aikeiiii 
—should h«*e been allowed t^t Insert a mite en- 
dorsing such I. sta.lemcnL lu the same work, tho 



In 1759, an act was passed by the 
provincial assembly banishing "pop- 
ish priests/' under penalty of impri- 
sonment, etc.; any person found har- 
boring and concealing one to pay a 
fine of ^'50 for the tirst offence; to 
be set in the pillory, and find securi- 
ties for good behavior. In this man- 
ner ended the French missions in 
Acadia; but a soil crowded with the 
nssticiations of so many laborers in 
the Lord's vineyard was not long 
destined to remain barren. An Irish 
Catliolic Church, full of vigorous life, 
strong in that vitality of the faith in* 
hcrent in the race, has sprung up on 
the ruins of the French missions.* 
The age has grown more tolerant, 
the old barriers against the liberty of 
conscience have been broken down* 
and the Catholic Church in the Brit- 
ish provinces l»as no longer to con- 
tend against the dilttculties and perils 
that beset the early missionaries. 
Looking back now at their sha<lowy 
figures, stamling in ihe background 
of American colonization in the seven- 
teenth and early part of the eighteenth 
century J and unclouded by the dark 
Iirejudices of race and religion which 
then enveloped them, wc are able, in 
this age, to pay a more just and grate* 
ful tribute of admiration to the brave 
and faithful services they rendered to 
the Acadians. 

Noi-E-— In the previous article on the Early 
AcAdian Miaalofls, whkh tppeitred in the Feb- 
ruary number, the condusion, begianing with 
the worda, *' In the autumn of 1610*' (read instead 
i7ro)^and ending with "scenes consecrated by 
the sufTerini;^ ot Biard and Masse, of Sebastiau 
and Konlinier,*' was by miitake printed on pp. 
^34t 635 instead of at the dose of the article. 

impudent forjrery of the French spy, Pkhoo 
purporiinR Co be a letter from the Biehop of Que- 
bec to Father dc Loutre, is giveci as a genuine 
docutnent, 

* A lar^e number of the Acftdians expeUcd in 
1755 found their way back to the country aflei 
many eflTorts and sufferings. Their descendanL* 
now form a conniderablc <iection of the popult^ 
tinn in the western part of the province of Nora 
Scotiji and I«]and of Cape Breton, They still re- 
tain their languaffe and relif^ion. and their RUiQ 
tltiTi and cusCoths remain almost unchanged. 




rioi 

hiis 
hoi 



We were sitting in our cosy little 
parlor, in the twilight of a pleasant 
summer evening, when the conversa- 
tion turned — as it does so very easily 
tiid imperceptibly at that mystic pe- 
riod of the day, when the spirit is 
tiushed and av^ed by the silent and 
holy influences of the hour— upon the 
marvellous^ the mysterious, and the 
supernatural, and, in the course of it, 
«re ivere led to the question whether 
disembodied spirits did ever really 
become visible to mortal eyes. 

** There can be no doubt,** said my 
mother, ** that the great and good (tod 
can accomplish his purjK>ses by any 
^^means or instruments which his infi- 
^kite wisdom sees are best fitted for 
^Bthem; and I should not hesitate to 
^■believe, upon sut^cient evidence, in 
^kn apparition from the spirit-world, 
^^the reason for which was attested, as 
were those of Holy Writ, by the at- 
tainment of some great benefit that 
could not have been gained, humanly 
speaking, by oixlinank^ means,** 

" Well,*' said my aunt, '* I am no 
philosopher, and perhaps, were 1 in- 

tclined to search for the reason of all 
Ihat passes my limited comprehen- 
sion, I should fail to satisfy myself. 
But I am a firm believer in appari- 
tions, for I have seen one myself, and 
• seeing is lielieving,' you know." 

" Oh I tell us all about it, aunty," 
I earnestly exclaimed, though shrink- 
ing, at the same time, from the 
thought of hearing about a gbost 
from one who had seen it. 

I I was a young girl, passing a ft2f 

with your mother — she said, address- 

herself to me — when yoor bther 

uved his family to a home in the 



wilderness. You were then but i 
mere child, and I doubt wHethcr yw 
noticed the contrast — so strikin| I? 
your elders — betw ecu those wild safe 
tudes and our former pleasant hoae, 
or, if you noticed, could now mm 
any distinct remembrance of the dfr 
gularly weird features lhc>* presi!til£^ 
to our unaccustomed eyes. Vet 
were many pleasures conncctccl *^ 
that new mode of life whtch koj» 
ciled us to the change, . " 
a relish even to its un ^v 
tions and inconvctiienccs* 

We removed in the early sprL-^-- 
before the ice broke up in the : 
which furnished us with ai fottic xi? 
the journey, and the tnmspofUUfOft of 
the household goods, as no fomIi 
were even surveyed! for a great part 
of the way. The place was, in bd 
an unbroken forest* The tree* hM 
been cut away on Uie kaoQ wheir 
the house was ercctecK for a spur 
just sufficient for its location, aoi I 
remember well that* when the tsA 
pines were felled in ilie groafiili 
where the yards and gardens wtoc 
afterward laid out, strof- • 'a... ^^- 
placed against them w 
falling upon the house. 
is my remembrance of i 
with which 1 watched 
ance from a safe distam 
building. 

llie cabin of our nearest ftcs|>ttor 
was three miles d islam trooi a. 
through a tangled forest, in wick 
even the Indian hunter o^en lost ^ 
wa>. So* whatever ebe we bekei 
we had solitude eaoitglv |oa any k 
sure. 

During the fi^l afkcr 
it became oeccssaiy to iMm mi 




tity of lime for future building opera- 
tions. A lime-kiln was constructed 
at some distance from the house, in 
the deep woods at the foot of a ledge 
of rocks, down which a mad brook 
came brawling in numberless little 
waterfalls, w hkh we named '' The Cas* 
cades." The foot-path from the house 
led through the woods to a tempo- 
rary bridge which hatl been thrown 
across the stream considerably below 
the lime-kiln, and had to be traversed 
at that season — after the fall rains — 
to reach the spot, though during the 
summer the brook could be crossed 
anywhere on stepping-stones. 

The man who built the kiln was 
one of our nearest neighbors, by the 
name of Birch, a Yankee of that irre- 
pressible class who are described^ in 
the common expression, as being 
•* able to turn their band to any- 
thing;" and we found him an in- 
valuable adjunct in more emergen- 
cies than one. He was assisted by 
his son, Horace — an overgrown, un- 
kempt, and uncouth specimen of a 
backwoods Yankee striphng as one 
could chance to meet in many a 
summer day's ramble. It is impos- 
sible to describe this remarkable 
human anomaly in words that would 
convey any idea of the original — 
such a compound of ignorance, 
shrewdness, effrontery, and self com- 
placency. It was impossible to tell 
him anything in the whole range of 
human science and knowledge but 
what he had *Miearn that afore!'* or 
to give him any information, for he 
already knew all that was ** worth 
knowing," and, if he did not, ^* Dad 
did,*' which was "just as well, seein* 
'twas all in the family." 

A great bravado, withal^ was our 
blustering Horace* His stories of 
what he had seen and encountered 
in the woods were marvellous, espe- 
cially the '* lots of bars he had fought 
with ; but he never yet seed the bar 



he was afear'd on." If you would 
take his word for it, there was nothing 
" in sky, or air, or caverns deep " 
that could by any possibility frighten 
him. 

When the lime-kiln — the construe* 
tion of which was an event in those 
solitudes, you must know — was com- 
pleted, and in '* full blast,*' as Horace 
said, on a fine autumnal evening it 
was proposed that we should all go 
up to see the gorgeous c0ect of the 
light from the fire in the kiln as it 
was throw^n upon the surrounding 
forest. You were such a sleej>y- 
head that we said nothing to you 
of the projected excursion, knowing 
you would want to go back before 
the evening was half-spent^ and would 
be more comfortable if left at home 
with your father and mother. 

After the tea-things were cleared 
away, we settled ourselves around the 
work-table as usual, your father read 
ing aloud from a pleasant book. Soon 

his two wards, Sam S and George 

H ; your two brothers; Abby, 

your adopted sister, and myself, slip- 
ped quietly out, one by one, and, ac- 
companied by Baptiste, the French 
l>oy, and two Scotch girls from tlae 
kitchen, took our course for the lime- 
kiln. Arriving there, we found I lorace 
— who had been left by his father in 
charge of the fires— in a full blaze of 
glory, and, if possiblci more boastful 
and heroic than ever. 

Nothing could exceed the brilhancy 
of the spectacle before us, and we were 
lost in admiration of its flickering and 
fairy-like splendors. The illumination 
of the adjacent wilderness, and the 
wild beauty of its dim recesses faintly 
revealed by flashes of the magtc-work- 
ing fire — ^places which the slightest 
stretch of fancy might people with 
every imaginable form of loveliness 
— and, above all, the dancing, laugh- 
ing waters of the brook, whence we 
should scarcely have been surprised 




84a 




The GhQsi of the Lum-KUn, 



I see some radiant naiad emerge, as 
Ney sparkled in the fitful gleam, all 
3mbinetl to hold us bound in silence, 

by a spell, for some time. 

** \Vl>3t an awsorae place for bogles 
id kelpies, (iude safe us!" murmured 
be Scotch girl, lietty, in a half-whis- 

*♦ What do you mean by your bogles 
nd skclpies?" asked Horace* with a 
Ian led ain *' I do wish to gracious 
fouVl talk English, or some kind o* 
alk a body could understand I Scotch 
tamal nonsense, any way ! Bui if 
t*s any kind of a bar, herc*s at him, I 
ly." 

•*She means w*ood and water 
pints," Abby explained. 

'Oh! some kind o* spooks, I 

rpose. A fc-ller must be a con- 

lied fool that's afraid of spooks. 

; shouldn*t care if there was a dozen 

'cm to come right out o* the 

^oods and water now I" 

" Whist!" rricd Betty vehemently, 
► ye daft, gawky haverell How daur 
be speakin* that way i* this eerie 
place, and Halloween near han' wi* a* 
the cantrips o' the time ! How daur 
ye do't ?" 

