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3RLD
INE
AND Science.
ir.
: MBER, 1871.
DLICATIOy nous
!i Street.
I .
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
OF
General Literature and Science.
VOL. XIII.
APRIL TO SEPTEMBER, 1871.
NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,
9 Warren Street.
1S71 .
660b61
jotm »o« * CO..
17 XOK iT., I««W W»«-
CONTENTS.
Alt>eituB MifTDiu Vindicated, 711
America's Obti^tion to Frmnce, 836
Ancients, the Writing Mmtehals of the, isS
Animas, Las, 353
Animals, Love for, 543
Bishop Timon, B6
Bordeaux. 158
Brebeuf, Memoir of Father John, 519, S93
Carlyle and Ptre Boohoura, Sao
Catholic Anociatlons, Spint of, £59
Catholicity and Pmntlieism, 554
Cayia, A Pilgnmage to, 395
Cecilia, Saint, 477
Church, 1'he, Accredits herself, 145
Church, Wiiat our Uunlclpal Laws owe to the,
CfviltzatioD, Origin of, 493
Dion and the Sibyls. 56
Dofia Kortuna and Don Dinero, ty>
Dfillinger, The Apostasy of, 415
Education and Unification, i
Education, On Higher, 113
Egbert Sunway, 377
Egyptian Civilization according to the most Re-
cent Discoyeries, 804
England, The Serial Literature of, 6ig
Europe's Future, 76
Flowers, 303
Froude and Calvinism. 541
France, America's Obligation to, 836
Future, The Present and the, 451
Galitzin, The Mother of Prince, 367
Geneva, The Catholic Church in, S47
Genzano and FrascatI, 737
Good Gerard of Cologne, I1)e, 71)7
Gottfried von Strassburg's Hymn to the Virgin,
Inde^tntttnty A Word to Tk*, •47
Infallibility, 577
liciAiid, Ancient Laws of, 633
Irelana. 'i'He l.ord Chancellors of, nS
Irinh Martyr, An. 433
Italian Guarantees and the Sovereign Pontiff,
3«
Laws, Municipal, and the Church, 343
Letter from Rome, 134
Letter from the President of a College, aSi
Liquefaction of the Blood of SL Januarius, 77«
Locket, The Story of an Algerine, 643
Lourdea, Our Lady of, qS, aj5, 396, 537, 663, Saj
Lucas Garcia, 783
Mary Benedicta, acrj
Mary Clifford's Promise Kept, 447
Mexican Act and its Michael Angelo, 334
On Higher Education, 113
Our Lady of Guadalupe, 1B9
Our Lady of Lourdes, 9S, 353, 396, 537, 66a, 835
Our Northern Neighbors, loS
Page of the Past and a Shadow of the Future, A.
764
Pantheism, Catholicity and, 334
Pau, 504
Pfere Jacques and Mademoiselle Adrlenae, 677
Present and the Future, The, 45a
Protestantism, Statistics of. In the U. S., 195
Reformation, The, Not Conservative, t>\
Rome, How it Looked Three Centuries Ago, 33S
Rome, letter from, 134
Saintship, False Views of, 434
Banta Kestituta, Legend of, 376
Sardinia and the Holy Father, 3S9
Sauntering. 35
Sayings of the Fathers of the Desert, 374
Scepticism of the Age, The, 391
Secular, The, Not Supreme, 683
Shamrock Gone West, The, 364
Sor Juan Inez de la Cruz, 47
Spanish America, Dramatic Moralists in, 703
Statistics of Protestantism In the U. S., 193
St. Januarius, Liquefaction of the Blood of, 773
The Church Accredits Herself, 145
Unification, Education and, i
What Our Municipal Laws Owe to the Church,
34a
Writing Materials of the Andents, it6
Vorke, The House of, 13,169^^11 V^^i^'H>l^
C0Ht(Nfs7
POETRY.
"Anm" ortheSlonM.Tb», 168
A Pie IX., ai
DiuDutiaacd, 489
CuAltMrto'i Victory, 96
KLjig Coiauc'k Choice, 413
Ob \ Gnu, PtectuM, h6
Rom, The, 5Tt
Saiot John DwArf, 357
Sanca Del Gcnttrix. 771
Sannet, 603
St. Fnocis anil St. DotsiDtc, 7*5
St. Kfanciiof AMiii, iji
Si. Uujr Magdatea,}!!
Tbe Ciusa. 14
The True liaq>. J74
To tlw Crucified jja
Vespen, *i%
Wamlnt, Tlie, i«5
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Alilei" St. P«ier. »6<.
Anflcnon'i IltitnrictI Rcsder.ljj
Apple tun's Aonml CrdopwJia, 57s
naTl[«t'«Teit-B«>V of Cheiniiir)>. u»
Hrct Hartc'i foems, 1*4
Ca4dcirt Sever PorKnIlea; at, The Hodid uI
the L<'!>i C(iil.1, £;)
CUecliiMn llluMrAtctl. nie,e)4
Ckmcnt'i llanA-Haokor Lc^cadary and Mftbo-
Iti^icat Alt. 14J
CoUriilgu'* TbculoKy ot the Panblo, 4ji
CuMlui'a Hi^iiif J- III (iicecne, jjj
Cuiack't ttuiory of Keny, 133
Divine Liturgy of SL Jokn Chtiriottom, 573
EUa; ar,SfMla Fifty Tean Afo, i4>
Palr>uik«'< DUtory of Floftila, Sj7
PamUiat DiKoynM to tba Younc, >fe8
Fifty CaUi«iic Tiacu, 410
Falla EoclcsUalka, 144
t>aikln'» Irish VukUo. 143
GtOMWOot], Th« CounlCTS of, aU
llamHtoD'i GoldcD Wordi, tfo
lieaven. Tha Happincti nf, aU
Hcfela ou tlie Clirlatiao Counctli, 71!
HciDOOws)-'* VcmK<ni,e$7
Hlj[fflnv)n'»SyBi[ifithy of Religions, *W
lluly liieictsc ai the ('rnence of Uod, 134
tloluics oa >I««faantim in Thetight aail UonU,
■ »
Historical Cairttecr, {57
lUuttratcd Catholic SaKday-Scttool UlMwr. $n
Joua and Jctiualcia. 140
Kellon'l Anbur Brows, 14)
KeoQ't Uloi aod tht Sttqris. »•
La Gfancc'a Thecla. 43>
LallcMiant' s Spiritual Doctrine. «fl7
LetMn'il Holy Communion, jti
Life and Wntiaiia o4 De Muntlort, 14J
Life of St. CerVudc. £59
>lanm Omitted by Pose, srs
MediuiiotM oa Ibe LlUiiy ot the Muet Holy '
Mile* > Tiuce of God. J74
Moran ■ Life of Arclthishnp Pliinlcelt. it4 &jB,
Mnt, Stowc'« Prnk ■ml W hue Tyfatiiij', 8w
Mutrenaa'a Skeub u( the Chuich oa
UDd,8M
Natural Ulitory of New York, ija
Oakeley*B Pricit on the MlaaJeii, 719
Pcrrooe'* Dirhiity of Chritt, tS6
Roma and Genera, >Sj
Rusella .My Study Wlndowa, 417
ffcclye on Romas Imperlullrai, 141
Settlru^ Manual of Geometrical Analytit, Ijfi
Seton'a Kotaance of the Charlei Oak, sU
Starr's PaUon SalBla, 8sj
Stowfl'i Lliilc PtiMy Willow, 144
^ulliran's Prayeraand Cereinuiilcs of lh« Uaas,
)4«
SyBctifvuoloKrof S>ci^ *o^ Pro&B« HiHorri
144
VauEltaD'a Lilt of SL Tlionu Aqula. t»t
w«\«s's Amrrtmi RfellKiOB. 7»»
n\-il'4 Suie of tbo Dead, tT4
Whli'plc'l Uterature and Art, 4ja
Wooden nf RiTopean Art, j?6
U'cidtlrisnt tt>e llea«'ea>,4j>
Voiinc'a Catholic llytBiu and Caslkles 719
I
TH
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. XIII., No. 73.— APRIL, 1871.
UxNIFICATION AND EDUCATION.*
The Hon. Henry Wilson, recently
re-elected senator in Congress from
Massachusetts, may not be distin-
guished as an original thinker or as
a statesman of commanding ability,
but no man is a surer index to his
party or a more trustworthy expo-
nent of its sentiments and tenden-
cies, its aims and purposes. This
gives to his article in 7//^ Atlantic
Monthly, indicating the policy to be
pursued by the Republican party, a
weight it might not otherwise possess.
Mr. Wilson is a strong pohtical par-
tisan, but he is above all a fervent
F>angelical, and his aim, we pre-
sume, is to bring his political party
to coincide with his Evangelical par-
ty, and make each strengthen the
other. We of course, as a Catholic
organ, have nothing to say of ques-
tions in issue between different politi-
cal parties so long as they do not in-
volve the rights and interests of our
• Ntv Dep»rlnrf 0/ Ike Rr^ttblicAH Party. By
flenry Wilson, Tkt Atlantic Monthly, Bos-
ton, Jftnuary, 1871.
religion, or leave untouched the funda-
mental principles and genius of the
American system of government, al-
though we may have more or less to
say as American citizens; but when
either party is so ill-advised as to aim
a blow either at the freedom of our
religion or at our federative system
of government, we hold ourselves
free, and in duty bound, to warn our
fellow-citizens and our fellow-Catho-
lics of the impending danger, and
to do what we can to avert or ar-
rest the blow. Wc cannot, without
incurring grave censure, betray by our
silence the cause of our religion or of
our country, for fear that by speak-
ing we may cross the purposes of one
or another party, and seem to favor
the views and policy of another.
Mr. Wilson's Netv Departurf is
unquestionably revolutionary, and
therefore not lawful for any party
in this country to adopt. It is ex-
pressed in two words, National
Unification and National Edu-
cation — that is, the consolidation of
Entered, Mcordlng to Act of Congress, In the year 1S71, by Rkv, I. T. Hkckkr, In the Office of
tho LlbrarUn of Congrm, U Washington. D. C.
Unification and Education,
all the powers of government in the
general government, and the social
uid religiou-s unification of the Ame-
rican people by mean* of a system
of universal anii uniform compulsory
education, adopted and enforced by
the authority of llie united or conso-
lidated Mates, not by the slates seve-
rally each within its own jurisdiction
and for its own people. The first
is decidedly revolutionary and dc-
strurtive of the American Hvstera of
fetlcrativc govcmmrnt. or the divi-
sion of powers between a general
government and particular state
governments ; the second, In the
!fense propo^<l, violates the rights
of parents ami annihilates the reli-
gious liberty secured by the constitu-
tion and laws both of the several
states and of the United Slates.
The general government, in our
American politiral system, is not the
naiionnl government, or any more
national than the several slate gov-
ernments. The national government
with us is divjtlcd between a general
government having charge of our re-
lations with other powers and inter-
nal matters of a general nature and
common to all the slates, and par-
ticular slate governments having
charge of matters local and particu-
lar in their nature, and clothed wilh
all the powers of supreme national
governments not exprcwly delegated
to the general government. In the
draft of the fe<1cral constitution nr-
(wrted by the committee to the con-
vention of 1787, the word national
was used, but the convention fmally
tetrxick it out, and inserted wherever
it occurred Uic word xtierat, as more
appropriately designating the chnrar-
tcr ond powers o( the government
they were creating. It takes under
our actual system both the state gov-
ernments and Uic general govern-
raent to make one complete national
government, invested with all the pow-
ers of government. By making the
general govenimcnt a supreme nation-
al government, we make it the source
of all authority, subordinate the state
governments to it, ni;ike them hold
from it, and deprive them of all inde-
pendent or undividcil rights. This
would completely subvert uiir system
of government, according to which
the stales hold their powers imme-
diately from ihc ]>oliiical pcupic, and
independently of any suzerain or over-
lord, and the general government
from the slates or the people orga-
nized OS stales united iti convention.
A more complete change uf the gov-
ernment or destruction of the federa-
tive principle, which constitutes the
chief excellence and glory of our sys-
tem, it would be diflicult lo propose,
or even to conceive, than is set forth
in Mr. Wilson's programme.
Mr. Wilson, however, is hardly
justified in calling the revolution he
proposes a *' New Departure." It
has l>een the aim of a |»wcrful party,
under one name or another, eversincc
1824, if not from tlie origin of the
government itself. This party has
tteen steadily pursuing it, utid with
increasing numbers and influence,
ever since the anti-slavery agitation se-
riously conimenccfl. .\l one time, and
probably at all times, it has been
moved chiefly by certain business
interests which it could not advance
according to its mind by state legisla-
tion, anrl for which it desired federal
legislation and tlie whole y>owcr of
A national government, but which it
could not get because the constitu-
tion and the antagonistic interests
created by slave labor were opposed
to It. It then turned philanthropist
and called in philanthropy to its aid
—philanthropy which makes light
of constitutions and mocks at state
lines, and clauns the right to go
wherever it conceives the voice of
humanity calls it. Under the pretext
Unification and Education.
of philanthropy, the party turned
abolitionist, and sought to bring un-
der the action of the general govern-
ment the question of slavery mani-
festly reserved to the states several-
ly, and which it belonged to each to
settle for itself in its own way. A
civil war followed. The slaves were
emancipated, and slavery abolished,
professedly under the war-power of
the Union, as a military necessity,
which nobody regrets. But the par-
ty did not stop here. Forgetful that
the extraordinary war-power ceases
with the war, and military necessity
can no longer be pleaded, it has, un-
der one pretext or another, such as
protecting and providing for the frced-
men and reconstructing the states
that seceded, continued to exercise it
ever since the war was over, and by
constitutional amendments of doubt-
ful validity, since ratified in part under
military pressure by states not yet re-
constructed or held to be duly orga-
nized states in the Union, it has
sought to legitimate it, and to incor-
porate it into the constitution as one
of the ordinary peace-powers of the
government.
The party has sometimes coincided,
and sometimes has not strictly coincid-
ed, with one or another of the great
political parties that have divided the
country, but it has always struggled
for the consolidation of all the powers
of government in the general gov-
ernment Whether prompted by busi-
ness interests or by philanthropy, its
wishes and purposes have required
it to get rid of all co-ordinate and
independent bodies that might inter-
fere with, arrest, or limit the power
of Congress, or impose any limitation
on the action of the general govern-
ment not imposed by the arbitrary
will of the majority of the people, ir-
respective of their state organization .
What the distinguished senator
urges we submit, therefore, is simply
the policy of consolidation or cen-
tralization which his party has steadi-
ly pursued fi-om the first, and which
it has already in good part consum-
mated. It has abolished slavery, and
unified the labor system of the Un-
ion; it has contracted a public debt,
whether needlessly or not, large
enough to secure to the consolidation
of the powers of a national govern-
ment in the general government the
support of capitalists, bankers, rail-
road corporators, monopolists, spe-
culators, i)rojectors, and the business
world generally. Under pretence of
philanthropy, and of carrying out
the abolition of slavery,-and abolish-
ing all civil and political distinctions
of race or color, it has usurped for
the general government the power to
determine the question of suffrage
and eligibility, under the constitution
and by the genius of our govern-
ment reserved to the states severally,
and sends the military and swarms
of federal inspectors into the states
to control, or at least to look after,
the elections, in supreme contempt of
state authority. It has usurped for
the general government the power
of granting charters of incorporation
for private business purposes else-
where than in the District of Colum-
bia, and induced it to establish na-
tional bureaus of agriculture and edu-
cation, as if it was the only and un-
limited government of the country,
which it indeed is fast becoming.
The work of consolidation or uni-
fication is nearly completed, and there
remains litUe to do except to effect the
social and religious unification of the
various religions, sects, and races that
make up the vast and diversified
population of the country j and it is
clear from Mr. Wilson's programme
that his party contemplate moulding
the population of European and of
African origin, Indians and Asiatics,
Protestants and Catholics, Jews and
Unijicathn and Education.
pagans, into one homogeneous |>enple,
after what may be called the New
England Evangelical type. Neither
Itiii politics nor his philanthropy can
tolerate any diversity uf niiikii. con-
ilitions, race, belief, or worship. A
complete unification must beefiected,
and under the patronage and authori-
ty of the general government.
Mr. \\ilson appears not to have
recognized any distinction between
unity and union. Union implies plu>
rality or tliversity ; unity excludes
both. Vet he cites, without the least
ap|iarent misgiving, the latheni of
the republic — Washington, Adams
Jefl'erson, llainilton. Jay, and Madi-
bon — who were strenuous for the un-
ion of the several states, as authori-
ties in favor of their unity or conso-
lidation in one supreme national go-
* enmient. There were ijoints in
tt hich these great men differed among
themselves — some of them wislied to
give more, some of them less, jiowcr
to the general govemniciU — some of
them would give mure, sonic of them
lc^^, [lowet to ihc executive, etc., but
they all agreed in their cSurts to esia-
bti&li Uie union of the states, and not
one of them but would have opposed
Iheir unity or consolidation into a
single supreme government. Mr.
Wilson is c'piaily out in trying, as
he ilocs, to make it appear that tlic
Ktrong popular sentiment of the Ame-
rican people, in favor of union, i.s a
sentiment in favor of unity or unifi-
cation.
But starting with the conception
of unity or consolidation, and re-
volving republicanism into the abso-
lute supremacy of the will of the
people, irrespective of state organi-
z;'.iion, Mr. Wilswrn can fintl no stop-
ping-place for his ftarty short of the
removal of all constitutional or nr-
giuiic limitations on the irresponsilile
will of the majority for the time, which
tie i:ontends shotild in all things be
supreme and unopposed. His re-
publicani&m, as he explains it, is there-
fore incompatible with a well-order-
ed slate, and is either no govern-
ment at all, but universal anarchy, or
the unmitigated despotism of majo-
rities — a despotism more oppressive
and crushing to all tnic freeilom and
manly independence, than any au-
tocracy that the world has ever seen.
The fathers of the republic never
understood republicanism in this
sense. They studied to restrict the
sphere of ]iower, and to guard against
the supremacy of mere will, whether
of the monarch, the nobility, or the
people.
But having readied the conclusion
that true republicanism demands uni-
fication, and the removal of all re-
strictions on the popular will, Mr.
Wilson relies on the attachment of
the American people to the republi-
can idea to carry out an<l realize his
programme, however repugnant it
may be to wliat they really desire
and suppose they are supporting.
He knows the people well enough to
know that Ihey do not usually discri-
minate witli much niccncs-s and that
they are easily caught and led amy
by a few high-sounding phr.ises aiul
popular catchwords, uttered with due
gravity and assurance — periiaps he
docs not discriminate very nicely, and
is himself deceived by the very phrases
and catchwords which deceive them.
It is not impossible. At any rate,
he persuades himself unification or
consolidation can be carrie<l forward
and effcTtCii by appeals to the rejiul>-
lican instincts antl tendencioi of the
American people, and str.ured by aid
of the colored vote and woman .suf-
fr.ige, soon to be adopted as an cs*
strntul element in the revolutionary
niovenjcnt The colored |>eople, it
is cxpcctci^l, will vote as their preach-
ers direct, and their jirL-achers will
direct as they are directed by tlic
Unification and Education,
Evangelicals. The women who will
vote, if woman suffrage is adopted,
are evangelicals, philanthropists, or
humanitarians, and are sure to follow
their instincts and vote for the uniti-
cation or centralization of power —
the more unlimited, the better.
But the chief reliance for the per-
manence in power of the party of
consolidation is universal and uni-
form compulsory education by the
general government, which will, if
adopted, complete and preserve the
work of unification. Education is
the American hobby — regarded, as
uneducated or poorly educated peo-
ple usually regard it, as a sort of pa-
nacea for all the ills that flesh is heir
to. We ourselves, as Catholics, are
as decidedly as any other class of
American citizens in favor of uni-
versal education, as thorough and
extensive as possible — if its quality
suits us. We do not, indeed, prize
so highly as some of our countrymen
appear to do the simple ability to
read, write, and cipher ; nor do we
believe it ])Ossible to educate a whole
people so that every one, on attain-
ing his majority, will understand the
bearing oi all political questions or
comprehend the complexities of
statesmanship, the effects at large of
all measures of general or special
legislation, the bearing on productive
industry and national wealth of this
or that financial policy, the respec-
tive merits of free trade and protec-
tion, or what in a given time or
given country will the best secure in-
dividual freedom and the public good.
This is more than we ourselves can
understand, and we believe we are
better educated than the average
American. We do not believe that
the great bulk of the people of any
nation can ever be so educated as to
understand the essential political, fin-
ancial, and economical questions of
goveroment for themselves, and they
will always have to follow blindly
their leaders, natural or artificial.
Consequently, the education of the
leaders is of far greater importance
than the education of those who are
to be led. All men have e([ual na-
tural rights, which every civil govern-
ment should recognize and protect,
but equality in other respects, wheth-
er sought by levelling downward or
by levelling ujnvard, is neither prac-
ticable nor desirable. Some men are
born -to be leaders, and the rest are
born to be led. Go where we will
in society, in the halls of legislation,
the army, the navy, the university, the
college, the district school, the family,
we find the few lead, the many fol-
low. It is the order of nature, and we
cannot alter it if we would. Nothing
can be worse tlian to try to educate
all to be leaders. The most pitiable
sight is a congressional body in which
there is no leader, an army without
a general, but all lead, all command —
that is, nobody leads or commands.
The best ordered and administered
state is that in which the itv: are well
educated and lead, and the many
are trained to obedience, are willing
to be directed, content to follow, and
do not aspire to be leaders. In the
early days of our republic, when the
few were better educated than now
and the many not so well, in the or-
dinary sense of the term, there was
more dignity in the legislative, judi-
cial, and executive branches of the
government, more wisdom and jus-
tice in legislation, and more honesty,
fidelity, and ca]>acity in the adminis-
tration. In extending education and
endeavoring to train all to be leaders,
we have only extended presumption,
pretension, conceit, indocility, and
brought incapacity to the surface.
These, we grant, are unpopular
truths, but they, nevertheless, are
truths, which it is worse than idle to
deny. Everybody sees it, feels it,
Vnification aud Educathn,
but few have the courage to avow it
in Taceof an intolerant ant] tyrannical
puhlic opinion. For ourselves, we
Itelieve the peasantry in old Catholic
countries, two ceniuries ago, were
l>etter educated, although for ihe
roost part unable to read or write,
ihan are the great tiody of the Ame-
rican people lo-day. 'J'liey had fatlh,
they had morality, they had a sense
of religion, they -were instructed in
the great jirinciples and essential
truths of the- Gospel, were- ti-aiaed to
be wise unto salvation, and thc>' had
the virtues without which wise, sta-
ble, and eHieient government is im-
practicable. We hear it said, or rath-
er read in the journals, that the su-
jjcriority the Prussian troops have
shown to the French is due to their
superior education. We do not be-
lieve a wonl of it We have seen no
evidence that the French common
soldiers arc not aswell educated an«I
as intelligent as the Prussian. The
suiKTiority is due to llie fact that the
Prussian officers were better educat-
ed in their profession, were less over-
weening in their confidence nf victo-
ry, and niaint."»ined better and severer
discijiline in llicir armies, than the
Frtniih officers. The Northern ar-
mies in our rcecnt civil war had no
advantage in Ihc superior education
of the rank and file over the South-
cm annies, where both were e^pially
well officered and commuiided. The
montU of an array is no doubt the
great thing, bm it docs not ilenend
on llie ability of the common soldier
10 read, write, and cipher ; it dcjwnds
Romnvbat on his previous habits and
pursuits — chiefly nn the officers. Un-
der the first Napoleon, the Pnwii.ins
wert; not su|K;rior (o the French,
though as well cducatcfL Good of-
ficcTi, with an aide general at their
•teoii, can make an cfticienr army out
of almost any m-iteiials.
Il is not, thercTure, for political or
military reasons that we demand uni-
versal education, whether by the gene-
ral government or under the state gOT-
cmments. We demand it, as far as
practicable, for other and far higher
reasons. We want it for a tj[iiritual or
religious end. We want our children
to be educated as thoroughly as they
can be, but in relation to the great
purpose of their existence, so as to be
fitted to gain the end for which (!od
creates them. For the great mass of
the people, the education needed is
not secular education, which simply
sharpens the intellect and generates
pri<Ie ami presumption, but moral
and religious education, which trains
up children in the way they should
go, which teaches them to be honest
and loyal, modest and unpretending,
docile and respectful to their supe-
riors, open and ingenuous, obedient
and submiiMve to rightful authoritr,
[jarental or conjugal, civil or crclc-
siaslical ; to know .ind keep the com-
niandments oi God and the precepts
of the church ; and to plate ilie sal-
vation of the soul before all else in
life. This sort of education can be
given only by the church or under
her direction and control; and as
there is for us Catholics oidy one
church, there is and tan be no proper
education for us not given by or under
the direction and control of the Ca-
tholic Church.
But it is precisely education by the
Catholic C'hurch that Mr. Wilson
and hus party <to not want, do not
believe in, and wish to prevent us
from having even for our own children.
It is therefore they demand a sys-
tem of univcr>;al anrl uniform compul-
sory eduiatton by the authority and
under the ilireciion of the general
government, which shall effect and
maintain the national unification pro-
posed, by compelling all the children
of the land to be trained in national
schools, under Kvangelical control
Vnifiiation and Educathn.
I
and in;iiMgcment. The end nndaim
of Lhe New Departure^ a&idc frotn
certain busiacss interests, ls to sup-
press Catholic education, gradually
exungui.^h Catholiciiy in the counlrj-,
and to form one homogeneous Aint:-
rican people alter the New Kngland
Evangelical type. Of this there can
be no reasonable doubt. The Evan-
gelicals and their humanitarian allies,
as all their organs show, arc seriously
alanne<l at the growth of Catholicity
in the United .States. I'hcy suppos-
ed, at first, that the church could
never take root in our Protestant
soil, that she could not breathe the at-
mo^here of freedom and enlighten-
ment, or thrive in a land of newspa-
pers and free scliools. They have
been disappointed, and now see tltat
they reckoned without their host,
ami that, if Ihey really mean to pre-
vent the American people from gra-
dually becoming Catholic, tliey must
change fundamentaUy the Aratrican
form of government, suppress the
freedom of rehgion hitherto enjoyeil
by Catholics and take the training
of all children and youUi into their
own hands. Jf tlicy leave education
to tlic wishes and judgment oi pa-
rents, Catholic paa-nts will bring up
their thtldrco Catholics ; if they leave
it to the states separately, Catholics
in several of them are already a pow-
erful minority, daily increasing in
strength and numbers, and will soon
be strong enough to force the state
legislatures to give them their propor
tion of the public schools supporte<l
at the public expense.
All this is clear enough. What, then,
is to be done ? Mr. Wilson, who is
not remarkable for his reticence, tells
us, if not with perfect frankness.
yet frankly enough for all practical
purposes. It is to follow out the ten-
dency which has been so strengthened
of late, and absorb the slates in the
Union, take away the independence
of the state governments, and assume
the control of education for Uie ge-
neral govenimcnt, already rendered
practically the supreme national gov-
enimcnt; — then, by ap[>ea!ing to the
popular sentiment in favor of educa-
tion, and saying nothing of its <|uali-
t)', get Congress, which the tvange-
licals, through the party in power, al-
ready control, to establish a system
of compulsory e<lucation in national
schools — and the work is done ; for
these schools will necessarily fall into
Evangelical hands,
Sucb is what tlie distinguished
Evangelical senator from Massachu-
setts calls a " New De|>arture," but
which is really only carr>-ing out a
policy long since entered upon, and
already more than half accomplish-
ed. VVhile we are writing, Mr. iloar,
a representative in Congress from
Massachusetts, has introduced into the
House of Rcprescnutives a bill es-
tablishing a system of national edu-
cation under the authority of the ge-
neral government. Its £ate is not
yet known, but no doubt will be, be-
fore we go to press. The probabili-
ties are that it will pass both Houses,
and if it docs, it will receive the sig-
nature of the President as a matter
of course. The Evangelicals — under
which name we include Congrega-
tionalisls, Presbyterians, Dutch Re-
formed, Baptists, and Methodists,
etc. — all the denominations united In
the Evangelical Alliance — constitute,
with their political and philanthropic
allies, the m.ijority in Congress, and
the measure is advocated apparently
by the whole Evangelical press and
by the larger and more influential
republican journals of the country,
as any number of excerpts from them
now before us will satisfy any one who
has the curiosity to read them. We
(lid think of selecting and publishing
the more striking and authoritative
among ihcni, but we have concluded
8
Unijicathn nnd Edmation.
lo hold them in reserve, to be produced
in cose any one should be msh enough
lo question our general statement.
There is a strong popular feeling in
many parts of the country in favor
of the measure, which is a pet measure
also of the l-A'angelical ministers ge-
nerally, who arc sure to exert their
powerful influence in its supixtrt, and
wc see no reason to doubt that the
bin will (wss.
But while wc sec ample cause for
all cltizetis who arc loyal to the sys-
tem of government which Providence
enabled our fathers tn establish, and
who wish to presen'e it and the liber-
lies it secures, to be vigilant and nc-
tive, we see none for alarm. The
bill, if it passes, will be manifcsdy
anconstitutionnl, even counting the
rourtecnth and Fiflecnih Amend-
ments as valid parts of the consti-
tution ; and there may be more diffi-
culty in carr)-ing it into efl'eci than its
framers nnticipalc. It is part and
parcel of a New England policy, and
New Kngland is not omnipotent
Uiroughuui the I'nion, nor very ar-
ricntly Invcd ; not all the members
uf the sfveral evangelical denomina-
tions ^ull, when they understand it,
favor the revolution in the govern-
ment ilr. Wilson would effect. There
arc m those denominations many me))
who belong not to the dominant par-
ty, and who will follow their political
rather thaii t!)eir denominational affi-
nities; al>;n, there arc in ilicm a large
number, wc should hope, of honest
men, who are not accustomed to act
on the maxim, " the end justifies the
lUCaiLs." luyal men and patriotic, who
ron'jider it no less rlisjoyalty lo seek
to rcvolutioni/c our goveniment
against the htates than against the
Union, and who will give iheir votes
and all llieir influence to prcscr\'c the
fundamental principles and genius of
our federative system of government,
as left us by our fathers, and resist,
if need be, to the dealli the disloyal
policy of unification and education
proposed by Mr. Wilson.
The Southern states are recon-
structed and back now in their place
in the Union, and will not be much
longer represented by Northern ad-
venturers, or men of litde ability and
less character, but very soon by ge-
nuine Southern men, who, while strict-
ly loyal to the Union, will speak the
genuine sentiments of the Southern
people. TI)e nttcnipt lo New-Eog-
landi^c the Southern people has not
succeeded, and will not succeed.
When to the Southern peoi)le, who
will never acquiesce in the policy of
unitication, we add the large num-
ber of people in the Northern states
who from their political convictions
and athnities. as well as from their
conservative tendoicics, will opikmh;
Lonsolidation. we may feel pretty sure
that the policy Mr. \\'ilson ]]rese)its
as that of the Republican party will
not be adopted, or if adopted wilt
not be permitted to stand. As not
wholly inexperienced in political mat-
ters, ;ind looking .^t iKt- present state
of parties nnd tcmpi-r of the nation^ ^M
we should say that Mr. \^'ilso^,as a ^H
party man, has commiticfl a blunder,
and that, If he has fancied that hb
Nrtv Deptirturf is fitte<i to strengthen
his party as n ])olltical party, and to
give it a new lease of power, he has
mi.scalculate<l. Nothing in our judg-
ment would be more fatal to the con-
tinuance of his party in power than
for it l>oldly antl tmequivnrally to ac-
cept Mr. Wilson's programme. There
is such a thing as reaction in human
affairs, and reactions arc son)etime>
very powerful.
The educational question ought
not to present any serious difficulty,
and would not if our KvangelicaLs
and humanitarians did not wish to
m.ike education a means of prevent-
ing the growth of the church and
Unijication and Education.
uomaking ihe childreB of Catholics,
as Catholic ; or if they seriously and
in good faith would accept the reli-
gious cciuality before the state which
the constitution ami laws, botli of
the Union and the several states,
as yet recognize and protect. No
matter what we claiin for the Catho-
lic Church in the thcologiral order
— we claim for her in the civil or-
der in this country only equality with
the sects, and for Catholics only
equal rights with citizens who are
not Catholics. We dem.ind the frec-
tlom of conscience and the liberty of
Dur church, which is our conscience,
enjoyct! by Evangelicals. This much
the country in its constitution and
latv'S has promised us, and this much
it cannot deny us without breaking
its faith pledged Ijcfore (he world.
.•\s American citizens, ux object to
the assumption of the control of edu-
cation, 01 of any action in rcg.ird to
it, by the general government ; for
it has no constitutional right to med-
dle with it. and so far as civil gov-
ernment has any authority m relation
to it, it is, under our Aj-siem of yov-
emmcnl, tJie auUionly of the sl-ues
severally, not of the states united.
We deny, of course, as Catholics, llic
right of the civil government to c<lu-
cate, for e<lucation is a function of the
sjiiritual sotiety, as much so as
preaching and the administration of
Ihe sacmmL-nls; but we do not deny
to the state the right to establish and
roaintaiii^uUUc achools. The state,
if it chooses, may even endow re-
ligion, or pay the ministers of reli-
gion a salary for their support ; but
its endowments of religion, when
made, are made to (lod, are sacred,
and under the sole control and man-
agement of Ihe spiritual authority,
and the slate h;ui no further func-
tion in regard to them but to pro-
tect the spirituality in the free and
ftiU possession and enjoyment of
them. If it dtooses to pay the min-
isters of religion a salary, as has
been done in France and Spain.
though accepted by the Catholic
clergy only as a small indemniticaiion
for the goods of the church seixed
by revolutionary governments ami
appropriate*! to secular uses, it ac-
quires thereby no rights over them
or liberty to supervise their discharge
of [heir spiritual functions. Wc do
not deny the same or an equal right
in reg-ard to schools and .school-teach-
ers. It may found and endow schools
and pay the teachers, but it cannot
dictate or interfere with the educa-
tion or discipline of the school. That
would imply a union of chun:h and
state, or, rather, the subjection of the
spiritual order to the secular, which
the (\-itholic Church and the Ameri-
can system of government bo!h alike
repudiate.