**\Vhat do I care foryotir Hallow- 
een or your cantrips ? Who's afeer'd ? 
If the spooks want to come on, let 
•era, 1 sayT 

At that moment, a long, low sepul 
rhral moan, that sent a thrill through 
our hearts, was heard distinctly to 
issue from a thicket of bu&hes near a 
tall pine-tree on the opposite bank 
of the brook. U[i the brook, some 
^fteen or twenty paces, was a corre- 
sponding tree and thicket, and alx)Ut 
midway between them, but further 
back — forming a triangle open toward 
us — ^was a third one, with a clear 
space in front of it, upon which the 
full glare of light from the mouth of 
the kiln was thrown so strongly as 
to bring all its slightest outlines into 
full relief 



At the insuni our attcntioii «ai 
arrested by the moan aod oiir ey^ 
attracted in Uiat citrection, a very Ul 
figure, arrayed ttt l 
zUng whiteness, emc , 
the lower thicket, sialkoi - 
the brook in front of ihr i 
— which formed a bac i 
set it forth with vivid tti^MM. mi->— 
and passed behind Uic ucie furthcf 
up the brook I 

We were all clcctiificd ! 1 do not 
think my first impression w;x» that 
the fonn was that of a discinbi^firtl 
spirit; but, when I reflected l 
moment, the fact ihat t* ^ n* 

young people within niat f v. 

to play any trick of 1 1 : mi 

philosophy. The F- 1 na 

his knees, and blessed h1nl^'Jj^ dc 
voutly. The Scotch girls jyhiickrd 
**Gude safe us and helfi us?** and 
fell on their faces, *• distilled aIhiovi 
to jelly with the act of fear/' to 
Shakespcarc^s expression on a 
occasion. 

And Horace ! Frightened as the 
American portion of the |>any 
and fully persuaded that wc hail 
a visitor from another worU 

could not subdue within ou 

the ludicrous effect of his averwbdis- 
ing and pusillaninious tcTror. 

-O Lordic!" he shrieked, •* I'i 
an awful sinner, and no mistake ! 
own up, 1 do! I didn't believe 
spooks, but I give it up now — th&t^ 
so! O Lordiel don't let it 
again, I tciU l>e gooil, and yoti 
ter believe I'll never say another \ 
behavin' word 'bout spc»okfi sloQ| 
I live, I won't!" 

Again that hollow, sepulchral maam 
rent the air. and again t 
form stalked slowly back 1 
whence it ^t emerged. It scenietlj 
to our fascinated gaze that ure cxntlilf 
look through the shadowy vision zmd 
see cver>' object beyond. 

This lime poor Horace iiell fiidjrj 



the 

hail «e^^| 
[>rld^|H 



and heavily to the ground, crying 
fainlly : *' U Lordie t there 'tis again. 
It ij a spook, there's no misdoutin' 
it. Oh ! what have I done ? — what 
shall I do ? * Now I lay me down 
lo sleep '— O Loddy massy I I catVt 
pray, and 1 sha*n't never dare to go 
to sleep again, I sha'n't !** 

After this outbreak, all was silent 
for some time, when Betty ventured 
to raise her hcad» and shaking her 
fist at the thoroughly discomforted 
hero — 

** There, yc skdpin* Llatherskite ! 
didn't I warn yc to stop your silly 
da vers ? Now your een have had 
the sight, and your ears the croon, 
o* the bogle, to pay your ill-faute 
tongue for its c latter. Ye may weel 
gang chitterin' a' the rest of your life, 
yc ilJ-faired feckless loon !" 

As soon as we could arouse our- 
selves from our dismay, those of the 
party who dared to cross the brook 
jict out on an e\|)loring expedition, 
despite the frantic entreaties of Ho* 
race that they would desist, lest they 
should tempt " the spook " to come 
back. 

After the most diligent search in 
every iiouk and thicket along the 
brook and the foot-j»ath, we failed 
to discover the slightest trace of our 
mysterious visitor, and were compel- 
led to yield slowly and reluctantly to 
the conviction that it was not a crea- 
ture of Oesh and blood. But why 
should it a|>|>car to us at this time ? 
The boys thought it was, perhaps, 
iiiC siJtrit of some one who had 
been murdered near that spot j but 
Betty insisted that it was sent to 
rebuke the unbelief of that " fashious 
fule." 

As for Horace, he was completely 
subdued. No more marvellous tales 
of his exploits or boasts of his su- 
pcrior prowess. Pic dared not even 
mention a *' bar," lest it should make 
its appearance, and nothing earthly 



could induce him to approach the 
limekiln, by night or day, from 
that time, even if your brothers and 
the other boys were with him. You 
smile incredulously, but I assure you 
I have given you a true and un- 
varnished narrative of our adventure 
with the Ghost of the Lime- Kiln. 

" I do not Joubt it," I replied. 
^* And now 1 will j>roceed to give you 
an et|ually true and simple picture of 
the other side." 

When you were all whispering so 
slyly the day before the adventure, 
and laying your plans for the evening, 
you forgot the saying that '' little 
pitchers have long ears." The little 
girl whom you so slighted was aware 
that something unusual was in pro- 
gress, and by dint of close watching 
and listening possessed herself of a full 
knowlutlge o( your scheme; U|)on 
which she proceedetl to lay out her 
own programme for the evening. 
Though the most arrant coward that 
ever walked on two feet, and afraid, 
as you all know, to pass from one 
room to another alone in the dark, 
she was so thoroughly piqued at your 
neglect diat she determineil to bury 
her fears for the nonce, anfl, cost 
what it might, to pay the debt to 
the best of her ability. 

You had hardly disappeared when 
I asked permission of my mother, 
who was quite absorbed in the book 
my father was reading to her, to pop 
corn in the kitchen, which was grant- 
ed. I made a blazing fire in the great 
fireplace, shelled the corn, and then 
proceeded with my other prepara- 
tions. The clothes from the ironing 
were airing upon the frames, quite 
convenient for my purpose. I drew 
on a long white night-dress, and 
fashioned a figure on the broom, 
vvhicii I arrayed in white robes, mak- 
ijig it ai«pear so real that I trembled 



to think of what I had done — ** look 
on't again 1 dared not!" All this I 
accomplished in less time than Is con- 
sumed in the telling, and, when fully 
ready, I put the figure under my arm, 
and darted along the foot-path and 

t through the woods with the swiftness 
of a young fawn, until 1 nearly over- 
took your advancing party, I re- 
mained just far enojgh behind to 
avoid being seen, and when you 
crossed the brook — wishing to keep 
that between your party and my di- 
minutive self — I passed on to the 
^Jihicket by the first pine-tree. Art 
^ could not have arranged a place 
more perfectly fitted for my purjjose. 
After waiting for a sufficient interval, 
J raise tl the broom as high as I could 
hold it, letting the long drapery fall 

I around and conceal my head and 
face, except a little opening, which I 
prepared by pinning it aside, to see 
through. With the aid of a large 
sea-shell which I had brought from 
the cabinet of shells in the parlor^ 
1 succeetled in making the hollow, 
searching moan that could not fail 
to be heard pJjove the babbling of 
IV ihc noisy brook, and the echo of 
H which, as it came back through the 
H resounding forest^ almost frightened 
H me from the fulfihnent of my puqiose, 
Hand prompted me to rush through 
^ the brook and the inter%'ening space 
at any risk to seek your protection. 
But I stifled my fears, and walked 
forth ^ — slowly of necessity, for I 
trembled so that I could scarcely set 
one foot before the other, until 1 
passed the middle pine and reach- 
ed the one further on, behind which 
1 glided. After a short pause, I re- 
peated the moan, and returned to 
the place from which I started. 
Ihe moment I reached it, I snatched 
down the figure, and dashed through 
jMIhe woods for home with the speed 
■"of the wind, imaginin:^ there were a 



thousand goblins in close pursttti d 
me in my wild scatnjjcr, Wbai I 
reached home, I was surprisctl to see 
by the old kitchen clock huw brid 
had been my absence. 

After carefully putting away my c»> 
tume, I proceeded to pop the f^»^ 
and was thus demurely occ 
when you all came home/ Vou ^ r -. 
suri>rised to find the ♦* sleepy-hr^i.: 
still up and awake, and I iriumplu'' 
ly exhibited a pan of nice pi7|.'j<x. 
corn for your refreshment, niartdis|, 
to my own private satisfaction, die 
evident trepidation of your wbolr 
party. How did I chuckle, all to »y^ 
self, the next day, when I obaermtf 
the mysterious hints and whis|>cn of 
one and another, and overheard the 
remark, **How fortunate that At 
was not there ! She would ha%-€ beat 
frightened into fits, ajid wc thoM 
be pestered worse than ever witli to 
fears of the dark.'* 

I should have felt myself hmmt 
in honor to reveal the facts to jm 
after enjoying sufficiently the sticcesi 
of my plot ; but when my brotbcx% 
no longer able to keep the matter to 
themselves, told the wl " r~ ^ 

the tea-tahie the next c. : jcrr 

was a token in the keenness o^ my 
father's lawyer-like glance at loeta 
our eyes met, which convinced t&( 
he comprehended the true state of 
the case, and I thought he «ot^ 
make all necessary cx(>la r , *h 

out my giving myself li. 

** Well/* said my aunt, ** ui ourcof* 
itations and questions, we dehaSed 
whether it might not be a trkk of 
yours ; but your well-known timiiiqr 
and your diminutive size settled tfat 
question conclusively. Then," ik 
added, as if musing, and with a <fc 
appointed expression on her oottDSe* 
nance—" then my ghost was not » j 
ghost after all V* 



Our Saint of To-Day. 843 



OUR SAINT OF TO-DAY. 

On our Bessie's little altar, 
With his grave and modest air, 

Stood Saint Joseph with his lilies 
And his joiner's plane and square. 

It was such a tiny statue 

That, at first, I could not say 
Why I gazed upon that figure 

Closer, closer, every day ! — 

Why I felt my heart draw nearer 

To that meek, retiring saint, 
Whom the lowly called their brother, 

Whom the artists love to paint. 

Years had passed before the secret 
Of that statue's wondrous charm 

Stood revealed in all its beauty — 
Could my worldly sense disarm ; 

Ere the artisan, Saint Joseph, 
Like a mountain-peak serene, 

Dimly through the hazy distance 
Of my daily life was seen. 

Honest labor had been lauded 

Oft by pagan bards, I found : 
Something more than rustic virtue 

Must Saint Joseph's toil have crowned. 

And, at last, I caught the sunbeam ; 

Clouds rolled back from headland stem. 
And I stood before Saint Joseph 

Labor's sacred worth to learn. 

Thoughtful reverence, adoration 

Of the Word Incaioate, filled 
Joseph's soul with peaceful grandeur. 

All his mortal pulses stilled. 

Nazareth's workshop, Bethlehem's stable, 
Sandy waste, the palm-tree's shade. 

All were chapels where Saint Joseph 
Acts of lowliest worship paid 



844 Italian Unity. 

To that Child whose infant weakness 
Could such boundless service claim ; 

All the drudgery of labor 

Lost in love's consuming flame. 

Jesus at his side was sleeping ; 

Jesus, from his humble dish, 
After daily work dividing. 

Shared his milk, his bread, his fish. 

^Toil and worship — not succeeding 
Each to each, but both as one — 

Held his soul in gentle bondage, 
Made the lagging moments run. 

Bethlehem's saint ! dear spouse of Mary I 
Yet our hope we meekly stay 

On Saint Joseph's mild protection 
'Mid the dangers of to-day ! 

Now the universal patron 
Of the church declared to be, 

Still he keeps the tender perfume 
Of his first humility. 

Still he bears the mystic lilies, 

Still the joiner's plane and square — 

Labor with thee, for thee, Jesus, 
Still the just man's life of prayer ! 



ITALL\N UNITY'. 



The protest of American Catholics in Europe has there been a more ge- 

against the spoliation of the Pope's neral, enthusiastic, independent, and 

temporalities is one of the most striking energetic protestation of loyalty to the 

events of the day. If our European papacy than has been witnessed in 

brethren have been imagining so far every portion of the United States? 

that the influence of the latitudinarian The moment Victor Emmanuel's 

system of politics, creeds, and morals troops forced an entrance into the 

j)revalent in the country would have Eternal City and the telegraph flashed 

a tendency to weaken the faith, ener- across the water the news that the Vi- 

vate the mental convictions, or corrupt car of Christ was a captive, the whole 

the public and private conscience of Catholic community, from Maine 

the faithful, how consolingly they must to Texas, was roused to action, 

have been disappointed I For where Meetings were held all over the coun- 



Italian Unity. 



try to denounce the wrong which the 
l^ombard king had perpetrated. 
Archbishops^ bishops, priests, and tlie 
laity of every condition, in the great 
cities, in the small towns, even in tlie 
poorest rural districts, met together, 
and unanimously gave evidence of the 
intense Catholic faith which pervades 
tl>e whole American Church. The 
monster meetings held in the large 
rities were such as had never been 
V:?5sembled before for any such pur- 
pose. The tone of the addresses 
to the Holy Father and of the reso- 
lutions passed has the ring of the 
times of the crusades. Witness the 
following resolutions! from the meet* 
ing held in Baltimore: 

** We. tlic Catholics of the Archdiocese 
of Baliiniorc. in gt-ntral mretin)^ assem- 
bled, to the number of marc than (ifly 
thousand, in order to welcome the te- 
tnni from Rome of our beloved archbi- 
shop, wjjih to avail ourselves of this im- 
f,TC5sive occasion to give expression, in 
tJic face of all Christendom, to our ear- 
nest, solemrt, and unanimous protest 
;iq^in5t the late invasion of the Roman 
States by the Florcmine (jovernmeni, and 
this, our indignant protest, is grounded 
upon the following among other weighty 
rcASons : 

•* I. This forcible invasion was made 
in open jrioJation of solemn ircnties, guar- 
anteeing the independence of ihc Sover- 
eign Pontiff in the government of ihc 
small remnant of territory which had been 
left to him ; and wh;it incrrases its atro- 
cious injustice is ihc additional circum- 
stAncc, that the pusilhiuinious invaders un- 
generously av:iilcd themselves tif the mis- 
ortoncs of Fr:incc. thcii former best friend 
And ally, to carry out their wicked ptir- 
oos« of spoliation Without any previ- 
ous declaration of war ; without assign- 
in? any reason for their hrgh>liandcd act 
other tlian the pretended political exigen- 
cies of their position, which rcilty meant 
notiiing else but thai of their own inte- 
rests and self-aggrandi/ement ; without 
any complaints apainst the Pontifical 
government, the paternal mildness of 
whicb is known over inc whole world, 
and which was acceptable to the great 
body of the people who lived under its 



gentle sway : without cause, and against 
all right, these bold and unsciupulous 
men struck down by violence a small and 
lielpless neighboring stale — the oldest 
and the most legitimate In its rights of 
all European governmenis. It was a 
(Uumph of might against right, of brute 
force against justice. 

'* 2. The guilt of sacrilege was super- 
added to that of injustice. The Papal ter- 
ritory has been regarded by nil Christen- 
dom, for more than a thousand years, noi 
only as neutral, but even as sacred soil, 
belonging to two hundred millions of 
Chrlsiiaus scattered over the whole world, 
and administered for their benefit by the 
visible head of the church and the com- 
mon father of all. It was held as a pat* 
rimontal estate, belonging to the whole 
family, which had come down in unbrok- 
en descent, and as an unquestioned in- 
heritance, through more than thirty gcnc^ 
rations ; and which was regarded by the 
general consent of nations and the set 
tied jurisprudence of long centuries as 
necessary (or the free and independent 
exercise of the primacy by the successive 
incumbents of the Pontifical office, which 
necessaril}^ involved free iittcrcoursc with 
all Christendom, without the pressure of 
any preponderating political influence, or 
the possibility of any hostile political hin- 
drance. To secure this necessary freed utn 
of action, a small independent territory 
was sufficient, and, accordingly, thai as- 
signed to the PonlilTs by the wisdom and 
piety of past ages and the disposition of 
Providence, was large enough to ensure 
their liberty, but not so large as to exor- 
cise any great, much less preponderating, 
political influence over other nations. 

"3. The principle which lies .it the ba- 
sis of this time honored, world-wide ju- 
risprudence is precisely th;tl 'which was 
subsequently adopted by llic founders of 
our own great republic, who wisely or- 
dained that a small ind<?pendent district 
should be marked out and set apart from 
the territory of the stales, exeinpl from 
all state iuHuencc and control, as the se^it 
of the general government, to be admin- 
istered lor the benefit of all. 

"The District of f.k>lumhia is neutral 
an J, in some sense, sacred soil, belong- 
ing to no particular slate, but the com- 
mon property of all the states. This pro- 
vision was wisely made, in order to ren- 
der the action of the genernl guveinment 
free and untrammelled by particidar slate 
itilluence, which would necessarily have 



t 



846 



■ 



Ihc tendency to liamjict Us action and to 
beget tni-^tru&i as to its ffecdom* 

** As between the District of Columbia 
In its relation to the United Slates, and 
Ihc Papal territory in its relation to the 
tmiied feitntcs of Christendom, the prin- 
ciple is the same, and the parallelism is 
complete ; and if the states of Maryland 
:ind Vtrginia, or any other state or states, 
availing themselves of a crisis favorable 
to their purpose, should invade and hold 
forcible possession of the District of Co- 
lumbia, in violation of our settled juris- 
prudencc» and tor llieii own selfish pur- 
poses, the indignation which would burst 
forth throughout the land would be but 
an echo of that which now breaks forth 
throughout all Christendom on account 
of the sacrilegious invasion of the Papal 
Slates. 

" And our confidence in the sound 
good sense and even-handed justice of 
our Icllow-ciiiiens of all classes and de- 
nominations is such as lo inspire us 
with the fullest certainly that all fair and 
impartial men will be drawn 10 sympa- 
ihixe with us in the calathity which has 
temporarily bclallen our church in its 
visible head. In the nature of things, 
the calamity can be but transitory, just 
as in the hypothetical invasion of the 
Disiiict of Columbia. The united stales 
of Christendom will redress ihisgricvancc 
as promptly and as indignantly as would 
thf. t_ niicd States of Ameiica redress the 
other in the parallel case, 

'* 4. Notwithstanding the specious and 
hypocritical professions of the Florentine 
Ifovcrnment, and the sham of a plSisdtt 
managed under the influence of the bayo- 
net, we hiive the very best reasons for be^ 
lieving atid knowing that the invasion 
was not invited or approved of by the 
larger and rounder portion of the Roman 
people^ and lh.1t the PoiiiilT, far from be- 
ing free, i^ viriually and even really a 
piisoner in the hands of his enemies — 
the leaders of whom are. at the same time. 
ihc enemies of all truth, of all justice, and 
of all religion ; and that, ftnally, under the 
sad circumstances of durance in which he 
is held, guarded at bis very palace gales 
by a hostile soldiery, he cannot have that 
fiec intercourse with Christendom which 
his high and responsible olTicc of visible 
head of the church, for feeding the sheep 
and lambs at the whole flock ct)mmitted to 
him in the person of the blessed Peter, 
and fat confiiming his brethren, necessa- 
rily requires ;atid that thi< faithful through 




Italian Unity. 



out Ihc world cxi, imJT no con&dcM 
whatever thai their comtsynicaiboB^ ^ 
him and his answers t(> ibem irtU pm 
free and unmolested. Mm wiio imt 
violated all ireaiics antS fc^nroni tf 
faith arc nianifesily not to be trust«d«a 
least whenever tlicir sellisb iDtCf«ltiiB 
involved. 

** 5. Rome i* not onir ihr cefiircudf* 
ligion. but it is the sanrtuarr of aadCK 
and moderA literature :*".! -irt - .tii4 PtU- 
grourtded fears arc en • (on i|v 

sanctuary shoyld be . . juiil in 

precious treasures scaiieirtl ot destnfi^ 
by the ruthless invader. Tfir ind'ciisMi 
in this direction have been ifc. 

vorable^ in spile of llic brin ^ Ar 

occupation, and ihe^ fulure is hvmw mg 
and gloomy. 

*• 6. But what wc pr -ml 

siill more energetic iii tk 

open insult to all Chri&(t 'ipd 

in ihc breaking up of the :,ia^ 

Council, and the virtual cjn^uls^ua 
the capital of ChristenJotti of 
who had, at great expense ^ 
vcncd from all parts of iIj^ 
sist at the solemn assizer 01 tj»c 
They could no longer hope to be iM^ 
to assemble in peace and libertr m^aM 
their chief, to deliberate with tiitii oo H* 
great interests of the Cath ' - ""' -tcfc 
and hence no alternattve ■. Itts 

hut to return suddenly to ^m., '.,*ivfi 
sees, and none to the miefabU P^uf 
but to suspend, with a sot ro«riii|p Jijut 
the Vatican Council. 

'' For this outrage the Flf>fint':nr t-m 
crnmeni will have to ac 
wide and indignant t 
these and other reasons, wv i^m 

iudtgnantly unite, with two ad 

lions of tlhrisiians, in ptoie^tiiii^ iigaitts 
the sacritegious invasion of i|m Pl|rti 
States by the riorcniicie govctnttOH 
And. 