It is said, however, that the state
needs education for its own protec-
tion, and to promote the public good
or the good of the community, both
of which are legitimate cikLs of its
institution. What the sute needs in
relation to its legitimate ends, or the
ends for which it is insritutcd, it has
the right to ordain and control. This
is tlie argument by which all public
education by the state is defended.
Hut it involves an assumprion which
is not admissible. 'Hie stale, having
no religious or spiritual function, can
give only secular cJucalion, and se-
cular cduc.irion is not cnougit for the
state's own protection or its promo-
tion of the public good. Purely se-
cular education, or education divorc-
ed from religion, endangers the safely
of the slate and the peace and security
of the community, instead of pro-
tecting and insuring tliem. It is not
in the power of the state to give the
educ.iiion it neei.ls for its own sake,
or for the s.ikc of secul.ir society.
The fact is, though statesmen, and
especially politicians, are slow to
Icam it, and still bluwcr tu acknow*
ledge it, Ihc st;itc, or secular society,
does not and cannot suifice for it-
self, and is unable tu discharge it:*
own proper funcuoiis withoui the co-
operation and aid of the spiritual so-
ciety. Purely secular education cre-
ates no civic virtues, and instead of fit-
ting unlits the people ft>r ihc prompt
and faithful discharge of their a\-ic
duties, as wc may see in Young Ame-
rica, and indeed in the present active
and ruling generation of the Ame-
rican people. Young America is im-
patient of rcstraini, regards father and
mother as old-fogies, narrow-minded,
behind the age, and disdains filial
submission or obedience to them, has
no respert for dignities, acknowledg-
es no superior, mocks at law if he
can escape tlie police, is conceited,
proud, SL-lf-sullii icnt, indocile, heed-
less of the rights and interests of
others— will he his own master, and
follow bi^ own instinct!), passions, or
headstrong viili Are these thechar-
acleristioi uf a people fitted to main-
tain a wise, well-ordered, stalilc, and
beneficent republican government ?
Or can such a people be developed
from such youngcrlings ? Yet with
purely secular education, however
far you carry it, experience proves
that you can get nothing better.
'fhc ciiurch herself, even if she
bad full control of the cduration of
all the (hildreii in the land, with am-
ple funds at her command, could not
secure .anything better, if, as the state,
she educdtcd for a secular end alone.
The virtues needed for the protection
of the state and the advancement
of the public or common good, arv
and can be secured oiijy by educat-
ing or training the children and
youth uf a nation not for this life
as an end, but for the life to
come. Hence our Lord says, " Seek
first the kingdom of God and his
justice, and all these things shall be
added unto you." 'ITie church does
not educate for the secular ortler as
an end, but for God and heaven ;
and it is precisely in educatmg for
God and }ieavcn that she secures
those very virtues on which tlic wel-
fare and security of the secular OTdec
depend, and without which civil so-
ciety tends inevitably to dissolutioti,
and is sustained, if sustained at all,
only by armed force, as we have seen
in more than one European nation
which has taken education into its
own hand, and subordinated it to
secular ends. The education needed
by secular society can be obtained
only frum the spiritual society, which
educates not for this world, but for
the world to come. The virtues need-
ed to secure this life are obtained
only by seeking and promoting the
virtues which fit us for eternal life.
This follows necessarily from the
fact that man is created with a spiri-
tual nature and for an immortal des-
tiny. If he existed for this life only,
if he were, as some scioli.sts pretend,
merely a monkey or a gorilla devel-
oped, or were like the beasts that
[M-'rish, this indeed would not and
could not follow, and the reconcilia-
tion of the nature and destiny of
man with uniform hunun experience
would be impossible. VVc should be
obliged, in onler to secure the peace
and good order of society, as some
unbelieving statesmen do not blusb
to avow, to educate in view of a
falsehood, and take care to keep uji
tlic delusion that man has a religious
nature and destiny, or look to what
IS false and delusive for ihc virtues
which can alone save us from anar-
chy and utter barbarism. Yet what
would scr\-e the delusion or tJie false-
hood, if man diHers not by nature from
the dog or the pig ? Hut if man has
realty a spiritual nature and an im-
mortal destiny, then it must ueccssa-
Unifieation and Educatiou.
rily fullow that hi$ real good can in
nu respect be obtained but in being
educated and traiued tu live Tor a
spiritual life, for an immort.il destiny.
Sliould not man be educated accord*
ing to his spiritual nature and destiny,
not as a pig or a monkey ? If so,
in bis education sboulil not the secu-
lar be subordinated to the spiritual,
and the temporal to the eternal P
We know well, cxjicricncc proves it,
that even the secular nrtues are not
secured when sought as the end of
education and of life, but only in
educating and living for that which
is not secular, and in securing the
virtoies which have the promise of
the life of the world to come-
All education, as all life, should be
religious, and all education divorced
from religion is an evil, not a good,
and is sure in the long run in be ruin-
ous to llie secular order ; but jis a part
of rehijious education, and included
in it, secular education hxs its
place, and even its necessity. Man is
not all soul, nor all body, but the
union of soul and body : and there-
fore his eflucation should include in
tJit'fr union, not separation — for the
separation of eouI and body is the
death of the bixly — both spiritual
education and secular. It is not that
we oppose secular education when
given in the religious education, and
therefore referred to the ultimate
end of man, but when it is given alone
and for its own sake. NVc deny the
competency of the state lo educate
even for its own order, its right toestiib-
lish purely secular schools, from which
all religion Is cxdudcii, as Mr. Web-
ster ably contended in his argument
in the Girard will case; but we do
not deny, wc assert rather, its right to
establish public schools under the in-
ternal control and nunagcment of
the spiritual society, and to exact
that a certain amount of secular in-
stniction be given along with the re-
ligious education that soaety gives.
This last right it has in consideration
of the secular funds for the support
of the schools it furnishes, and as
a condition on which it furnishes
them.
Let tlie state say distinctly how
much secular education in the public
schools It exacts, or judges to be ne-
cessary for its own ends, and so fiir
as the Catholic Church has anything
to ilo with the matter it can have it.
The church will not refuse to give it
in the schools under her control. She
will not hesitate to teach along with
her religion any amount of reading,
writing, arithmetic, history, geogra-
phy, music, and drawing, or the sci-
ences and the fine arts, the state ex-
acts and provides for; nor will she
refuse to allow it to send, if it choos-
es, its own ins[jector3 into her schools
to ascertain if she iictually gives the
secular education rcquirctl. Let it
say, then, what amount of secular
education it wants for all the child-
ren of the land, and is willing to pay
for, and, so far as Catholics are con-
cerned, it can have it, arul of as
good quaUty. to s;iy the least, as it
can get in purely secular schools, and
along xvith it the religious education,
the most essential to it as well as lo
the souls of all.
But the difTiculiy here, it U as-
sumed, is that the spiritual society
with us is divided into various deno-
minations, each with its distinctive
views of religion. That, no doubt,
is a damage, but can be easily over-
come by hearing in mind that the
several divisions have equal rights,
and by ntaking the pubhc schools
denomiiKiUonal, as they are in Fnis-
si.i, Austria, France, and to a certain
extent in England, where denomina-
tional diversities obtain as well as
with us. Where the eaminunity is
divided between different religious
denominations, all staiidiiig on a
■
footing of perfect e<|unlity before
civil society, this i:i the only equitable
system of public schools that is prac-
ticable. If the state does not adopt
it, it niittt— I, let the whole business
of etliicutlutt alone, and make no
public provision for it ; 2, establish
purely secular, that is, godless schools,
from which all religion is cxcludeij,
to which no religious people* can be
expc«-lml to consent, and which would
ruin both public and private virtne.
aiwi defeat the very puriiose of all
education ; or, 3, it roust practically,
if not theoretically, recognize some
one of the several denominations as
the state religion, and remit the edu-
cation uf cUildhuod and youth to
its management and control, us is
virtually the case with our present
public schools, but which would be
inanifcsdy unjust to all the others —
tonoii-cvangc-licals, ifcvangclicalismis
made the sulc religion, or to the
Kvangdicals, if a non evangdiral
demirninalion be established as the
religion of the state. The only way
to be just to all is, as everylioiiy can
see, to recognize in practice as well
.IS in profession the equal rights of
all denominations in the civil order —
make the public schools denomina-
tional, and give to each denunnna-
tion that asks it for the sake of con-
science its fair ami honest pro|)ortion,
to be OS to their internal economy,
education, anil discipline under its
sole control ,ind management.
Mr. \MIson proposes for our admi
ration and imitation the Prussian sys-
tem of public schools, and though
wc do not know that it is superior to
tlic Austrian or even the French sys-
tem, yet we think highly of it. But.
what the Kvangclical senator does
not tell us, the Prussian system is
strictly the denominational system,
and each denomination is free and
expected to cilucate in its own schools
it£ own children, under the direction
of its pastors aiul teachers, in its own
religion. The Prussian system re-
cognizes the fact that different com-
munions do exist among the Prussian
people, and does not aim to sup-
press them or at unification by state
authority. It meets the face as it is^
without seeking to alter it. Give us
the Prussian system of denomination-
al schools, and we shall be satisfied,
even if education is made compulsory.
We, of course, protest against any law
compelling us to send our children to
schools in which our religion cannot
be freely taught, in which no religion
is taught, or in which is taught in any
shape or degree a religion which we
hold to be false or ]>erilous to souls.
Such a law would violate the rights
of parents and the freedom of con-
science ; but with denominational
schools compulsory education would
violate no one's conscience and no
parental right. Parents ought, if
able, to have their children educated,
and if they will not send their chil-
dren to schools provided fur ihcni by
the public, and in which their religion
is respected, ami m.nio the basis of
the eiiucation given, wu ran see no
valid reason why ihe law sliould not
comiwl ilieni. The state has the
right, pcrha])5 the duty, in aid of the
spiritual society and for its own safe-
ty and the public good, to compd
parents to educate their chUdren
when public schools of iheir own re-
ligion, under tlie charge of their own
pastors, arc provided for ihem at the
public expense. Let the public schools
be denominational, give us our pro-
portion of them, so that no violence
will be done to parental rights or to
the Catholic conscience, and we shall
be quite willing to have education
made compulsory, and even if such
schools are made national, though
we should object as American citizens
to them, we should as Catholics ac-
ccjit ihcm. We hold state authority
■
is the only constitutioual :tuthDnt)- un-
der our system to establish schools an<j
provide for ihcm at ihc public ex-
pense ; but we tould nuna^c to get
along with natiunul dcnoininationul
schools as well as others could. We
could educate in our share of the
public schools our own children in our
own way, and that is all wc ask. We
do not ask lo educate the children
of others, unless with the consent or
at the request of parents and guar-
dians.
The Prussian system of dcnomina-
lioDal schools could be introduce<l
and established in alt the stales with-
out the least difficulty, if it ncrc not
for Evangelicals, their Unitarian ofi-
shoots, and their humanitarian allies.
These arc religious and philanthropic
busylKidics, who fancy they arc the .At-
las who upholds the world, and that
ihcy are deputed to take charge of
everybody's affairs, and put thcni to
rights- Butthey forget tl:at their neigh-
Iwrs have rights as well .is thcmscivcs,
and i>crhaps intentions as honest and
enlightened, and as much real wis-
dom and practical sagacity. The
only obstacle lo the introduction and
establishment of a juat anil cqiiitabte
system of public schools comes from
the iutoleniut zeal of these Kvangeli-
ca}%, who seek to make the public
schools an instrument for securing the
national, social, and religious unifica-
tion they arc re<.olvct.1 on effecting, and
for carrying out their puqiose of sup-
pressing the church and extirpat-
ing Catholicity from .American soil.
They want to use them in training our
children up in the way of Kvan-
gelicalism, and moulding the whole
.American jiopulation into one horao-
geneous people, modelled, .is we hnve
said, after the New England Evan-
gelical type. Here is the difficulty,
and the whole difHcully. I'hc de-
nominarional system would defe.-\t
their darling hope, their pet project,
and require them lo live iind let live.
They talk much about freedom of
conscience and religious liberty and
equal rights; but the only equal
riglits they understand arc all on their
side, and they cherish such a tender
regard, for religious liberty, have so
profound a respect for it, that they
msist, like our Puritan forefathers, on
keeping it all to diemselves, and not
to suffer it to be profaned or abused
by being extended to others.
Prussia, though a Protestant coun-
try, does not dream of making the
public schools a machine either for
proselytism or unification. She is
contented to recognize Catholics as
an integral part of her population,
and to le.ive them to profess and
practise their own religion accortling
to the law of their church. Our
Evangelicals would do well to imi-
tate her example. Wc Catholics arc
here, and here we intend to remain.
We have lis much right to be here as
Evangelicals have. We are too many
to be massacred or exiled, and-too
important and influential a portion
of the American people lo be of
no account in the settlement of
public affairs. We have voles, and
they will count on whichever side
we cast them ; and wc cannot reason-
ably be expected to cast them on the
side of any party that is seeking to
use its ]>ower as a political party to
suppress our church and our religion,
or even to destroy our fetleralive
system of govcrnmenl, and tn leave
all minorities at the mercy of the ir-
responsible majority for ihc time»
with no other limit to its power than it
sees proper to impose on itself; for
we love lilwrty, and our churcli teach-
es m to he byal to the constitution
of our country.
The wisest course, since there are
different religious denominations in
the country, is to accept the situation,
to recognize the feet, acquiesce in ii,
and make ihc best ofit. Any allempt
to unmake, by tbi: direct ur indirect
authority of the state, Catholics of
their faith or any denomination of its
belief, is sure to fail. Kach dcnuiui-
nation is free to use Scripture and
reason, logic and tradition, .ill mo-
ral and intcUectual weapons, against
its rivals, and Mrith that it Uiould he
contented. Whatever may be the
rightful claims of the church in the
theo|i)i;ii;al order, she is contented
with the civil prulcction of her
equal rights in the political order.
Sheask.^ — with the wealth, the fashion,
the public opinion, the press, nine-
tenths of the population of the
country, and tlie seductions of the
world against her — only " an open
field and fair play." Ifshe does not
complain, her enemies ought to be
satishett ^nth the advantages they
have.
We liave entered our protest
aj-ainst a parly programme which
threatens alike the genius of the
American govennneiit and the Itce-
dora of religion, for so much was ob-
viously our duty, both xi Catholics and
citizens. \Vc are ,iw.ire of the odds
against us, but we h.ive contldence
ill our cumitrynien that, though they
may be momentarily deceived or
misled, they will, when the real char-
.icter of the programme ive have ex-
posed is once laid open to them, re-
ject it with scorn and indignation,
and hasten to do us ju:itice.
THE CROSS.
In weary hours to lonely heights
When thou ha.U travelled sore,
A sorrowing man hath borne his cross
And gone thy way before.
Thine eyes cannot esca|>c the sign
On every hand that is
Of him who bore the general woe,
Nor knew a common bliss.
But men, remembering his face,
Dreamed of him while they slept,
.\ntl t]ie mother by the cradle side
'ihought of his eye, and wept.
Now haunts the world his ghost whose fate
Made all men's fates his own ;
So for the wrongs of n)odest hearts
A inyrta<l hearts atone.
Oh! deeply shall iliy spirit toil
To reach the height he trod,
And humbly strive thy soul to know
Its servant was its God,
Only earth's martyr is her lord ;
Such is the gain of loss :
And, looking in all hearts, t see
The vignaJ of the cross.
Under a thickly-branched tree in
the northern part of one of the south-
ern counties of Maine is a certain
gray rotk, matted over with rfini
tjTcen lichens ihat arc spotted with
dead gold. I'rom under this rock
springs a sparkling little stream. It
t!i no storicil fountain, rich with le-
gends of splendor, poetry, and crime,
but a dear, bright little Yankee brook,
with the world all before it. That
world it ininiediatcly proceeds to in-
vestigate. It creeps through thready
grasses ,ind rns^ct pine-needles ; it
turns asidu, with great resjiect, for a
stoni; no lar^^tT than a rabbit; and
when a gli^iL-ning piichy cone drops
into it, the infant river labc^rs under
the burden. \\ hen the iliirsty fawn
.comes there to drink, nearly the
hole rivulet flou's doun its throat.
d the cone is stranded Jiigh and
dry i what there is left (lows south-
ward. A sunbeam pierces the scent-
ed gloom, creeps down a tree-trunk,
steals over a knoll of green-and-
brown irec-moss, which then looks
like a tiny forest on fire, over yellow
violets which dissolve in its light,
over a hank of rir_h dark mould vein-
ed with the golden powder of decay-
etl pine-trees, moist and soft, and
full of glistening white roots, where
the flowers push- down their pearly
feet. Over the bank, inirj the wa-
ter, goes the hunlwam, and the two
frolic cogciher. and die stream dives
under the gnarled rtjots. so that its play-
mate would believe it lost t)ut for
that gurgle of laughter down in the
cool, frctih dark. Tlicn it leaps up,
and spreads itself out in a mirror,
and the elder-tree, leaning over to
look at the reflection of its fan-like
eaves and clusters of white flowers,
gets very erroneous ideas concerning
its own personal appearance ; for the
palpitating rings that chase each
other over the surface of the water
make the brown stems crinkle, the
leaves come to pieces and unite
again, and the many flowers in each
round cluster melt all together, Uien
twinkle out incHvidually, only to melt
again into ih.it bloomy full moon.
Over this shiniiner of flowers and
water big bees fly, buzzing terribly,
dragon-tlies dart, or hang, purple-
mailed, glittering creatures, with gau-
zy wings, and comical insects dance
there, throwing spots of sunshine in-
stead of shadow down to the leafy
bed. Then the brook flows awhile
in a green tranquil shadow, till, reach-
ing the interlaced roots of two im-
mense trees lhat hold a bank between
ihcm, it makes a sudden, foamy
plunge the height of a stag's front.
She is a bride then, you may say —
she is Undine, looking through that
white veil, and thinking new thoughts.
Now the bear comes down to
drink and look at his ugly face in
the deepening wave, foxes switch
their long tails about the banks, deer
come, as light footed as shadows,
drink, and fling up their short tails,
with a flit of white, and trot away
with a little sniff, and their he.tds
thrown back, hearing the howl or
the long siride of the wolf in pursuit.
Rabbits come there, and squirrels leap
and nibble in the branches above.
Besides, there are shoals of jiretty,
slim fishes.
So through the mellow gloom and
huse ofY&rke.
sunny sparkle of ihc old forest, the
clear brook wanders, growing wiser,
and talking to itself about many
tilings.
Presently the wild creatures with-
draw, sunlpurut children wade aeross
from hank to lunk, grassy clearings
altound, there ure fiirm-huuses, and
cows with tinkling bells ; and then
coniex a bridge, and boats dance upon
the water, an<i the stream is a river !
Alas for the Indian name it brought
up out of the i-arth »ith it, and limp-
ed and gurgled and laughed to itself
all the way ilown — (he name spiked
with /"s and choky-looking 4'/**s,
rough to the eye, but sweet in the
mouth, like a hu/cl-nut in the burr.
The white settlers have changed all
that.
Now, indeed, the young river puts
on slate, and lets people see that it
is not to be waded tiirough ; and
when they build a dam acrosa, It
flows grandly over, in a smooth,
wine-colored cur\ c. Times are chang-
ed, indeed, since the lilllc gray birds
with speckled breasts looked with ad-
miration at its hisi cascade, since the
bear, setting down his great paw,
clumsily splashed the whole stream
up over his shaggy leg. There arc
(arms to keep up appcarancc.t iKrfore,
mill-wheels to turn, and ships to bear
up. Pinc-concs, indeed ! Besides,
a new and strange experience has
come to it, and its hosom pulses daily
with ihc swelling of the tides. And
here one village street, vvith white
houses, follows its course a mile or
sn, and another street with white
honscs comes down to its Ivank from
the west, crosses over, and goes up
eastward. This town, with its two
principal streets forming a cross near
the mouth of the river, a white cross
at the end of n silver chain — shall
we call it Sealon ? It is a good
enough name. And the river shall
be Seaion Kiver, and the bay into
which it flows shall be Scaton Bay.
liut the ocean that makes the bay,
and drinks the nver, shall be Atlantic
still.
We have s|)oken !
Wc follow the road that follows
the stream on its caswrn bank, cross
West Street, gel mtu a ])oor, dwin-
dling neighborhood, leave the houses
nearly all behind, go over two small,
ill-conditioned hills, and lind at our
right a ship-yard with wharves, at
our left a dingy little cottage, shaped
like a Iravcliiug-lrunk, and not much
larger than some. It stands with its
side toward the dusty road, a large,
low chimney rises from the roof, there
is a door with a window at each side
of it. One ran see at a glance from
the outside how this house is divided.
It has but two rooms below, with a
tiny square entry between, and a low
attic above. Kach room ha-s three
windows, one on each of the Oiree
outer walls.
The kitchen looked toward the vil-
lage through its north window. Op-
posite that was a large fireplace with
an ill-tempered, crackling 6rc of
spruce- wood, tlirowing out sparks
and splinters. It was April weather,
and not \ery warm yet. In the
chimney -corner sat Mr. Rowan, sul-
kily smoking his pijje, his eyes fixed
on tlie chimney-back. He was a
large, slouching man, with an intelli-
gent face brutalize<l by intemperance.
I>ninkard was written all over him,
in the scorched black hair, not yet
turning gray, in the dry lips, bhxited
features, and inflamed eyes. He sat
in his shin-sleeves, waiting in);>atient-
ly white his wife put a patch in his
one coat. Mrs. Rowan, a poor, fad-
ed, little frightened woman, whom her
female acquaintances called "slack,"
sat near the south window, wrinkling
her brr.ws anxiously over the said
patch, which was smaller than the
hole it was destined to fill. The af-
The House of Yorkr.
17
teraoon sunshine spread a golden
carpet close to her feet In the light
of it one could sec the splinters in
the much-scoured floor, and a few
fraggles in the hem of Mrs. Rowan's
calico gown.
At the eastern window sat I^dlth
YOTkc, eleven years of age. with a
large book on her knees. Over this
book, some illustrated work on natu-
ral histor)-, she had been bending for
an hour, her loose mop of tawny
hair falling each side of the page.
So cloistcrcci, her profile was invisi-
ble; but, standing in front of her,
one could see an oval face with regu-
lar features full of calm earnestness.
Bright, arched lips, and a spirited
curve in the nostrils, saveil this face
from the cold look which regular
features often give. TIic large, droop-
ing eyelids pr»ml«d large eyes, the
fotehcuJ was wiiie and not high, the
browb lung, slightly arched, and pale-
brown in colur, and the whole face,
neck, handi, and wrists v\x-rc lantied
to a light quadroon tint. Hut where
the coarse sleeve had slipped up was
visible tUi arm of diizzling whiteness.
Outsi'de the window, and but iwo
rods di:ilant, hung a cninibling clay
bank, higher tlian tlte house, with a
graupof frightened alder-bushes look-
ing over the lop, and holding on
with all their roots. Some day, in
spile of their grip— the sooner, per-
ha])3. because of its stress — the Inst
ftail hold was to be 1oo:ied, anil the
bushes were to come sliding down
the bank, faster and faster, to pitch
headlong into the mire at the bottom,
wiih a weak crackling of all their
poor doomed branches.
Presently the child looked up, with
lights coming and going in her agate-
colored eyes, " How wonderful frogs
are I" she cxcloinicd involuntarily.
There was no reply.
She glanced at her two compan-
ions, scarcely conscious of them, her
VOU XIII. — 3
mind full of something else. " But
everything is wonderful, when you
come to think of it," she pursued
dreamily.
Mr. Rowan took the pipe from
his mouth, turned his forbidding face,
and glowered at the girl. " You're
a wonderful fool !" he growled ; then
resumed his pipe, feeling bettor, ap-
parently, for that expression of opin-
ion. His wife glanced up. furtive
and frightened, but said nothing.
Edith looked at the man unmoved,
saw him an instant, tlien, still look-
ing, saw him not After a whdc she
became aware, roused herself, and
bent again over the book. Then
there was silence, broken only by
the .snapping of the tire, the snip of
Mrs. Rowan's scissors, and the lame,
one-sided ticking of an old-fashioned
clock on the mantelpiece.
.■\fter a while, as the child read, a
new thought struck up. " That's
just like 1 Don't you think " — ad-
dressing the company — " Major
Cleaveland said yesterday that I had
lightning-bugs in my eyes!"
Without removing his pipe, Mr,
Rowan darted an angry look at his
wife, whose face became still more
frightened. '■ Dear me !" she said
feebly, •' that child is an idjut!"
This time the long, fading gaze
dwelt on die woman before it went
back to the book again. Um the
child was too closely ensphered iu
her own life lo be much, if at all,
hurt. Besides, she was none of
theirs, nor of their kind. Her soul
was no dying spark struggling through
ashes, but a fire, " alive, and alive
like to be," as children say when
they wave the fire-br.ind, winding
live ribbons iu the air; and no drop
of their blood flowed in her veins.
The clock limped over ten minutes
more, and the patch was got into its
place, after a fashion, l)otrlied some-
what, with tlie knots 00 the outside.
Mr. Rowan took the coat, grumbled
nl it, put it on, and went out, glanc-
ing back at the child n$ he opened
the door. She was looking aftt-r him
with an expression which he iiKer*
preteH to mean aversion and con-
tempt. Perhaps he misloolc. May
be she was wondering at him, what
sort of strange being he was. Kdith
Yorkc was very curious regarding
the world she had got into. It seem-
ed to her a '|uecr place, and that
ghe had at pre^nt not much concern
in it.
Her husband out of the way, Mrs.
Rowan look her kniiling-work, and
stood a moment at the north win-
dow, gazing up toward the town,
with a far-away look of blunted ex-
pectancy, as if she had got in the
habit of looking for lielp which never
rarne. 'I'hen she drew a long sigh,
that also a habit, and, resuming her
chair, began to knit and to rock her-
■elf, letting her mind, what there was
left of it, swing to ami fro, unmean-
ingly and miserably, tn the sound of
the clock as ii ticked. *' O dear !
O tiearl"— Ihni was what the lick
mg always said l«j this poor soul. As
she sal, the afternoon sun, sinking
lower, crept alwut her feet, climbed
10 her lap, got hold of her knittifig,
and ran in bide bright flashes along
ihc needles, and .snapped off in
sparks at the ends, so that she seem-
ed to be knitting sunshine.
This woman was what reuiaincJ
at fortj' of a pretty, flaxen-haired giri
of eighteen, who had captivated haJid-
some Dick Rowan, for he had been
handsome. A fided rag of a wo-
man she was, without Itope or sjjirit,
oil tl)e color and life washed out of
her in a bitter rain of tears. The
|Mnk cheeks had fadcil, and only the
ghost remained of that dimple that
had once seemed lo give meaning
to her smiles. Tlie curly hair w.rs
dry and thin, and had an air of chro-
nic untidiness. The blue-gray eyes
were dim and heavy, die teeth were
neady all gone. The pretty, chirp-
ing ways that had been captivating
when youth covered their silliness—
oh ! where had tliey gone ? She was
a weak, broken-hearted, shiftless littie
woman, and her husband hated her.
lie felt wronged and cheated by her.
He was more disappointed than Ix-
ion, for in this cloud there had never
even been a goddess. If she had
sometimes tume<I upon him, when he
acted like a brute, and scorned him
for it. he would have liked her bel-
ter; but she shrank, and rowered,
and trembled, made liim feel himself
ten times the brute she dared nut
call him, yet gave him nothing to
resent. " Gentle, is she ?" he cried
out once in a rage. *■ She Ls not 1 She
is weak and slavish. A person cannot
be gentle who cannot be something
else."
So the poor woman suflcreJ. and
got neither pity nor credit from the
one who caused her suffering. It
was hard ; and yet, she was nobler m
her misery than she would have been
in happiness. For sorrow gave her
row and then a touch of dignity;
and when, stung with a sudden per-
ception of her own nothingness, she
(lunjt her desperate hands upward,
and called upon God to deliver her,
a certain tragtail jxiwer and beauty
seemed lo wrap her round. Mrs.
Rowan happy would have been a
trivial woman, meaning no great
harm, because meaning no great any-
thing ; but the fiery furnace of pain
had scorched her up, and what re-
mained was pure.
When the two were alone, Edith
dropped her book, and looked across
the room at her companion. Mrs.
Rowan, busy with her own sad
thoughts, look no notice of her, and
presently the cUld glanced past her,
and out the window. The view was
The House of Yorke.
19
not bad. First came the dusty road,
then the ship-yard, then the river
sparkling, but rather the worse for
sawdust and lath-edgings that came
down from the lumber-mills above
the village. But here alt that was
sordid came to an end. The mean-
ness and misery on the hitherward
bank were hke witches, who cannot
cross running water. From the op-
posite bank rose a long, grassy hill,
unmarred by road or fence. In sum-
mer-time you could see from far away
the pinkness of the wild-roses that
had seen fit to bind with a blooming
cestus the dented waist of this hill.
Behind them was a green spray of lo-
cust and laburnum trees, then dense
round tops of maples, and elms in
graceful groups, half-hiding the roofs
and gables of Major Cleaveland's
house — the great house of the village,
as its owner was the great man. Be-
hind that was a narrow rim of pines
and spruces, making the profile of an
enchanted city against the horizon,
and above that a vast hollow of un-
obstructed sky. In that space the
sunsets used to build their jasper
walls, and calm airs stretch long lines
of vapor across, till thewholcwest was
a stringed instrument whereon a full
symphony of colors played good-
night to the sun. There the west
wind blew up bubbles of wry cloud,
and the new moon put forth her
gleaming sickle to gather in the sheaf
of days, a never -failing har\'est,
through storm and sunshine, hoar-
frost and dew. There the pearly piles
of cumuli used to slumber on summer
afternoons, lightnings growing in their
bosoms to flash forth at evening; and
there, when a long storm ended with
the day, rose the solid arch of ceru-
lean blue. When it had reached a
certain height, Edith Yorke would
run into the south room, and look
out to see the rainbow suspend its
miraculous arch over the retreating
storm. This little girl, to whom
everything was so wonderful when
she came to think of it, was a dear*
lover of beauty.
" O dear ! O dear !" ticked the
clock ; and the barred sunshine turn-
ed slowly on the floor, as if the ugly
little house were the hub of a huge-,
leisurely wheel of gold.
Edith dropped her book, and went
to Mrs. Rowan's side, taking a stool
with her, and sitting down in the
midst of the sunshine.
'* I'm afraid I shall forget my sto-
ry, Mrs. Jane, unless I say it over
again," she said. " And, you know,
mamma told me never to forget."
Mrs. Rowan roused herself, glad
of anything which could take her
mind from her own troubles. *' Well,
tell it all over to me now," slie said.
" I haven't heard it this long time."
" Will you be sure to correct me if
I am wrong ?" the child asked anx-
iously.
" Yes, I will. But don't liegin till
I have taken up the heel of this stock-
ing."
The stitches were counted and
evened, half of them taken oif on to a
thread, and the other half, with the
seam-stitch In the middle, knit back-
ward once. Then Editli began to
repeat the story confided to her by
her dead mother.
" My grandpajiaand grandmamma
were Polish exiles. They had to
leave Poland when Aunt Marie was
only a year old, and before mamma
was born. They couldn't take their
proijcrty with them, but only jewels,
and plate, and pictures. They went
to Brussels, and there my mamma was
born, and the queen was her god-
motlier, and sent the christening- robe.
Mamma kejjt the robe till she grew
up ; but when she was in America, and
was poor, and wanted to go to a par-
ty, she cut it up to make the waist
and sleeves of a dress. Poverty is
The House of Yorie,
^
no disgrace, mamma finid, but it is a
great inconvenience. By - and • by,
• ihey left BruweU, aniJ went to Kng-
laiiil. tlruuipapa wanted some way
to get money to live on. for they liad
sold nearly all iheir pictures and
things. They stayed in Engla:id not
verj' long. Countess Poniatowski call-
ed on grandmamma, ami she had on a
black velvet bonnet with red roses in
it ; so I supiwsc it was winter. Then
one day grandpapa l(>ok mamma out
to walk in a park ; so I suppose that
was summer. There were some gcn-
llemcn in the park that they talked
to, and one of them, a gendeman with
a hook iio.se, who wa.s silting down
on a bench, took mamma on hi<; knees,
and started to kiss her. But mamma
slapped his face. She said he had no
right to kis-s people who didn't want
him to, not even if he were a king.
His name wa.s the Duke of Wulling-
Ion. llit-n they alt came tu Ame-
rica, and [Koplc here were very |X)li(c
lo them, because ihey were Polish
exiles, aud of noble birth. But they
couldn't cat nor drink nor wear
politeness, mamma said, and so
(hey grew poorer and i>oorer every-
day, and didn't know what they
would do. Once they travelled with
Henry Clay two weeks, and had
quite a nice time, and they went to
.•\shkind and btaycd all night. ^V hen
they went away the next day, Mr.
Clay gave mamma and .\iiiit Marie the
lillltf mugs they had had to drink out of.
But they didn't care much about 'em,
ami they broke* 'cm i^rctty soon. Mam-
ma >>aid she didn't know then that Mr.
Cl.iy was a great man. Slic thought
that just a mister couhln't be great.