*' Whereas our Holv ' IX* 

OR the zgth of June, i ^ 

the Holy Apostles Pctcj , 
issue his Boll of Convcn 
meeting of the CI* cf 

Ihc V'atican. to 1 §ik 

day of December, j?o«;, ju lutr riTy ^ 
Rome ; and, 

*' Whcieas (he sjitd counr" * ' -i-cm 
blc accordingly., and. undct <3Ci 

of the Holy Ghost - • - - • • ^^o 

the wnjk appoinii jqr 

aboulthe2oihda>».. ., ;...,.,.., , ^i» 

1S70, when the 3tatrs of the Chardi 



'Without cause utid without any previous 
declaration of war, invaded by ihc troops 
of a neighboring monarch, King Victor 
Emmanuel, and the Holy Father was 
made prisoner and his government over 
thrown Vjy violence, and trie auibority of 
his holiness usurped by ibc creatures of 
ihe invader : 

'* Now. wc, the Catholics of the Arch- 
dioccsic of Baltimore, having been called 
iouciher to meet our dear Father in God, 
the Most Reverend Martin John Spald- 
• ng, archbishop of this diocese, on his 
return to his Nock aflcr pariicipaiing in 
llic proceedings of said coimcil» deem 
ihc present a proper occasion lo^cxprcss 
tjur firm convictions in relation to the 
tiuirnge pcipcuaied by King Victor Em- 
i*mnucl, is above stated. 

" Thenfort^ resolved ^ That ihc said inva* 
sion of the Papnl icrriiories and the 
t>ycrthrow of the government of his holi- 
ness and vii^iirpation of his sovereignty 
weic and arc agninst ripht and jusiice, 
in violation of the terms of the convention 
of the 15 ih of September, iS64» between 
the Empciorof France and the said King 
Victor KmmantitjU and of good faith, and 
an outrage against the civilized world. 

** AVxti/r rY, The circumstances of the 
case would justify the intervention of all 
Christi.m governments in favor of the 
restoration of his holiness to his sover- 
cig^n lights. 

"At the conduston of the reading, the 
resolutions were unanimously adopted by 
alt present in tlie cathedral rising in their 
seats, and raising up their right hands. 
At the satnc lime, the protest and tesolu* 
tions wt'fc rt-Md from the steps of the c:i- 
thcdral to the vast mnliitude outside. 
«rho likewise cnihusiasncatly adopted 
tJiem by raising their hands." 

Similar resolutions were passed m 
the other dioceses. Who has not reatl 
of the immense parochial mass-meet- 
ings assembled in the New York 
churches at the call of our most re- 
verend archbishop ? Boston, Alba- 
ny, Buffalo, Philadelphia, Charleston, 
New Orleans, Detroit — the Catholics 
of the Western as well as of the East- 
em States made their voices to be 
heard in this protest, without distinc- 
tion of race or nationality. Ameri- 
cans, Irish, Gennans, and French^ 



gray-Iieaded patriarchs and tite ge 
nerous youth of our colleges^ \icd 
with each other in expressing theii 
abhorrence of the injury and ttijus* 
tice to the church which the modern 
successors of the Lombards had per- 
petrated in robbing tlie Pope. 

We can say, without any exaggera- 
tion, that as among the laymen who 
signed the Catholic resolutions were 
men of great influence and wealth, of 
high honor and unitiipeachable hon- 
esty, of eminent science, some of 
theni the ablest lawyers in the land ; 
and as our clergy and the masses of 
our people haii from every country 
in Europe, the Americ;u) protest, 
though actually representing only 
seven millions of the fitithful, may 
virtually stand for all the Catholics 
in the world. Let our brethren in 
Europe take courage, then. Our ex- 
ample wil! put new energy into ihem, 
give them new confidence in the 
power of the mass •of the Catholic 
people to assert their religious rights 
by means which are peaceable and 
constitutional, but yet more irresisti- 
ble than armed force. 

The protest of the Americat) Ca- 
tholics against the unlawful taking of 
Rome shows principally their Catho- 
lic loyalty, and testifies to their strong 
faith in their religion, their abhor- 
rence of a sacrilege, and their un* 
shaken devotion to the Holy See. In 
this regard, we had no right to expect 
the sympathy of our Protestant fel- 
low-citizens. But^ as the protest is 
also one against injustice, illegal vot* 
ing, and robbery, we hoped that all 
honest men, irrespective of religious 
prejudice, would give it the ajiproval 
of silence at least, if their symjAathy 
with the opposite cause would not 
allow them to give it open applause. 
I1ie majority of Protestant Ameri- 
cans, especially of all those whose 
minds are not narrowed by sectarian 
education > or who do not make their 



848 



Italian Unity. 



living by anti-popery preaching, have 
been true to the claims of honor, 
honesty, justice, and international 
law. But how sad it was to see the 
zealots who assisted and spoke at the 
" Italian Unity " meeting in the Aca- 
demy of Music disgrace our nation- 
al character, by endeavoring to re- 
present the people of the United 
States as favorable to the most out- 
rageous violation of common hones- 
ty which the nineteenth century has 
witnessed! General Dix, renowned 
for the classic beauty of his orations ; 
Horace Greeley, whose friends call 
him " honest " and " philanthropic," 
and whose newspaper columns are 
continually filled, especially at elec- 
tion times, with attacks on " ballot- 
stuffing," " ring corruption," " illegal 
voting," and "dishonesty;" William 
('ullen Bryant, his fidus Achates in 
the same cause, and his superior in 
poetry, if not in prose ; Henry Ward 
Beecher, who pretends to have no 
prejudice, and no fixed creed, and 
whose eloquence is indisputable; 
Parke Godwin; and last, but not 
least, I)rs. Bellows and Thompson, 
two of the most popular and profes- 
sedly enlightened Protestant minis- 
ters — these were some of the men 
who applauded the act of Victor 
Kmmanuel in taking away by force 
Rome from the sway of the Pope. 

They called it a meeting in favor 
of " Italian Unity " 1 But why call 
a meeting for *' Italian Unity" in- 
stead of one for ** German Unity " ? 
Why are all these gentlemen so fond 
of " Jfij/ian Unity " ? Why did they 
not hold a similar meeting to sympa- 
thize with Germany when King Wil- 
liam became emperor of a ** united " 
fatherland ? Why did not these pre- 
tended lovers of rei)ul)lican institu- 
tions call a mass-meeting to sympa- 
thize with Mexico when she became 
a *' united " republic by the over- 
throw of Maximilian? Why not 



call a meeting to sympathize wii 
" Italian Unity " when Tuscany ai 
Naples were taken by the Pietima 
tese ? Why run in such haste 
an " Italian Unity " meeting befo 
the " unity " was an accomr»iish< 
fact, before the Italian parliame 
had made Rome the cajiital, and b 
fore the king had set loot in it 
Why, the moment Rome is enter* 
by force, before the blood of its h 
roic defenders was dry in the streei 
should General Dix, Horace Greek* 
Beecher, Thompson, and the re 
run to an ** Italian Unity " meeting 
Was it for " Italian U nity " ihev di 
all this ? But the Romans are ti 
only true Italians. The Sardiniii 
are a foreign race of Lombard or 
gin; the Neapolitans and i^iciliai 
were originally Greek colonies, iw 
mixed with Norman and Sjianif 
blood. To have perfect *• Itilia 
Unit)'," the Pope, as King of Kojim 
who is not a foreigner but a tree /a 
lian, should conquc-r and a nnci Sar- 
dinia and Xa[)los. If tr.c i\^[.ci€rt 
to undertake tl;e t.i.-k i>i i:iiiiii.-r.:o:. 
would these gentlcnu-ii li. !.■ a met: 
ing in favor of *' Itaiun ij.iry" 
He certainly wouhl h;:\<.- :^^ rvjj 
right to annex Sanlini.i r,< .S-r.iini; 
has to attempt the ann.-xati «:! u 
Rome. The i)ri. ciplc oi' *• luiuJ 
Unity " should conic tV. ):n tlie hea. 
of Italy, from Rome, and n-.^t l>r>r 
Sardinia, which is only ;i it »ri^.cr o;"t:i 
peninsula. 

The Pope is an e!ecti\ e monarch, aiv 
may be of {plebeian oriLfiii ; and in tlii 
regard his government dT.proachf 
nearer the form of our rcnuolir thr 
the Sardinian kingdom, \\]ii;.ii is 5; 
hereditary monarchy. \\.-t our [•.-£ 
tended rcpr.Mirans oj.-idy dcckirc. 
their preference for an hcreiiiiary nio 
narch notoriously wit'r.(»i:i \in:!e, uh( 
rules an overburdeii«.-.l ap.d d:>i'on 
tented peo[>le by tiu- forte of \rx 
bayonet, instead of the niu^t virt^- 



Italian Unity, 



H9 



ost lenient, and the most 
bdcm rulers, Pms IX, But 
\ it was all done purely for 
If *^ Italian Unity." 
I' Italian Unity " gentlemen 
^ the King of Italy had 

for war against the King 
I; that, in fact, the tak- 
lOme was directly opposed 
tw of nations. Our great 
Lent • lays down the fol- 
Bnciples which apply to the 
hJations are tqual in respect 
Mher, and entitled to claim 
isideration for their rights, 

may be their relative di- 
|>r strength, or however they 
\ in government, religion, or 
* This perfect equality and 
iependence of all distinct 

f fundamental principle of 
, It is a necessary conse- 
this equality that each na- 
\ right to govern itself as it 
k proper, and fw nation is 
dictate a form of g<rvernmcnt^ 
L or a course of internal poll- 
ifc^r. N& state is entitled t4} 
mnce or notice of tlu domestic 
\(tion of another state^ or of 
bfx within it as tie twee n the 
1/ and its oum suifects" The 
King of Italy has his title 
f a few years ; the King of 
Ib his tide over a thousand 

[or whom, then, should ho- 
len feel sympathy ? But no 
folate the taw of nations^ pro- 
re be " Italian Unity." So 
heral Dix, Horace Greeley, 
cher, Thompson, and Bel- 

ras QLpl3iscite which favor- 
an Unity" ! But was it 
i who proposed the fie In- 
It alone had a right to do 

I Tight had the King of Italy 
>ther king's subjects to vote 

jM^Nl/tfWM, vol. 1. pp. 31-93. 

^OL, XJI. — 54. 



against their law^ful sovereign ? Has 
the Governor of New York a right 
to cross the Hudson, seize the capi- 
tal of New Jersey, imprison its gov- 
ernor^ take over the roughs and row- 
dies of the Five Points to rob the 
state, and then ask the people of New 
Jersey to sanction the act — and^ if the 
people of New Jersey attempt to vote 
against the illegal seizure of their capi- 
tal, expose them to the dagger of the 
bravo and the bludgeon of the plug- 
ugly ? Has the President of the 
United States a right to make war 
without a declaration on Mexico or 
Canada, and use the scum of our 
cities, the jail-birds and escaped con- 
victs, to subject the Mexicans or Ca- 
nadians to mob- law, for the sake of 
"^"^ A merit an Unity"? Certainly Mr. 
Sumner pretends not to think so, since 
he is so anxious to prevent any coercion 
in the case of the proposed annexation 
of San Domingo; yet Mr. Sumner 
sympathized with the ** Italian Unity'* 
meeting. How consistent ! 

Til ere was a pUbiscitc in France 
just before Napoleon went to Saar* 
briick, and almost seven miUions of 
a majority of Frenchmen expressed 
** the popular will" in his favor. In 
a few weeks he was dethroned by 
the same pretended " popular will.*' 
Of what value, then, is a plebiscite, es- 
pecially when the ballots are manag- 
ed by those \s\\o control the bullets ? 
Must not popular votes be limited 
by constiluiional means ? No nation 
allows itself to be control leil by 
fickle popular whims. There is not 
universal suffrage in England, If 
there were in Ireland, English rule 
would cease in a day. We limit the 
right to vote daily. Suppose the 
next president should be a democrat, 
or the next governor of New York a 
republican, will there not be a period 
before the election, and certainly be- 
fore the inauguration, w^hen the man 
in office will not represent the **po- 




8so 



Italian Unity. 



pular will " ? May not the man in 
office hold his position for years and 
yet represent only a minority of the 
voters ? Why ? Because law and 
constitutional guarantees must limit 
the "popular will." In fact» it is 
more limited here than in England. 
In this republic, the president can 
keep his cabinet officers in spite of 
the ** popular will ;" in England, the 
queen cannot do so. Now, princi- 
ples are the sanie in Rome as in 
America. The constitution of a 
state controls the will of the people. 
The people cannot at every whim or 
fjretence vote out their rulers in the 
United States ; nor can they in Eu- 
rope. If they could, there never 
would be a stable government. The 
people of the United States have to 
wait four years for a new president ; 
the people of Rome have often not 
had to wait half so lung for a new 
king. When they get their king, he 
is generally a learned, able, generous, 
pious, amiable, conscientious prince, 
like Pius IX. We Americans have 
not always the same good fortune in 
getting presidents or governors. When 
the so-called King of Italy dies, the 
poor Italians must take an hereditary 
ruler, who is heir to the vices as well 
as the throne of the present gallant 
gentleman who governs them ! 

" The pUbisciU / " It was a farce, 
ordered by one who had no right to 
order it. Besides, it is notorious 
that car-loads of criminals who had 
h^^xi exiled from Rome for years, 
came with the camp-followers of the 
Italian army and voted against the 
Pope. It is notorious that over one 
htmdred thousand of the Pope's sub- 
jects abstained altogether from vot- 
ing. It is notorious that no one on 
the day of election could vote against 
Victor Emmanuel without risking his 
life, for the rowdies beset the polls, 
crying, Marie ai neri / ** Death to the 
priests 1" According to the Gazctta 



OfficuiU di Mafna^ there 
negative votes cast. • Ociljrl 
Rome to vote for the Fope \ ^ 
if Dix, Beecher^ "Fhoinpsoii. aod 
rest believe this, they shottld n 
again preach against " po|M&li i 
cles.** How credulous btgo-tryn 
men ! According to the saoK 
zetta^ all the votes cost were 40 
in the ten voting hours frota ^ 
to 6 P.M., at the twelve poUing-pU 
This would have to be at the ^ 
about one for every ten \ 
interruptedly. This^ tc 
consider that the voters had ta 
cend a flight of steps, and piq 
their ballots, while eye-i * 
test that for hours d tiring thei 
one went to vote at all. _Uj 
a clear case of ballot-stti 
voting, and fraud t Noi 
Greeley tell us, he who ts 
opposed to this system in Nc 
how it can be perfectly 
at Rome? Alas! for hi» 
" honest/' 

** But,'* will say one of 
leaders of the *• Italian Unity! 
ing, Rev. Dr. Thompson, ** 1 
Rosmhii^ LacQrdaire^ and 
eminent and sainify Utamam 
clergymen^ sympathize with 
ject of our assembly.'* llii* ' 
intimation of one of the 
proposed by Dr. Thomp^oe^ 
adopted by the mectlnK- We rtf 
Firstly, Catholics : " iflT to k 

Rosminiand Lacoi .ed"*id 

ly,** for they were gooU |jdcsis; I 
Dr Thompson ought 10 kmivi f 
Catholics do not consider « 
berti or Pollinger as *" saii 
condly, it is a false assuai 
any of these eminent we: jr. - 
wrote a line of sympp.^^-, kk :)\ \ 
object of the *' Ita •, m. 

ing. The pretcnu ^ j, waA 

locfflair to tke P 
of ke8|>teff op 1 



pressed in General Dix's telegram to 
Victor Emmanuel ; to sanction thejact 
of the taking away by force of the 
Pope's temporal power, and to con- 
gratulate the king on an event which 
consummated** Italian Unity." Now, 
it is true that Gioberti was in favor 
af ** Italian Unity;*' but he wanted an 
Italian confederation with the Pope 
at its head ; thus wishing an exten- 
sion rather than a diminution of the 
Pope*s temporal prestige, Gioberti's 
theory was adopted in the famous 
hrQchurc published in France just be- 
fore the Italian war against Austria, 
supposed to have been dictated by 
Napoleon II L, written by his crea- 
ture, La Guerroniere, and entitled 
NapaUon III. ei i' Italic, Any one 
who has ever read Gioberti's Pti- 
maio (V Italia knows that he never 
was in favor of taking away the 
Pope*s temporal power. 

RosininT, who retracted long be- 
fore his death his few imprudent theo- 
ries, could never count opposition to 
• the temporal power of the Pope among 
Ihcm, for he always defended it. In 
his work on the Five Wounds of the 
Church, he dearly ami plainly appraises 
and defends \}i\t temporal power of the 
Pope. This work contained some 
strange views, which caused it to be 
put on the Index ; among these 
views, however, was no opposition 
to the Papal sovereignty. 

Nor is there a line of all that La- 
cordaire ever wrote to warraut Dr. 
Thompson's assumption in regard 
to the great Dominican* 

The only one of whom there could 
be doulxt is DoUinger, Yet even 
this author has \*Titten nothing against 
temporal power of the Pope. 

m his work, The Church and 
Churches^ written expressly to ex- 
plain his views on the temporal 
power, countless passages might be 
quoted to show that he holds the 
very contrary of what Dr. Thomp- 



son assumed* On pages 2 and 3 
of this work, he writes: **The 
church can exist by and for herself, 
and did exist for seven centuries, with- 
out the territorial possessions of the 
popes ; but at a later period this pro- 
perty, through the condition of the 
world, becanu necessary, and in spite 
of great changes and vicissitudes has 
discharged in most cases its function 
of serving as a foundation for the 
independence and freedom of the 
popes. As long as the present state 
and arrangements of Europe endure, 
we can discover no other means to secure 
to the Papal See its freedom, and, 
through it, general confidence.'* The 
work from which we quote was writ- 
ten expressly, as DoUinger tells us in 
the introduction, to free himself 
from the reproach of being opposed 
to the Pope's temporal power, owing 
to a certain ambiguity in his Munich 
lectures. Again, Dolfinger whites r* 
" At the present day, what we want, 
before all things, is the truth, the 
whole truth, not merely the acknow- 
ledgment that the temporal po^vtf 
of the Ripe is required by the churchy 
for that is obvious to everybody at 
least out of Italy." In a lecture at 
Munich on April 5, iS6i, DoUinger 
said : ** Of the good right of the Pope, 
which rests upon the strongest and 
most legitimate titles of acquisition 
and possession acknowledged by 
mankind, there can be no doubt. As 
litde can exist of the faithless Mac- 
chiavelism and the revolting injustice 
of the policy pursued toward the Ro- 
man See."f In the same lecture,! 
quoting Bellarmine's remark that "in 
the earlier ages the church did not 
need princely authority for the sup- 
port of her majesty ; now it seems to 
be a necessity," he adds, " This neces- 
sity indisputably exists in our time as 



• Chnr€k And Cknrcktt^ p, lo. 
t /^iV., Appendix, p, 4^7. 
% Ibid,, p. 4s8. 



< 



852 



New Publications. 



strongly as ever." This is from one of 
the so-called ambiguous lectures ! 

In view of these facts, how could 
Dr. Thompson have the effrontery 
to intimate that " Gioberti, Rosmini, 
Lacordaire, and Dollinger, eminent 
and saindy Roman Catholic clergy- 
men/' sympathized with the '' Italian 
Unity" meeting? How reckless, 
how unprincipled, how disgraceful is 
such unfounded assertion ! 

Sympathize with the object of that 
meeting ? Sympathize with the men 
who, not content with taking Rome, 
broke the locks of the Quirinal and 
robbed the Papal palace? Sympa- 
thize with burglary ? Sanction bur- 
glars ? Oh ! no ; Gioberti, with all his 
faults, Dollinger, with all his anti-in- 
fallibility mania, would not stoop so 
low as to applaud stealing. This 
honor belongs to the gallant General 
Dix, the "honest" editor of the Th- 
bune^ and the reverend champions 
who self-complacently consider them- 
selves the representatives of Ameri- 
can honor and American honesty. 

We may add, also, that the sec- 



tarian press, and those wbos 
ions it represents, have dee| 
honored their claim to piety 1 
open sympathy with a movei 
marked by impiety, and dii 
by ribaldr}', sacrilege, licentic 
and immorality. It is hard 
whether the note of imbec 
that of inalignity predomin 
the attacks made on the H* 
by anti-Catholic writers for th 
since the time when the couo 
opened, and especially since 
terruption by the invasion of 
The sermons, lectures, speech< 
of our clergy and laity are in i 
contrast, in respect to argum< 
moral dignity, with these feeh 
ill-mannered diatribes. And 
compare the meetings of Cath< 
sympathize with the Pope wi 
unsuccessful attempt at rail)!! 
men of intellect and influeno 
the non-Catholic community 
support of Victor Emmanu 
may congratulate ourselves an 
IX. on a great moral triumph 
United States of America. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



The Vatican Council, and its Defini- 
tions. A Pastoral Letter to the Cler- 
gy. By Henry Edward, Archbishop 
of Westminster. London : Longmans. 
New York: D. and J. Sadiier & Co. 
1371. 