She had always seen lords .^nd counts,
and grandpapa was a colonel in the
army— Colonel Lubuntiorski his name
was, But she saiil that m tliis coun-
try a man might bt- great, even if he
wasn't anything but a mister, and
that my pai^a was as great as a
prince. Well, then they came to
Boston, and vVunt Marie died, and
they buried her, and mamma was al-
most nine years old. People used to
pet and notice her. and everybody
talked about her hair. It was thick
and black, and it curied down lo her
waist. One day Doctor Somebwiy,
I can never recollect his name, took
her out walking on the C!ommon,
and ihey went into Mr. John Quincy
Adams's house. And Mr. Adams
took one of mamma's curls, and held
it out, and said it was long enough
and large enough to hang the Czar
with. Anil she said that ihey might
have it all if they'd hang him with
it. And then poor grai)dpa|)a had
to go to Washington, and teach danc-
ing and fencing, because that ivas all
he could do. And pretty soon yrand-
inamma broke her heart and (iicd,
And then after a little whdc grand-
papa died. And, after that, mamma
iud to go out sewing to sup;K>rt
herself, and she went to Boston, .md
sewcii in Mr. Vorkc's family. And
Mr. Yorkc's youngest brother fell in
love with her, and hhe fell in love
with Iiim, and they married e.ich
other in spite of evcr)-boily. >jo the
family were awfully angry. My papa
had been engaged ever since he was
a little boy to Miss Alice Mills, and
they had put olT getting married be-
cause she was rith, and he hadn't
anytliing, and was looking round to
see how he should get a fortune.
And the Millscsall turned against hira,
and the Vorkcs all turned against
liim.andhe and mamma wenioti, and
wandered about, and came down lo
Maine ; and pa])a died. 'Hien mam-
ma had to sew again to suppon lier-
self, and we were awfully poor. I
remember that we lived in Ihc same
house with you ; but it was a better
house tlian this, and was up in
the village. Then mamma's heart
broke, and she died too. But I dun't
mean w break my heart, Mrs. Jane.
It's a poor thing lo do."
" Yes !" sighed the listener ; " it's
a |>oor thing to rio."
"Well," resumed the child, "then
you kc|>t me. It was four years ago
when niy matnniu died, but I remem-
ber it all. She made me promise
not to forget who my mother was,
and promise, M'ith both my hands
held up, that 1 wouhl be a Catholic,
if 1 had to die for it. So I held up
both my hands, and promised, and
she looked at nic, and then shut her
eyes. It that all riyht ?"
" Ves, dear !" Mrs. Kowan had
dropped her knitting as the story
went on, and was gazing dreamily
out the window, recalling to mind
her brief acquainunce with the fair
young exile.
" nick and I grew to be great
friends/' Kdith continued rather tim-
idly. " lie used to take care of me,
and fight for mc. P<x>r Hick ! He
was mad nearly all the time, because
his father drank rum, and because
people tnitted him, and looked rlnwn
upon him."
Mrs. RoH-an look up her work
again, and knit tears in witti the
yam.
•• And Dick gave his fallier an aw-
ful tolking'tu, one day," Edith went
on, still more timidly. " That was.
two years ago. He stood up and
poured out M-ords. His eyes were
so tlasliing that they dazzled, and his
cheeks were red, and he clinched his
hands. He looked mcst splendid.
When I go back to Poland, he shall
be a general in the army. He will
'look jusjt as he diti then, if the Czar
should come near us. Well, after
that day he went off to sea, and he
has not been back since,"
Tears were running down the mo-
ther's checks as she thought of her
son, the only child left her of three.
Edith leaned and clasped both
her hands around Mrs. Rowan's arm,
and laid her cheek to them. " But
he is coming back rich, he said he
would ; aii<l what Dick said he'd do
he always did. He is going to take
us away from here, and get a pretty
house, and come and live with us."
A hysterical, half-laughing sob
broke through the listener's quiet
weeping. *• He always did keep his
word. Ediih!" she cried. " Dick w.t,h
a gallant lad. .\n<l I trust that the
Lord will bring him back to me."
*• Oh : he'll come back," said Edith
confidently, and vnih a slight air of
haughtiness. " He'll come back him-
self. "
All the Christianity the child had
seen had been such as to make the
name of the Lord excite in her heiirt a
feeling of antagonism. It is hard to be-
lieve that Cod means love « Iicn man
lueans hate ; and this child and her
protectors had seen but little of the
sunny side of humanity. Christians
held aloof from the drunkard and
his family, or approached them only
to e.\h(jrt or denounce. That they
had any kinship with that miserable
man, that in his cirtumsiancL-s they
might have been what he w;w, never
secmc<l to occur to ihcm as possible.
Dick fought with the boys who mock-
td his father, therefore he was a bad
boy. Mrs. Rowan flamed up, and
defeniled her husband, when the Rev.
I>r. Martin denounced him, therefore
she was almost as bad as he. So
shallow are most judgments, arraign-
ing eftecLs without weighing causes.
Nor did Kdith UiTti better at their
hands. She was to them a sort of
vagaljonil. Who' believed the story
of her moiher'.s romantic misforiimes ?
Slie was some foreign adventuress,
most likely. Mr. Charles Yorke, whom
they respected, had married a native
of Scaton, and had two or three
times honored that town with a short
visiL They knew that he had cast
i
The House 0/ Yorke.
off his own brother fur marrying tiiis
child's mother. Therefore she had
no claim on their respect.
Moreover, some of the ladies for
whom young Mrs. Yorke had done
sewing had not the plcasantcst of re-
collections connected with her. A
|ioor pcr:>on has no right to be proud
and high-spirited, and the widowe<l
exile w:^s a very ftery woman. She
would not sit at table with their ser-
vants, she would not be delighted
when they patronized her, and she
would not be grateful fDr the scanty
wages ihcy gave her. She had even
dared to break out upon Mrs. Cleavc-
land when that lariy had sweetly re-
quested her to Ciller her house by
the sitle door, when she tame to .sew.
" In Poland a pcrscm like you would
scarcely have been allowed to tie
my mother's shoes 1" she cried. The
lady answered suavely, •* Hut wc are
not in IMI.ind, madam ;" but she
never forgave the insolence — still
less because her husband laughed at
it, and rather liked Mrs. Yorke's
spirit.
These were the ladies whom Editli
had heani talk of religion : so she
tiftcfl her head, dropped her eyelids,
anil said deliantly. " Dick will come
home hinisclfl"
» " Not unless the LonI lets him
come." said tlie mother. '* Oh I no
Kood will come to iis except by him.
' Unirsi ibf Lortl huiU the hoinf, thty
labor in fain thol I'tiiU it : unless the
lard krtp the eit\\ he vMtelu/h in iwn
thttt kee/^th it.' ''
** I don't think you have much to
thank him for," remarked the child
ijuietly.
•■I will thank him!" the woman
cried out in a passion. " 1 will tnist
him ! He is all ihe hope I have !"
" Well, well, you may !" £dilh said
soothingly, " I>oa't let's talk about
it any more. Give me the scissors,
and rU cut the fragal*-"^ wff the hem
of your gown. Suppose Dick should
come home all of a sudden, and And
us looking so ! I hope he will let
us know, don't you ? so that we can
put our best clot!iL-a on."
The best clothes in tjucstion were a
black bombazine gown and shawl,
and an old-fashioned crajie lionnct
and veil, all sewed up and hidden
away under Kdith's bed in the little
dark attic, lest Mr. Rowan, in one
ul' his drunken frenzies, should de-
stroy ihcii. Tiiese articles were the
mourning which Mrs. K.owan had
worn seven years before, when her
last daughter died. With them was
another bag, belonging to KditJi,
equally precious to its owner, but
from other reasons. There w.-w a
scarlet merino cape, lined with silk
of the same color, both a liule faded,
and a faded crape scarf that hatl
once been gorgeous with red and
gold. In the innermost fold uf this
scarf. wrapi»ed in tis.sue-paper, and
tucked inside an old kid glove of re-
markable smalluess, were two locks
of hair — one a short, thick wave of
) cllow-brown. the other a long, ser-
[lentinc trc^s of ebony blackness.
While they talked, the door of the
room opened, .ind Mr. Rowan look-
ed in. •' Aren't we going toliaveany
sup[K:r to-night?" he demanded.
Kdith fixeil a look on him that
made him shrink out, and bang the
door behind him. His wife started
up, glanced at the clock, and went
about her work.
"Let me help you, Mrs. Jane,"
the child said.
*' No, dear, There isn't moch to
do, and I'd rather do it." Mrs.
Rowan's voice ha<i a seiiulchral sound,
her head l>eing deep in the fireplace,
where she %vas putting one hook into
another on the crane, to let the tea-
kettle down. She emerged with a
smooch of soot on her hair and fore-
head, and began flying round bring-
LJ_
ing a, tabic into the middle of the
floor, putting up the leaves, spreading
the cloth, taking down tlie dishes,
all with irctnl)hng haste. " If you
want to knit a few times across the
heel of th:it stucking. you may. But
be careful not to knit too tightly, as
you ahnost always do. You can be-
gin to narrow when it's two of yuur
forcfingtirs long."
Kdith look !he knitting, and went
to her favorite chair in the hack win
dow. The room hail gruwii wnoky
in consequence of Mrs. Kowan'^ pil-
ing of soft wood on to the tire, and
hurrying about past the Jireplace, so
she pushed up the window, and fas-
tened it with a wooden button fixed
there for the puqiose. Then she be-
gan to knit and think, and, forgetting
Mri. Rowan's directions, pulled the
yam so tightly over her fingcRi that
she worked a iiard, stiff strip across
the heel. Into which tlie looser knit-
ling puckered. The chUd was too
tnuch absorbed to be aware of her
mistake, and it did not matter ; for
that stocking was never to be fin-
ished.
While she dreamed there, a deeper
:thaduw than that of the ctay bank
fell over her. She looked up with a
start, and saw Mr. Rowan ^landing
outside the window. He had placed
himself so as to avoid being seen by
any one in the room, a!ii<l was just
turning his eyes away from her when
she caught sight of htm.
" Lean out here V he said. " I want
to speak to you."
She leaned out and wailed.
" Wliai makes you stare at me the
way you sometimes do ?" he a:>kcd
angrily, but in a low voice, that his
wife might not hear. " Why don't
you say right out what you think ?"
" I don't know what I do think,"
replied Kdith, dropping her eyes.
" You think that I am a wretch !"
he exclaimed. " You think 1 am a
drunkard I You think I abuse my
wifel
Sheneitheranswered nor looked up.
Me paused a moment, then went
on fiercely. *'If tliere is anything I
hate, it is to have people look at me
that way, and say nothing. If you
scold a man, it looks a$ if you thought
there was something in him that
could tell black from while ; and if
you arc impudent, you put yourself
a little in the wrong, and that helps
tiiiii. lie isn't so much a-shaiued of
himself. But when you just look,
and say nothing, you shut him out.
It i^ a.s much as to tell him that
wo.ds would be thrown away on
him."
" But," Edith objected, much at a
loss, '■ if I answered you back, or
said what 1 thought, there iTOuld be
a quarrel right ofif."
** Did I fight wlien Dick gave me
such a hauling-over before he went
avvay ?" the man iiuesiiuned in a
rough tone tliat did not hide how
his voice broke, and his bluod-shot
eyes tilled up with tears, " Didn't I
hang my head, and take it like a
dog? He said 1 had acted like a
brute, but be didn't say I was one,
and he didn't say but I could he a
man yet, if I should try. Wasn't I
sober for three months after he went
away ? Yes ; and I would have kept
sober right on If I had had some one
to thorn and threaten me. But she
gave up, and did nothing but whim-
|>er, and it maddened me. When I
ordered her to mix my rum for tne,
she did it. 1 should have liked her
better if she had thrown it, tumbler
ajid all, into my face."
" You'd better not find fault with
her," said Kdith. " She's a great
deal better than you arc."
The child liad a gentle, sincere-
way of saying audacious things some-
times that made one wonder if she
knew how audacious tliey were.
The man stared at her a moment;
then, Imiking away, answered with-
out any appearance of anger, " I sup-
pose she is ; but I don't think much
of that kind of goodness when there's
a hard job to be done. Vou can't
lift rocLs with straws. I'm sorry for
her; but, for all that, she aggravates
me, poor thing '."
He leaned back against the house,
with his hands in his pockets, and
stared at the clay bank before him.
Edith looked at him, bitt said noth-
ing. Prt-scTilly be turned so suddenly
that she started. " Girl," he said,
"never do you ridicule a man wh6 has
been- drinking, no matter what he
docs! Vou may liate him, or be
afrai<l of him, but never laugh at
him ! You might as well look down
into hell and laugh I Do you know
what it is to be in the power of rum ?
It is to have serpents twining round
you, and binding you hand and foot.
I've gone through the streets up there
with devils on my back, pu!»hing me
down ; wild Iwasts tearing my vitals;
reptiles crawling round me; the earth
rising up .md tjuaking under my feel.
and a horror in my soul that ho words
can describe, and the men and women
and children have laughed at me.
Perhaps they were such shallow fools
that they didn't know ; but I tcU you,
and you know now. Don't you ever
dare to laugh at a drunkard !"
*' I never will 1" Kdith cried out,
in an agony of terror and pity. '■ O
you |K)or man ! I didn't know it was
so awful. O you poor man!"
Mr. Rowan had stopped, gasping
for brc.iih, and, with his patched
sleeve, wiped off die perspiration that
was streaming down his face. Edith
tore off her liiile calico apron with
such haste as to break the strings.
" Here, take this!" she said, reaching
it out to him.
He took it with a shaking hand,
and wiped his face again ; wiped his
eyes again and again, breathing
heavily.
" Couldn't you be saved ?" she
asked, in a whisper, *• Isn't there
any way for you lo get out of it ?"
" No !" he said, and gave birr back
her apron. " No ; and i wish that I
were dead I"
"Don't say that!" the child en-
treated. "It is wicked; and per-
haps you will die if you say it."
The drunkard raised his trembling
hands, and looked upward. " t wish
to God that I were dead!" he re-
peated.
Edith shrank back into the room.
She was too much terrified to listen
10 any more. But alter a moment he
called her name, and she leaned out
again. His face was calmer, and his
voice more quieU ♦* Don't tell her
whiit I liavc been talking about," he
said, nodding toward the room. " 1
would sooner tear iny tongue out by
ihe roots than say anything to her."
" I won't tell," Kdith proniiseJ.
"Supper's ready," Mrs. Rowan
announced, coming towards tlie win-
dow. Slie had heard ht:r husband's
voice in cuuversation with Edith, and
wondered greatly what was goiitg
on.
Mr. Rowan turned away, with a
look of irritation, at sound of her
timid voice, walked round the house,
and came sulkily in to his supper.
Their meals had always been com-
fortless and silent ; but now Edith
tried to talk, at first with Mrs. Row-
an ; but when she .saw that the
woman's tremulous replies, as if she
did not dare to speak in her hus-
band's presence, were bringing an
uglier frown to this face, and thai he
was changing from sullen to savage,
she addrcsscl her remarks and ques-
tions lo him. Mr. Rowan was a
.surveyor, and a good one, wlien he
was sober, and he was a man uf some
geoeral information and reading.
The House of Yorke,
When he could be got to talk, one
was surprised to fiud in him the ruins
of a gentleman. Non- his answers
were surly enough, but ihcy were in-
telligent, and the child, no longer
Joolcing at him from the outside,
questioned hitn fearlessly, and kept
up a &ort uf convcnsatiun till they roiic
from table.
It was Mr. Rowan's custom to go
out immediately after supper, and not
come home till late in the evening,
when he would stagger in, sometimes
stupid, sometimes furious with li(]uor.
But to-night he lingered about when
he had left the table, lighted his pipe,
kicked the fire, wound up the clock,
and cursed it for stopping, and finally,
a« if ashamed of die proposal even
while making it, said to Edith,
•• Corae. get the checker-board, and
sec if you can beat me."
She was quick-witted enough, or
sensitive enough, not to show any
surprise, but quietly brought out tlic
board, and arranged the chairs and
stand. It was a square of board,
rough at the edjjes, planed on one
iside, and niaritcd off in checks with
red chalk. The men were bits of
tanned leather, one side white, the
other side black. She placed them,
smiled, and said, " Now, I'm ready !"
Mrs. Rowan's checks began to red-
den up nvith excitement as she went
about clearing the table, and washing
the di.shcs, but she said nothing. She
had even tact enough to go away
into the bedroom, when her work
was done, and leave the two to play
out their game unwatchcd. 'Inhere she
satinthcfallingdusk.hcrh.indsclasped
on her knees, listenmg to every sound,
expecting every moment to hear her
htuband go out The three curtains
in ihe room were rolled up to the
very tops of the windows, and, in their
kplaces, three piiturcs seemed to hang
on the smoky walls, and illumine the
place. One was a higli clay bank,
its raw front ruddy with evening
light, its top crovk*ned with a bush
burning like that of llureb, Hic
ic"Cond was a hill covered with spruce-
trees, nothing else, fiom the link*
cone, not a foot high, to the towering
spire that pierced the sky. Some
faint rose-retlections yet warmed their
sombre sliadows, and each shar{> top
was silvered with the coming moon-
licht. The third window showed a
deserted ship-yard, with the skeleton
of a bark standing on the stocks. The
shining river beyond seemed to flow
through Its ribs, and all about it the
ground was covered with bright yel-
low chips and shavings, .\bove it, in
the lender green of the south-western
sky, a cloud-bark freighted with crim-
son light sailed off southward, losing
its treasure as it went. These strong,
rich lights, meeting and crossing in
the room, showed clc.irly the woman's
ncn-ous face full of suspense, the very
attitude, too, showing suspense, as
she only half-sat on the side of die
bed, ready to start up at a sound.
jVftcr a while she got up softly, and
went to the fireplace to listen.
All was still in the other room,
but she heard distinctly the crackling
of die fire. Wh.it had come over
him ? V\'hat did it mean ?
Presently there was a slight move-
ment, and Edith's voice spoke out
brigliUy : " Oh I I've got another
king. Now I have a chance !"
The listener irenibleii with doubt
and fear. Her husband was actually
sitting a[ home, and playing checkers
with Edith, instead of going out to
get drunk ! He couUl not mean to
go, or he would have gone at once.
She longed to go and assure herself,
to sit down in the room with him,
but could scarcely find courage to do
so. She held her breath as she went
toward the door, and her hand falter-
ed on the latch. But at last she sum-
moned resolution, and went out.
The lamp was liglilctl, ihe checker-
board pUiccd on the ubtc bt,'sidi: it,
and the nvo were talking over the
slackening game. Kdith liad a good
head for a child of her age. but her
opponent was an excellent pbyer,
and &he could not interest him long.
She was trj-ing every Iu:c to keep
him, though, and made a new tack
is Mrs. Konnn came in, relating an
experience of her own, instead of
questioning hlin concerning his. " I
want to tell you something I saw last
night in my chamber," she said.
Bdiih's chamber was the little dark
attic, which was reached by a steep
stairway at one side of the fireplace.
•' I was in bed, wide awake, and it
wa.s pitch dark. You know you put
ihe cover over the skylight when it
rained, the oUier day, aiul it has not
been taken off. Well, instead of
shutting my eyes, 1 kept them wide
open, and Io<)ked straight into the
dark. I've heard that you can see
spirits so, and so I thought 1 might see
ray mamma. Pretty soon there was
a great hole in the dark, like a whirl-
pool, .ind afier a minute there was a
little light down at thv bottom of it.
I kept on lookuig, just as if 1 were
looking down into a deep well, and
then [here came colors in clouds,
jailing about, just like clouds in the
•iky. Some were red, others pink,
others blue, and all colors. Some-
times there w*oul<l lie a pattern of
colors, just like figures in a carpet,
only Ihey were blocks, not fluwers.
I didn't dream iL I saw it as ])lainly
ax I see the fire this minute. What
do you suppose it was, Mr. Rowan ?*'
He had listened with interest, and
did not appear to find anything sur-
priMng in the recital.
" I don't know nuich about op-
tics," he answered; "but I sup]>nsc
there is a scientific reason for this,
whether it is known or not I've seen
those colors — that is, I did when I
was a child; and De Quincey, in his
Opixtm Con/cssiens, tells the s^nie
story. I don't believe that grown
people are likely to sec them, for the
reason that they shut their eyes, and
their minds are more occupied. You
have to stare a good while into the
dark, and wait whut comes, and not
think much of anything."
** Ves," said Kdiih. " But what do
you guess it is!*"
Mr. Rowan leaned back in his
chair, with his hands clasped behind
liis head, and considered the matter
a moment, some finer intelligence
than often showed there kindling be*
hind his bloalc-d face.
•* I should guess it might be this,"
he said. *• Though the place appears
at first to be dark, there are really
bome particles of light there. And
since there arc too few of them to
keep up a connection in their perfect
state, ihey divide into their colors,
and make the clouds you saw, I don'»
know why p.7rticles of light should
not separate, when they have a great
deal to do, and not much to do it
with. Air does."
'•Hut what made them move?"
Mdrth asked. " 'J'hev were never
still."
•' Perliaps they were alive."
She stared, with scintillating eyes.
Mr. Rowan gave a short, »lent
laugh. He knew that the child was
only questioning in order to keep him.
" No reason why not," he said. " Ac-
cording to Sir Huujphry Davy, and
some oilier folks, I believe, heat isn't
caloric, but repulsive motion. It isn't
matter, but it moves, goes where no-
thing else can, passes through slonc
and iron, and can't be stopped, and
can't be seen. Now, a something
that is not matter, and yet ib powerful
enough to overcome mailer, must be
spirit. Heat is the soul of light ; and
if heat is spirit, light Ls alive. VoUH
Tkt House of Yorkt.
27
He had forgotten liimself a mo-
ment in the pleasure of puzzling his
r|uestioncr ; but catching liis wife
looking at him with an expression of
astoniahincint, he carae back to the
preseni. Ihe smile died out of his
face, and the irowu came back.
•* Uon't you want to play soli-
tain f" Kdit)i stnick in desperately.
He made a blight motion of dis-
sent, but it was nut decided; so she
brought out the pack of soiled cards*,
and laid them before him. I'here
was a moment of hesitation, during
which the heart of the wife throbbed
tuuiiiituously. and the nerves of the
diild tingled with an rxciieinent that
seemed to snap in sparks from her
eyes. Then he tiwk the cards.
simtfled them, and began to jilay.
Mrs. Rowan opened a Imok, and,
holding it up.sidc down, so as to hide
her fate, cried quietly behind the
I page. Her husband ^w that &he
was cryin^T ^J^^ -i s-ivage glance at
her, and seemed abi^ut to Hing the
canU down ; but l^dith made some
remark on the game. Icincd toward
him, and laid her head lightly on
liis arm. It was the ftr^t time in alt
'their ari|uatntance that she had vol-
tmtarity touched liim. At the same
time she reached her foot, and pasb-
cd Mr». Rowan's under ihe table.
Mrs. Kowan dropped her bonk, turn-
ed her fare away (|uickly, and said,
with an eifuri of self-control rare for
her: "Why. it's nine o'clock! I'll
go to bed, I tliiiik : I'm tired."
Nobody answering, or objecting,
she went away, and left her husband
still over his canlK.
"Isn't it about your bedtime?"
he said presently to Ktliih.
Slie got np slowly, unwilling to
go, yet not danng to stay. Oh I if
she were but wise enough 10 know
the best thing that could be said —
>onieihing which would itrcugthen
his roiuluLtun^ and keep him in. It
was not yet too late for him to go out;
for, when every safe and pitiful door
is closed, and !>lum1)er seals all mer-
ciful eyes, the beacon of the grog-
shop shines on tlirough the night,
and tells that the way to perdiliou
still is open, and the eyes of the rum-
.seller yet on the watch.
" How glad 1 shall be when Dick
comes home !" she said. " Then 1
ho|)e we can all go away from here,
and wipe out, and begin over."
She could not have said better,
but, if she had known, she could have
done better. What he needed was
not an appeal to his sentuiicDts, but
piiysical help. Words make but little
impres.->ion on a man while tlie tor-
ments of a burning, infernal thirst are
gnawing at his vitaU The drun-
kard's body, already singed by the
near llamcs of the hoiiomlcss pit,
neede<l attending to .it once; his soul
wiis crushed and helpless under the
ruins of il. If an oUler, wiser bead
ami haiid had been there, started up
the failing fire, ajid made some strong,
bitter draught for him to drink, it
might have done good. Uut ll>c child
did not know, and the sole help she
could give was an appeal lu his
heart.
It is as true of the finest and lofti-
est natures, as of the perverted, that
they cannot always conquer tlie evd
one by spiritual means alune. Oidy
spirits can do that. And often the
tempter must laugh to see llie ])liybi-
cal needs, which were made to play
about our feet like children, unnotic-
ed when the soul speaks, si.irved till
Ihey become demons whose clamor-
ous voices drown ihc spirit's fainting
cries.
But this man's demon was indul-
gence, and not denial He was not
hovering on the brink of ruin, he was
at the bottom, and striving to rise,
and he could not endure that any
eye should look upon his struggles.
■
" D — you ! will you go to bed ?'*
he cried out fiercely.
Kdith started back, And, without
another won!, rliinlictl the narrow
stitir to liLT aiiic. Before closinj; ihc
trap-iltior. she looked down oiire,
aiid saw Mr. Kowaii tearing and twis-
ting the cards he had been |>Iayii)g
with.
He stayed there the whole night,
figliting desperately with such wea-
puns as he had —a will broken at the
hilt, llic nietnory of his son, and llie
thoujjht of that dcarliltlc girl's tender
but inefTectual jiity. As Tor Oo<l, he
no longer name*! him, save in impre-
cation. I'he f.iith (if his orphaned
chil<lhood had gone lonj^ ago. The
glare of the world had seorcbcd it up
before it had f»irly taken root. That
there might be help and comfort in
the church of hi.i fathers never enter-
ed his mind. "Drink! drink!" that
was his sole thought. " If I only
had some opium !" he muttered, " or
a rup of strong black cofTec 1 I won-
der if 1 could get cither of 'cm any-
where.*"
Tiie day was faindy dawning when
he staggered to the window, tore
down the paper curtain, and looked
out for some sign of life, .^t the wharf
opposite lay a vessel that had come up
the evening before, and he knew by
he smoke that the cook, was getting
br-jakfa^t there.
•' I'll go over and see if I can get
some coffee or opium," he muttered,
and pulle<i his hat on as he went out
the door,
" I'll ask for nothing but coffee or
opiunt," he protested to himself, as
he shut the door Rofily after him.
Alas! alas!
CHAPTER II.
^WIPIXC OVT, A}(D ttKCIKNING ANRW.
TiiK next morning was a gloomy
one for the two who had nursed tiiai
trembling hope overnight, but they
did not say much about it. Mrs.
Rowan's face ^howell the lassitude of
long endurance. Kditti's disap(>oinl-
mcni was poignant. She was no
longer a looker-on merely, but an
actor. I he man had confided in her.
had tai-itly asked her .sympathy, and
his failure gave her a pang. She
cast about in her thoughts what she
should do, having a mind to put |ier
own young shoulder to the wheel.
Should she gn in search of him, and
give him one of iliosc stoldings which
he had acknuwlcdjiied his need of?
Should she le.id him home, and pro-
tect him from .ibusc ?
" Hadn't I better go up to the
pojit-office ?" she a.sked. after brcak-
iast " I haven't been tliere this
good while, and Ujcre mitiht be a let-
ter from Dick."
Mrs. kowan hesitated: '* Well,
yes." She disliked being left alone,
and she had no expertaiion of a let-
ter, liut it seemed like slighting her
son to make any other reply to sueh
a request. Besides the village boys
might be hooting her husband
through the streets, and, if iliey were,
she would like to know it. ho Kdith
prepared herself, and went out.
'I lie ship-yard was full of business
at this hour, and two men were at
work close to the road, shaving a
piece of limlier. Kdith lookei.1 at
them, and hc-sitated. "I've a good
mind to." she thought. She had
never gone into llie ship-y.ird when
the men were there, and ha<l never
asked any one a question concern-
ing Mr. Rowan. But now all was
The House of Yorke.
changed, and she felt responsible.
•'Have you seen Mr. Rowan any-
where, this morning ? " she asked,
going up to ihe man nearest her.
lie drew the sJiave slowly lo him,
slipped off a long curl of amber-
colored wood from the blade, ihen
looketl up to see who spoke. " Mr.
Rowan ! " he repeated, as if he hati
never heard the name before. " Oh !
Dick, you mean. No. I haven't seen
him, this morning. He may be ]ying
round behind the limbm some-
where."
The child's eyes sparkled. Child
thou};h she was, she knew that the
drunkard was uiorc worthy uf the
title of genileman than this man was,
for he was rude and harsh only when
he suffered.
" Lidic giri," the other called out
aa she tumetl away, "your fatlier is
over there on boani oi the Annu
tautU. I ^w him lying there half
an hour ago, and I guess he hasn't
itirred since."
" He isn't my fallierl" she flashed
OUL
The two burst into a rude laugh,
which cflcrlu;illy chctked (he thanks
she wotiid have given for ihcir mfur-
mation. She turned Itasiity away,
and went up the road to tht- village.
Mrs. Rowan finished her work,
and sat down in the west window to
watch. Slie %va.s too anxious and dis-
couraged to knit, even, and so did
not discover the light luilc strip of
work around the stocking-heel. !i
was employment enough lo look out
for Edith ; not ihai she expected a
tetter, btit because she wanted com-
pany. She was conscious of some
strength in (he rhild, on which she
leaned at limes. As for Dick, she
had little hope of good news from
him, if any. ^te had no part in
Edith's roiic-coloreii expcctitions,
IJiek in peril from siorm, foe, or sin ;
I>ick dying untcuded in foreign lands;
Pick sinking don-n in cold, salt seas
— these were the mother's fancies.
After half nn hour, a small figure
appeared over ihe hills liciween the
house aiid the village. Mrs. Rowan
walclied it absently, and with a slight
sense of relief. But soon she noticed
that the child was running. It was
not like l^dith to run. She was
noticeably quiet, and even dignified
in her manners. Could she have
seen or heard anythuig of Mr. Rowan
at the village ? The heart of the
wife began to Hutter feebly. Was he
lying in the stTcct ? or engaged in a
drunken cjuarrel ? Slie leaned back
ill her chair, feeling sick, and tried lo
gather strength for whatever might
come to her.
Kdiih was near the house, now
running a few steps, then walking?, to
gather breaih, and she held hcf arui
above Iter head, and swung it, and in
her hand was a letter !
Away went all thought of her hus-
band. In two minutes Mrs. Rowan
had the letter in her hand, had torn
it o])en, and she and Kdith were both
iKiiuIing over it, and reading it to-
gether. It had been lying in the
post-otfice a week. It came from
New York, and in a week from the
dale of it Dick would be at home !
He was on board Ihe ship /fa/tyeiif
Captain Cary. and ihey were to come
down to Scitton, and load with lumber
as iiomi as their Kast Indian freight
should be disposed of. He had met
Captai'.i Cary in C'alcutia, Dick
wrote, and, having done him a ser-
vice there, had been taken on board
his ship, and now was second mate.
Next voyage he would sail as first
mate, 'i'he captain was his friend,
would do anything for him, and own-
ed half llie bhij), Major Cleavelond
owning the oihcr half; so Dick's for-
tune was made. Hut, he added,
they mu^t get out of ihai town. He
had a month to spare^ and should
■
30
The House of Voric.
take ihem nil away. Let them be
ready to start on diort notice.
Having read this joyful letter
through oore, ihcy Iwgan at the
first word anfi read it nil through
again, 'Jwclling here nnd there with
exclanialionsurdeliglit, stofiped ever)*
minute hy a large tear th.ii splashed
down from Mrs. Rowan's eyes, or a
yellow avalanche of Edith's trouble-
some hair tumhhng down xi she bent
eagerly over the letter. How ni.iny
limes tbey read that letter would be
hard to s.iy; still harder to say how
many times they might have read it,
had tljere been no interruption.
A rnnvd of men were approaching
their door — close upon them, and
darkening \Ue light tofurc they look-
ed up. '* Had Uick come, and were
the neighbors welcoming him ?" was
the tirst thought.
in her haste, Ii'dilh had left the
outer door ajar, and now heavy feet
came tramping in without any leave
being askeil ; the inner door was
pushes) open, and — not Pick, but
Dick's father was brought in and
laid on the floor. This whs not the
fiRt lime he had been brought home,
but never before hail he come with
such a retinue and in such silence,
and never before h.id these men taken
off their hats to Mrs. Kuwan,
*' We've sent for the doctor, ma'am,"
one of them said ; •' but 1 guess it's
no use "
" I wouldn't have ordered him off.
if I hadn't thought he was steady
enough to go," satd another, who
looked very pale. '* The captain
was expccl«l on board every minute,
and it wuuh] be a.s mncii a*i my life
is worth if he found a man dnink
there."
" He slipped on a plank, and fell,"
some one explained.
Their t-ilk was, to the bewildered
woman, like sounds heard in a dream.
So were Edith's pasiiionate worik an
she ordered Uie men away. The one
who had refuse<l the dead man any
better title than "Dick" was just
f nming in at the door, btaring right
and lei't, not too pitiful even llien to
be curious reyanling the place he was
in. "Go out!" die said, pushing the
door in bis face.
Some way. still in a dream, they
were got rid of, all but two. 'ITien
the doctor came, and looked, and
nodded his decision^ — ".All over!"
A dream ! a dream I
The bedroom was set in order,
the silent sleeper laid out there, every
stranger sent out of the house and
locked out, and then Mrs. Kowan
woke up. It was a terrible awaken-
ing.
Madame .Swctchine comments upon
the fact that the thought of death is
more terrible in an arid existence than
in the extremes of joy and sorrow. It
is true not only of those who die, but
of the survivors. We go out more
willingly on a dillicutt journey when
we have been warmed and fed; we
send our loved ones out with less
pain when they have been tluis forti-
fied. It is the same, in a grL-:iter de-
gree, when the journey is that one
from which the traveller never returns.