We welcome the republication of 
this new and masterly treatise by 
Archbishop Manning, which makes 
up a neat little volume of 250 pajijes. 
Its subject-matter is quite cxtcnsi\e, 
its manner of treatment very tho- 
rouq^h and admirably lucid, and some 
interesting documents are appended. 
The most valuable part of it, in our 



estimation, is the explication < 
definition of papal infallibility, 
cially in reference to its objc< 
extension, that is to say. th< 
ters over which the prerogat 
infallibility given to the churc 
the pope stretches its domain, 
learned and able instructi«)ns 
shops concerning g^reat and i 
tant doctrines come next in n 
and efliciency for g^ood to 
which proceed from the sovt 
pontiff; possessing, as they d 
sides the value which the sara 
positions would have from Uk 



Nnv PtiblicaiwHS. 



85J 



vate theologians* the force 
\% given to ihern by the cpis- 
;haractcr and authority. We 
the re fore, that this pastoral 
of Archbishop Mannini^ will 
bat wide circulation, and re- 
hat careful attention \n this 
y as well as in Engbncl which 
rves. As one pararrraph on 
^, which alludes to the " allcij* 
>osition of one bishop " to 
finition of papal inlaHibilitVi 
vc rise to some surmises, we 
it well to state that tlie pre- 
\ question is probably the 
I and celebrated Dr. Hefele, 

of Rotlenburg, and that 
'redulily which Dr. Manning 
scs rej^ardinff the truth of the 
ion has since the publication 

leMer been fully justified, 
m Pu6//gtu of Ghent has pub- 

Mie gratifying intelligence 
ishop Ilefeic, together with 
,pter, lias sent a formal adhc- 
I the definition of the Cuun- 
!lic Vatican, We announced 
lie ot Bishop Maret in our 
liber. The like is known, also, 
freat many others who ab- 

from voting at the last so* 
cssion, as well as of the two 
s who voted mvi p/acf/. The 
I assertions uf the papers 
icveral distinguished prelates 
Iding their assent arc com- 

falsc. Not a single bishop 
in found to countenance the 
1 of clerical and lay dissidents 
ive made ^Jiemsclvcs ridicu- 
' playing the wiseacre against 
ted authority of the Catholic 
pate, whose voice has been 

by the unanimous response 
I from their clergy and peo- 
►ncc again, as in the insti^nce 
definition of the Immaculate 
ition, our century has wil* 
the sublime and supernatural 
:le of the union of hierarchy 
>ple with the See of Peter in 
^fession of the dogmas of 
roclaimcd from the Chair of 
thus giving a new and splen- 
istration of the old maxim : 
Titus, IBI ECCIESIA. 



Simon Phter anh Simon Magus : A Leg- 
end of the Early Days of Christianity in 
Rome. Bv Rev, John Joseph Franc \ 
SJ. Philadelphia: Peter F. Cun* 
niagham, aid S, Third Sl 1871, 

The editors of the Messeni^fr 0/ fite 
Sacrfd Heart are doing a ^ood work, 
for which they deserve the warmest 
thanks, sympath)^ and support of 
ail Catholics. They devote solid 
learning and ability to the service 
of piety among the faithful by their 
magazine, which is of the highest 
quality in respect to literary excel- 
lence, yet studiously made plain, po- 
pular, attractive, and instructive to 
all, both young and old, and \\\ the 
strictest sense a rcUgious periodical, 
having for its chief end the promo- 
tion of Catholic piety and devotion. 
The series, of which this volume is 
one, is an excellent idea* Stories 
of this kind have a great and pecu- 
liar charm for the young, and for 
many older persons as wclL The 
present story is written with a great 
deal of power and with tlie style of 
an accomplished writer. F, Franco 
shows himself to be not only a 
skilful artist, but a very learned 
scholar, both in the structure of his 
story and in his notes ; and his ac- 
curate descriptions of the topogra- 
phy of Rome make one of the chief 
merits of his little volume. If wc 
may be allowed to criticise one 'vho 
has much more knowledge than we 
have concerning the literature of 
the subject of his story, we think 
he is rather too easy of belief in re- 
gard to the strict historic truth of 
certain traditions, and inclined to 
give too much value to documents 
which are of dubious origin and au- 
tlnirship. As a legend, based on 
some well-known or probable facts, 
the story answers its purpose fully, 
atid this, it seems to us, is all thai 
the principles of critical history will 
concede to it. The book is Jicatly 
and correctly printed, and wc re- 
commend it warmly to our readers. 

As Roman stories seem to be in 
vogue, we recommend to any one 
who is disposed to take up the sug* 
gestian the publication in an Eng- 



8S4 



New Publications, 



lish dress of Cineas^ a French stor>% 
far superior to The Jews of the Cape- 
na Gate, containing among other 
things remarkable descriptions of 
the burning of Rome under Nero, 
the last days and death of that ty- 
rant, and the destruction of Jerusa- 
lem. 

The IIousehold Book of Irish Elo- 
quence. Edited by a Member of the 
New York Bar. New York : James A. 
McGee. 

This large and handsomely print- 
ed volume, containing select speech- 
es of distinguished Irish orators, has 
been recently issued by one of our 
junior publishing houses in a style 
of workmanship that speaks well 
for the good taste and enterprise of 
the publisher. The selections — no 
easy task where so many flowers of 
rhetoric lay profusely scattered 
around, from which one nosegay 
only was to be culled — have been 
made with much discrimination, and 
with a view, it would seem, to the 
illustration of the historical inci- 
dents which called forth the orator's 
efforts, as well as to display the pe- 
culiar genius of each. Indignant 
denunciation and humorous descrip- 
tion, forcible logic and pathetic ap- 
peal, thus placed side by side, cloth- 
ed in their appropriate language, 
form a mass of reading interesting 
and instructive to every student, but 
more particularly to those whose 
special avocation requires the use 
of oratory in its various phases. 
O'Connell, the great popular orator 
of the century, and one of the great- 
est moral agitators of any age, pro- 
perly occupies the largest space in 
thebook. Eleven of his best speeches 
in Parliament, on the hustings, ind 
at the bar are republished, exhibit- 
ing in all their details that magnifi- 
cent rhetoric and withering sarcasm 
which made him the terror of cor- 
rupt ministers and partial judges, 
and which, united to his broad, ir- 
resistible humor, constituted hini 
the darling and unrivailed leader ol 
his countrymen for half a century. 



There are sei-en speeches. priiK 
]y parliamentarr, of Richard i 
Shiel, who. for many years b 
and after Catholic Emaiicipa 
was the Liberator*s most effi 
and brilliant assistant in awi 
of the House of Commons. An« 
number of Curran's have been s< 
ed from his numerous forensic c 
—efforts which. unfortunately ibi 
terity, were never fully or alto| 
er fairly reported, but which, mi 
as they are. g^ive us some ideao 
transcendent elcx]uence and ii 
table wit of that great advocati 
unmatched orator of the Irish 
Of Grattan*s great appeals t 
are three, and we think there sb 
have been more, for he wasii 
forum what Curran was io 
court — 

** With all that Demosthenes vanted td 
And his equal or rictor iti all be poaei 

Burke's two speeches in refci 
to America will be read with 
rest in this country. One of 
most remarkable of the whole 
lection, and the least familiar t( 
public, is that of Richard Brii 
Sheridan in the H':>nsc of Ct^mn 
in opposition to Pitt's inconi* 
bill. We find also Emmet's d 
speech, and the late iieneral 1 
Meagher's apostr«>phe to the si 
delivered while yet a youth 
prophetic of his after-career in 
Country: the very able f.>rcn'«i« 
fort of Whiteside on the tria 
Gav.in Duffy: anci'a shorter, cal 
and eminently characteristic. ific 
of Thomas D'Arcy Mciiee bcfo 
benevolent society in Ouebec. 
biographical sketches. th«uc*nsl 
are well written and comet 
in diction and facts, but the i 
t rat ions, of which there are sev 
we are compelled to sav are. 
few exceptions, below the star 
i>f hij^h art. and n.>t at all in kee 
with the <»ther\vise superior nit' 
nism displayed in the compos 
i.f the work. True orator)-, 
handmaiden of justice and !• 
has ever found its widest sp 



New Pjiblkatians, 



instttutions are nurtured, 

!!fce most of our accompli sb- 
h a knowlec^ge of the masters 
& past generations is necessary 
s Ihorough acquirement ; and 
for this reason that wc cordial- 
Icomc this new addition to our 
ies, and anticipate fur it a 
circulation. 

>LD Religion ; or, How shall wc 
PrinvUiveChnsiianity? A Journey 
i New York lo Old Rome. By 
iam Lockhart, B.A., Oxon», Pricsi 
ic Diocese of Westminster. Lon- 
; Burns^ Gates & Co. Pp, 504. 
rd ediiion, 

think it a very interesting sign 
J change which a single genera- 
las sufficed to work in the pub- 
titinient of England that such a 
SIS this *• may be hod at Messrs. 
I & Son's Raihvay Book-stalls." 
fs have come round wonder- 
since the Oxford leaders star- 
the scholarly repose of the 
[universities by their first hesi- 
I advances in the direction of 
tholicity towards which they 
r groped than aimed their way. 
in America we are far behind 
oint which has been reached in 
mthcr country. Not that with 
■church is less strong or less 
Bitvc, but we are, as a people, 
ntellectual, and,\ve fear, less in 
i5t than our English cousins. 
ny rate* our ** travelling pub- 
has a far meaner literary taste; 
re are greatly mistaken if the 
is not far distant when the 
prising youth upon whom has 
Ivcd the function of turning 
ail road-cars into reading-rooms 

find it a paying business to 
us Milne r*s End of Contnn^er- 
The Cathci'lic World along 
' Carleton's Publications *' and 
k Leslie. 

see no reason per se why a 
T (supposing him to be both 
at and candid) who picks up 
~ ^ij^/on at one of Messrs. 
^ n's book-stalls, attracted 
fTitte and cheerful cover, might 
finter his railway-carriage at 



London an unruffled Protestant, 
and emerge from it at Liver- 
poo! or Edinburgh ready to make 
his submission to the first Catholic 
priest he might meet. The book is 
both complete in argument and 
charming in style. There is learning 
enough for the most scholarly, while 
the niurative and conversational 
form which the author has adopted 
will entice the most listless reader 
into familiarity with a subject from 
which he might have turned away in 
stolid unconcern. And the reason- 
ing, wc say, is complete ; for, though 
wc are not led on step by step in the 
formal manner of a treatise, yet, when 
we reach our journey's end, wc find 
ourselves landed by intellectual con- 
viction, as well as in imagination 
physically, in '*OId Rome.** 

There are a few slight careless- 
nesses in the book, or what seem 
to us carelessnesses (as when the 
author speaks of 'Vshooting" a 
Roman soldier) ; and the imitation 
of our American manner of speech 
is, lo our thinking, rather overdone. 
Such imperfections, however, are 
trifling — much more pardonable 
than the negligence of the proof- 
reader, who seems to have done his 
work in a great hurry. Where is 
the advantage, by the bye, in giving 
no table of contents, and in not 
putting the date of publication on 
the title-page? 

But we did not intend to find fault. 
We wish the volume might have as 
extensive a sale in this country as it 
has had in England. It certainly 
deserves it. Most of the characters 
arc American, and there arc allusions 
to places and persons which would 
doubtless be recognized by many of 
our Catholic readers. 

W^e commend the allegorical "Story 
of the Old Ship" (chap, xxviii.) as 
one of the most racy and effective 
bits of satire we have read for a good 
while. 

Ess.^vs Written in the Intervals of 
Business. By Arthur Helps. Boston: 
Roberts Brothers. 1871, 
This is one of the scries of Mr, 



856 



New Pubfk^twHs. 



Helps's works which the Roberts 
Brothers are publishing, and is utii* 
form with Companions of $ny Soit- 
iud^, noticed by us in the Decem- 
ber number. 

Nothing from Mr. Helps's pen is 
entirely without merit, or fails alto- 
gether to deserve praise ; but these 
essays, the first, we think, which the 
author gave to the public, possess 
less attraction for us than anything 
he has since written. 

Both his matter and manner have 
steadily improved since this book 
was first published. We said, in 
noticing Companions of my SoU^ 
tude, that Mr. Helps, with all his 
merits, was sometimes prosy. In 
these essays we must confess he is 
almost always so. 

The truths they set forth are so 
very true, and the good advice they 
give so very good, that they fail to 
be effective, and lack altogether the 
suggestive ness of the thoughts and 
retlcclions given us so much less 
formally in Friends in Council and 
Compamons of my Solitude. 

They read too much like themes 
written as task-w^ork by undergradu- 
ates bent on following the rules of 
composition laid down by their pre- 
ceptor. 

But, however little this book 
pleases us, we think the Roberts 
Brothers are doing an excellent 
thing in reprinting in so neat and 
attractive a form Mr. Helps's gene 
rally admirable works, and we look 
forward with pleasure to the pubU- 
cation of the rest of the series, some 
of which* we believe, are already in 
print 

HiSTOHY OP American Sociai.tsii. By 
John Humphrey Noycs. Philadelphia: 
J, B. Lippincott & Ca New York : 
James Miller. 647 Broadvray, 1S70. 

This work is not without interest 
as giving an impartial history of 
the various socialistic experiments 
hitherto made in this country. We 
(ailed, however, to find in it an ac- 
count of the Fruitland community 
started by Bronson Alcutt and 
Charles Lane, and which deserves 



a place 10 its podges. Mr. 

tributes to the Sliakcni* cj 
dificrent efiforts made to rec 
world by socialism, and 
adds, "arc the fiir-olf echoes 
primitive church/* \\'U\ -r . 
to fetch these ecbocft, ^ 4 

find \n the almost cou 1 

and communities in ti 

Church the continuatti^i. -i 1. >^ 
founded by the apostles ? He 
all mention of these. It i% i\ 
purpose was to ^avc d '* htst< 
American socialisms/' but thci 
religious communities in the 
lie Church founded in *^ ' - 
and by Americans — ^air 
that by Mother Seton. ai tn*; 
burgh, Maryland. This wouldl 
afforded him a strikinij 
the labors for hum,: 
Sisters of Charity with the 
trial successes f>f the Shakei 
thren. Our author indicatei 
'" Christianity alone has the 
monizing power necessary td 
cessful association;" and Xo 
this statement as con:- j 

true, he had but to add, 1 j 

lie Church alone do we la ltd, j 
"the primitive church;'* this \ 
monizing power " so pr ^1 

plied and in successfu. i; 

Had most of the mca engage 
these socialistic experimciits 
known it, they would have foai 
the religious bodies in the Caf 
Church what they sought aflci 
for which they wasted their sin 
and utterly failed in attaining. 

Ten Times Onk is Ttx. £d«^ 
H;ilc. Boston: Robciis Di^ 
1S7I' 

Probably many of ow ^ 

member the article pul> li 

Atlantic Monthly, some ycarsj 
entitled The M*tn r.vV.^,.// ,* I 
try, by which Mr. E ji 

great part of his i 
ingenious and effective story-( 
He was so successful in Xhti 
around an intrinsically impns 
and extravagTint narrative, b| 
ter-of-fact detail and descriptl^ 




,air of truth and sincerity, that most 
aple who read believed in the 
Sfcrings of the author's entirely 
Tniaginary hero, and even in many 
cases persuaded themselves thut 
long before they had heard uf the 
more salient incidents of the story 
as matters of history. 

Mr. Hale has published many 
other stories since which owe their 
charm to the novel and striking 
power which he possesses cf rep re* 
senting the fiintastic, the improba- 
ble, and the impossible as natural 
and hlehke. The end attained or 
the result reached in them is al- 
most always absolutely impractica- 
ble and extravagant, sometimes even 
sensibly impossible and absurd, and 
5''Ct the methods ol" securing this etKl 
or result arc* as he selsthcui forth, so 
eminently plausible and so seemingly 
within our power that it is hard (or 
us, as we lay down the book, to an- 
swer the question suggested, ** Why 
not?" 

It is to this peculiar power of the 
author in making appear possible 
in detail that which in the aggre- 
gate is manifestly impossible, and to 
a certain Dc Foe- J ike realism in his 
Style of story- telling, that his books 
owe whatever excellence they pos- 
sess. 

TfH Times One is Ten shows admi- 
rably this lattercharactcristic of his, 
but, as it deals more with the result 
Ultaincd and less with the means of 
attaining it than most of his other 
Ston'='s, it falls far short of them in 
their most distinctive merit. It com- 
pares very unfavorably ^Vith such 
tales as The I\fan wUhoni a Coun- 
try and lytiT Childrin of the Public, 
Though not without humor and in- 
terest, it seems to us ver}^ much 
nearer the work of Mr. Hale at his 
worst than at his best. 

The moral of the story is the in- 
fluence which a single unselfish 
life may exert. In this "vision of 
a possibility/' as the authiir styles 
it, he brings about a final re forma* 
lion of the world and a reconstruc- 
tion of society on the basis of uni- 
versal brotherhood and good-will. 



Mr. Hale is a Unitarian clergyman 
of whatare termed •' advanced ideas," 
but we must claim the privilege of 
doubting whether he really believes, 
whatever this book may seem to 
imply, that any such result is pos- 
sible except through sup.'rnatu- 
ral means and divine grace. At all 
events, whatever may be the idle 
dreams of a fancy such as his, it is 
not the less true that it is the church 
alone which can reform the world, 
and bind all men together in the 
bonds of a universal charily. 

Nature's Arjstocracv. By Miss Jen- 
nie Collins. Boston: Lcc & Shcpard. 

Nine-tenths of this volume, of 
three hundred and twenty pages, are 
made up of stories uf the wrongs of 
individual working men and women, 
inflicted by their employers, froni 
almost every department of manual 
labor; like a string of shark's teeth 
strung together to exci te our compas- 
sion for the unfortunates who have 
fallen into the jaws of suflxiring. But 
we think we could gather a chaplct 
of pearls, composed of individual 
instances of kindness, consideration, 
and tenderness on the part of mas- 
ters and mistresses, which would 
demonstrate as well that on the 
whole employers arc a merciful class. 
The truth is that neither collection 
^f facts would/jv:r anything. That 
there arc great reforms needed in 
many branchesof labor, both on the 
part of employers and employees, is 
patent to every observing mind ; but 
we think Miss Colhns fails utterly in 
her attempt to prove that these re- 
forms are to be brought about by 
strikes and trades-unions. In her 
management of the servunt-girl 
question, she is still more unsuc- 
cessful, giving as a reason why 
girls prefer the shop to the kitch- 
en that \n the latter department 
" she works for a stipulated sum. 
and is well aware that her cmplover 
intends to get all the labor he can 
for that sum." adding that '* servant- 
girls are without the commonest 
means of shielding themselves ; 
and in this fact mav be found the 



; 



858 



New PublicatwHs. 



reason why so many fly to the shops 
for sustenance rather than the kit- 
chen." 

There are some statements in her 
book quite appalling. *' In New Eng- 
land/' she says, " where the manu 
facturing wealth was confined to 
so few, a select aristocracy was years 
ago established, and, as each rich man 
wished his child to marry into a 
wealthy family, they were obliged 
to marry cousins. This defiance of 
nature brought upon the stage a 
race of half-witted mental cripples, 
if not idiots." Think of that, ye 
manufacturers of New England ! 
The author anticipates a state of so- 
ciety in the future when " there will 
be no paupers who deserve cha- 
rity," while our Lord in his Gospel 
has said, ** The poor ye have always 
with you, and whensoever ye will 
ye may do them good." 

The volume closes with a chapter 
advocating •* Woman's Suffrage," 
containing only the common argu- 
ments of the leaders of that move- 
ment. We put by the book with 
the thought that a person who can 
see but one side of a subject can 
hardly convince any one of the truth 
and justice of his or her reasoning. 

SiBiRBAN Skf.tcuks. By W. D. How- 
ells. New York: Hurd & Houghton. 
1S71. 

It is not often that there falls into 
the hands of the reviewer a book 
of light reading so admirable both 
in matter nnd manner as this. 

The Sketches are pictures of life 
in old Cambridge — Charlesbridije, 
the author names it. as a feigned dis- 
guise. 

We do not know how much of the 
delight with which we read these 
essays sprang from the associations 
which in our mind cluster around 
that beautiful, quiet university town, 
and from the recollections of every 
place and matter of local interest 
touched on in them; but we do know 
that, apart from them and by one 
who has never in all his life seen 
Cambridge, the book will be found 



charming. There is in it such r^ 
fineraent of thought, such depth ant 
subtil ty of humor, and such g^lc^ 
ful elegance and artistic beauty o( 
style, as makes us recognize witn 
giateful pleasure that we have :a 
America, to use the words of anotii- 
er, a prose-writer "worthy 10 be 
ranked with Hawthorne in sensiti\-c- 
ness of observation, and with Lon^ 
fellow in perfection of style." 