It adds a terrible p.ing to bereave-
ment when we think that our lost
one has never been hajipy ; how much
more terrible if he has never been
honored 1
Of her husband's future Mrs.
Rowan refused to think or to hear.
though she roust have trembled
in the shadow of it. It might be that
which made her so wild. She would
.illow no one to come near or speak
to her save Fdilh. 'ITiose who came
with offers of help and sympathy she
ordered away. ** Go !" she cried. *' I
want nothing of you! I and mine
haw been a bywortl to you for years.
Your help comes too late I"
She locked them out and pulled
Tkt Homs€ of Yorkf,
I
the curtains close, and, though people
continued to coine lo Uie iluur through
tlic whulc day, no one jiained admit-
tiuicc or .SA.W a !ttgn of life .'ibout tlie
house, inside sai the widow and the
child, ficarcely aware of the pas^^igc
of time. ITjey only knew that it was
BtUl dny by (he rays of sunlight thnt
came in through holes in the paper
curtains, and pointed across the roonK
like long finj;crs. Wlicn there was a
knock at tlicdoor. they started, lifted
their faces, and lUtencd nen'ously till
the knocking ceased, as if afraid tliat
wmc one might force an entrance.
One would have fancied, from their
expression, tliat savages-or wild beasts
were seeking to enter. They never
once looked out, nor knew who came.
Still less wa% they aware of Major
Qeaveland standing in his cupola,
spy-glass in hand, looking down the
bay to see if ihot cloud of canvas
coming up ovct the horizon was the
gowl ship Hahyou coming home after
her 5[si vu\a^e. Dawn-stairs he
came again, tlttcc stairs at a jump, as
joyful as a boy, in spite of his forty
years ga^e directions for the best
dinner that ihe town would afiurd,
ordercil his carriage, and drove off
flown the rivcr-roail.
The ilakyon was the largest vessel
that had ever been built at Seaton,
and as its launcliing had been an
event in the towTi, so its first arriv-il
was an incident to take note of.
When M.ajor t'tcaveland drove down
to the wharf where Mr. Kowan had
that morning lust his life, more than
a hundrctl persons were assembled
tlierc wailing for the ship, and others
were coming. He steiipeU over lo
the Rowans' door, and knocked
twice, once with his knuckles, and
again with his whip-handle, but re-
ceived no answer. " I would force
the door, but that Dick is coming,"
he said. " It is a shame to let the
poor soul fchut hen>clf up alone."
Soon, while the crowd watched,
arnund the near curve of the river,
where a wuo<led point pushed out,
appeared the tip, then the whole of
a bowsprit garlanded with green
wreaths, then the leaning lady in her
gilded robes, with a bird just escaping
from her hand, then the ship rode
gracefully into Sight on the incoming
tiile.
A ringing shout welcomed her, and
a shout from all hands on board an-
swered back.
Foremost of the little group on the
deck stood a man of gigantic stature.
His hair was coarse and black, he
wore an enonnous black beard, and
bus face, though scarcely mi<ldle-ag-
cd, was rough and scarred by the
weather. Everybody knew Captain
Cary, a sailor worthy of the old days
of the Vikings, broad-shouldered, as
strong as a hon, with a laugh diat
ina<le die gla.sscs ring when he sat at
table. He was a plain, simple man,
but grand in his simplicity. By his
side stood a youth of twenty, who
looked slight in comparison, though
he was really manly and well grown.
He h.id sea-blue eyes, quick, long-
bshed, and as bright as di:unonds;
his face was finely moulded, ruddy,
and spirited ; his hair, that glistened
in the sunlight, was cbcstnut-brown.
X gallant lad he was, the very ideal
sailor-boy. Uu*. his expression was
defiant, rather th.nn jjlacid, and he
did not join in die hurrahs. The wel-
coming applause was not for him, he
well knew. They were no friends of
his who crowded the wharf. He had
some bitter retulleclions of slight or
injury connected with nearly every
one of them. U\)t he was no longer
in tliL-ir power, and tliat gave him
freedom and ease in meeting theui.
The time had gone by when he could
look upon these country folks as final
judges in any matter whatever, or as
of any great consequence to him.
32
The House of Yorke.
He hitd seen the world, liad won
friends, had proved Oiat he could do
somctlim^, that he was somebody.
He was nor ashamed of himself by
any means, was young Dick Kowari.
Still, it was no pleasure lo him to see
them, for it brought back the memory
of sufferings which had not yet lost
their stiii)^.
All this shouting and rejoicing was
as the idle wind to the mourners
across the ivay. Their fears of in-
trusion set ni rest, since no one had
attempted to force an entrance lo the
house, they no longer took notice
even of the knocking at the door.
Both had fallen into a sort of stupor,
induced by the c.\hau<^tion of long
\vee[iiiig, tiie silence and semi-dark-
ness of their rooms, and the removal
nliat hod teen the daily tonnent-
fcar of iheir ]|vcs. There was no
nger any need lo iR-mble when a
step a]tproacI»ed, lest some one should
come in freiwied with drink, and ter-
rify thcni wth his ravings and vio-
lence. Mrs. Rowan sat by her hus-
band's sidtr, leaning back in her
chair, with closed eyes and clasped
hands, only balf-attvc. Edith lay on
the kiichcn-Hoor, where she had
thrown hcrsflf In a passion of weep-
ing, her arms above her head, her
face hklden, and her long hair veil-
ing her. The weeping was over, and
she lay silent and mouonlcss. Neither
that shouting over on the wharf, nor
Major Cleaveland's loud knocking
witli his whip-handle, had m.idc the
slightest impression on her.
But at sunset came one who would
not be denie«l. He tried the lock,
and. finding it fastened, knocked
gently. There was no answer. He
knrKkcd loudly, and still there was
no reply. Tlien he set his knee
against the rickety panel, took the
knob in a strong grasp, and wrench-
ed the door d])cd. Stq>pin^ quickly
into the hnle entry, he looked to right
and left, saw the girl lying, face down,
on the floor, and the woman sitting
beside her dead, both as still as the
dead.
Something like a dream came into
the half-swoon, half-sleep in which
Edith V'orke lay. She heard a slight
cry, then a stifled sob, and words
hurriedly spoken in a low voic&
'I'hcn there was a step that paused
near her. She put her hair back with
one hand, and turned her face list-
lessly. The curtain had been raised
to let in the light, and there stood
a young man looking down at her.
His face was pale with the sudden
shock of grief and distress, but a faint
indication of a smile shone through
as she looked up at him,
Her first glance w:is a blank one,
her second fiashed with delight. She
sprang up as if electrified. " O
Dick \ O nick I How glad I am I"
The world moved rightly at last I
Order was coming out of chaosj for
Dick had come home !
He shook hands with her rather
awkwardly, somewhat embarrassed
by tlie warmth of her welcome.
" We're lo go right off," he said.
" Captain Gary will help us."
" Vl's, Dick !" she replied, and
askc<l no quesiionR. He knew what
was right. With him had come all
help, and strength, and hope.
The next morning. long before
dawn, they started. A l>oat was rea-
dy at the wharf, and Captaifi Cary
and Dick carried out the dead in a
rude coffin that had been privately
made on board the Hakyon. "Thejr
shall not stare at our poor funeral,
captain," Dick hail said; "and I will
not ask them for a coffin or a grave,"
"All right:" his friend had an-
swered heartily. *' I'm your man.
Whatever you want to do, I'll help
you about."
So the watch on the Iliihs'on was
conveniently deaf and blind, the boat
7%e House of Vorhe.
33^
was ready in the ilark of moniing,
the coftin carried oui to it, and Mrs.
Kowan and Kdilh helped in after.
When ihcy were in tiieir jilaces, and
tht: captain seated, uan> in hand,
Dick nent back to the house, and
stayed there a httle while. No
questions were asked of him when
he came away, bringing nothing with
him, and he offered no explanation,
only look die oars, and silently guid-
ed their boat out into the diojinel.
The bankit on cither side were a solid
blackness, and the 5ky was ojiaque
and low, so that their forms were
scarcely visible lo each other as they
sat there, Mrs. Rowan in the bows
near her son, Kdith bcisidc Captiiin
Car^*, who loome<i above her like a
mountain of helii.
Presently, as they floated around
;he point that stootl between die vil-
lage and the bay, a faint bluith of
light warmed the darkness through,
and grew till tlic low-hung clouds
sucked it up like a stionge and show-
ed a crimson draiicry over their heads.
It was too early for morning light,
too fierce, and, moreover, it came
from the wTong direction. The east
was before tlicrm ; tliis sanguinary
aurora folfowed in their wake. It
shone angrily through the strip of
woods, and scut a long, swifl beam
quivering over the water. Tliis fiery
messenger shot like an arrow into
the boat, and reddened Mrs. Rowan's
hands, clasped on the edge of the
coffin. By the light of it, Dick
saw all their faces turned toward
him.
"'Hie bouse was mine I" be said
defiantly.
The captain nodded approval, and
Edith leaned furward to whisper,
" Vea, Uick !" But Mrs. Rowan
said not a word, only sat looking
steadily backward, the light in her
face. •
" Tm glad of it!" sighed Edith to
voi» XI It. — 3
herself. She had been thinking since
tbcy left the house how people would
come and wander llirough it, and
peer at everything, and Lnow just
how wretchedly they had lived. Now
they could not, for it would all be
burnt up. She sat and fancied the
fire catching here and there in their
])aor little rooms, how the clock would
tick till the ta.st minute, even when
its face was scorched and its glass
shivered, and then fall with u sudden
crash ; how the flames would catch at
tlic bed on which the dead man had
lain, the mean paper curtains, the
chair she had sat in, Mrs. Rowan's
little rocking-chair, at the table where
they had sat tlirouf^h so many dreary
meals. The checker-board would
go, and the cirds wiih which Mr.
Rowan had played the night before,
and the knitliug-work with the puck-
ered heel, and her apron that the
drunkard had wiped his ghastly face
with. The hhelvi's in the little closet
would heat, and blacken, and redden,
and flame, and down would come
their miserable store of dishes, rat-
tling into the yawning cellar. I-ire
would gnaw at the ceiling, bite its
way into the attic, burn up her books,
creep to the bed where she had lain'
and seen rainbow colors in the
dark, spread a sheet of flame over
the whole, rise, and burst through
tlie roof. She saw it all. She even
fancied tliat each long-used .irtide
of their scanty plenishing, worn away
by human touch, constantly in the
sight of human eyes, would perish with
some human feeling, and send out a
sharp cry after them. The crackling
of flames was to her the cries of
burning wood. But she was gl.id of
it, for they were going to wipe out
and begin anew. There seemed to
her something very grand and ex-
ceedingly proper in it all.
When their boat glided from the
river into the bay, others be^des them-
34
The House of Yorke.
selves became aware of the confia-
graiion, and ihe village bells rang
out a tardy alarm. Dick laughed
.bitterly at the sound, but said no-
thing.
" 'I'hcy were sorry fur you, Dick,"
the captain said. " I heard a good
many speak of it. llicy would have
been glad to doyour family any kind-
ness. I don't blame you for coming
off J but you mustn't think there was
no kind feeling for you among the
folks there."
" Kindness may come too late, cap-
tain," the young man answered. " I
would have thanked them for it years
ago, when I had nowhere to turn to,
and hadn't a friend in llie world ; now
I don't thank them, and 1 don't want
their kindness. Kven if I would lake
it at last, neither they nor you have
any right to expect that I will run
10 lake the hand that has struck
me so many blows the finit time it is
held out. I don't trust 'cm. I want
proofs of good-will wlien I've had
proofs of ill-will."
" Dick is right, captain," his mo-
ther interposed in a weary tune.
** You can't judge of such things if
you haven't felt them. It's easier to
hurt a sore heart than a sound one."
Within an hour they reached one
of those desolate little sandy islands
with which the bay was studded ; and
now the faint spring dawn was break-
ing, and the heavy masses of cloud lift-
ing and contracting, pale re.iches of
sky visible between. By ilie cold glim -
mcr they scooped out a grave, and
placed the coffin io it. The water
washed the shore, and a chilly, sigh-
ing wind caroe up from the cast.
As the first sliovelful of earth fell
on the coffin, Mis. Rowan caught
back the captain's arm. " Don't cov-
er him out of sight without some
word spoken over him !" ihc implor-
ed. " He was once young, and am-
bitious, and kind, like you. I le would
have bceu a man if he hadn't had
bad luck, and then got into bad com-
pany. He was more «Tctched than
we were. O sir! don't cover bim
out of sight as if he were a dog."
The sailor looked both pained and ■
embarrassed. " I'm not mucli used
to praying, ma'am," he said. " I'm a
Methodist, but I'm iTot a church-
member. If there was n Uiblc here, I
would read a chapter; but — there
isn't."
Dick walked off a little way, turn-
ed his back, and stood looking at the
water. Mrs. Rowan, kneeling on the
sand-heap beside the grave, wqjl
loudly. " His father was a Catho-
hc," she cried. " I don't think much
of Catholics ; but, if poor fJick had
stood by his religion, lie could have
had .1 priest to say some word over
him. I wouldn't have minded hav-
ing a priest here. He'd be better than
nobody."
Captain Cary was a strict Metho-
dist, and he felt that it would never
answer to have the absence of a Ca-
tholic priest regrettcii. Something
must be done. *' 1 could sing a
hymn, ma'am," he said hesitatingly;
and, as no one objected, he straigh-
tened him.tclf, dropped his spade, J^|
and sang, to the tune of the " Dead ^^
March in Saul,"
' Unrcil Ui)r iMMotn. UtltM lomb,
TrIi« Uii« CMW tr««««rc to ihy tni^
And k1 t c tKckc Mcrod ttWn room
To dumber in lli« sjlent duet,"
singing the hymn through.
In a confined place the sailor's
voice would have been loo powerful,
and, perhaps, would have sounded
rough ; but in open air, w ith no wall
nearer tlian the distant hills, no ceil-
ing but the sky, and with the com-
plex low harmony of the ocean hear-
ing it up and ninning through all its
pauses, it was magnificent. I^ sang
slowly and solemnly, his arms folded.
]
his face devoutly raised, and the
clouds seemed to part before his
voire.
When the hymn wns ended, he
remained a moment without moiion
or change of face, then stooped for
bis shovel, and began to fill in the
grave.
While iistcningio him, Edith Yorke
had stood in a solemn t/ance, lock-
ing iar off seaward ; but at sound of
the dropiJing gravel, her quiet broke
up, like ice in spring. She threw
her arm, and her loose hair with it,
up over her head, and sobbed behind
Sauntfritig, 35
that veil. But her tArs were not for
Mr. Rowan. Her soul had taken a
wider range, and, without herself be-
ing aware of it. she was mourning for
all the dead that ever ha<i died or
ever should difc.
The first sunbeam that glanced
acro^ the water showed a feather of
smoke from a steamer that came up
through the Nanows into the bay,
and the row-boat, a lessening specie,
making for the wharf. Twice a
week, passengers and freight were
taken and left at this wharf, three
miles below the town.
to M COMTWVBa.
SAUNTERING.
SauDlffO' tfron SMmlt 7Vp*v). a pilgiiot to boly tuult or plu«t."— Tmokkau,
"They who never go to the Holy
I jnd in their walks are indeed mere
idlen and vagabonds; but they who
do go there are saunterers in tlie guud
sense, such as I mean," says Thorc;:u.
I found the Holy Land in Paris, ilie
city of faslu'on aud gaiety, and where
U supritne boaheur is said to be am use-
ment Every church is a station of
the divine Passion, and to every votary
therein could I say :
•• I tMhold In theo
An tBiAge orhlm who died nn the ire«.
Thod abo liMi lud iliy crown of ctaorna."
Before these churches, consecrated
to some sweet-mystery of the Gospel
or bciring the hallowed names of
those who had put on the sacred
stole of Christ's suflcrings, I always
btoppcd. I waj like Duke Richard,
tn the Roman du Hau :
" WbeticVf •fi ei^n rhuich he fnnnil,
He ciiluied In'Miili Iciveut oicani
Tu offer up hl« bcltont:
And irihc (Innts vftttL HnwM neb ncup,
11« knelt ti pen llw UimhoM •lime."
And one might well kneel upon the
thresliold stone of these ancient
churches, feeding mind and sou)
with sacred legends of the past cm-
bodying holy truths M'hi(h are de-
picted on the outer walls, as at the,^
north door of Notre Dame de Paris,
the arch of uhich contains in many'
compartments representations of a
diabolic pact and of a deliverance
effected by our potent Lady, which is
related in a metrical romance com-
posed by Hutehocf, in the time of
St. Louis. Saladin, a magician, wears
a cap of pyramidal form. And what
a mine of legendary and biblical lore
all over these venerable wallh ! Ser-
mons in stones come down to us
from the stonen .saints in their niches
and the bas-reliefs which speak louder
than human tongues. The first stone
of this edifice was laid by Cliarle-
magne, and the lost by Philip Augus-
tus. How much this fact alone
And tliere is the Pone Rouge,
36
SauHUrinff.
cxqutuile spcciAien of the Gothic
style of tlic fifltfeiitli century, the
expiatory munuinLiit of Jcaii-:ians-
I'cur alter the assassination ot the
Duke of Orleans. In tlie arch are
the Duke ;ind Duchessof Burgundy,
in the attitude of supplication, one
on each aide of our Saviour and the
Blessed Virjjin. It is an eternal
Lilvra me dc san^iinibus, Dan.
And then the i'onail du Milieu,
with the last judgment in the ogive,
the angels sounding the last tnimp,
the dead iKsuin;; fordi from their
graves, tlie separation of the righte-
ous from the wicked, the great Judge
with tlie emblems of the crucifixion,
the Virgin and the loved apostle
John, and, finally, a glimp.se of the
joys of heaven and the horrors of
hell. Ves, one cotild linger here for
days before this Biblia /siup^nufi,
were there no more ])OHerrul attrac-
tions within. And this is not the
only churth the ver>" exterior of
which is full of instruction.
In the porch of St. flcrmain de
I'Auxerrois is the statue of a maiden
holding in one hand a breviary and
in the other a lighted taper. Hy her
is a demon with a pair of bellows,
vainly trying to blow out the light —
symbol of (hitli and prayer. This is
the statue of one who deserves lo be
ranked in historj- with Joan of Arc
on account of her heroism, for twice
she saved I'ans by her courage and
her prayers. Would that she might
once more have intcrveneii to sax'C
the capital of fair France from the in-
vader! St. Genevieve is placed thus
at the entrance of the church of Si.
Germain lo remind us of his connec-
tion with her history.
When St. Germain, Bishop of Aux-
and St. Lupus, the learned
hop of Troyes and the intimate
friend of Sidonius Apollinaria, were
on their way to BriLiin in combat the
heresy of Pclagianism, ihcy passed
through the village now called Nan-
terre, about two leagues from Paris.
.\ll the inhabitants o( the place
[Kjured forth to meet them and ob-
tain their benediction, St. Gennaiu
noticed in the crowd a little girl with
a face as radiant as an angel's. His
proplietic instinct told him she was
destined to be a chosen vessel of
God's grace, and, when she expressed
a wish to be the .spouse of Christ, he
led her with him to the church, hold-
ing his a|>os(oIic hands upon her bead
during the chanting of the vesper ser-
vice. He after\vanl suspended a
bronze medal, on which was a cross,
from her neck, in remembrance of
her consecration to God, bidding her
hencefurtli give up all ornaments of
silver and gold. " Let them who
live for this world have these," said
he. " Do thou, who an become the
spouse of Christ, desire only spiritual
adorning." Dr. Newman says it was
a ciLstom, even among the early
Christians, to wear on the neck some
token of the mysteries of their reli-
gion. I-ong after, in memory of this
event, the Canons of St. Genevieve,
at Paris, distributed upon her festival
a pain htnit on wliich was an impres-
sion of this coin.
Eighteen years after, St Germain
again passed through Nanlerrc, once
more on his «'ay to Britain. JJe
had not forgotten Genevieve, .^t
the age of fifteen, she had received
the virgin's veil from the hands of
the Bishop of Paris. Her parents
dj-ing, she went lo Paris to reside
with her godmother. Here she
suffered that persecution so often the
lot of tho!.e who live godly lives.
Those who outstrip their fellows even
on the path of piety are objects of
envy, and they who leave the beaten
track of evcrj'd.ny religion are de-
rided. St. Genevieve was visited at
Paris by the holy Bishop of Auxerre,
who saluted her with respect as a
UfttertH^.
37
t
icmple in which the divine I'rtsviicc
Mras manifest. Her lily was one of
prayer and penance. She usW to
water her cuuch with her tears, and
when the adversary of our souU ex-
tinguished the taper that litrhlcd her
\igils she rekindled it with her pray-
ers. >Vhen Attila, king of the Huns,
ihrcitencd Paris, she heaought the
iobabitants not to leave their homes,
declaring tliat Heaven wouhl inter-
vene tu save ihcm. The barbarians,
in effect, were disijcrscd by a storm,
and beiook themselves toward Or-
Jeans. In the chiin:hof St. Germain
llicrc is a chapel dedicated to St.
Genevieve, mlh a painting represent-
ing her haranguing the inhabitants of
Paris.
When Chiideric bcs-iegcd Paris,
and sickness and famine were carry-
ing off the irUtabitants, Sl Gene-
viirvc laid aside her religious dross,
took command of the boat<i that went
up the Seine for succor, and brought
bacV a supply of provisions. Ami
when the city had to surrender, the
conqueret treated her with marked
mpc-ct, and Clovia loved to grant
her petirions. The remains of pngan-
isin were rooted out of Paris throuj^h
her inrtuenrc ryvei him and Clotilda,
and the first church built on the spot
that now bears her name, but then
dedicated under the invocation of Sts.
Peter and Paul. In that church was
the shepherdess of Nantcrre buried
beside Clovis and Clotilda. St. Kloi
wrought a ma^inilicent shrine for her
remains, but it was destroyed at the
Revolution, and the contents publicly
burned. A portion of her relics is
now enshrined at the Pantheon. I
found lights burning there, and flow-
ers and wrcatlis, an<l votive offerings.
and the sweet smelling inrcnsc of
prayer rising from a group of people
praying around. Hut the magnifi-
cence of tlie Pantheon is raiscrnbly
depressing, as Faber says. How
much more 1 delighted in the inter-
esting church of i?u Kiienne du Mont^
where is the curious 0I4 tomb of St.
Genevieve ! There too were lights
and cx-votos, and an old woman sat
near the tomb to dispense i.ipers to
those who wished to leave a little
gleam of love ami jjraycr lichind
them. Once what hglits and jewels
blazed arotmd such shrines, and what
crowds of devout pilgrims! Now,
a few dim tapers, a few prayerful
hearts, light up the place.
" Now it b much If hcfc ■!»! Ihetc
On« dreamer, by \hf Kculal kI"^',
Tnrc llic dttn I'oA, and aluurly climb
TbKUeepof faKb'n ulumpIianLiirluu.'
Now the world seems to begrudge
the temple of the Most High the sil-
ver and the gold that belong to him.
And jewels are not to be thought oC
Such wealth must lie kept in circula-
tion, that is, on PriiKx* Ksterhazy's
coat. 1 suppoiH?. and by ladies of
fashion. The witrld now.i<lays is
like Julian the Apostate, who wa.s dis-
pleased at the magnificence of the
chalices used in the Christian
churches. For me, I love these
offerings from time to eternity, as
Matiame de St.ni-I says. Let all that
is most precious bo poured out at the
feet of the Saviour, and let no one
murmur if such offerings are crystal-
lized. I took pleasure in looking at
some splendid vessels of the sanc-
tuary at Notre Uame, and thought :
' Verer wu enUI ur ftilvsr ftriceil tbu«
llcforc.
To biltiH thift body mnd this blood U> un
IsntPtc
Than In cruwu kinfis.
Or ba mads titxf^
For star-like diamond* to|[1iUer la.
tVtt«n tlie gf eat Klne off«r« la ooine to otfl
AafiMiil,
Shall I «ui>pr>tie lila cania|;e> can t>«
TfKlltO'-il?
No! ttfttaioftolil
Tum*rt fi*v*t cuiiM
be lich cnoush lu be eiDii1o)-Dd «o.
«
38
SannUring.
Itlntightwlth. tlien, I woulJ liavc this btniJ,
Tills wire,
VcsMlkil lu wliut ihv Mia tDiglitliluah lathed
liisabine
When he iitinuld »ce —
Hul uU ili>t tic,
rn i«xt contented will) ll uills."
In my sauntcnngs I frcqutnitly
lingered before Che lower of Si.
Jactiucs dc la Boucheric, the highest
in PariSt and the most perfect speci-
men of Gothic architccliire. The re-
mainder of the church was demolish-
ed at tlie Revolution. 'Hie tower was
saved by the artifice of an architect,
who besought ihc crowd to imitate the
cnhghtcned KngUsh revolution Uts,
who destroyed their churches, but
preserved the towers lo be convertetl
into shot-houses ! In this church
crowds used lo assenible to hear Uour-
daloue thunder, as Madame de Sc-
vignd expresses it. 1 fancy I can
hear that uncomiiromising preacher
ringing out like a truni]} in the pres-
ence of the (Ireat Monarch, "Thou
arttlienian T' Thisexclanialiun should
have appealed tu the heart of the
people, and saved the ehurch he lov-
ed from profanntion.
'I'his church was built by the :Ums
of pious people. Nicholas l-'lamel
buiti the [Kirtal in 138S, which he cov'
ercd with devout images ami devices,
which were regarde<l, even by the
antiquaries of the List rcntur%-, as
symbols of alchemy. I'his I-iamel
was a benefactor to many churches
and hospitals of Paris, which he took
pleasure in a<loming ftith car^inxs
in which be made all things tributa-
xy, as it were, to the worship of Goit.
At first a simple scrivener, he became
painter, architect, chemist, philoso-
pher, and poet. He certainly had the
fancy of a poet, and wrote in durable
matcriab. He left liy his will nine-
teen chalices of silver ;^ih to as many
churches.
'ITiese churches anil religious hous-
es are all connected with the history
of the city. Paris owed its extension
on the north side of the Seine to the
school in the Abbey of St. Uermain
dc TAuxerrois, which was famous at
an early age. There were four great
abbeys around Paris in the time of
the iliird dynasty — St. Lawrence, .St.
(ienevieve, St. Germain de I'Auxcr-
rois, andSt. Germain des Pres. These
were surrounded by their dependen-
cies, forming villages which gradually
extended lill they united lo eiiLlosc
the city, then chiefly confmed to the
island. The poor loved to live near
Oiese abbeys. St. (Icrmain des
Pres, besides providing for the poor
in general, used privately lo support
several destitute lamilies who were
ashamed of their poverty. The old
abbots of this monaster)- were both
lords spiritual and tem|Xir.-il in the
suburbs on that side of the city.
This abbey wasa monumcntof repen-
tance. Digby says when it was rebuilt
in ihe year 1000 the great tower
and the port.als were left as Iwfore.
The statues of eight kings stood at
the entrance, four on the right hand
and four on the left. One of lliera
held a scroll on which was written the
tragical name of Clodomir. .^nd
another, with no beatific circle around
his head, held an open t.iblct on
which were ilie first and last letters
of the name Clutaire. These were
the statues of the murderer and his
victim.
The square tower of the monaste-
ry, built in the time of Charlemagne,
contribulcii greatly to tlie defence
of the house against the Normans.
A stout old monk. Abbott, conducted
the defence, and proved himself on
this occasion a vahant defender of
the walls of Zton. Perhaps it was
his skilful hand that wrote an Home-
ric poem on the siege of Paris by
the Normans in Ihe year 885. If
not by him, it was by a monk of a
similar name.
Sauntcriuff.
39
The Pr^ aux Ciercs, now- the Fau-
bourg St. Germain, took iis name froni
being a place of rccrcariou for the
students of thU abbey. One of the
scholars, Sylvester dc Sacy, so learn-
ed in the Semitic languages, ascribed
the bcni of his mmd to the aid and en-
couragement given him hy one of
the monks who tonk his constitutional
in the abbey ganlens at the same
lime as the boy, then only twelve
years old.
The library l>eIonging to this abbey
was celebrated in tlie middle ages,
and there were monks of llterar>'
eminence in the house. Dachcrius
wu the librarian when he composed
his Sficilc^um. Usuard compiled a
manyrtilugy. They had a priming
press set up immediately after the
mvention of printing, which gives one
a favorable idea of llieir meiital acti-
vity. Most of these old monastic
libraries were accessible to all ; that
of the Abbey of St. Victor was open
tu theiniblic Uirce days in the week;
and there were public libraries at-
tached tosomcof the parish churches.
In the rime of Charles V., rightly
named the Wise, he ordered the
Rojai Library of I'aris to be illumin-
ated ttiih thirty portable lamps, and
that a:>ilver one should be suspended
in the centre for the benefit of those
students who prolonged their re-
searches into ihc night. The numer-
ous collections of books in Paris
made that city very attractive to
certain minds even in the middle
ages. Richard de liury, llishop of
I>urh3ra, in Kngland, who establish-
ed the first public library in that
country, useil tu resort to Paris for
fresh supplies. " O blessed God of
gods in Sion !" he exclaims, " what a
flood of pleasure rejoices our heart
whenever we are at liberty to visit
Paris, that paradise of the world,
where the days always seem too
short and too few through the im-
mensity of our love! There are
libraries more redolent of delight than
all the shops of arouialics; there are
the flowering meadows of all volumes
that can be found anywhere. There,
indeed, untying our purse-strings, and
opening our treasures, we disperse
money with a joyful heart (evidenUy
the truth, for he paid the Abbot of
St. Albans fifty pounds weight of
silver for thirty or forty volumes), and
mnsom with dirt books that are be-
yond all price. Itut lo ! how good
and pleasant a thing it is to gadier
together in one place the anns of
clerical warfare, that there may be
a supply of them for us to use in the
wars against heretics, should iliey
ever rise up against us!"
What would this book-loving pre-
late have dune had ho foreseen that
the church would one day be accused
of being a foe to progress and to the
diffusion of knowledge ! This bishop,
who lived in the thirteenth century,
was llic Chancellor and High Trea-
surer of England, and celebrated for
his love and cnouragcmcnt of litera-
ture. He had libraries in all his
palaces, and the apartment he com-
monly occupied was so crammed
with books that he wzs almost in-
accessible. He was said to breathe
books, so fond was he of being among
tiicm. None but a genuine lover of
Looks would give such amusing di-
rections for their preservation. '* Not
only do we serve God," says he, " by
preparing new books, but also by pre-
serving and treating with great care
tliosc wc have already. Truly, after
the vestments and vessels dedicate<i
tn our Lord's body, sacred books de-
serve to be treated with most rever-
ence by clerks. In opening and
shutting books, they shouhl avoid all
abruptness, not too hastily loosing the
cI.Tsps, nor falling to shut them when
they have finished reading, for it is
far more important to preserve a book
than a shoe." He then goes on lo
spcoJc of soiling books ; of marking
passages with the finger-Tiails, '■ like
those of a giant ;'' of swelling ihc
junctures of tlic binding wilh .straws
or flowcni; and of eating over Iheni.
leaving the fragrocnis in the book, as
if the reader had no bag for alms.
Waxing warm over the idea, he
wishes such persons might have to
sit over leather with a fhoem.iker!
And then there are impudent youths,
who presume to fill up the broad
margins with their unchastcned pens,
noting down whatever frivolous thing
orcurs to their imagination! .-\nd
" there arc some thieves, too, who
cut out leaves or Idlers, which kind
of sacrilege ouglit to be prohibited
under the penalty of anathema." The
bishop had evidently had some sad
experience with his cherished tonie.s.
His testimony respecting the appre-
ciation of books by the monks of his
time is valuable. Remember the age,
reader — that perio<i of deepest dark-
ness just before the dawn I " The
monks who are so venerable," Fays
he in his IVii/oi>iblion^ *■ are accus-
tomed 10 be solicitous in regard to
books, and to be delighted in their
company, as with all riches, and
tlience it is that we fuid in most
monasteries such splendid treasures
of erudition, giving a delectable light
to the path of laics. Oh I that devout
labor of their hands in writing books ;
how preferable to all georgic care t
All things else faJI with lime. Salum
ceases not to devour his ofifspring. for
oblivion covercth the gloiy of the
world. iJut God halh providc<l a
remedy for us in books, without which
all that was ever great WQuld have
been without racmor>'. Without
shame we may Jay bare to books the
poverty of htiman ignorance. Tliey
arc Ihc mastcrt who imitruct us with-
out rods, without anger, and without
tnancf. (The bisliop had evidently
forgotten those fifty pounds of silver,
and many more besidtfs !) O books !
alone liberal and making liberal, who
give to all, and seek to emancipate
all who Serve you. You arc the
tree of life and the river of Paradise.
with which the human intdiigence is
irrigated and made fruitful."
But I did not always linger at the
doors of churches, studying the walls
and pondering on their history. The
true Catholic knows that these mag-
nificent churches are only vast shrines
enclosing the greai Object of his ado-
ration and love. M. Olier, when
travelling, never saw the «!pire of a
church in the distance without call-
ing upon all with him to repeat the
'I'antum Ergo. He used to say:
" When I sec a place where my
Master reposes, I have a feeling of
unutterable joy." This feeling comes
over every one at the first glimpse
of that undying lamp before the ta-
bernacle, *' that small tlamc which
ri<>es and falls like a dying pulse,
flickering up and down, emblema-
tic of our lives, which even now thus
wastes and wanes."
The vcrj- first act on stepping into
a church completely chanpes the
current of one's thoughts. The holy
water, the sign of the cross, dispel
the remembrance of material things
and rec-all devout thoughts of die
Passion,
" Whene'ct acrouUiU ilnful fl»h «f mine
i tlnw (he Iiu1y sign.