The work is that of a Pre-Rapha- 
elite artist. Every detail is lovingiy 
and appreciatively elaborated, and 
yet every detail is made to har- 
monize perfectly with ever>- other 
in the general grouping and effect 

The most prosaic and common- 
place objects and incidents are made 
to appear, by Mr. Ilowells's vivid and 
poetic treatment, as interesting and 
unfamiliar as the ad\*entures of a 
tourist in lands afar and countries 
unknown. The author describes a 
walk to Some rvi lie or a ride by 
horse-car to Boston, and, though wt 
may have been over the same road 
a thousand times, he throws around 
them by his brilliant fancy the ten- 
der atmosphere of illii^iV.n. r/iar. 
without falsifying, rounds and sof- 
tens the crudities •>f fact. and makes 
it all as charming to us as though 
he were writint: *^{ fl<»alintr through 
Venetian streets or strollingon Tus- 
can roads. 

He tells us of his "door-step ac- 
quaintances:" and. althi>ugh ever)- 
detail of the descripti.>n i> accurate 
and complete, we fr^rcet the disa- 
greeable reality <.»f the ciirly. unkempt 
organ-grinder who bores un ii> death 
with worn-out tunes, ground ou; 
from the wheeziest of instruments, 
and see only the cLirk-e\eci olive- 
skinned Italian wh* ►. far awav as hf 
is from his beautiful country, ne\'tf 
by day or by night forgets his lovC 
for her. and is always purposing to 
return one day to enjoy, as ^^\\^ of 
them told the author, •* a little cli- 
mate befiire he dies." 

Mr. Iluwellss style is as pure and 
unaffected as it is finished and care- 
ful. By this and his former books 
he has gained a high place in.Amc- 



Neiv Publications. 



859 



rican literature, and we hope tkat 
it will be long before we shall see 
the last production of so charming 
and graceful a writer. 

Books am> RevVdisg ; or, What Books 
Shall I Read and How Shall I Read 
Them? By Noah Porter, D.D.. LL.D. 
New York: Charles Scribner & Co. 
1871. 

In these dars of book writing 
and publishing, when the press of 
every country is pouring out pro- 
ductions in e\T3ry language and of 
every degree of merit and of demc- 
ril, whicJi, on the one hand, promul- 
gate every form of error and false- 
hood, and, on the other, exhibit 
ever phase of truth and knowledge, 
an attempt by any man. however 
cuUivated his literary taste may be* 
to set forth for tlie inexperienced 
and youthful student a course of 
reading which shall be at once prac- 
ticable, complete, acid advantageous, 
must be well-nigh hopeless. 

Perhaps Professor Porter has suc- 
ceeded as well as any person would 
be likely tu in any such endeavor. 
He treats his subject with discrimi- 
nation and go* id taste, and shows a 
careful and thorough acquaintance 
with English literature. 

We think; however, that he gives 
altogether too little attention tu for- 
eign literature. By far the greater 
part of the inteUectual wealth of 
Europe is accessible to all readers 
in America through English trans- 
lations, and no one certainly can 
claim to be well read who is to any 
marked degree unacquainted with 
to reign books. 

If this book leads any large num- 
ber of young readers to systematize 
and therefore render more valuable 
what would otherwise have been a 
desultory and purposeless course of 
reading, the ;iuthor should and un- 
doubtedly will feel amply repaid for 
bis labor. 

AsPENDALE. By Harriet W. Preston, 
Boston : Roberts Brothers, 

^This small, unpretentious volume 



is a charming description of the life 
of two cultivated intelligent women 
who, for some unexplained reason, 
chose to make themselves a home 
under one roof* in a lonely country 
village. Here, however, they formed 
a few appreciative companions, and 
the book (without plot) is a series 
of conversations between these 
friends, who discuss v^arious sub- 
jects from different standpoints. 
The " talks " are sprightly and well 
sustained, giving out many sugges- 
tive thoughts of men and things. 
The criticism " on the worship of 
blood** and **weaUh," as displayed 
in the writings of Mrs, Stowe and 
"The Autocrat," is specially just 
and well put. The remarks upoji 
Ei\e Homo are also satisfactory, but 
we differ entirely from the author in 
her judgment of the writings of 
Madame Dude van t (George Sands). 
We could not recommend the read- 
ing of her works under any circum- 
stances, on the principle that one 
cannot touch pitch without defile- 
ment. 

The Ufward and Onwaru Series; 

FjEt.D AND FORKST ;OR, TUK FORTtfNICS 

OF A Farmer, By Oliver Opiic. 
Plane and Plank ; or, The Mishaps of 

A Mechanic. By Oliver Optic. 
Lost in the For;. By James De Mille, 

an ih or of The B, O. IK C, etc. 
DoriiLK Play ; or, I low Joe Handv 

cjKt5>F: HIS FitiENDS. By William Evc- 

reit» author of Changing Base, etc. 
TiiK Bf.ckoning Series : Who \wi\ l Win ? 

Bv Paul Cobden, author of Bessie 

LovelL 
The Beckoning Series : Going on a 

Mission, Illuslratcd. 

The above six books are publish- 
ed by Lee & Shepard, Boston, and 
Lcc» Shepard & Dillingham, New 
York. They are all finely printed 
and illustrated, 

Oliver Optic's books arc too well 
known to need commendation ; they 
have been the favorite books of 
boys for years past. The Uptvard 
ami Omvard Series promises to be 
quite as attractive as any of the 
others; but his reign over boy-lite- 
rature seems about to be seriously 



86o 



New Publications. 



disputed. Double Play is full of in- 
cident, with all the charm of danger 
and escape, and, more than all, is a 
true picture of boy-life. Who will 
Wiftf and Going on a Mission ctxhuoX. 
fail to please both boys and girls. 

M r.MoiRS OF A GiARDiAX Angel. Trans- 
lated from ihc French of M. L'Abb6 
(>. C.'harclon, Honorary Canon. Superior 
of the Diocesan Mission of Clermont- 
Ferrand. Baltimore : Published by 
John Murphy & Co. New York : The 
Catholic Publica; ion Sociciy. Boston : 
Patrick Donahoc. i2mo.- 1S71. 
This handsomely bound and fine- 
ly printed book reflects great credit 
on its enterprising publisher. It 
is pious, instructive, and very in- 
teresting. To give the reader an 
idea of it, we make an extract from 
the author's prefiice : •* Those me- 
moirs are a gallcr}'- of paintings 
in which is brought into view 
the Catholic doctrine on the min- 
istry of guardian angels. An angel 
here tells what were his duties and 
his impressions from the moment 
in which a soul was entrusted to 
him to that in which she took her 
place at nis side in glory." 

TlIK VlRTl'KS AND FAULTS OK CHILP- 

HuOD. Translated from the French by 
^Miss Susan Harris. Baliimoie : Kellv, 
Piet & Co. 1S71. 

We take great pleasure in recom- 
mending this little book to our 
youthful readers. It contains excel- 
lent stories all about children : it is 
beautifully illustrated, is printed on 
elegant paper, finely bcniiuK and is. 
in fact, a credit to the g(jod taste 
and judgment <;f the publishers. We 
hoj)e to see many such books got out 
by our Catholic publishers. 

A Skc'oni) Fri:nch Rkader. Progtes- 
sively arranged ; with a complete 
French-English Vocabulary and Table 
of Wrb.il Terminations, (.'ompiled bv 
I.. Pylodet. Proi;rkssi\ F. ruENcii 
Rf.aher. With copious Notes. Philo- 
l«>gical and Gramniatiral : and luime 
rous references to ()ti<>*s French Cun- 
versation CJrammar. By Ferdinand 
Bocher. New York ; Levpoldt \- 
Holt. 
These text- books have been care- 



ful^ prepared by experience 
ers. The first forms one of 
designed for schools where 
is taught in a number of 
classes. The selections a 
and the vocabulary so com 
to render the aid of the dii; 
unnecessary. 

Hocher's Ottos French Rc\ 
made up of many elegant i 
from modern French writer 
notes on each lesson, given 
end of the volume, contain 
lent explanations of all the 
met with in the text. The j 
merits of the book consist 
plying the learner, in the s: 
two hundred pages, with th 
bulk of ordinary French woi 
the common idioms, and the 
with a variety of subject-mat 
hcient to enable him to ill 
the grammatical constructiur 
French language. There car 
better text-book procured 1 
use of advanced scht»lars, for 
benefit it was especially prep; 

noOKS KECKIVFD. 

From MiRiiiY A: Co., Haiti more; \ lU ■ 
'lest. A Drama in Two Acit r-r 
I.ailifs. Trunslatfd ironi the Kn.xn 
I'lipil of llie Aiadoiny <*t the V.V.'.'U 
tiiu.iir. an«l respect tully Dc.iicmtej '. ■ '- 
tholic Academics ot <..liifaK"--T« 
iH>\\i\<i. A Drama in One Ait i-.r \ u» 
flies. 'I lanslateil from the I'"rcni.h • : H 
by a Tupilot the Acadcinv of the V. 
Iljiltimore. and respccttully DcUk^Ic ! 
(l.fismale^. 

I^'rom I.r-.Y»<n nr & MniT, New V,!n 
Rome ami Naples. I'loroiicc a; ' 
Irom tlic Krencli i.'l II. Taiiu*. ]\v \ ] 
'lliird cilitiou, two volumes in one. m 
rcctitins and inviices. 

Krom Ki.DKKtK-.K & Wkotuiu, PhilaiK'- ' 
Hooks ot the J'.neidot Virjril. uith i-,J,i 
notes and voial)ulary. Hy 'I'n.^njj'. 
MA. 

I'lom His/h.FK IJkos.. <'inrinnati. Ofiji'. • ' 
tholir ("rvisor. liv Kev. \V. i|. ,\,. i^. 
Afternoons ^^ilh the Saints. Hv K^v. 
Anderilon. 

I'r«'m Roiihi;t«; nBoTnrR«;. H^^ton : T!'e 
lions of the I'nsecn. anii Poonis of I f» 
("hildhoiid. Hy Jean Inpclow. i vl ui 
ir.'.— Marsaret: A Talc of the Real *a 
Ideal, liliuht and Hloom. lly SvLc^icr 1 
Vhc Karthly Paradise. Bv U'illiaii 3 
I'ait IV. 

I'rorn Kiki.os. C)<;r;ooi> & ('n . Rom- mi : AVc 
A l!<>mcStMrv. Hy Mrs Whitncv. 1 v..'. 
pp. 21!;.- Miriam, ami c»ther P»)cms. It- 
Oictinleat Whitticr. 1 vid. lop o. i»r-. 
My Summer in a (harden. Hy Charles L 
Warner, i vol. 16m o, pp. 1S3.