All icoad l)iou|hlt *iit wilfain me, am] collect
TtieU sluDkbciing «lfi:ut[Ui (ltvull^"
The bMikrs at St. Sulpice arc two
immense shells, given to Francis the
First by the Republic of Venice; but
for all that, the eati biniU seemcrl
just as holy, and 1 made die sign of
the cross just as devoutly.
For devotion, J prefer the l.irgest
churches, because the seclusion is
more perfect, as at Notre Dame.
Behind some pillar or in the depths
.
43
miertng.
rum ! To this church M. Olicr came,
in all his troubles, to iht* allar of
Mar)'. There is also a ttne statue
of licr over ihc grand altar, formerly
at the Cannes. No church is com-
plete witlioul an altar of llic Blcbscil
Virgin. Whc-rtvirr there i.s a cross,
Mory must be at its foot, as at Cal-
var\-, dircclinii; our eyes., our thoughts,
our heans, to him uhu hangs there-
on.
'■ O thu illenl. ccawlcsi nuiiirninR !
OthoH dim ci-"' never tutniog
Kiomlbai mundioui, (ulTcrinK Son!
** Virgin kalieKl, vircin |>uic**-
Of lltAt ■□(iii»I> thgu cfKlurcst
Make me bear with \\m< my part."
In traversing Paris, one passes
many privatt: residences of interest
which have a certain consecration —
the consecration of wit and genius.
I cannot iay I ever went so far as
Horace Walpolc, who never passed
the H6tel de Camavalet, the resi-
dence of Madame de S^vigne, with-
out saying his Ave before it, much as
I admire her cipni, and though she
was the granddaughter of i^t. Jane
de Chantal, the foundress of the Nuns
of the Visifation. Walpole thought
the house had a foreign-looking
air, and said it looked like an ex-
voto raised ill her honor by some of
her foreign votaries. It was once an
elegant residence, with its sculptured
gateway and Ionic pilasters, and its
court atlonied with statues. In the
day of the spiritttelh letter- writer, it
was the resort of the learned and the
refined; now, (> temporal it is a
boarding school, and the sabn of
Madame de Sevignc (the temple of
" Notre Dame de Uvry," lo quote
Walpolc again, if it be not profanity)
is convened iulo a dormitory. Truly,
Bishop de Uury says, ** all things
\%% away with time," but the wit
and genius she embmhed In her
channing letters are eternal.
Id one of the upper stories of a
house in tlie Rue St. Honore lived
Joubett, the Coleridge of France.
His keeping-room was flooded with
the light he loved, and from it, as he
said, he saw a great deal of sky and
very little e.irih. There he passed
his days among the books he had
collcftinl. 1 Ic rigorously excluded
from his library all the hooks he dis-
approved of; unwilling, as he said, to
admit an unworthy friend to his con-
stant conii>anionship. To thus room
he attracted a brilliant circle of con-
spicuous authors an<l statesmen by
his conversational talents, ;uid there
he wrote his immortal I^ns^fs. He
said he left Parb unwillingly, because
then he had to part from his friends;
and he left the countrj' unrtillingly,
because he had to part from himself.
Writing from that sunny rr>om, lie
says: " In many things, I am like the
butterfly ; like him, I love the tight ;
like him, I there consume my life ;
like him, 1 neetl, in order to spread
my wings, tliat there be fair weather
aromuf me in society, and that my
mind feel itself sunounded and as if
penetrated by the mild temperature of
indulgence." But he wrote graver
and more profound things there.
One of his friends said of ium that
he seemed to be a soul that by acci-
dent had met with a Ijody, and was
trying to make the best of it. And
he, ever indulgent to the faults of
others, said of his friends, " When
tbey are blind of one eye, 1 look at
them in profile."
The Abbayc aux Rois is interesting
from its association with Madame
Recamier and her ciiclc. Wkx rooms
were in the third story and paved
with tiles, and they ovcrlookal the
pleasant garden of the monastery,
and, when lit up with wit and genius,
they needed no other allraclion.
Among her visitors there were Sir
Humjihry Dav)-, Maria Edgeworth,
Humboldt, I^omanine, Uclphine
Sauntering'.
43
j ov.
a.)', Cbalcaubriand, etc. They
ust have been like the gods, speak-
ing from peak to peak all around
lympus. Lamartiiie read lus A/tf-
tii/u'/ts there before they were given
lo tlie public. Chaieaubriand thus
speaks of the room : " TI:e windows
ovcrlooketl the garden of tlic abbey,
der the verdant shade of which the
ns paced up anil down, and the
upils played. The top of an acacia
was on a level with llie eye, sharp
ires pierced the sky, and in the dis-
ce rose the hills of Sevres. The
ys of the setting sun threw a golden
he over the landscape and came in
irough the open windows. Some
lifds were settling themselves for the
liglit on the top of the window-
inds. Here I found silence ami
itude, far above die tumult and
xmuil of a great city."
To ihc church of the abbey, a plain,
unpretending structure, Kugi^ulc de
iutrin went every day to Mass during
,er first visit to I'aris. 'I'here, too,
ere the bans of her brother Mau-
ice published, and there he was
arri-rd.
The house of Madame Snctchtnc,
the Rue St. Uominiquc, must be
garded with veneration. There
us no austerity ab<.>ut the sa/<»i of
is remarkable woman. It was
ilomed with pictures, bronzes, and
n-ers, and in the evening it was
umtnaicd with a profusion of lamps
:<i candles, giving it a festive air.
And then the great lights of the
church, always diQtising their rndi>
re and aroma in that favored rooni,
corrlaire, IJe Ravignan, Uupan-
up, De la Ilouillerie, etc. To have
und one's self among them must
ve seemed like being among the
prophets on Mount Camicl. They all
loved to officiate ami preach in her
beaiiiiful private ch.ipcl, which was
orned with a multitude of precious
nes from the Russian mines,
gleaming around the ineffable pres-
ence of the Divinity. Mary, too,
was there. On the base of her silver
statue was her monogram in dia-
monds, which Mad.ime Swctchine
had worn as maid of honor to the
Empress .Mar)' of Ru.s(.ia.
Tliese circles, and many ctliers I
could recall, are now broken up for
ever. We have all beard and read so
much of those who composed them
that they seem like petsfjiial friends.
We linger around the plates to which
tlicy imparted a certain sacrctlacss,
and follow them in thought to ihc
world of mysler)- and eternal reunion,
tlianking God that the great gulf
from the finite to the infinite has
been bridged over by the Incarnation.
One morning,! went to ihe church
of the Carmelites. A tablet on the
wall points out the spot where the heart
of Monseigneur Affre was deposited
— the heart uf him who gave bis life
for his flock. Around it were sus-
pended some wrcaihs. On one, of
immortelles, waspainied,in l>lack let-
ters. A mon J'ire^ the offering of one
of his spiritual children. Wishing lo
have some objects uf devotion bless-
ed, ] went inlo the sacristy (I re-
membered Eugenic de Guenn speaks
of going inlo that sacristy), where 1
found one of the monks prastrate in
prayer, making his thanksgiving af-
ter Mass. Knveloped in his habit,
his bald head covered by a cowl, he
looked like a gbost from the dark
ages. Not venturing lo approach
the ghostly father, I made known
tny errand to a good-natured-looking
lay brother, who conveyed it to that
part of the cowl where the right ear
of the monk might reasonably be
sup|K)sed lo be, which broughi back
the holy man to earth, causing me
some compunction of conscience.
The brother spread out my articles,
brought the riiual and the stole, and
the father, throwing back bis cowl,
murmured over them the prayers of
holy church, and then disappeared
into the monastery. Presently I
heard the voices of the monks Kiy-
ing tlic office, which ihey do, like
ntms, in choir and behind a curtain-
ed grate, so they are not seen from
the church.
This monaster)' may be compared
to the Roman amphiiheaire where
llic early Christians were thrown to
the wild beasts. Here indeed was
fought the good fight, .ind the vic-
tors rnse to heaven with palms in
their hands. I know of nothing
more sublime and thrillini^ in the
annals of the church than the mas-
sacre of ahout two hundred priests
that took jihce here on the second
of September, 1 792. I cannot re-
frain from giving a condensed ac-
count of it by one of the writers of
the tlay : " For some weeks there
had been assemblcil and hea|>cd to-
gether two hundred jiricsls, who had
refused lo take the schismatic oath,
nr had nobly recanted it. During
the first day of their incarceration,
these loyal priests had been inhu-
manly imprisoned in the church.
The guards in Uielr midst watched
to [irevent ihcir having the consola-
tiun of even speaking to each other.
Their only nourishment was bread
and water. Tlie stone floor was their
bed. It was only later that a few
were permitted to have straw beds.
These priests, whom martyrdom was
to render immortal, had at their head
three prelates whose virtues recall
the primitive days of the church.
'I'heir chief was the Archbishop of
Aries, Monscigneur du Vavl He had
been deputed to the states-general ;
his piety e<]unllcd his knowledge ;
and his humility even surjjassed his
merit. 'Hie day after the memorable
loth of August he had been sent to
the Carmelite monastery (then con-
verted into a prison) with sixty-two
other priests. Notwilhstanding his
age (he was over eighty) and his in-
firmities, he refused all indulgences
that were not also extended lo his
brother-captives. For several days
a wooden arm-chair wiis his bed as
well as his pontifical throne. Thence
his persuasive words instilled into
those around him die sentiments of
ineffable charity that filled bis own
heart, and when his exhausted voice
could no longer make it.self heard.
his very appearance expressed a sub-
lime resignation.
" Two other bisho])s, brothers, bear-
ing the name of Dc la Rochefou-
cauld, one the bishop of lieauvais,
and the other of Saintes, also en-
couraged their companions in misfor-
tune by their words and by their ex-
ample. The Bishop of Saiiucs had
not been arrcstcH, but, wishing to join
his brother, he made himself a pri-
soner. There were members of
every rank in the ecclcsi.islical hie-
rarchy : M. Hebert, ihc confessor
of the king who wrote to him
at the beginning of August, • I ex-
pect nothing more from man, bring
me therefore the consolations of hea-
ven ;' the general of the Benedic-
tines, the Abbe de Lubusac, !>everal
of the cur^ of Paris, Mr. Gros, call-
ed the modern Vincent of I'aul, and
priests brought from various places,
holy victims whom the Cod of Cal-
vary had chosen to associate with his
sufferings, and judged worthy of the
most glorious of all deaths — that of
martyrdom.
** I'or more than two days, the
wretchc-s who hovered around their
enclosure har) filled the air with cries
of blooti, and predicting that the sa-
crifice was about to take place. One
said to the Archbishop of .Vrles : * My
lord, on the morrow your grace is to
be killed.' 'I'hesc derisive insults re-
called to the holy captives the judg-
ment-hall of their divine Master,
ty priests. A grating se[)arated
them from the murtlerers, who fired
upon ihcm, killing ihe greater num-
ber. The Bishop of Bcauvais was
not touched, but Itls bruthcr had a
leg brtfken by a ball.
" For an instant thU horrid butchety
was suspended. One of the leaders
ordered all the priests into the church,
whither they were driven — even the
wounded and dying — at the sword's
point. Tlierc they gathered around
the altar, offering anew lo their SsLvi-
our the sacrifice of their lives, whilst
tbeir executioners, calling them out
by two. finished their butchery
.ore proinpUy and completely. To
each one life was offered on condition
oftafcing the revolutionary oath. They
all refused, and not one escai>ed.
Wliilst these assassins added blas-
phemous shouts to their murderous
strokes, whilst tliey demolished the
cros.->es and the tabcniacles, the holy
phalanx of priests, which death was
every moment lessening, kept pray-
ing for (heir murderers and their
country*. The two bishops were
among the last cxecuitnl. When
it came to the turn of the FJishop
of Beauvais, lie left the altar upon
which he harl been leaning, and calm-
ly advanced to meet his death. His
brother, whose wound prevented his
walking, asked for assistance, and
was carried out to his executiun. It
was eight in the evening when the
last execution took place. Over four
hundred priests were massacred in
different jarls of Paris at this period,
besides many isolated murtlcrs."
The constancy of these martyrs
has made many do more than ex-
claim with Horace Walpole: "Al-
most thou |>ersuadesl me to be a
CaiholicI" He says, in a letter
dated October 14, 1792: "For the
f rentb priests, I own I honor than.
They preferred beggary lo peijury,
and have died or lied lo preser\'e the
integrity of their consciences. It cer-
tainly was not ihe French clergy but
the philosophers tlial have trained up
their countrymen to be tlic most
bloody men ujjon earth."
In 1854, this monastery, where flow-
ed the blood of martyrs and which had
echoed with their dying groans, re-
sounded with the ittmins :;f O Sa/u-
taris I/ostia .' on the festiv.al of Cor-
pus Christi, and priests bore the di-
vine Host through the alleys of the
garden where, sixty years l)efore, had
rushed those who were swift to shed
blood, .^n .ihar had been erectwl
under the yew-tree where the Arch-
bishop of Aries fell. Children scat-
tered flowers over the place once
covered with blood. VVell might the
pale-Iippcd clergy tearfully chant in
such a spot :
" TllS WHtTB-XOkKD ARUV cr KAKTTM niAMR
Every age hxs its martyrs. They
are the glory of the church, and their
blood is its seed. The church must
ever suffer with its divine spouse.
Sometimes its head — the Vicar of
Christ— is crowned with thorns;
sometimes its heart bleeds from a
thrust in the very house of its
friends; and, again, its feet and
hands are nailed in the extremities
of the earth.
.•\nd cverj- follower of Christ cruci-
fied has bis martyrdom — a mirtjT-
dom of the soul, if not of the body.
The sacred stigmata are imprinted
on every soul, lliat embraces the
cross, and no one can look upon him
who hangs thereon, with the eyes of
faith, without catching something of
his resemblance. Suffering is now,
as when he was on earth, the glorious
penalty of those who approach the
nearest to his Divine Peison.
** Thicc ulnu ofultl Uiclr lip* upon the Incamue
SiivlnuT laid,
And each trIUi antti or aRC^iy (or Ut« high np-
lui« paltl.
1
Sor yuana /ncs de ia Cms.
of the professors and scholars of the
capital b)' tests of her various erudi-
tion and .ibilities. Notwithstanding
her beauty and fortune, her rank and
accomplishments, and the life of a
gallant and brilliant court, she deter-
mined at that early age to retire to a
cloister, and in a few years became
knotvn as Sor Juana of San Gcronimo^
a convent of tlic city of Mexico.
After this appeared her poems, Th^
Criiis and 77i€ Drctwi, in the latter
of which she writes much of mytho-
logy, physics, medicine, and history,
according to the scholastic manner of
her time. With these and her subse-
(|uciit i>octic writings, such as her
sonnets, loas, romances and autos,
she had rare fame, and won from
some of her admirers the enthusiastic
titles of " The Phtenix of Mexico,"
"Tenth Musc/'and" Poetess of Amer-
ica." Tlic writer has an old volume
Iwfore him bearing literally this title-
page: " Fama, y Obras Posthumas
del Fenix dc Mexico, y Dezima Musa,
Poetisa de la America, Sor Ju.ina
Ines de la Cruz, Religiosa ProfcssJ.
en el Convento de Sau Gcronimo, dc
la Imperial Ciudad de Mexico. Rc-
cogidos y dadas a luz por el Doc-
tor Don Juan Ignacio dc Castorcna
y Utsua, Capcllan dc Honor dc su
Maj^c^tad, y Prebendado de la Santa
lgicsi.1 Mciropoliuna de Mexico. Kn
Darcelona ; Por Ralael Figuero.
Afio dc MDcci. Con todas las
licencias ncctssarias." Thus it ap-
pears we owe to the Prebendary Cas-
torena the edition of the posthumous
works of Sor Juana given to the light
in 1701, six yeai^ after her death.
But, wheUicr as the sister or llic
mother of a convent, Juana Ines dc
la Cruz was more than a mistress of
vain learning or unprofitable science.
Her djity assiduous exercise was
charily, which at htst so controlled
her life and tlioughts tliat she gave
all her tnusictl and mathematical in-
struments, all the rich presents which
her talents had attracted from illus-
trious people, and all her books, ex-
cepting those she left to her sisters,
to be sold for the benefit of the poor.
Though she had c\-idenlly prized
science as the handmai{l of religion,
the time came when her verses upon
the vanity of learning retkxted a
mind more and more withilraivn from
the affairs of this world to the con-
templation of the next. Wlien an
e))i(lcmic visited the Convent of San
Gcronimo, and but tno out of every
ten invalids were saved, the gootl,
brave soul of Madre Juan.i shone
transcendcnily. Spite of warnings
and petitiomt, and though ;ill the city
prayed for her life, Madie Juana
perished at her \\^\\ of charily — the
good angel as nell as muse of
Mexico.
Gf the enthiLsiasm created by her
genius, we have abundant and curi-
ous proofs, Don Alon?.o Muxica,
"peqielual Recorder of the City of Sa-
lamanca," wrote a sonnet upon her
having learned to read at the age of
three, when '* what for all is but the
break of mom in her was as the mid-
dle of the day." Excelentissimo Sir
Felix Fernandez de Cordova Cor-
dona y Aragon, Duke of Scffa, of
Vaina and Soma, Count of Cabra,
J'^Iomas, and Olivitas, and Grand
Admiral and Captain-General of Na-
ples, speaks of her in a lofty pocdc
cucomium as for the third lime ap-
plauded by two admiring worlds of
readers, and praises her [jcrsuxsive
voice as that of a sweet siren of
thought. Don Garcia Rihadeneyra,
with the grandiose trit of his day, says
in a deciuia tha* this extraordinaiy
woman surpassed the sun, fur her
glorious genius rose where the sun
set, that is to say, in the West; and
DoD Pedro Alfonso Moreno argues
piously that St. John the Baptist's
three crowns of Virgin* Martyr, and
Sfr yuana Tne^t^aUrvs,
49
Doctor were in measure those of
Matire Juana. who was from early
tjears chaste, poor in spirit, and oIm;-
dienl, act'ording to the vow of reli-
gious women, Don Luis Verdejo
tleclores thai she iransft-rrcd the ly-
ceums of the Muses to Mexico, and
that the light of her genius is poured
upon two worlds. Padre Cabrera,
chaplain of the Most Excellent Duke
of Arcos, asserts thai the Eternal
'ivnowlciige enlightened Juana in all
learning. " Only her fame can de-
fine her," writes one of her own sex ;
and when the Poetess of the Cloister
wrote with her own blood a protesta-
tion of faith, it \vaH said oi this " Swan
of erudite plume " that she wrote like
the martyr to whose ink of blood the
earth was as paj>er. Her gtfl of
hooks to be sold in order to relieve
the po<)r inspired Senora Catalina dc
Fernandez de Cordova, nun in the
; Convent of the Holy Ghost in Alcnra,
10 say thus thoughtfully :
'Wit: .■'.l ■ i:rxi«v m»re M-be,
A- . I. "-(i oitntcnt.
Ko'"' .11 «ch<v>l oi'uuni.
At thought of her death. Don
Luis Muiioz Vcnegas, of Granada,
wonders that the sun shines, that
I ships sail, that earth is fair, that all
'things do not grieve her loss, whose
happy soul in its bcatitudas enjoys
the riches of which death has robbeil
[the world^sweeincss, purity, felicity.
'Fray Juan de Rueda, professor of
■theology in the college of San Pablo;
iJcentiatc Villalobos of San tldcfon-
Iso, and Senor Cuerra, felluw of the
[same college; Advocate Pimienta, of
jc Koyal Audience, and Ilarhelor
rOUvos, a presbyter; Syndic Torres,
Caledratico or Professor Aviles, Cava-
lier Ulloa, have all something to say
in Spanish or Laiin on ilie death of
our poetess. Doctor Avilcs imagines
;lhc death of Sor Juana to be like thai
VOL. xin.— 4
of the rose, which, having acquired in
a brief age all its |>erfeciJon, needed
not to live longer. Don Diego Mar-
tinez suggests beautifully that the pro-
fit which other excellent minds will
derive from the posthumous writings
of the jKwtess will be like the clear-
ness which the stars gain by die death
of the sun. NTingled with these hon-
est tributes of admiration is much ex-
travagance of comparison ; but they
prove at least that Sor Juana was re-
gar<ied by the learned of her day as
a woman of a$toni.shing powers.
.'\mid all her studies and labors,
we read that Sister Juana was con-
stant in her religious devotions, and
faithful to the least nilesof her order.
But her conscientious spirit, moved
by a letter of Hishop I'emandez {if
Puebl.i, determined her at length to
renounce the exercise of her talents
for the strictest and purest asceiism.
Hence, one of her Mexican critics is
led to say that we have only the
echoes of her songs, only the shades
of her images, inasmuch a.s her sex
and state, and the reigning scholas-
tlcism, were not convenient for the
true expression of her thoughts. The
noble, ascetic Ulcraturc of Spain, re-
specting wliich It is witii reason boast-
ed tha: the world contains nothing
of the kind more valualile, discredits
in good part this supposition. More-
over, the recognition of Sor Juana's
work and genius was, as we have seen,
not inronsidctable. The world is still
in its infancy as regards religious ide-
ality, and, spite of the highest evi-
dences, often refuses to bcli'rve that
thoughts fed from the riivin source
can fulfil the true prtcm of H. , be it
written or acted. What the thoughts
of Sor Juana were like in her ordi-
nary religious life we understand part-
ly from a number of daily exercises
and meditations which have come
down to us. Here arc specimens of
these compositions :
I
I
50
Sor Jnatta iTtes de la Crux.
KXKRCtSE.
On this day, ai seeing the liglii come
roitti. bie^s its Aulhor wtio made it bq
besuiilul a crt-atioii, ;iiiJ piai^: liitri niili
B submissive licail ; not unly liec;iii»c lie
created il foi out ^ud, btil because he
mnde it a vassal in h\s mntheT nnd our
iiiedinlrix. (lO lo Mass tviih all possible
dcroiiun. mid tho»c vrlio can, let tbcm fast
and Rive thanks to God. Thou shait sing
the c^n\.\c\c BfHtduitt friHia lyvn) Difiiiiiii
OtmtHti and the verse Bcnniinte lux. Un-
dciAtand that not only the just ought to
praifc God. who are lhem->i-lve9 as light.
but the sinners who site ;t3 darkness.
Consider >our»clvc» »ucb, cvcrjr ono o[
you, and mourn for having added to the
original tian^grrssioii, darkness upon
darkness, tins upon sins. Resolve to
correct thyself; and that Mary's purest
light tnar reach you, tecllc a &th-€, and
Dine times the Miif^ntfifOt, lace to the
ground, and tly from nil sin this day, even
the shadow thereof. Abstain (ram all icn-
paliciKL'. muimuTines, rcpinin95,and suf>
fer with nirekrcss those evils which arc a
repugnance t j our nature. If it he a day
of disciptine of the community, tlutt is
enough, but if not, it shall be especially
made eo. Those who do not know
how to (f»d Latin shall recite ulne
Sit/wi inoiilh to the ground, and sliall
fast If they aie able, and if not. they
sliall nuikc an act of ccmttition, so that
Ihe I^>i<J may give them light fur his time-
ly service, even as he gave them material
light by which to live.
MCPtTATION.
If we look at ihc ptopenics of the 6r-
aiaiucnt. wlut more as&imilalcs to the
mirjculous constancy vt Marj-, whom
neither tho5C Bleeped in otigin.il sJncoiild
make fall, oor the combats ol tctnptnlion
make Mumble I Uut still, amid the lor-
rcnis -ind tempests of human misotics.
belueen |h(i Iri-ublcs of her Jifr. and the
patntui |<as>«ii)n mnd death of her most
botv Son aud aurino.«t bclovfd Saviour;
amid the waves of incredulity in the
duiibti) of hi* disciples ; among the tiid-
den locks of lUc perfidy of Judas. and Ihc
unci'iiauiiy of so many ilmid souls— over
wav her coaslancy preserved. Not only
was »he firm, but beautiful as ihe firma-
mi-tit wliich ^accoidiiig to Ihr n.aihema-
licinniil bath this othi.'T ciccllcace, tllul
It is bntdeied by iniiuinciablc stars, but
hai only seven planet* which are fixed
ai)d never move. Ttius, holiest Mary
was not only most pure in her concep-
tion, transpaicnt and iransluceoi. but al-
tctw.iicls the Lord adorned bet with in-
numerable virtues which alio uciiuired.
even as liio stars which border t]i.ti most
beautiful fiiinameni;and sha nut only
had them all, but h.td them 6xed. all im>
movable, all in order and adoiiiablc
cunccil: but if in the other chitdicu of
Adam we sec some vitlues, they arc er-
rant — to-day we have them, lo morrow
they are gone — to day is light, in morrow
darkness. Wo will rejoice in her prc-
togativc, and say unto her :
OFIXRINC.
Honored Lady, ,-ind ciown of (.kii hu-
man being, divine tirmament wlierc the
stars of virtue aic fixetl. give their benign
intluenco lo us, thy devoted ones, that by
thy favor we m.iy cure ourselves and ac-
quire tlicjii ; and thai lij^hl which thou
dost partake of the Sun at Rif^hleunsncss.
communicate it lo our souls, :^nd fix in
them thy virtues, the love of iliy precious
Son, and ihy sweetest and icndnest do>
vutiun, and of lliy happy liusliand, cue
patron r.nd advocate, Si. Joseph.
These composition.^ doubtless give
lis a l>e(iL-r iilea of the interior tlioLight
of Mexican monasiicisiii than MJtue
ycllow-covcrt.-dsi'ccutulions. In that
life gtcn- the finest genius, tlic great-
est woman, [ivrliaits the most re-
markable characicr in all resjiccts
that Mexico ever produccil. Coa-
biderinj; the time aud pl.ncc in which
she wrote, tlie New Work! h.ts scarce-
ly pro<!uced her superior aniong wo-
men of genius. Up to the ntnctcentli
century Amt-rici li.id, doubtless, no
literary product comparable lo the
poems of Sor juana Ines. What Ca-
brera was to ilie art, Sor Jiiana seems
to hove been to the literature of her
country ; ntid both these workers of
genius gave their powers to the ser-
virc of religion. It is here worthy
of renwrk ihai not only ucrc the
greatest painter and poet of Mexico
studious scr\anK iA the church, but
Uiat its most ectebmtcd scientist n'ah
the Jciuil Sigiienza y Clongora, an-
ihor of a funeral eulogy of Sor Juana
tana Ines de
■rvg.
5»
jm he knew and appreci.n
lo«, was a jHJCt. Without
[Socia] helps, without emulation, such
as is ordinarily uudcntood, such
prooti of her high intelligence as we
j^posscss have come to Hght. Per-
jlexed as )tw;is with the mannered
jilrruditioit of the schools, her poetry
nevertheless reveals noble sensibility
»nd thought in superior forins. Thus
she sings in her verses entitled " Sen-
timents of Absence :"
Hear in« with ryes
Nuw Ihut fAi di»U»t arc thine cut ;
Uf AtiMoCti oty i&mcnis ;
Ib Kboes froRi my pec ihc crwns:
And «• tan imh Uicenut my vtdcASO rude,
llnr Ihun nc iJeKf, since dumbly I complaiti."
'litis IS like a voice of the Kliza-
jethan age; but tthat jtwnan even
)f that day has left us so rare a re-
:ord of poetry and piety contbinol
the nun of San Gcroniino, she
fho lived in 1670 in far-otf, oudan-
lish Mexico ? What chapter of lite-
iiurc would secin loo good to en-
f/tcrtain this Tenth Muse, to whoiu we
owe such sonnets as (hcsc:
I.TO A PAINTER OK OCR LADY. OF MOST
EXCEU-RNT PENXIU
1/ prr-C -■-•-■■' -■-•- ' n hiirian wWc,
. moftl bvnuuiul,
11 nut refiiici.
. .r jUi, >i:l In VAJii :
■ ■ iii»cr<;*tii>n fair I
:ed,Biid Hlifti iQveiincss!
i pie. stealer wat tbc hatiit.
'^.TC lif (itnew liitht
1 I the mniniiiK-iUi.
. Auruia mo^l tlirln« ,'
lilt verily
iliv CKiMioWni
Hi ^^ - , 1 ^lit llna it bas now.
THE LOVRRS.
FdicIuBo love* roc. inH I li*t« hlin ;
ifdohitnmr.aiK) Ida idoic bUn;
Foi liini who liac^ nnt want mc. do I crjr,
.And him \«bo ytii ii>i lur me. I not dctlle.
To him who uia ill»(luin>. icy wnl I uffi-r.
And blni wbu U si)- victlin, I dbdain.
litin 1 iltrtpiM: whii nuitlil tnriih my honor,
Afi<l liiw wliu rioiL coitic-mn mc, I'J vtirieh,
II nilh oflcncr the fitjl I liivc diijilcabcd,
TbK oltict ilirfU ilb^lcaic by mc ofTcuikd—
And tiiUJI 1 cour l<j stillci ewiy way;
rufbnili arc l>ui » loniicnU lo lay Icrtmgs—
I'ltli (iiie wiih a^ini; that whkli I have not,
Aiiil that In not hiving what I'tl ask.
THE ROSK.
Cclla beheld a rcw that in the wmlk
rioutiflbcd In pride of 4.])iiii;;timc loreUncta,
And wlioM: Wigtii huei i>( caniiiiie ai ol red
itathod joyfully it* delicate couuiciianci: —
Anit Hill: Enjoy wlihutit ihc fear of fat«
The UcclinK I'luiic id lliy liiiiirkiil orc.
Since will not dvalh be able on ihc iiinmnt.
T,>tal(e from iImn: vi'hu thou to-day crijoyeit;
And thougli be mmc ultliin n littlo while.
Still iiicve Ibuu nut lit die so youni; and (air:
Hear tvtiat eip«ricii(:c may cuiiii^i:! ihci- -
Tliat foTtunalr 'its to die bcluR bcauUful,
And not lo see the true ul bcla£ old.
THK DECEPTION".
ThU iJut iboii Mcst. a ileeepliari |i«inlcil,
IVhkh of art 1 excellence malici diifUy,
With ciirinti^ rountcrfelt of colorinc,
It an IriUtliuuk chcatinK uf the stuhc.
Thii. wlicictvilMii lu« Qsltciy iiiclcnded
Tti enrufc ll>e K'\it\ <lefaiTnlly of ii|[e,
And vanquisliini; tbc uavl huid ut <iGM
Tu ETiutiii'h o'er oblitiott and decay;
I« but the (halkivr anifirr nf care,
la a&a lia(-iLc llowcr within ibe t«lnd ;
Ills a u-4;leu guitd 'pi^liist dctliily ;
It is a foolish and nn rnln; toil ;
'TIS labor tmbccllr, and. [|(;hlly scanned.
la <IeaUi, is dun. la sbodeir, and li naugbt.
Iliese rude iraiislations give but a
[joor idea of die jjoet's expression,
but they allow the height and quality
of her intellect lo be understood. In
one of her most thouglitfu! poems,
the Jiomanee on the Vanity 0/ Science,
she argues agaitiKt self-seeking know-
ledge, and the perils to whidi genius
exfK>se5 itself by loo much seeking
its own devices. This poem is so re-
presentative and remarkable that we
must give it entire quotation :
ROMANCE.
Ftujamas riuc ««r relit.
Tikftie (icaitinknio tin nlo;
Qwiii [uidt(.-l)i pcrMtudliaiV,
Auwiutt )'o it lo (.-t.i(liuio.
Qne. plica iH>k> era la atirrnflon
Dicen que estrlhaa I'M diaRo* ;
SI M Imasinais dichoto.
No Mrch un dcMllcludo.
Feien we that [ am luir>pf,
Sad llinuxlit,ft Utile while.
For. itiou|th 'l*vcre but iJisienibllnit,
Woul'l ibou cnulda mc betciiilet
Yet sliuie tnit in onr terriira
They ny oar inFteiicn |[iatr.
If Joy we can imagioo,
Tbo te« wtil sMtt oar wo*.
Sor yuafttJ/Vrsdr /tt Cms.
S'trrAme »l cntcQilimicnto
A)j(una vet ile ilntrinso;
V DO kl«uprc mM •! Ingefliti
Con el provecbo eacontrado.
Toiln e1 rounilo eft ofriaioDr^
D« panccrcf Un viirio«,
Que lo (tu« cl unn. que v* ac{n>.
El otro (mucIm riae e« bUnco.
A nnos slrve dc •Iracllvo
Lo que Wftt rourlbp cilfBdv;
V Id i|uc entc pot ftlivio
Acjunl Uto« pur Uatiftjo.
£1 que tstA trbtc, ccmuro
Al ateyre ilc livlano;
V tl que rM& alcjtie, «« bulla,
Ot rc> al Uifttc |>«iMui>lo.
Loa dus fil'Mofoi firlcgo«
Bleo cA* vcrilad probaion,
Puck In i]ue en cl uno ii«a,
Catoabft, ta d otro lluto.
C^cbre mi opoakloa
lU Nklo, poT t>i{ilo« untM,
Sla que ctk>l amiti. c^t4
llaaU acuta a«eii|;uatlo.
Anln en em d<n bandcnu
Kl itmndo loilo altftado,
CQEtrormc cl htiRior le i^tcta,
Slgita caila cilal >a bandu.
Uno dice, que de riM
Soto cs dlgno c) mundo vorio;
V oUo, liuc wiH inr»itua]M
Son hIo para kloratloi.
Para (oilo ac halla pnieba
y nuon en qac fundailo;
V DO bar raioo pata iiada.
De habet raxon [>«ra lauto.
1'odot aoQ Icuaica jticcea
V ilcmlo Ifiituei, y ratloah
No h*)' iiuien pueda decidlr
CAal «» lo mas arenado.
i Fueii uno li*y quleD lo tVfltencK,
For qu4 pennU run, errado,
Ouc oa cpcnellO Dlos A vm
La dedaiuii de lot EaM>t>
1 O poT que, nmlia va« toisaio,
Scvrraniente labtiraano,
Kntra lo amar^o, y lo dnlce
Ouercii etcglr lo anMreo?
I SI cs mio ml enlendlmicnlD,
Por qud Kicmpic be dc cncunUailo
Tu torpa paia cl allvio.
Tan «cuda p«ra el diAo?
Rl dbciino e» ua acero
Que altve pcir HtDboi caboi;
l>e dar tnuirnc (tor U pitoU,
for «1 poiDo d« tc«cuai^.
I SI Toi tabkndo c) pell(TO
QucTei* por ta ponia utatlo.
Qua culpa ticne el accia
Del ofiX uM dt la mano >
Mu» out tnicllifrence*
Some lltar nf ijuicl find;
Not always iDay fiii );enlua
Witb pro&t [tile i^ luiad.
Tbe world's fall of opiniana,
And tbe«e no different quite.
Thai what to one bUch vceinctb
AoMhet proves Is while.
Tu some ap|iea.r& uUractlve
What many deem a liiire ;
And thai MbiL^ ttiee dtbichtad
Thy feU»»' labors o'er.
He who it Md condemn cth
Tbe K>y~ one's gleeful loan;
Ilc wtio )s mertjr jestelli
Wbcnc'cf the cad one xroam.
Bjr two old Creek wiacacrci
■fliis Itiith nell ptnvcrl appears;
Siot.'e nvhat In uiie cavACd lauKhter,
Tbe Mber lawcd to teua,
Renowne-1 hat been ihi* conlcM
Knr aRC*. wltboui frull.
And wbat one a^e asactted
Till now Is (n dlipuie.
Into two nan divided
The «roTld*a oplnlont stand.
And aa his humor Irad.-i hint
rdlowa eacb o/io bis band.
One aajri the wotid Is worthy
Only of merrineoT ;
Anothet, its dUiresurs
Call (at our luud lament.
For oil opinioni vaiHnus
Soeaa pfout or tnuun'a brought,
And for so luuch Ibcre'a reason
That reason i* for naught.
All. all ati- equal jtid|;e«,
And all ufdillcrenl view.
And none can n»ke decJtiiun
Of wbai Is best or true.
Then dnce can none deicnnine,
Tbluk'st tbou, nhote reason wraya.
To Ibce Kath God cmnmitted
The judgment of [he case?
Owhy, lo thyself cruel.
Dost Lbuu tby peace reject?
Itetween tbe tweet aud biltei.
The bitter do«t elect f
If 'IH mtftc my underMandlof,
Why alnayi muot It be
So dull and slaw to pleaaure,
So ke«B for injury?
A shsrp blade is our IcsrnLng
Which aervcs u« nt belli ends:
Death by tho paint i! stveth.
By the handle, it delenda.
And if, aware of peril.
Us poini ihou w*li demand.
Hew canst tlinu blame ihc weapon
For the fcUy of thy hand?
Sor yuana !ucs de ia Crns.
53
No M BftbffT, «bc( iMcef
Diacunos la tiles, vaaoa,
^)ue e] Mbcr camiMc sold
En Blegir lu atu. ttiio.
Eapeculaf lu iWadidtu,
Y ciKntiiif tot prcnglos.
Sola iinre de que cl nul
CtUcA can kutkipailu.
Bn loi tr»b>ios (uluftM
Vm atancKin «ulUiJ»nila,
Mu fomildkSIc (|ijc cl licigo
S*i«le tiniEir r1 amnno.
; Que felU c* U IsnontncU
Del ijiu! inilncunicnic Mbio,
fUtlA d« Id ((ue iHMlcce
Bn lo i|ue icn^ra »([r«ilo !
No KJemprc Mitten wsuros
Vuclm del mccnii) i>sBdi>s,
Uufl t>u can Itono en • 1 tucjio,
V btllan *e|tMtcrd «ii e) tUmo.
Tatntil^n ci riclo r1 saber
tJac u iiu >c «■ aLajiinilo,
Cm&deo mcnoa »e c9iio<:«
Eft nuu aoclro cl uirago.
Y si ruelo no le abaUn
En KHIllcza* L-cliada.
I*ar cufilar de lu cuitoso
OlvUla lo DccMatio,
St culia matio no lupide
Cr«cor a1 art>o1 cif>da,
(Jitina 1b lustnncia al Truto
\jL locum tie loa ramm.
i Si amtar a nave ll([ecB,
No nUMha Ibmik jivsadu;
Sin* d vueiu iJc i[ue Kea
81 prccipicio ma& alio}
Bn Kiticnidad Inoill.
^i>e Unpi'tu al Itorldo ramtMi.
Si no tmlla rruio rl ntnfVn
Uuc iMleoLe Somel niajro.
( Dt que le Bltre al higenlo
E) prtxi-jcir mucho<i panos,
Si a U. piulliluri Ic ^icue
hi nalj^Tu dc abuilarlo?
YA esia de*dlcba. par fuecM
Ha <te win trie el fractso
I>c (luedar cl (|uc |it<wIucc,
S BO muGflu, U!>:iiua(Iir.
El tngenio ca como cl ru<(;o,
Que coo la materia tncnto.
Tanio la connime aiii*,
Cuanlo el »e oitcnla ihm clsro,
Es de «u proptio tellor
Tan rclMlado ta&allu,
{^ii« coarime cii mk ofetiMa
Las annas ilc in rctf:uar<lo.
Ksle pe«iino ejcrdclo.
Eatc duro atko pcvitlu,
A lo* hi|o«*to lo* faombtn
Did Dius {lara etcTcitarloa.
Not l» true H-bdoni ItnovrlitK
MoK sublle siHOcli and vain ;
Bnt knowlcdf e U In cfcooslag
That which is lafc avd wtc-
'Ta speculate disaster.
To saelc lur pf eaages.
Serves to Incieasc aSUoioK,
Antlnpaic* dixreti.
In the Uotiblcf o< the future
The arilous mind Is lost.
And more than anv rinniter
IMh (lanfier'a nicaace cost.
Of hiB tke untchooled wi>c auu
How happy U Die chancel
He Snih fcora wlletinK refuge
la simple iKaofanve.
Whhk tftit m tMr^mt i* /frv,
Amd fi%d » fratt im Itmrt,
And viu uttalbeknowl.djte
That Kckinf swift hs cod
In nil the BMtrc unwary
Of the wee that doth in|)enil.
And if its Oighl it ttopn ttm
In pSDipcrcd. MranKc dccrtls.
Then for ilic uur>i>u& aeAicbbf
Tbe ncedlial n dcfcalt.
If rulluie's liand not pruitcth
Tlic leafaii ot (Jie tree.
Takes itam the fruit's tuMalaracM
The rank, vrlld £Teeocry.
If all Ut balla&t heavy
Von y^hl shir no' prevents.
U'DI li lielp the fliffbi of plnwu
Krani nature's lialliementa.*
Jn rer4Bni bcMty useless.
What pmliM the fair held
If tbe btnnniinic icniH'tli^ al spriiigtiao
No autuua Iruiiase yield;
And of what use ^t gealvn
With a.l Hi wutlcof night.
Il arc iK I'tlls icivarilid
Uy bilure aod detplte?
Aad perforce to this tniifortune
Mai: tha* d<rspalr siiriveal.
Which, it ilK aniMv kills not.
Must Bukc the bosom bleed.
Like lo a fire doth genius
In thankless tnaiier grow^
Tlie mote thnt it conwmeth.
It boasts the brtghlcT glow.
It ia of it£ own mssler
So rebellious a s>lavo.
That to alienee It tuineth
The wcAponB that :ih(iald sare,
fucb czcrciK illstrcuful,
SuL'h hsnl aniictv.
To all the Mtl wof Ill's chitdrea
Uod garc ibcir souls lo uy.
54
Sor ytta/ta /itcs tlf fa Crus.
I Qut tocK amUrion noi Itevt
Dc nniomw olvidsdos,
51 c^ |>ara vivti Uo puco,
Ue que tirve ■atwr Uato f
Oti ! » co«no liay d« ubcr,
Hublvn K)cun Kmlnario,
O esrticla, doiwte A lEiiCM^t
^e CDMAaift lorn trftb^oa!
i Qut fcl)/in«nt« viricn,
El que floUuneiilE cauto ;
titirlani Ias amtoijis
Del ioflujo de lo* bwm!
Petiwiri>lrhir>s. ]>ncs hnllBmiflt,
Q»9 cuuitu aTiatlw al (liwntrM,
Iknto k niurpo A lot aAo*.
What mad ambition Ukn n
Ktam M;ll-l»n(elful stale,
U 'lis lt> live so lillle
We make our kouwledce great .*
Oh! ff we tnast bave knowlcdsc
I wiMild Ihcrc were luiitu! schcxil
Wlwrcln tu tcai-h titil bnuwlu);
Lilc's yive*. sbuuld be Uie fule.
llaitiif Khali be hi% lirinif
Whon lile i:u rastmns niara ;
1 le xhall lauch M all the ihrcateiiln|B
Of ilic magic of the aUir^!
Lmm ire Ihe wl^e iinVfiowlne,
Since ii Ko Ki^ll a|>|i«at9
TbaC wliat to IctLTnluga added
Ii uken from our ycftrs.
Wc may dispute, in some respects,
the <lritt of Sisttr J uana's philosophy ;
liul we cnnnot question the poetic
wisdom of many of her reflections.
How true it i.s that in a nuiUiluclc of
reasons one 6nds no reason at alt ;
that the rank overgrowth of knowl-
etlge (Iocs not bear the l»est fruit;
that genius, allied with base sub-
stance, gro»*5 brighter, by a kind of
wlf-consuming ; that wisdom rnii
sometimes find refuge in ignorance .'
No one, be his fame what it may.
has staled a grand and touching
truth with belter force than appears
iu Sor Juana's grave misgiving with
regard to the genius " wliich seeks a
throne in fire, and finds a sepulchre
ill tear>." Is not this the histor\', at
once sublime and pathetic, of so
many failures of the restless intellect ?
Sor juana knew how to preach from
such a text, for she was a rare schol-
ar, and mistress of verse, and religious
woman. The variety of her literary
employments was considerable, in
comparison with the bulk of Mexican
verse and prose, notwithstanding the
olJ-f:ishioned manners of her clois-
tered muse. She wrote, in addition
to sonnetii and romances, the dra-
matic religious pieces called loas
and autoK, among which wc find
dialogues and acts entitled "'JTic
Sceptre of St. Joseph," "San Her-
mcngildo," and "The Divine Nar-
ciso." Her poetic raooJs were not,
it appears, limited to hymns and to
blank- verse ; indcc<I, she ha<l the
qualities of a ripe poet — humor,
fancy, imagination, able thought,
and, if anything else should be added,
doubtless the reader wi!I find it in
tiie ideality of a sonnet so superb as
the one in praise of Our Lady. Of
her religious tenderness we have a
fine example in the following lines
from " El Divino Narciso," which
have been compare<l by a Mexican
critic to the best mystical songs of
St. John of the ("ross and other
Spanish ascetics. They convey tlie
a]i[K.-al wliich the Shepherd of Souls
makes to a soul which has strayed
from the Hock :
my loit lamb,
Tby raaktcr all lorfeUlD|,
WUlliet dost eirifig go J
BehoUI haw ttitvr dIvTdvd
Kium me, tbau paitm I'roai thy llA I
In mi^ tender ItindneiiL,
TJiou Meit boMT alwavs loTlBf
1 Kuatfl th(C watcliluily,
I Iwe thee of all danger.
And thai I girc my life for ibM.
Iichr>ld liow that my beauly
U ijf all ThlnK« beloved,
Ai»t 14 of all tbln|t« MMijiht,
And hy all creatum ]>ial»d.
StlLI dutt ihMi chooM fium me to so artray.
IffO ic »eck ihee yet,
AUhftucli iboii ait as lort ;
Bat fur tlicc now tnf lHo
1 cannot ma bv down
That once I wtahcd w lOia lo find my ihcep.
17o wocfhkt iKaa Ihou
Aik the«e my tuffiefita.
T: 'i:r,
\t unOnt'tt fecilctlt tbcff'
Witiijn ■ Inrrao liclil.
In OeMrl Uitd aftr.
1 t'uvml (hce. crc ihc wnlf
Mul all thy Ut« dc-itiulleJ.
And iitiuti ibM u ttoe apple or mbnc «>'«.
1 bd lltM to th« vcrdiiK
Of inv mo»l penccful waj-*,
WIiLir lhi>ii li4i«.t (c'l at »til
Upiin tikc lidiicv nocft
Ami a[l tliMi Ubwed lo Ibco Tron out the
ri>ck.
With J<ncrntti Cfv>inor(j«!ii,
With (iiDrmwy 4ul>«lanrcv
I hsTe «iut«ineil thy lUc,
M«Jc th<« miwrt »«vory fortd,
Ati'i itlvL-n to thcc Ihc jatca of fngTanC
grape*.
Thuu weknl Olkcr AtUt
^^ 1th tlitm ihit ili'l not know
Tfiv &tbcrv, liuiH.teil not
Thv eUcn. ami in Ihb
Thuu doott cxdte ny own dteplcKiurc
grave.
Ad(1 fo( that thou halt tinned
! II hi'k f'"'n Trwrc mv ftcc, •
ii ' -iKht the Hid
! > I'*l<»i
I : literate, p«rvcrae, and mcnl
uaUiililul uiie
S>hatt mjr di»)>l«aiuTe'« aooutf a
Thv i-*nla(il licl'U.lrvray.
Tlie beih lint RU n ibee footl ;
Antl »liaU ny fifes Uy Maatc.
Ercnfmaiiketopof hifhrnmnunlalnautil.
Mv llrJirr.l.ii; ^rr.-.i^^alialt
H.- -.-J « n, - "I ' I. I ;;irt siinrp
Sill . '1.; I 111! ihim i-i ul UId,
AmI cviI tiiiili 111 t'ltry
And bcTL-cM bcuti shall lla lo wait Tor llic«.
?.Sii; erurelllnit wfjtcnts «huw
1 h'- I ennut of tbcir rax',
)H- .liHetmt ways ■>! death
>r. t^iE'irt thall tic wiought ;
W i(U<iui thcc by the sworil, within ihcp
L>y tbjr feaia.
Behold I am ihr Sovcrelen.
Ami t'lrrr- in nniie iiiiire %tn)ng;
Thill 1 an life iHil ilcatti.
That I can «Uy an<l mvc.
And nulhlnjtcan eaca^ic ftom out myhanil.
Out last t|uotali(jn from Sister
Juana's |>oems will be one of tliosc
tributes whiih, io verse or prose, slic
»u often paiil to the Blessed Virgin.
It i.H a song taken from her villanci-
cos. or rhymes for festivals. The
litcniry m;inner.s of her time seem to
have obsLurcO Ihc native exccllerice
of her thought, but the buoyant style
of the following lines meets with
little objection from her modern Mex-
ican critic :
Tu IwT nbo in Itiumph, the bcauliflil <|u#«n,
iN-acendi from lb« alrn of ihe rniipn «eicne ;
T'l hrr who iliamlnn ii% vsKunl cun&ni:
With itiriiiaMil piilil. ami III |icJitaii'l t-anninu;
To her nltom • ni)tia<l of vokc* cuiifc&^cil
The lady of anjccU tlia quKn oT the blnl:
Whoae tteaMi <:«TrttU1 ate Hichtly uuilMirne
Ami Kdtilciily Unat In the Rloty u( mum,
Andvrafmfcaiidiiiir^ nciulilacck too'crwhclin
Like the pulf* of the TlSar u>i ivory tcalin :
From whoftc Ktnccii Ihe nunliKhi may Icacii ha\i
tu ^hine,
And th« tun of the nisht take a br'llutM.-c
divine.
We ainR ikee rejoltinf while prwtea uccuil,
O sinlesm O Malitlew ! live, live without end.
The scarcity of the poems of Sor
Juana Ines dc la Cruz, even in her
native land, is cause for wonder, but
not if wc first remark that still greater
marvel — the long<ontinued discom-
posure of Mexican society. It is one
hundred and seventy years since the
parchmeul-bouiui book, from which
we have drawn a number of facts in
the Hfc of the Ihfiisa, was pu!>lishci|.
Our impression of the rarity and age
of her printed works, as derived from
aci|uainLince with educated Mexi-
cans in their own countn*. tempts iis
10 doubt whether they have t>een
Issued in any complete shape during
the present ccnturj'. For a good
portion of the extracts we have pre-
sented wc are indebted tu an intelli-
gent and scholarly review prepared
in Mexico, t»vn years ago, by Mon
Francisco I'riiicnTcl, the author of .i
number of books on the races and
languages of Mexico. Outside of
the inona-slic or rich private libraries
of that izounlry, it is <loubtlcss a task
of much difficulty lo find the poems
of Sor Juana. For this reason we
are disiwsed to excuse the able .\nicri-
can histori.in of S|>aiiish literature for
omitting everything in relation to her
except the mere mention of her name
as a lyrical writer. It is hoped, how-
ever, that this notice of her life and
works, probably tlic finit which has
5C
Ttouatra the Sibyfs.
appeared in the Unilctl Stales, will
iiupply the omission of what should
be a chief fact in any American notice
of ^anish literature. The claim
which ivc make for Sor Juana foes
dc la Cruz, as regards the literature
of the New World, is not short of the
very highciit
DION AND THE SIBYLS.
A CLASSIC, CUKIblUN KUVCL.
BV IflLES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF
*' IIARDINU THE .MON^V-SHNNJiR," EIC.
CHAPTER XXIV.
At the golden gale of the Tem-
ple courtyard, a Roman legionary
soldier (detailed as body-M:rvant to
the (Icneral Paulus) met him. 'I'hc
soldier wis leading a small, wiry Tau-
ric (or really Tartar) horse. Paulus,
twisting a lock of the animal's mane
in his left hand, and taking up with
the little Finger thereof ihe loop of
Uic bridle, sprang into the ephippia.
The soldier sinilml. as the iiill hand-
some and Youthful-lookiiig legatus
^cttled himself on the hack of his
steed.
" Why are you smiling, my man ?"
quoth I'aulus good-hutnuredly.
'* It was like the spring I saw you
take years ago at Forinix, when I
was a boy, upon the back of the
horse Sejanus, which no man, my
general, ever rode save you," replied
the soldier.
" .\h I'* Kiid Paulus, smiling sadly ;
" were you there ? I fear I am not
so agile now. We arc all pacing
away."
"Just as agile still, my general,"
returned the legionary, in a cordial
tone : " but about twice as strong."
'* Away I begone I" cried Taulus^
laughing ; " I am growing old." And
shaking the reins, he waved a salute
to l.ongijiiis, turned his pony round,
and rode away again into the valley
westward, while the centurion enter-
ed the city by the golden gate, and
repaired under the w.ills of the Tem-
t>Ie to Fort Antonio, where he was
detailed as olficer of Pilate's guard
that nigjil.
Paulus, nieannhile, rode slowly on
bis way, between the Kedroii Brook
aiul ihc walls of Jerusalem, till he
rame to the Pool of Siloaiii. There,
he lumetl souUi, galloped Co a fort
fthit^h was near, turned bac:k again
to his right, or northward, followed
the valley of Hinnom at a walking
pace, looking up at the white and
ilaz/ling buildings on Mount Zion.
As he slowly |>assed ihem, he spe-
culated which couhl have been Da-
vid's palace. He saw Henxl's plain-
ly enough. On his right he noticed
the aqueduct from S«.«lomon's Pool,
and followed its course as f;ir :is the
Tower of Hippitus northward. 'Hiere
be entered the city by the Gate of
Ccnnaih, and followed die valley of
the Cheesemongers (or Tyropaon
hollow) until he came to OphaJ.
In die middle of a very narrovr
Dion and the Stbyis,
57
sii
Li'
street in this low and crowded quar-
ter, where ihc Romans afterward un-
der Tiiui were repulsed, he met a file
people, sonic mounted, some on
ffcot, led by a richly- dressed, baugh-
ty'looking, burly man, riding a
mule.
So narrow was the street that eith-
er FauliLs would have had to go back
as far as the 'lower of Mari;inne, or
ll»e richly-dressed and haughty-look-
ing man about one-quarter of the
distance, to the bridge between the
street of ihc Cheesemongers and the
court of the Gentiles. I'aulus, al-
ways full of courtesy, amenity, an«l
sweetness, was in the very act of
ivimmg his Buiall Tauric horse, when
the burly man in ricii dress, who led
the o[tposing fde, calle*! out, '' Hark !
low people I Back, and let Caia-
phas go by !** •
" .Vud who is Cainphas ?" demand-
ed Paulus, instantly facing round
again nnd barring the way.
**Thc high-priest of Jerusalem,"
was The answer, thundered forth in
rude and minatory tones.
"I respect," said I'aulus, "and
even revere that holy appellation ;
but be who uses it at this moment,
for some present purpose, has tlung
against me, who am a Roman gene-
ral, the mandate of Back, kno peopU.
Where arc the luw [nrople? I do
not believe that I am a low per-
son. Where, then, arc the low peo-
ple ?■'
'* Come on," cried the imperious
voice of Caiaphas.
He himself, being the file leader,
began then to move forward, till he
tame immerliately in front of the tra-
veller who had so courteously S]>okcn
to him.
*' If you want," said Poulus, "to
pass me at once, I must get into the
ditch, or throw you intit it ; which do
you prefer ?'*
" ! prefer," quoth Caiaphas, '* that
you should tlirow me into the ditch,
if you either dare or can."
" Sir," says Paiilus. " I am sorry
for the sentiment you express, or at
least imply. But I will stand up
against your challenge of throwing
you into the ditch, because I both
Could do it, and dare do it, as a Ro-
man soldier, only that there is One
among you who has come to settle
all our disputes, and who has a di-
vine right to ^o so. For his sake I
would rather be thrown into that
drain by you — ^soldier, officer, general,
and Roman as I am -than ihrawyou
into it."
" Let me pass," cried Caiaphas,
purple with rage.
Faulus, whose behavior at Lake
Benacus against the Germans, and
previously at FormiE, and afterward
in the terrible Calinirnian Houm; on
the Viminal Mill, the reader remem-
bers, made no answer, but, riding
back 10 the Tower of Marianne,
allowed the high-priest and his fol-
lowers there to pass him ; which they
did with cverj' token of scorn and
act of contumely that the brief and
sudden circumstances allowed, Caia-
jihas thus passed on to his country-
house at the south-west -by-south of
Jerusalem, where he usually spent the
night.
I'aulu*) then put his pony into a
gallop, and soon reached the bridge
across the Tyropxon into the court-
yard of the Temple, commonly called
the courtyard of the Gentiles. Such
was the nervous excitement caused by
hisrccentact of purely voluntary, gra-
luitous.and deliberate self-humiliation,
that lie laughed alond as he rode
through the Tpmple yard, coasting
the western " cloisters," and so reach-
ing Fort Antonio.
There his servant, the Roman le-
gionary, who had before met hini at
the golden gate, and whose name
was Marcus, was awaiting him.
i
That night ihe palace of Herotl
the tc'trarch icsoundcil with muMC,
and all the pcrsuiw of rank, or dis-
tinciiun in Jtrrusatcin were aiiiuii^ tliu
jjutsis. 'J'he cnlertainiiicm wnulil
have been rcmeiuhered for years on
account of its brilliancy ; it was <lcs-
tincd lo be reuieiiibercd for all ages,
even till the day of doom, on ac-
count of its cata:>truphc, ctironiclcd
in the liooks of God, and gravea in
tlic horror of men.
Pttulus, unusually grave, because
experiencing unwonted sensations,
and anxious calmly to analyze thcni.
was assailcii for the first time In his
life by a feehng of nervous irritability,
which origiiutcd (iliough he knew it
not) in his having suppressed the na-
tural desire lo chastise the insolence
of Caiaplifls that morning. He sat
abstracted and iileut. not far from
the semi-royaJ chair of HeroJ. the
telrarch. I lis magnificent dress, well-
earned military fame, and manly and
grave beauty (never seen to greater
advantage than at ihat |>eriud of
life, tiiougli llic gloiis uf youth fraji
|>ast) hud dniwn toward him during
the evening an unubu:il amount of
attention, uf which he was uncon-
sctous. an<] to which he would have
been indiflcrent.
The " beauty of the evening," as
she was callcil (far in those days
they u^ed terms like those which we
moderns use, to express our infatua-
tion for the gleams of preltincfis
which are iiucuchcd almost as soon
as they are seenj, had repeatedly en-
deavored to attract his attention.
She was royal ; she w.ts an unrivalled
dancer, llerod, who began to feet
dull, begged her to favor the compa-
ny with a dance, sola. Thereupon
tiie daughter of llerodias looked at
Fauhi^, to whom her previous bland-
isliments had been ad<.lre^!>cd in vain
e was well known to lae unmamei
and heaved a fiery sigh. The mere
noise of it ought to have awakened
his notice, and yet failed to accom-
plish even that small result. Had it
succeeded, he was exactly the person
to have reganled ihi^ wijmin with a
feeling akin to that which, some twn-
and-lweniy years before, she herself
(or was it Herodias ? iliey age fast in
the Kast) had waked in the bosom
of bis .sister under the veranda in
the bower of Crispus's inn, leatiing
out of the line old Latian garden
near Uie banks of the Liris.
She proceeded to execute her Ai/-
iet, her pas sen/, her Uance of im-
mortal shame and fatal infamy. Cries
of delight arose. The creature grew
frantic. The court of Herod fell into
two parties. One party proclaim-
ed the. iwrformancc a perfection of
elegance and spirit. The other par-
ly said nut a word, but glances of
painful feeling passed among them.
'I'lte clamorous eulogists formed the
large majority. In the silent minori-
ty was numbered Paiilus, who never
in his life had fell such grave disgust
or such settled indignation. He
thought of his pure and innocent Es-
ther — alas, mt his! He thought
that, had it been lii^ sister Agatiia
who thus outraged every rudimenta-
ry principle of the tacit social com-
pact, he could alm''>st find it in his
heart to relieve the earth of her.
Thus pondering, bis glance fell
upon Herod the tetrarch. 'I'he te-
trarch Kcemed to have become deli-
rious. He was laughing, and crying,
and slobbering, and clapping his
hands, snd rolling ]iis head, and
rocking his bo<ly on the great state
cushion under the canoiiy, where he
"sat at table." While Paulus was
contemplating him in wonder and
shame, the wretched dancer came to
an end of her bounds. Imlecency,
scientifically acciJcnul, had been
I
I
the one simple principle of the exhi-
bition. I-Ierod calletl the practised
female before him, and. in the hear-
ing of several, bade her demand from
him any reward she pleased, and de-
clareH upon oatli thai he uould grant
her ilemand. I'aulus heard the an-
swer. After consuhing apart wiih
her mother, she reapproache*! the te-
trarch, and, with a llu!>hcd face, said
that she desired the head of «t prison-
er U]K>n a iihh.
" What prisoner?"
" John," said she.
F3ulu-> gajietl at the miserable le-
trarch, "tlie quarter of a kinj;," not
from the height of hia rank an a Ro-
ggan general, but from the still great-
er height which God had given him
as one of the first, one of ihe earliest
of Euroi>ean gentlemen. He knew
not then who John was. But that
any fellow -creature in prison, not
othervbise to be put to death, should
have his head hewn otT and plated
upon a dish, becau&c a woman had
tossed her ItmUfi to and fro in a style
which pleased a letrareh while it
dis^T.ircd human sot-ieiy, appeared
tu Taulus to be less than reasiiiuble.
VVhat he had said, the tctrarch had
said upon oath.
A little confusion, a slight mur-
muring and whispering ensue<l, but
the courtly music soon recommenced.
Paulua coulil not afterward tell how
long it was before the mobt awful
scene he had ever witnessed occurred.
A menial entered, bearing, on a
large dish, a freshly-severed human
head, bleethng at the neck.
'• 1 1 was not a jest, then," said Fau-
lus, in a low voice to his next neigh-
bor, a very old man, whose face lie
remembered, but whose name he had
all the evening been trying in vaia
torerall— " it was not a ba.se jest, dic-
tated by the hideous uste uf worse
than barbarians !"
" Truly," replied the aged roan,
" these Jews are worse than any bar-
barians I ever saw, and I have seen
most of them."
Paulus recognised at these words
the geographer Strabo, formerly his
companion at the court of Augustus.
At a Mgn from ileiod, the menial
carrying the dish now approached
the daughter of Herodias, and pres-
ented to her the bleeding and sacred
bead- Shii, in turn, took the dish
and uffeccd it to Herodias, who her-
self bore it out of the room with a
kind of snorting laugh.
Paulus rose slowly and deliberate-
ly from his place near the tetrarch,
at whom he steadily looked.
" This then," said he, " is the en-
tertainment to which you have invit-
ed a Roman Icgatua. Vou are vexe<l,
people say, that Pilaie, the Roman
governor of this city, could not hon
or your birthd.iy by his presence in
your palate. TUate's local authority
is of course greater than mine, tor I
have none at all ; but his real, per-
manent rank, and your own real,
permanent importance, are contempti-
ble by the side of those which a Ro-
man soldier of such a family as ilie
i^niilian has gained on the field of
battle ; and it was a high honor to
yourself to succeetl in bringing me
hither. And now, while disgracing
your own house, you have insu'ted
your guests. What is the name
of the man you have murdered be-
cause a woman dances like a goat?
What is liis name ?"
Tlie tetrarch, astonished and over-
awed, replied with abewiidered look :
" Whatauthority to rebuke me, be-
cause I look my brother's wii'e, had
John ?■■
"John who?" asked Paulus, who
from the outset had been struck by
the name.
'• He who was styled John llic Bap-
tist,"' Siiid the tetrarch.
The words of another John rang
in Paulus's memor)' ; and he exclaim-
ed:
*' What! John the Baptist ? John
the Haptist, yea, and more than a
prophet — John the Anget of God !
Is this he whom you have slain ?"
'* What had he to say to my mar-
riage ?" answered Herod, through
whose puqjic face a livid under-col-
or was ]jenetrating to the surface.
" Why." exclainic*! I'aulus, " the
holy books of your own nation for-
bade such a marriage, and John could
not hear of it without rebuking you.
I, although a Gentile, honor those
books. Out upon you, impious as-
sassin I I ask not, where was your
mercy, or where your justice ; but
where has l>een your sense of co^:)-
mon decency, this evening ? 1 shall
never rease to lament that t once
stood under your roof. My presence
was meant as an honor to you ; but it
has proved a disgrace to myself."
Taking his scarlet cloak, he flung
it over his shoulders, and left the
hall amid profound silence — a silence
which continuetl after he had quilled
the courty.-xrd, and btgun to descend
from Mount Zion to the labyrinth of
streets branching downward in the
Tyropa:on Valley. In one of these,
under a bright moonlight, he met
again that same licauiiful youth whom
he had seen in the morning when he
was dcM;ending the Mount of Olives.
*■ Stay !" cried I'auhis, suddenly
stopping in his own rapid walk. '* Said
you not, this morning, that he who
was called 'John the Baptist' was
more than a prophet? Herod has
this moment slain him, to please a
vile woman. The tyrant has sent
the holy proijhet out of life."
" Nay ; into hfe," replied the other
John ; ** but, brave and noble Roman
— for I see you arc bodi — the Mas-
ter, who knowR all things, and icjoices
that John has begun to live, grieves
as well."
" Why grieves ?" inquired Paulus,
musing.
" Because," replied the other John.
" the Master is verily man, no less
than Iff is li'Afl is."
"What, then, is he?" asked Pau-
lus, with a look of awe.
" He is the Christ, whom Johu
the Prophet, now a witness unto
death, bad announced."
Hereupon the two went their se-
veral ways, I'aulus muttering: ** TAe
SfC0Uii name in the a(roiti<"
But, really, he had ceased to care
for minor coincidences in a huge
mass of convergent proofs .ill gaining
posses.sion of his soul, and taking
alike his will and his understanding
captive — captive to the irresistible
truth and the equally irresistible beau-
ty of the message which had come.
The immortality of which he was an
heir, the reader has seen hira long
since believing ; and long since also
rejecting both th*; pantheism of the
philosophers and the polytheism of
the vulgar. And here was a great
new doctrine authoritatively estab
lishing all that the genius of Dlony-
sius had guessed, and infinitely nwre;
truths awful and mysterious, which
offered immediate peace to that stu-
pendous universe that is within a
man, while assuring him of power,
joy. and honor to begin some day,
ant! nevermore to end.
He had not been in Jerusalem long
liefore he Icamt mu<:b of the new
teaching. He had .wcured for his
nsothcr, close to the Fortress Anto*
nio, where he himself lotiged, a small
house belonging to a widow who,
since her husband's death, had fallen
into comparative poverty. The La-
dy AgLiis, attended still by her old
frcciiwoman. Mclena, was allowed
the lu-st and coolest fwrt of this
house entirely to herself, with a stair-
case of their own leading to the flat
roof. Tliere they passed much of
tdyts.
6i
their evenings after the sun had set,
looking at the Uiickly-built Dp[)Osite
hills, the mansious on Zion, or down in-
to the Tyropacon from which the hum
of a great multitude came, mellowed by
the distance, and disposing the min<I
to contemplation. Many wonderful
things, from time to time, they heard
of him who was now teaching —
things some of which, nay, the great-
er part of wliich, as one of the sa-
cred writers expressly declares, never
were recorded, and the whole of
which could not be contained in the
liliraricii of the world. It may well,
then, be imagined in what a situation
Paulus and his mother were— having
no interest in dibbelieving, no chair
of Mo»-s to abdicate, no doctorial
authority or pharisaic prestige inrit-
tag theiii to impugn the known tniih
—in what a siluaiion they were, for
accepting or declining what was then
offered.
After twenty years of separation, a
trace of Esther had been recovered
by Paulus. One evening, his mother
was on the flat roof of her residence
awaiting his customary nsii, when
her son ajipeared and alarmed her
by his pitlior. He had i»een F.!>t]ier
on foot in a group of women at the
Gate of Gennath, going forth into
the country, as he was uiitering ilic
city on horseback. Aglais smiled
sadly, saying : " Alas I dear son,
is that all ? I long since knew that
she still lived ; but I woulil not dis-
turb your mind by the uscle&s intelli-
gence."
*• Scarcely altered," murmurcti I'au-
lus abstractedly, ■' while I am quite
old. Vcs, she must now be past thir-
ty ; yes, near tliirty-fivc."
" As to that," said the mother,
" you are thirty-eight, and scarcely
seem twenty-nine. Old Rebecca, the
mistress of this house, who lives still
m the ground-story, as you arc aware,
has told me much about li^tber."
'* She is married, I sup[>osc," said
Paulus, with a look of anxiety.
*' No," replied Aglais. " She has
had innumerable offers (spite of her
comparative poverty), and hai declin-
ed ihem all."
'■ But what boots it ?" exclaimed
Pauhis.
" Old josiah Maccabeus is dead,"
said Aglais, And here mother ami son
dropped the subject by mutual consent
The dreadful days, closed by the
most awful day the woHd has known
— closed by the ever-memorable and
tremendous Friday — came and went.
On the Saturday, Paulus met I.ongi-
nus, who said he had been on Mount
Calvary that afternoon, and that he,
Longinus, was now and ever hence-
forth a disciple of him who had
been crucified. The Sunday came,
and brought with it a prodigious ru-
mor, which, instead of dying out,
found .idditional believers every day.
Tlie disciples, most of whom had
shown tlicmselves as timid a.s they
were known lo be ignoran:, now-
seemed tran.sformed into new cliarac-
ters, who loudly affirmed that ihetr
Master had risen from the dead by
his own power; and they were rea-
dy to face every tonnenl and all ter-
rors cahnly in the maintenance of
this fact, wliich tlicy pralirted would
be received and acknowledged by
the whole world. And, indeed, it
was no longer a nimor, but a truth,
a^te^tcd by the only witnesses who
could by possibility know anytlnng
about it, cither for or against; and
whose earthly interests it would have
been to deny it, even while they knew
it lo be true — witnesses who, if they
knew it to be false — .ind they cer-
tainly knew whether it were true or
false (this much was granted, (tnit h
Uiil giiintfii, by all llieir opponents)
— could have had no motive, clihci
earthly or unearthly, for feigning that
they believed it.
i
So pregnant is ihis simple reason-
itiK. that a mail might ponder it fln<l
study it for a whole month, and yd
find fresh strength and an cvcr-in-
crMMng weight in the considerations
which it suggests; not even find a
(law if he made the one month
twelve. Fauhis's mind was deter-
mined, and so was his mother's.
The son sought that wme beautiful
youth whom he had seen twice be-
fore; lold him the new desire, the
new belief, which had made his
mother's and his own heart glad ;
and by him they were baptized as
Christians, disciples of him that had
been crucified — by that fair youth, I
say, who was to be known fiir ever
among men as '-Saint John the
EvaiiKcli^l."
"After all. mother," said Paulus,
when they were returning together
to her dwelling, •' it is not so very
mysterious ; I mean that dilfituliy
about the lowliness of our divine
Teather's chosen place among men.
Hccnuse, see yoii, if the builder of
those glorious stars and thai sublime
ftrmanicni was to come at all
amongst us, lie would be certain
to take the lowest and smallest lot,
lest we should deem there was any
difierenre as before him. We are all
low and small together — the earth
itself, I am told, being but a sort of
Bethlehem among the Kiant ; but,
anyhow, we are but miles and em-
mets on a blade of grass in his sight,
nnd had he taken a great relative
place amitUt us, it might countenance
the lie and ihc delusion of our silly
pride. That part of il-is to me not
so mysterious, although I don't won-
der at the Jewish notion that their
Messiah was to have been a great
conquering prince— that is probably
what liie Aniicliribt will be. It
would suit the blindness of vanity
better."
As he spoke the words, they heard
n. quick footstep behind, and were
overtaken by I.onginus, who. saymg
he had just heard of their reception,
greeted them with every demonstra-^^
tion of rapturous affection. ^H
•* Now," pursued he, walking by
their side, ''good for evil to Master
Paulus's family. Forgive the appa-
rent intrusion, dear general, if 1 men-
tion that I happen to know the story
of your youthful love, as all the world
have witnessed your fidelity to an un-
availing attachment. Rut learn from
poor I-onginus that F.sthcr Macca-
beus is now a disciple ; and the
Christian maiden can wed. under a
still holier law, the brave Gcnlilc
whom the Jewess was bound lo re-
fuse."
With this he turned into an alley
under the court of the Gentile;', and
disappeared.
CHAPTER XXVI.
One still and sultry evening, the
decline of a brooding day in spring,
two persons were silting on the flat
roof of a house in Jerusalem. They
were the Athenian Lndy Aglnk and
her son, the comparatively youthful
Roman General Paulus — he who has
so l.irgely figured, even from his gal-
lant boyhood, in the events and afratrs
we have been recording.
It was the 30th of March, and
Wednesday— the first of nil Easter-
Wednesdays — the firbt in tliat new
and perpetual calendar by which,
throughout the fairest regions of
earth, among a'l enlightened nations
and civilized races, till the crash of
doom, time was for cvcnnorc lo be
measured.
A servant, canning a skin-cask
slung over his shoulders, was water-
ing the flowers, faint niih thirst;
and these, arranged in fanciful vases,
which made an artificial garden of
the housetop, shook their drooping
1
I
heads under ihc fresh and grateful
shower, and Mx'inttl to answer it
wiih smiles of a thousand blooms
and rays. As the man stole softly
to and Iro about the roof, now a\i-
]tru3cliin;^ llit.' Indy und her son, now
receding, he seemed, in spile of the
foreign language in which they spoke,
and in ;*pitc of llic low and hushed
tone ihcy observed, to follow, with in-
tense and breathless ihoiigh stcalihy
excitement, the tenor of their conver-
sation ; white liis figure, in the last
evening rays, cast a long, shifting
shadow that streaked with black the
yellow flood lo its farthest limit,
climber] the i)ara])ct, broke upon
its gmil-work of balusters, and then
was beheaded, for it filing olf its
head out of sight into empty space,
leaving the calm bright air unblotted
above the stone guanl-wall.
An ocrunence took place of which
(that Weihii'sday evening) I'auliisand
his mother were witnesses — an occur-
rence in dumb ^how, the ugttificance
which they were destined, only
ifter several years, to learn ; yet the
^incident was so singular, mo strange,
impressive — it was such a jiitturc
such a quarter — that when, long
subset) ucnily, the explanation rame.
they seemed lo be still actually assist-
iDg in person at the scene which,
^while they beheld it, they hod no
leanB of understanding. We are
going, in one moment, to relate that
:currcnce; and we must here re-
st the reader to grant us his full
:lief and his confidence when we
remark that, in comparison of his
lusemciit. his protii, and that mcn-
d galhry of piciuics lo be his hcnce-
fonli (which we Iry to give to all who
honor these pages witli a perusal), we
feel the sinccrcst contempt for any
mere display cf scholarship or learn-
ing. For this reason, and this rea-
in alone, and certainly from no
itiuess, and still less from any
lack of authorities, wc .lihaU almost
disencumber our narrative of refer-
ences to the ancient WTitcrs and re-
condite documents (such as the ^1s-
Inmomk formula of I'kilip AriMtm)
which establish ;is positive historical
facts the more striking of the occur-
rences still to be mentioned. In one
instance the intelligent reader will
discern that the most sacred of all
evidence supports what we have to
record. Hut if we were to show with
what nicety of precision much pro-
fane, yet respectable and even vene-
rable, testimony accords with the
passage here roeiUil in ilie Acts of
the Apostles, and how abundantly
such testimony corroborates and sup-
plements the inspired account, this
book would cease lo be what it aims
at being, and would become a his-
torical treatise of the tJcrman criti-
cism school. "
Satisfied, therefore, with the foot-
notes below (at which the reader will
oblige u-i by jusl glancing, and which
are appeiulcd. in perfect good faith
and simple honesty, as imjdying no
more than we could make good), wc
will avoid boring those who have a
right to, and who exiiect, the conclu-
sion of a straightforward story at our
hands, f
■ tfanv one Mliould feel ■nnnlsbed al ourlA-
Sl«tii}R iik>t Hilly upon Ike enact dmy, but lb« very
huur, when mitaiii tliiuija iii.'ciir(i:tl. let Iiiin of
her fi-mnnbcr ilim the t-alfulatlnd i>f c- ip»e«.
(■asMiii; tincli»iir<1 frr<in i>uc IdbiiuIIici (ai thonKli
B»L'ciiiiiTti; the &Lc(ii \A a rtntrciFcl, rcucli-:* nn<l
lise* tlic Jaic— Yt*. ihe preffw mtiiuic of lUy—
whrn ini:uleiiU i*nk pliice beitvvcn tvhlL-li anO u9
Uio trroait hacGot tniccalbcunnd yeuni* inter-
\ Kar the reU, iii support of llic matter* we
tuvfl loo biiiHy 10 Tccoiint. we coiiUI l>uri]cn
lhc*e pUBr* "fill vMumliioijvanil *oinc of them
m\tsl iiilcrirMii>K and beautiful, cxtriK it rrniit holh
heillivn anil tiiitslLim woili* of l■t■^^ic *umc ami
M.in(la;il aiithoiity ; Willi puMajrc:* uf itltvct and
indirct-l evItlciKC from JiMcitliLS, ri'lciron. I'to-
tnTch, Soinl Diiniysiu* I'imr otvii liiio hcto, llic
Atet)|-a|-ilc of Circccc, tlie SC Dcnm of franco)
[<irf Af^-'lL'^hiiHt'i. t\^\%. >i,. UTnl ftH f'j/r'Carfiim
r\Htsii!Jfw.\ii.]i Tcrlullian yCnitt. Ju<i.. C. 8);
lit Au|;irMin«<0>'. l><i. lib. m>; Sc <'liri^a(»ia
(/AiMf. litJ^iiHrnt RiifitittA): llie llolliindiat*, Ua.
Tontus Bu^i-'ttiita, Tillcniant. Miiel. and a ImM of
Dtheis. . . Bui uur uaicmculs will uut uccd autli
i
64
Dwn and thi Sibyh.
I'aulus and his mother vcrc con-
versing, as has been described, in
GrcL'k, while the serving-man, despite
his ignorance of that language, liad
the air of half-fnlJofting the drift of
wh.it they said, and of catching the
main purport o{ it with wonder ami
awe. Tliere was, indeed, at that
nioinenl^ only one (oijic in all Jeru-
salem. He who, less than a week
ago, had l«cn crucified, and with the
time of whose coming (as much :i*
with all the particulars of his life,
teaching, wurks, and death) the old
prophecies were found more and
more siartlingly, circumstantially,
unmistakably, the more they were
studic^l. questioned, and canvasse<i,
to a^ree, ]>oint by point, down to
what would seem even trivial de-
tails {indicated as if merely to em-
phasijce the incommunicable identity
of the Messiah) — he had himself
stated, distinctly and puhhcly, that,
by his own power, he would rise from
the dead in three days; that, in ilirce
days after, he should be ''hfted np "
and be made " a si>ect;u:le for men
an<l angels ;" in three days after they
should have destroyed it, he woulU
rebuild the holy lcm])lf of his body.
And now these rumors — these mi-
nute, these positive al counts — had
he, then, really reappeared, accord-
ing to hiii word and promise ?
Was it ijossibic ? Was it the
fact?
Many had, on the previous Friday
night, stated that, of a verity, they
hail seen iheir deceased [>arents and
relatives. Again, on the Saturday,
many declared, amid awe-stricken
grouivs of listeners, lliat the tmknowu
land had sent them its visitants, in
various places, under various aspects,
to startle the guilty city ; which, after
>Hr<l " tUblllUtlon," bconte tbe focU, beinn
riuM« amoflg vJnitiin, hiII be >in|)U]tncil bv
norcftll]r«dim(M) auuioclltoiuughly cainpetcnt
criUc
killing the King's messenger-servant
had jusi killed the King's Son, wl
had come, as had been a thousand
times announced, in tlic very fulness,
the exact maturity of days, to deliver
the final embassy to men.
On that Wciinesday evening, tliere
was, in truth, but one theme of con-
versation, one subject of thought, all
through Jerusalem, and already far
beyond Jerusalem ; among poor and
rich, high and low, natives and stran-
gers, the robl>ers of the Syrian hills
and Arabian deserts, the dwellers in
the city, the travellers on the roads
and at the inns, among Sadducees,
I'hari.sees, Romans, Greeks, Egyp-
tians, and barbarians.
No wonder, then, if the Immblc
serving-man, as he watered the flow-
ers, penetrated the drift of the mo-
ther's and the son's discussion. For
him and such as he was the message.
The poor Syrian Jiad once, for a
while, rendered occasional out-door
service to the fan?^ly of l.azarus ; and
he had known r,azarus in three states
— ha<L known him living, dead, again
alive. After days of death in that
fierce chmatc, where inanimate flesh
putrefies fast, he had beheld Lajutrus,
at the call of one u[>on whose linea-
ments he ga/ed, at the lime, with un-
conscious adoration, come forth, not
merely from death, but from incipi-
ent decomposition, back into baliuy
life — back to the " vita sercna."
Now, was he who. in that instance,
had allowed it to he perceived and
felt that be was really the Lord of
life, whom death and rotlemicss were
manifestly unable to disobey — was he
himself, as his disciples declared he
was, living again among them, since
the morning of llie last Sunday (the
Jeria prima), acconling to his own
public prediction ami distinct pro-
mise ? Was he not ? Was he ?
Aglats and Paulus had heard more
than one circumstantial account of
J
Dion and th€ Sibyts.
65
lis, his reappearance, acconling to
lat, liis promise. By Uii& one und
the other be liad been met. They
gazed upon htm, spoken tu him,
him in reply, touched hiui, in
such a place, on that bridge, that road,
in iiuch a garden. He hud walked con-
versing witli them, hnd sat with ihera
irt meat, had broken bread witii them,
as was his wont, had (hen vanished.
Where was his boiiy, over \vhich
[ihe Pharisees had set their guard of
jidicrs? Not in the grave. Koj
It where? Had the Pharisees ac-
}unted for it ? Could they tell what
lad become of it ? Could the sol-
iws? The disciples could, and ihey
id
"Mother," said Paulus, "do you
WW what (hose soldiers say? One
if thctu once served in a legion
rhtch I commanded. Do you know
fhat the>*say ?"
Yon mean," replied Aglais,
'about their inability to hinder
ic Abstraction. What?"
•♦That an act to which they are
the only witnesses could not be
['Stopped by them, because of it they
rcre not witnesses, being buried in
fcep."
" Conwstent," said the Greek lady.
**Ycs; but a much weightier fact is
that expectation of the disciples, to
prevent the realirniit)n of which the
Pharisees set their guard."
" What expectation ? And why
weightier ? What c.in be weightier ?"
uked the general ,
"That their Master would keep
his wonl, and fulfil his prediction of
rising from the tomb on the third
day. If they saw him again alive
within the promised time, they and
the people would worship htm as
God; but, if the Pharisees could
^ow the body on the third day, or
could even account for it, that belief
would die."
" Clearly," answered Paulus^ " the
VOL. xiit. — s
disciples expected to sec him again
on und after the third day, waiting
for Ills word to be fulfilled."
" Now, Paulus," pursued Aglais,
"suppose this expectation of theirs
not fulfilled ; suppose that not one of
those wailing for bis word was con-
scious of any reason for believing it
to have been realized—"
Paulus intcmiplcd his mother.
** There is only one jwwible way in
which they could be induced to be-
lieve it realized — namely, that be
should be seen again alive."
" Quite so," she resumed. " But
suppo.'K that he has not been seen ;
suppose that not one of those who
expected to see him again has thus
seen him. How would they then
feel on this \N'ednesday morning?"
"They would feel that U»e ex|»ec-
lation which he had solemnly and
publicly authorized tliem to depend
upon was idle and vain ; they wauUI
not and could not by any pus-sibility
fee! that they bad, in this great par-
ticular, reason to consider his word
to have been kepL Tliey would be
discouraged to Uie very last degree.
They would, of course, hide them-
selves. I would do so myself, and I
l)elicve I am no coward. Jn short,
ihcy would feel no reason to hope in
bis protection, or to expect that bis
other and still mightier promises con>
ceming their own future eternal life
would by him be realized. They
would not incur any inconvenience,
or brave any danger, or take any
trouble, or risk any loss — "
It was Aglais's turn to interrupt
•' Now, is this their attitude?" she
inquired.
" The reverse, the opposite, the
contradictory of their attitude."
The lady continued in a low tone:
" If, expecting, upon his own assur-
ance, that some among them should
see him," she asked, " not one of
litem bad seen him, would they, at
this monieiil, have any motive for
bringing upon ihemselvcs the tor-
tures, insults, shame, and death which
he underwent, and all this in order to
induce others to believe apparitions
and a iL-surrection which in their
own hearts they did not them:^lvcs
believe, and for believing which they
were, moreover, conscious that they
possessed no ground, no reason, no
pretext ?"
A sweet, ringing, vibrant voice at
their side here said :
*' And in order by deliberate cir-
cumstantial lying, of an awru! and
blasphemous kind, to please the God
of truth ; and to comjiensate them-
selves by his protection above, in a
future hfc, for the present and imme-
diate desiniction which they arc incur-
ring among the Pharisees and the
men of power here below !"
Looking round, they beheld Kslher
of the Maccabees.
Never had she seemed to Paulu*
so beautiful ; but there was a marked
change; for, however intellectual had
always twen the translucent purity of
thai oval brow, tlirougli which, as
through a lamp of alaliastcr, shone
tile vivid mind within, there was now
the mysterious ctfluence of " that
Essence increate" who had come to
abide in. and had strangely transfi-
gured the appearance of, the faithful-
sou!c<l Hebrew maiden. And when
Paiihis, after she had cmtiraccd his
mother, abitractetily look her h-ind.
fats heart was lifted upward with a
species of wonder ; an<l, witliout ad-
verting to it, he was asking himself
to what mar\'e1lous kingdom she had
become heiress, in what su|>ernal
court of everlasting joy and un-os-
sailftble prerogatives was this beauii-
ful creature destined to live, loving
and beloved, adorning almost the
glories which she reflected, dispensed,
and multiplied, as if from some holy,
mysterious, and ^iritual minor.
" O dear Lady Aglais t and
Icgatus :" she said, wiUi a gesture
amazing in its expressiveness and pa-
thetic ien'or (she had brought the,
finger-tips of both hands together;
under the chin, and ihtrn lowered
iheni with the palms outward toward
her hearers, and so she stood in an
attitude of the utmost grace and dig-
nity combined, like one apji'ealing to!
the candor and good faith of others) —
** O dear friends! I was just now
passing through ray own garden on
ray way hither, when, under the fig-
tree (where he used to Jiit poring
over the holy books of our people),
I beheld my dead father, but stand-
ing, and not in his uhl accustomed
wicker-chair J .-ukI he gazed upon me
with large, eamast eyes ; and as he ,
stood, his head almost touched ihe
leaves of that hollow, embowering fig<
tree ; and he was pale, s<A:xtrcmely
pale as he was never during life ;
and he called me: ' ICsther,' he
said, and his voice sounded far
away. Ah I my God, from what a
huge distance it seemed to comel
And lo! lady, and thou, legaius, he
said these words to me: '1 have
been in the vast, dim house, nnd have
seen our Father Abraham ; and I
have seen our great J-awgiver, and
all our prophets, excepting only two,
Elias and Enoch ; and I xskcil, Where
were they ? And in all the dim, vast
house none answered me. but the
forefinger was pressed to the silent
lips of those who there waitctl. And,
sud<lenly, there was the noise of in-
numerable armies coming swifdy irom
afar— but your ears are mortal and
your eyes veiled, and were I even per-
mitted to tell you that which shook, be-
yond this little world, the large world
and its eternal thrones, your mind wouki
not at prc-M^iit understand my words.
Enough, Esther, that I have been
allowed to renew to you, in my own
behalf, and that of others among our
DioH and the Sibyls.
6;
people who have been called before
you to the vast, dim, silent city, the
exhortation which our .incestor Jiidis
Maccalwus sent with oftering-; to tin*
high priest ; namely, that you will
pray for our spirits. Our innumera-
lile company has just been thinned:
the glorious Judas Maccabeus, our
ancestor, and that holy mother of
the ^!accabecs, and almost all who
were waiting with me in the dim,
vast kmgdom of expectation, have
gone for ever; and I, and a fetv,
have been commandci) to e\pect yet
a little lime : until the inrcnse of
holy leaver shall have furthc- gone
up in the presence of the Great \Vhitc
Throne' "
Ksther paused, her eyes dilated,
and stood a moment with the hands
again brought together; and so per-
fctt a figure of truthfulness, and such
an im person ntion of sinterity, she
looked, that the Jewish servant, who
understood not a won,! of the tongue
in which she addressed the Greek
Lidy and her son. gazed at Jier; his
work au5j>cnilcd, his cask held high
in air. with all the marks of one who
hfarii and accepted some sacred and
imquesdoDiible revelation.
"Goon, dear child," said Aglais,
** What passed further?"
^I asked the ])ale image what
this meant, that he should term the
condition in which he is waiting and
has yet to wait a hide time — that
vast, dim condition — *a house,' 'a
city,* atid * a kingdom,* 'The dwellers,'
ht replied, ' are watched in that
kingdom by silent prutectors, mighty
and beautiful, whosie faces, full of a
severe, sad love, are the torches and
tlie only light those dwellers ever
see : and the vast, dim city ha.s a
sunless and a starless sky for its roof,
under whieh they wait; and that sky
is the ceiling which echoes the sighs
of ih^ir pain : and thu.s to lliem it
has been a kingdom, and a city, and
a house; and, until the ninth hour
of last Friday, they were numerous
as ihc nations of men!" 'And at the
ninUi hour of that day, I asked, *0
my father! what occurred when so
many departed, and you and a small
number were left still to w.iit ?' And
he gazed at me for an instant with a
wan and wLstful look ; then, lo t I
saw nothing where he had lieeri
standing under the fig-tree.
" But it was at the ninth hour of
the last Friday the Master had expir-
ed by the side of the ptnircnt who
was th.at very day to be with him in
paradise !" cried /Vglais.
.^t liitlier's arrival, Paulus and Ag-
lais had both risen from a kind of
semicircular wicker settle which oc-
cupied one of the corners of the
roof; and they now, all three, when
Kslher had finislied her strange, brief
narrative, leane<i silent and musing
against the parapet ; where, umlcr
the shade of a chistering rhododen-
dron, they had a view westward
(drawn, as ]K:ople are who ponder,
toward whatever object is most lu-
minous) of the towers and palaces
and pinnacles nf the Holy Citi,', then
reddening in the sunset. One word
respecting the spot where tiie litdc
group was thus collected, and (among
modem, and esiwcially western, na-
tions) concerning its peculiar scenic
cffcrts.
The roof was an irregular parallel-
ogram, protected on all sides by a
low, thick parapet, at two opposite
corners of which, in the diagonals,
were two doors of masonry, bolted
with massive round bars of iron, or
left open ; thus excluding or admitting
communication with the contiguous
houseii. The writer, many years ago,
saw such parapet doors on die house-
tops of modem Algiers: nor was the
arrangement unknown in the more
famous ICastem cities of antifjiiity,
where Uie roofs glowed with plants
i
Diott and the Sibyls.
in vases. When, on some public
occa^on, llic fiassagcs were opened,
the ridicr iiihubitar.t^, far above ibc
npi^', dust, squalor, sultxincss. and
(■omjijirativc darkness of the narrow
and noisome directs, could stroll and
lounge fur mites, in mid air, aniung
flowcni ; could cross even ilyitig and
embowered bridges (of which a pri-
vileged number possessed the keys,
like those who have keys to thc
gardens of our squares) ; and .so
Rives, unseen of Lazarus, but seeing
far down all things little and supine,
could wander through parterres of
bloom, and perfumed alleys, anti
shrubberies of enchantment, with ef-
fects of sunlight sprinkled, so to
speak, with coolness and with
^laduws, soodicd out of the noon-
day fierceness into tints various and
lender; un.<K>tled of the stains and
])ains that stained and pained the
poor sordid world below; until the
hearts of those who thus promenaded
.mild tirfum?>iances of siith delicious
refinement and luxury, bearing and
hearing news, and exchanging civil-
ities, were '■ lifted up," and became
even like to the heart of Nabucho-
donosor the king. Sometimes the
Ijcclen-beateii dulcimer, or the fin-
gered lyre of six strings, made long-
forgottcn airs of music beguile the
declining day. and linger for hours
longer, ravishing the ni^ht under the
stars of the Syrian sky. Such the
scene.
But none of the roof-doors were
open that Wednesday evening.
Something ailed the Holy City.
Out of the hushed heavens, mysteries
and a stem doom were brooding
over Jerusalem. Already the fer-
menting genu of those dreadful fac-
tions which were to tear to pieces,
with intestine rage, the whole Jewish
boily. while tlie city w.os writhing in
the vain death-struggle against Titus,
/ a few years later, had begun to make it-
self sensible to thcolacrv.int. Afierce
hatred of \\\e Romans and an insane
eagerness to re-establish dieold Jewish
independence had taken pos.ses.Hion
of certain youtlifiil fanatics; and " pos-
sesse<l " indeed ihey seemed. On the
one >ide, the Roman ullkers of the
garrison, from Pilate down, had re»
ceived anonymous wamings, in the
wildest style, requiring ihetn to witb-^
draw from Jerus;dem within a given
time, or they should be all executed
in the streets, as opportunity migl
occur; on the other, the prefect ofii
Syria had been earnestly reiiuestcd,
by Pilate to strengthen tlic garrison;
while in die city itself the soldiers
were strictly admonished to keep to
their quarters, to avoid late hours,
and to hold no inlercaursc when off
duty witli the inhabitants. Leaves
of absence were stopped. A few
legionaries had been already mur-
dered in the neighborhood of wine-
shops, in the small winding alleys^
and in places of evil repute, and no
efforts succeeded in identifying the
perpetrators.
Hut these were only the feeble and
evanescent symptoms, destined to
dis-ippcar and reappear, of a political
and social phase which was not to
become the prcduminant situation
until another situation should have
exhausted ius first furj-. This, the
first, was to be the war of the Syna-
gogue against the disciples uf the
Messiah, whom those disiiples went
about declaring to have risen from
the tomb, according to his distinct
promise; whom they went about de-
claring to liave been already seen,
and heard, and touched by them-
selves, again and again,
No wonder, then, if Aglais and
I'aulus and Esther had discussed iu
hushed tones and in Creek the
wonders and various portents attend*
ant upon the supreme and central
fact — that Resurrection of the Mas-
i
DioH and tht SibyU.
69
ler which absorii«d their whole
hearts and minds, le.iving no room
for any other interest Oierdn at l!m
rtncmluiiM epuch — ihc gmnd turn-
'Ijoint of human destinies and of
ir whole planet's history.
From the ]>.ira]«!t ngainst which
icy were leaning, they now gazed in
!mcc upon the sjilendid scenes
How and opi>osite. Across a maze
narrow streets they saw the man-
)Ds, the pinnacles, the towers, and
It great supernal '* Temple of (»od,''
so soon to perish violently, in a
tneral. a complete, and an irrever-
"fi1)1c dcstniction. They saw the
[i p lay of light and shadow upon one
I^Bng tree-line<i side of Herod's proud
^^Blace; they saw the ripple of quiv-
^^nng leaves rcAecteil upon the white
^^rolonnades (and their lexsellated,
' 5]iady floors) of Pilate's fatal house;
an<1, white revolving thoughts and
' qucsiioos of unspeakable iin[K)nance
and solemnity, they nil three sudden-
ly hcheld an acted picture, a passing
scene, voiceless to iliera, yet impres-
M ' ' li blent itself Into their
I - a of other scenes, never to
he ciia'cd fmm the memory of man-
kind, whicfi, not a neck before, bad
been under those very colonnades
enacted.
A woman in the attire of a Roman
natron came quickly forth upon the
fint-Alory balcony in the house of
Pontius Pilate, and, leaning over the
tail, waved her hand with an imper-
ative gesture to some one below.
She was followed into the balcony
more slowly by a man wearing the
grand costume of an ancient Roman
military governor, who held in his
hand a Mraled and folded letter, tied
with Ihc usual silk string. The man
was cvidendy Pilate himself. He
looked long and ytoomily at the let-
ter, and seemed to be plunged in
thought. >Ie even let what he car-
lied fall at his feet, and did not ap-
pear to be nwAre of this for some
moments. It was the woman wl>o
picked up the letter, and gave it back
into his hand. Then Pilate leaned
over the balustrade, in his turn, and
spoke to a man below in military
costume, who was mounted on a
powerful horse, .ind seemed to be
equipped for travel. The soldier
saluted, looking up, when he wa-s ad-
dressed, and saluted again when his
superior had cea.sed speaking; where-
upon Pilate dropi>ed the letter (a
large and heavy dispatch), whicli
the soldier caught and secured under
his belt, inside the tunic, or " sagum,"
immediately afterwani riding away
at a canter. Our three friends saw
Pilate, his head bent and his eyes on
the ground, slowly and ponderingly
re-enter the house by a screen-door,
the same through which he had come
out U|>on the balcony ; but the l.idy,
clasping her liands a little in front of
her forehea'I, gazed into the heavens
with a face .^shy pale, antl with eyes
from which tears were streaming.
It is a well-known and for centu-
ries universally rcccivetl tradition,
besides being a fact reconled by one
most respectable and trustworthy
author (who, besides, was not a Chris-
tian, but a Jew)— a fact without
which the .allusions to it in various
ancient authorities, together with
Phlegon the Chronologer's subse-
quent recital of Tiberius's extraordin-
ary conduct, would be unintelligible
and unarxountable — thai Pontius
Pilate, harassed by the unappeasable
reproaches of his wife, antl stun;^ by
something within hts own bo^m
which allowed litm peace no mure,
until (sleepless, and imal)le .igain,
unable for ever, to sleep) he be-
tiucalhed, some years afterwani. by
an awful death, whether intentional
or not, his name to a great Alpine
hill, a hill not thenceforth name<l, or
to be named, while time and moun-
Dion and the Srfyi
tainfi last, i>y any name Imt " Pilate's "
ainonj; distant and then barbarous
natiunii — It is well biowD, I say. that
I'ilaic sent to Tiberius CKJiar a lonj;
and minute relation concerning the
life, ihc death, and the dLsapi^caranne
froui the tomb of him whum he hdd
scoui^ed, and whom the Jews had
crucified, together with a notice of
the suiKrmalural wonders wrought by
him ; his previous noloriuus an-
nouncement of his own iuteiided
resurrection; the directly conscjuent
and equally notorious prc<:autions
taken to hinder it ; the disappear-
ance, in spite of this, of the body ;
the testimony of the soklien» llial
they were witnesses /a the abstrac-
tion, which they were unal>le to stop,
because they alleged that they were
not witnesies t>/ it (being buried in
deep) ; that, in fact, their testimony
proved nothing save the body's dis-
appearance from thcnvassively-scaled
tomb (which would have stood a
small siege) ; the failure of the Syna-
gogue to account for the body ; the
account of it by the dis4.'ip]es; aiid,
finally, the admissions of the I'hari-
sees that all llieir prophets had become
uncvplainaUe if this was not their
Mc?ti»iah, yet tJiat such a conclusion
was to thein impossible, because he
was to have been their kmg, and a
conquering king, and to have found-
ed on empire cxtendin}; through all
nations and tongues ; their stern and
cvcr-growmg disalTection to the Ko-
nim rule; the universal amazement.
cxciiemcot, and anxiety arising from
the cinuuistance that, while neither
the Synagogue nnr the 5oh)icr:( could
tlirow any light upon what had be-
come of the body, the disciples of
liim who had predicted his own re-
surre«.iion ex|jlaiucd the event openly
and fearlessly by statiiig that they
had again and again met him since
the previous /^a /nwrfy that they
cared for no protection except his
alone; that the de;ul was once more
among Utan — living, and Jieacefonh
immortal — iheir Master and liod;
the ultimate judge of this world, and
ihc foreiold Founder of an eveilail-
ing kingdom ! I'llaie added several
strange mid astoundmg |)articutar».
'I'hts, in a general way, is known;
and it is likewise known that Tiberius
Caesar was so deeply impressed by
the dispatch of the Jerusalem gover-
nor, arriving in his hands about the
same moment, .is we shall lintl in the
next chapter, when n strange inci-
dent (mirrattd by Mu/ank) Urok
place, that he suddenly convcne^l the
senate in a formal iiuliction, mui prO'
fosfj hf ihfm U> raiic a tnnpU to
Chriilj ami to rank him soUmniy
among tkf g^h of the empire ! Bui
not such nor of such acknowledg-
ments was to tie the kingdom of the
"jealous" and the only Cod.
Aglais, I'aulus. and Esther bad
assisted at a memorable pantomime.
They had beheld the mounted sol-
tlicT who rode with a memorable
letter to the sea-const ; they had seen
the vain efl'ort of him who had offered
the eople a choice between Uorab-
bas and •* the desired of nations," to
call the great of the earth into his
per|)lexities, to quiet his awakened
conscience, to turn aside from the
dread warnings whispered to his soul,
to lull — by futile means — an all too
late remorse.
CHAPTER XXVri.
In our last chapter, Paulus oikI
his Athcnuin mother had olfUined,
through Ksther's recital of her wak-
ing dream or vision, one lidle t;liinpsc
at that prison, that place of detention,
which she had lermed (as she herself
had heard it termed) "the dim, v.T,st
house," "the vait, dim city," and the
" dim, va^t kingdom."
'i'hc vague notion she could give
scene of inimurcment cannot
;ctc*l to prove intereHing lo so
large a numlicr, as Mr. Pickuick lias
cause to feci aii ttiteresL In his
gHmpscs of ihc " Fleet Prison," once
famou.^ in London. Rut such inter-
est as the former house of tltlcn-
tion commands is of a diflerent
kind, and those who may experience
Jt are a diOerent class. I'lato (as a
great criuc obsenc^) has been trans-
lated froiii age to age into some <lo-
zcn great modern languages, in order
that he might be read by about a
icorc of pcn>oDs in each generation.
But that score are the little fountains
of the large rivers that bear to the
sea the business of the worlil. Few
are directly taught by Kant, Sir Wil-
liam Hamilton, John Stuart Mill,
Cousin, or Italmcz ; but the millions
arc taught and think through those
fthoni M^v have taught (o think.
Between the good and evil origina-
ton or eonservjlors of idea», and
the huge mosses who do all their
menta\ itrocesscs at third hand, stand
the inicrijreters ; and these listen
with bent heads, while ihey hold
trumpets which are heard at the
cxtrcmiiirs of the earth.
Paulus lingeral in Jerusalem.
Weeks ricw by. Spring pas.sed into
summer; summer was passing into
autumn; and slill, from time to lime,
as, in the evenings, mutlicr and son
sat among the llowcrs on the flat
roof, I'Atlier would join them.
One night, she liad hardly appear-
ed, when Loiiginus the centurion fol-
lowed her, bearing a letter for Paulus,
which, he said, had just arrived at
Fort Antonio, by the hands of an
orderly, from the governor. The
letter was from Dionysius of Athens,
now I'uti dei tfuantnte, a member of
that great Areopagus of which the
French Academy is partly a modem
image; and it w.is written immedi-
ately after his return from a tour in
Kgypt, and a cruise through Uic
^gcan Sea, among the famous and
beautiful Greek Islands, to resume
his duties as a teacher of philosopiiy
and a professor of Che higher litera-
ture at Athens.
Paulus, after a word with his
mother and Esther, desired Longi-
nus to favor them with his company.
Sherbets and other a-freshments were
brought. They all sat down on the
semicircular wicker settle at the
corner of the roof, under the bower-
like branches of the large riiododen-
Fon; a small lamp was held for
Paulus by the Jewish serving-man,
and Paulus read the letter aloud lo
that sympathetic group. Kxtracts
wc will give, in the subslancc, con-
cerning two occurrences. The first,
as the reader sees, the listening cir-
cle learned from Dionysius; but we
have it in reality from Plutarch, upon
whose narrative Kusebius and many
other weighty authorities and grave
historians have cmnmentcd.
The captain and owner (for he
was both) of the vessel in which
Dion sailed back irom Egypt to
Adiens was an Egyptian of the
name of 'I'hramnus (some call him
Tliamus). He said that a very
weird thing hail hajipened to him
in his immediately previous trip,
which had been from Grec-cc to Italy.
Dion was at the time at Heliopolis,
in Egypt, with his friend, Uic cele-
brated philosopher Apollophancs,
who, though (like Dion himself)
only between twenty and thirty, had
already (in this also resembling
Dion) obtained an almost world-wide
fame for elo<]Ucucc, astronomicil sci-
ence, ^nd general learning. When
Thramnus ti.id neared the Echin.idcs
Islands, the wind fell, a sudden calm
came, and they had to drop anchor'
near Paxos. The night was sultry ;
every one was on deck. Suddenly,
bom the lonely shore, a loud, strange
i
I
■
72
fiott and the
voice hailed llie cnplain : " Thram-
nus!" it cried. None answered.
Again, louder than huni.in, cunic the
cry, " Thramnus !" Still none an-
swered. Vox ihetliird time, " 'I'hram-
nos !" was thundered from the lonely
coast. Then Thramnus himself
called out : " Who hails ? What is
it?" Shrill and far louder llian before
was the voice in reply : " When you
reach the Lagoon of j'ahts, announce
then that the Great Pan is dead."
'Ilicreujion, everything became si-
lent, save the sluggish wash of the
waves under the vessel's side. A snrt
of council was at once he!d on board ;
and first ihey took a note of (he
exact dale and the hour. They
found that it was exscUy the ninth
hour of the sixth jeiia, nr cUy, in
the montli of March, in the fourth
year (according with I'hlcgon's cor-
rected and checked astronomical
chronulogy) of the two hundred and
second Olympiad : in other words,
this, being translated into modem
reckoning, means, six in the after-
noon of Friday, the 25th of March,
in the thiny-third year of our Lord.
Diun breaks off in his letter here to
remark: "You will learn prcT^-ntly
what happened to me and to A|k)11o-
phancs, and to the whole renowned
city of Heliopolis, at the same hour
exactly of that same day ; and it is
the coincidence between the two
occurrences which has fixed them so
deeply in my mind."
Well ;, he proceeds to say that
Thramnus. having asked his passen-
gers, who happenet) to be unusually
numerous, whether they considered
he ought to obey this mysterious man-
date, and having suggested himself
ll»al, if, on their reaching Pnlus, or
Pelodes. the wind held fair, they
should not lose time by stopping, but
if the wind were tlicrc to fail, and
they were forced to halt at that place,
then it might be no harm to pay at-
tention to the injunction, and see
what came of it, they were all unani-
mously of hii) opii^ion. Thereupon,
as though by some design, in the
midst ot a calm the breeze sprang up
freshly again, and Ihey proceeded on
their way. When ihcy came to the
indicated spot, all were again on deck,
unable to forget the strange incident
fit Paxos; and, un a sudden, the
wind fell, and they were becalmed.
Thramnus, auortijngly, after a
pause, leaned over the ship's side,
and, as Iou(!ly as he could, shouted
that the ^'eat Pan was ticad. No
sooner liad the words been pro-
nounced than all round ihe vessel
were heard a world of sighs issuing
from the deep and in the air, with
groans, and nioanings, and long,
wild, bitter wailings innumerable,
as though from vast unseen multi-
tudes and a host of creatures plung-
ed in dismay and despair, 'lliosc on
board were stricken with amazement
and terror. When they arrived in
Rome, and were recounting the ad-
ventures of tlieir voyage, this wiid
story sent its rumor far and near, and
made such an impression that il
reache<l the cars oi Tiberius Ctesar,
who was tlien in the capital. He
sent for Thramnus ami several of the
passengers, as Plutarch records for
us, particularly one, Kpiihcrses, who
afterward, at Alliens, witli hb son
^milianus, and the traveller Philip,
used often to teli the storj' till his
death. Tiberius, after ascenaining
ihe facts, sunmioned all the learned
men who chanced then to be in Rome,
and requested their opinion.
Their opinion, whit h is extant) mat-
ters little. Ihe holy fathers who
have investigated tliis occurrence aa*
ilivided in their views. It must be
remembered that Plutan h relates an-
other truly wonderful fact universal in
its range, as being notoriously simul-
taneous with the singular local a<iven-
Dion and Ihe Sibyls
n
ture above described — the sudden
silence of IVlpIii, and all the other
famous pagan oracles, from the 8lh
day before tlie Kalends of April, in llie
3o3d Olympiad, at six p.m. At that
hour, on that day (Mnrch 25, Fri-
day, Anno Domini i^, those oracles
were stricken dumb, and nevermore
returned answcn to their votaries.
■Coupling these phenomena together,
in presence of a thousand other por-
tents, the holy fathers think, one
of them, that the enemy of
n an(i of CJod, and that enemy's
gions. were grieving and wailing,
&t ihc hour which Plutarth si)ccifies
(the rime of evening, and on the very
day, when our Lord <iied). at the
Jtdemption just then consummatetl ;
ers, that the Almighty permilleil
lure " io sigh through all her
in sympathy with the vo-
otory sufferings of her expiring
rd.
" Now. hearken," [-.roceeded Dion
in his letter, " to how I was occupied,
hundreds of miles away, in Helio-
poKs, at the time, the very hour of the
very day, when so wild and weird a
•s|;onse came from the powers oflhc
r and the recesses of the deep to
,03c who shouted forth, amid a calm
the silent breast of the ..^Egean
that the great Pan (* the great
All,* ' the universal Lord,' as you,
my friends, are aware it means in
Greek) had died !
I had goncont, shortly before the
hhour on this sixth day, to takea
11 in the tree shaded suburbs of
Hcliopolis, with my friend ApoUo-
>hancs. Suddenly, the sun, in a hor-
rible manner, withdrew iis light so
cffcctu.^lly that we saw the stars. It
was the time of ihe Hebrew Pasch,
and the season of the month when the
moon U at the full, and the period of
An eclipse, or of the tnoon's apparent
conjunction with the sun, was well
known not to be llien; independ-
ently of which, two tmcxampled and
unnatural portents, contrary to the
laws of the heavenly bo*lics, occurred :
fir^t, tlie moon entered the sun's disc
from Ihe eaif ; secondly, when she
had covered the disc and touched
the opposite diameter, instead of pass-
ing onvtarA, she rrce(i<rd, and resumed
her former position in the sky. All
the astronomers will tell you that
Ihesc two facts, and also the time of
the eclipse itself, arc equally in posi-
tive <Ieviation from the otherwi-sc
cvcrlaaiing laws of Uie sidereal or
planetary itiovemcols. I felt that
cither this universal frame was perish-
ing or the Lord and I'ilot of nature
wxs himself suffering; and I turned
to Apollophanes, and, ' O light of
philosophy, glass of science I' I
said, * explain to me what this
means.'
" ilefore answering mc, he required
that wc should Together apply the
astronomical rule, or formula, of
Philip Arida:us ; after doing which
with the utmost care, he said: * These
changes arc supernatural ; tliere is
some stupendous revolution or ca-
tastrophe occurring in divine affairs,
affecting the whole of the Supreme
Being's creation.'
" You may be sure, my friends, that
we both took a careful note of the
hour, the day, the week, month, year ;
and I intend to inquire everywhere
whether in other lands any similar
phenomena have ap[>earcd ; and what
overwhelming, unexampled event can
have taken place on tliis little planet
of ours to bring the heavens them-
selves into confusion, and coerce all
the powers of nature into so awful a
manifestarion of sj-mpalhy or of hor-
ror."
He ended by conveying to Aglais
and Paulus Uie loving remembrance
of the Lady Damarais.
Agl.iis and her win and Ksther
were SDcUbofiud with amazement
when this letter had been read; and
Paulus exclaimed :
" What will Dion s;iy when he
hears that we also saw this very dark-
ness at the same moment ; that the veil
of the Tem|jle lierc ha:i been rent in
twain; and that he who expired
amid these and so many otiier por-
tents, Ksther, and in the full culnu-
nntton o( the prophecies, is again liv-
ing, s[>caking, acting, the Conqueror
of death, as he w;is the Lord of life ?"
" Let us go to Athcus ; let us bring
our friendii. the I,ady Uamaral.t .and
our dear Dion, to learn and under-
stand what we have ourselves been
mercifully taught."
So spoke Agiais, offering at the
same time to listhcr a mother's pro-
tection and love along ilie journey.
Paulus was silent, but gazed plead-
ingly at Kslher.
It was agreed. But in the politi-
eal dangers of that reign, Paulus, ow-
ing to his fame itself, ha<l to take so
many preraiiiions [hat muth lime
was unavoiitably lost.
Meanwhile, he had again asked
the Jewish maiden to become his
wife. Need we say thai this time
his suit vms successful ? I'aulu<> and
Esthct were married.
Cliriatianity in the interim grew
from month to month and from
year to year, and our wanderers had
but just [irrivcd at last in Athens in
lime to hear, near the slatuc of " the
unknown Oo<i," while Damarats, the
friend of Agiais, and Dion, the friend
of then) all, stood near, a m;tjestic
stranger, a Koman cili/cn, him who
had sat at the feet of Gamaliel, ihe
gloriotK Aposde of tlie Gentiles, who
bad been " faithful to the heavenly
Vision," though he had not seen the
Rcsurrenion, explain to the Athe-
nians " him whom ibey had igno-
ranlly worshipped." And when the
sabhme messenger of glad tidings re-
lated the circumstances of the Pas-
sion, the scenes which had been
enacted in Pilate's house (so well re-
membered by them), the next day's
dread event, and when he touched
upon the preternatural accompani-
ments of that final eal;ibtrophe. and
dcscrilied the darkness whit.:h had
overspread the earth from tlic sixlh^^f
hour of that day, Dionysius, turning ^^f
pale, drew out the tablets which he
carried habitually, examined Ihe
date of which, at HeliupLiIis, he and
ApoHophunes had juintly uiatie note,
and showed symptoms of an emotion
such as he had never before experi-
enced.
He and Damarais, as is wdl
known, were among tlie converts of
Saint Paul on that great occasion.
How our other diaraciers fell we
need not describe.
Yielding to the entreaties of their
beloved Dionysius, ihcy actually
loitered in Greece for a few years,
during which Christianity had out-
stri|>ped them and penetrated to
Home, where il was soon welcom-
ed with fire and sMord, and where
'' die blood of martyrs became the
seed of Christians." E.sther shud-
dered as she heard names <iear to
her in the murmured accounts of
dreadful torments.
Resuming their wcslwani eout»,
how Paulus rejoiced that he had in
time sold everything in It^ly, and
was armed with opulence in the
midst of new and sir.iiige trials J
lliey gave Italy a wide oiling,
and passing round by the south of
Germany, with an armed escort
which ThcDits (who had also be-
come a Christian, and had, wfatk:
they were in Ga-ecc, sent for Pru-
deniia) commanded, they never ceas-
ed their travels nil they re.nch«l the
banks of the Seine ; and tliere, un-
discernible to the viiuon of Koman
tyranny in the distance, they obtain-
ed, by means of the treasures they
J
had brought, hundreds of stout
Gaulish hands to do their bidding,
and soon founded a peaceful home
amid a happy colony. I^ence they
sent letter, to Agaiha and I'aterculus.
Two arrivals from the realms of
civilization waked into excitement
ihe peaceful tenor of their days.
Paulus liimsclf, hearing of the death
of Patcrculus, ventured quickly back
to Italy, in the horrible, short reign
uf Caligula, and fet< lied hi& sister
Agatha, now a widow, to live with
ihem. Later still, they were sur-
prised to behold arrive among them
one whom they had often mourned
as lokt to ihem fur evtT. It was
Dionysius. He came lo found
Chrisiijnity in Gaul, and settled,
amidst the friends of his youth, on
the banks of the -Seine. Often they
reserted, with a clear light, to the
favorite themes of their boyhood ;
and often the principal personages
ho throughout ihis slory have, we
jpe, interested the reader, gathered
b'ATound ihal same Diony&ius (who is,
[indeed, the Sl Denis of France),
ad ItstcDetlf near the place where
i'olrc Dame now towers, to the first
lisfaop of Paris, correcting the theo-
ifhich he had proi^ounded to the
igus uf Athens a^ tlie bi>t of
the great Greek philosophers.*
* The RoiTUu Or«rl»ry tltiu b|>ea1u oT St. Dio-
til .ill- ■
of Aihcns. mip of the judsct of
n, w»» rersed tu ereiy Und at
»hlluyeliii Ibcciints
I (HI ilic (lay oo which
* ... ricil that tbo sun was
BciifiKtl uul Lit UkK ic][uUi cuune. ke eu:liiiineil :
One Other arrival greeted, indeed,
the ex|wtrialed but happy settlement.
Longinus found his wayainong ihcm ;
and as the proud ideas of a social
s>Titem upon which they had turned
their back no longer tyrannized over
Agkiis or Paulus, the brave man,
biding his time and watching oppor-
tunities, found no insumiouniiible
obstacles in obtaining a fair reward
fur twenty years and more of patient
and unalterable love. He and Aga-
tha were married.
'Either the CimI of mtarc Is ntltring. or the
univcfw it on Ibu jioirit of rii^mluiion.' When
BticiwaNl the Apottlc I'aai camuliiAthcnt. 4111I,
bciiiK ted to the Arcvpisui. cxplkltieU the ■Iiic-
nine wliith he pmcbct), inctatnE that C'tiiint
the L-^rd had tiK-fi.aad that Ihc rlraiUvouId a!l
rciiifn to life. Dli>n]-«iut bclieveil wiili many inh-
en. He «■» then bafl'/eJ by the ati'ntU kiiiI
placed ovcf tliL- i.Iiui[:li in .\ihcUB lie ultciward
came to Kwnie, MhiMiie he wa« »ent to Gaul t>y
I'npc Cletneot to pfeacb iJie Uu&iicl. Kunlirti*.
& Itiiinl, anil KlcuUicriu*, ■ Jeaon. folbweii hiin
lo Patia. Heio ho was KcourKcd, inKcihcr wiih
hUrAmpanloiis. by the IVclcU I-cmiiiilua, be-
cause he hnil iimvenc.l many to Lhrlitlanily ;
and, a* hDcoiiliriucit wlili llie KTcate%i comiancy
to preach Hie iMth, ba w*s aficiivuiil Hlicicfa-
cJ upiin a gridiron ower a fire, and tuftiKcil In
Rtar.y other wnys; a* were tikewitc hi* compan-
ions. After bearing all tlIL■^c huRciiiix^ciiiiniee-
ously and fiUJiy, un ilie iiiuDi ol (J. :i>!)er. Dii>.
ny«iiivnon- rooic th.in a hundrol year* of age.
logcClicr Willi llic uUien, wai t<chr«di:d. Tli>;r«
ift a Iradilion Uial he look up his Iirail after It
Ltd bna cut off. and walkeil with it In Lits fwods
a diitanc«o(two Ro:iiaii miles. He wrote mIbiU
rable and moil beautiful tM>akii on the tliviae
names, on ibo hnveitly and ecclnlaMical hler-
ai cby, ou Biyslkal tbeulogy ; and a number ol
others."
The Abb^ rVarra* ha» pitblisbed n work on the
i]iie<ll'iii 01 the lilenlilyol Dicuysiu* <•! \\hea9
with UiunyMui. lint Ui^up of I'aria, auiulnliiit,
wiih trrcat Mtrcnvth and cogency of arKuraent,
tlic nltirinaiivv dlde. Ttie aulheiitlt-ity of the
vrDiks ubirh |ta^i uiiiler tiis canie, although de-
n<c<l by fimrly all roodern critic*. Iiai been ile-
feti-leil by ■^Igr. Daiboy. Aicbtii^liop of i*ails.
- Eo. C. W.
THE END,
THE RACE THCORV.
" The key to the success of the
I'russian ornu in the contest with
France is found in the decadence
of the Latin and the virility of the
Ciennan race. Ilie Latin pco)tlcs
are corrupl; their star is waning;
their moral vigor is gone; while the
Gcnnan nations are still young and
fresh. German ctiltiire, German
iilc.is German muscle and energy^
are taking the place of the decrepit
French civilization. The German
victories are hut the outward ex-
prcsMon of this hi^itorinal process.
We are on the threshold of a new
epoch in the history of civilization
— of a new period which we can
appropriately cidl the Gcnnau era."
Such it the theory which now pos-
sesses the German niind, and Is ex-
pressed in the newspapers, pamphlets,
on the railroads, and in the inns all
through Gcnnany, witli great national
self-complacency. Even many Scla-
Tonians and Italians adopt this view.
'Ilie conquest of the Latin by the
(iemianic races; the downfall of tlic
former; the world-wide sovereignty
of the latter — tlicse arc high-sound-
ing phrases which have a dramatic
effect and are popular in Germany.
But do they express a Iriilh ? Are
they philosophically and historically
correct in view of the actual conili-
lion of political and social life? In
tiic first place, what and where are
the Latin races about which we have
been hearing so muc!i during the past
ten years? The southern inhabitants
of the Itahnn peninsula can by no
claim to I.aiin origin; for it is well
known that they were anciently
Greek colonics, which have since
internurried witli Komnns, Span-
iards, and Normans. Hlie Lom-
bards of the north of Italy are
mostly of Celtic and not of Latin
origin, since thty inhabit the ancient
GaUia Cisalpina. The old Iberians
of Spain were not Latins; and they
are now mixed with Gothic, Moorish,
Celtic, and Ilasque blood. As for
Krance, its very name iin]>orts that
the Latins gave a very small contin-
gent towards fonning a nation which
is certainly of Celtic and Gennan
origin, and many of whose [>rovinoes
are purely of German race, as Alsace
and Lorraine. Where, ihen» shaJI
we find the Latin races ?
There arc none properly so-called ^i
Looking at the origin of languageS|,^^|
we may, indeed, speak of Latin, oiv ^^
nithcr, of Roman nations. In this
reganl, we may class the Italians,
Sjianiartis, -Portuguese, and l-rcndi
together, on account of the Roman
element prevailing in their tongues,
in opjwsition to the Sclavonic-Ger-
man, the Celtic-Anglo-Saxon- Han-
ish-Norroan forming the world-wide
English, the Scandinavian, and the
pure Sclavonic families. Does this
J
S theory mean that luiions of the same
tongue should all be poHitcoUy and
SociaJly united, fluuhhh fur a pcriuJ,
^d tJicn (Krisli tugcUicr? Under-
stood in ihis u-.-iy, ihe race theory
would have few defenders. It may
Lc true that naiioiis, like indivi-
duals, must live .1 dc5nile period
— rise, Qourish, and decay. It is
true, hisluric.dly, that every nation
has an era of prosperity and an era
of decadence. But when we come
CO the qucAtion of universal sove-
Kcignty, we may ask, Hlien did the
Roman nations ever cxcri:ii»c it?
'JEach of them has had its golden
.ge of literature, art, science, and ma-
terial prosperity; but none of them
has lud, for any length of time, the
[Sovereignty of Kuropc. Not Italy,
r instanrr, unless we go back to the
'xtays of old Rome, and then wc have
not an Italian but a specifically Ko-
ttian supremacy. Not Spain, for al-
though she exercised great power Ik:-
;ond the oceim, and for a time pos-
Bosed a preponderating influence in
Europe, fiom the reign of Cliarlcs V.
lo Ihe hrst succc&sor uf Philip 11.,
yet who could call the accidental
union of so many crowns on the head
<of a Hapsburg prince a universal
vcrcignty for Spain ? Lastly,
'prance had her age of glory dur-
ing the reign of Louis XIV., whose
ioflucDcc, or diat uf the Nn[>oleumc
en, cannot be denied. Vet what
« separate the reign of the great
King from that of the great Em-
peror ! Great as nas France under
Louis XIV. and fionaportc, she fell
to the second rank of nations during
the Kcittoration and under the July
dynasty. As leader in the Revolu-
tionary movement, she has always
controlled Europe, even in hcT peri-
ods of politiiral iveokness, from the
days of the encyclopBL-dists to the
prcfccnt time. Even Germany ac-
knowledges the sway of French litc-
Europes Future.
77
rature, politeness, and taste. Victo-
rious berhn copies the fosliious and
manners of couquercd France, as
ancient Rome, after conquering
.Athens, became the slave of Athen-
ian civilization.
Germany, too, must have already
passed the period of her maturity, ac-
cording to the race theory ; for, un-
der the Saxon Othos, under the Ho-
hcnstaufens, and Charles V., until the
'i'hirty Vears* War broke tlie strength
of the empire, she was superior even
to France. Does not German ge-
nius in its peculiar walks rule the
world now ? German science, Ger-
man music ? Does not England, usu-
ally considered as belonging to the
German race, rule the commerce of
the world ? And was not herpolitical
influence on the Continent until re-
cently all-powerful ?
No ! political sovereignly can be
explaiix'd by no race tlieory. From
the fall uf the first Napolcua until
1848, England with the powers of
the " Holy Alliance," or rather with
Au-iiria and Russia, held the first
place in European politics. From
the beginning of 1848 until iJie Cri-
mean war, England and Russia were
in the foreground ; after that war it
was France and England ; now it is
Vnissia. These are but e.v.imples of
the political fluctuations which follow
each other in continual change, and
are seldom of long duration.
And do not the champions of the
German race theory- sec tliat there is
a laughing heir behind them in the
Sclavonic supremacy ? Once admit-
ting the race theory, we must confess
that the Panslavist argues well when
he says: "'l"he Roman nations are
dead; die German are on the point
of dying. They once conquered the
worid; tlicir present effort is the last
dicker of tlic expiring light which
points out the road to as. After
thctn comes out race, with frchh vig-
i
or on the worWs scene. Europe's
future is Pan slavism,"
The whole theory is radically false.
There are no niorf primitive racc-i to
lake the place of the old ones. The
Germans are as old as the Romans ;
or, rather, the Romans were simply
Germans civilized before their breth-
ren. Rusaa alone is young in Europe,
hut she has nothing new to give us;
and phj-sical force, without a new so-
cial or moral system arcompnnying
it to establish a conquest, never pre-
vails long. We cannot, therefore,
jud^jc of Europe's future by this the-
ory of races.
The power of regeneration must
be sought for elsewhere.
II.
i.rnrRAi.isM.
One would have thoujihl that the
sanguinary- war of 1870 should have
dispelled the illusions of liberalism
for ever, lly liberalism, we mean
that parly which believes in the prin-
ciples of 17S9, whose ideal is to have
the middle classes, or bour^smie, the
ruling power, to have society equally
divided, to have an atheistical slate,
and loobtain eternal pracc through un
limited materia! proj;rci»s, which %vould
identify the interests of uations. Lib-
enilism, rationalism, and materialism
are different names for the same sys-
tem. A state without God, sover-
eignly of capital, dissolution of society
into individuals, united by no other
bond than the force of a lilieral
parliament majority under the con-
trol of wealth ; niateri.al prosjjcrity of
the middle clas.ses, founded on gain
and pleawre, with the removal of all
historical traditions, all ecclesiastical
precepts — such is the dreatn of this
" shopkeepers' system." Has not
the present war dispelled the dream
of happiness arising from mere ma-
terial prosperity ? We doubt it.
Notwithstanding the many hard les-
sons which the liberal school b-is
received since the days of Mirabcau
ami the (iirondins. from the lawyers
of the July dynasty lo OUivier, it
never scenw lo grow wiser. It is su-
perficial, never looks into the essence
of d)in|;;s. It is in vain to charge the
present misfortunes of two great na-
tions on the illibcralism of Napo*
Icon and Bismarck, and thus exalt
the merits of liberalism ; for IJbernlbm
or mere material prosperity was at
the bottom of all their plans. From
1789 to 1870, France, with few ex-
ceptions, was governed by lil:>eralism ',
and the revolutions begat the iwtu-
ralconscqncnces of (his system in an-
archy and mililarj' dcsjiotism. France
during this period 1ms made the
most wonderful matcri.nl progress.
W'c rend l.itely in a liberal jonmal
that the only remedy for the rejuve-
nation of slates was " the inviola-
bility of tl)e indi\ndual, and respect
for ihc popular will." Always the
same emptiness of phraseology with
these impracticabk- tbbblcTs in philo-
sophy. What will you do if the infal-
lible " popular will " refuses lo recog-
nize the inviolability of individcals?
Cannot these gentlemen sec that
their system merely opens the door
for socialism ? They lake away re-
ligion, and teach the epicurean the-
ory of enjoyment ; they destroy coil*
stitutional forms of government, and
base authority on the ever shifting
popular whim. Socialism cotncS af-
ter them, and says, " Vou say ther«
is no God, and I m\ist have jjlcasure.
I have counted myself, and find that
I am the majority ; therefore, f make
a law against capital and property.
You must be satisfied, for you are
my teacher, and I merdy follow ont
your principles to their logical con-
sequences."
J
SOCIALISM.
A Ntw era is dawning. Not a
mere political period, but a complctt;
social change, for ihe actual order
of thin>;s is diwrder, a tomjiound
of injustire and abuses. We musi
have fnitcmily and equality. Away
with the noMes ; away with the
weahhy classes : away with property ;
all thtQ};s must be in common, lite
hapi>in.f*v^ of Europe will never be
realwed until socialism rcigna su-
pretnc. Kuch is the socialistic: iheor)-.
But doci not every one see that its
readucation is impossible, and brin]^
us back to barbarism ? The right of
property is essential to so<:iciy. It is
contrary to nature lo expect that
roankiml will give up this right ti
a whim of drones — a system
Ung lo which the lazy and in-
dolctit would have as much right to
property as the industrious and hard-
worVing. If all is to be common
properly, who wHIl work, who will
strive lo acijuire, whose ambition will
be arouietl. whose interest excited
for Ihc attainment of something in
which he will have no right or tide ?
And in fact, both liberals and socialists
tisc words which they do not mean ;
tbey are far more despotic when they
get power than those whom they are
continually attacking. At the Berne
Congrcw of 1868, a socialist orator
taid : •* We cannot admit that each
man shall choow his own faith ; man
has not the right to choose error;
libcrt)- of conscience is our weapon,
but not one of our principles ! " By
error he meant Christianity. In fact,
ultra- radicalism is simply ultm-des-
potism. Men blamed the despotism
of Napoleon III.; but look at the
desi>otistn of C^mbclla, and remem-
ber the despotism of Robespierre
and the " Reign of Terror." De-
stroy religion, and you have nothing
left but egotism. Man becomes to
his broiher-man either a wo!f or a
fox.
Socialism may indeed have its day
in Euro[}c's future. The logic of
liberalism leads to it ; but it will be a
fearful day of disorder and revolu-
tion ; a sad day for the wealthier
classes; but siill only a day. Ivarth-
quakes are possihU-, and sometimes
they engulf cities ; but they pass
away, and quiet returns. New vege-
tation springs up on the ruins. If
socialisQi ever gains Kuropc, it will
vanish in virtue of the r€(iuctio ad
abiurdum ; therefore its master)' can
never be pennanent.
IV,
THK INTERNATIONAL POUCV OF EU-
ROPEAN STATES SINCE 1789.
Since neither the race theory, nor
liberalism, nor socialism, can enable
us to solve the problem of Kuropc's
future, let us pass to other consider-
ations, glance rapidly over the past,
study tlie present external and inter-
nal condition of the continent, in
order to be able to form a judgment
on tlie subject which wc are discuss-
ing.
Tlie French Revolutioti of 1789
had its effects all over Kurope. In
France since tliat date, liberahsm,
anarchy, and Byiantinism have held
alternate sway. The Bonaparte in-
vasions carrietl through Ihe rest of
Europe the liberal principle of
secularization with the Cade Napo-
l/on. The writings of the philoso-
phersandcncyrIopxdists,and Joseph-
ism, had prepared the way. The re-
action of 1S15 was based on Ma-
sonic theories of philanthropism
and religiovis indifTereniism. The
Em|>eroi Alexander and the Holy
Alliance were infected with these
yield's. The revolutionary move-
I
racnt in Gcnnauy, Italy, and Spain
has since been simply against olTicc-
holders and ihc police. The in-
fluence of religion has been ig-
nored. Palinerelon was the coty-
phaus of the liberals, ami during;
his time English dijilomacy played
into the handi of all the irreligious
and rcvolutionar)- elements in Europe.
This unprincipled system was fmally
repref-ented by Napoleon 1 1 1., in
f.'hose diplomacy ilm ilieory of'* non-
intervention," of "nationalities," of
*' sovereignty of the people," were
put forward as the tyjies of the per-
fection of modem society. In point
of fact, they are mere words used as
a eloak to cover up Macchiavellistn.
The "balance uf power" theory,
of purely material import, ruleil in
tSts, but it soon gave way before
the iiiQuences of the " liberal " doc-
trines of humanitari.'uiihin and the
race system. Religious convictions
.ind Christian instilutior.s were ignor-
ed in politics, and a system of police
substituted in tjicir place. Greece
received its king in conseijuence of
this system which has prevailed in the
external relations of Kuropc since
1830. In 1S4S, the rcvulutions and
insuricctions in Europe were merely
premature appearances of the social-
istic clement in liberalLsm. Napo-
leon 111., by his Macchiavellian policy,
which Guixot has happily termed
" moderation in evil-doiug," coerced
them. He gave all the sanctiua of
French power to llie principles of the
liberal school which he was supposed
to tcprcsent. On the principle of
" non-inlervcnlion," he prevented the
interference of Austria and Spain in
favor of the Holy Sec. He pro-
tected the seizure of Naples and
Sicily ; approved the invaiion of the
I'apal Stales, and substituted, in ilic
place of d)-na&Uc right and popular
right, [he colossal delusion of the
pUti^^iiU. On the naiioiiality theory,
he allowed Austrian power to be de-
stroyed, and founded, in opposition
to all French Interests, Italian and
(ierman unity.
Although ver>' defective since it
ignored the full claims of religion,
stilt there was a fixed public law in
Europe from 1S15 to iSjg. Respect
for the minor powcn>; the sentiment
of the solidarity of thrones against
the eflbrts of L'arbonarism and the cos-
mopolitan revolutionary party; and
regard for treaties, characterise that
period. Tlic traditions of the people
were respected; and treaties repress-
cd avarice or ambition; and there was
real peace in Europe — llie peace of
order, according to the beauliful ex-
pression of St. Augustine. It is true,
far-seeing minds saw the threatening
cloud on the horizon of the future, and
knew that the system of 1815 did not
rest on the riglit foundations. Still,
even niere external forms are a pro*
ttction.
i3ut since 1859 law or treaties no-
longer stem to bind. ThcTc secnu
to be nothing 6xed in the public law
of Europe. All is whim ; might in>
stead of nghl, sentiment instead of
principle, i'owcrs can no longer
unite, fortlicy cannot trust each other.
Instead of all being united to protect
the individual state, now all arc hos-
tile to each other. Italy insists on
unification in spite k){ law and right,
and to gain her purpose depends to-
day on Prussia; yesterday, it was on
France. She hates Austria, and Aus-
tria acts as if she did not perceive
the hatred, and will not iiucrrcrc lest
she might oflcnd the liberals. Vienna
is in dread of ilcrhn and Sl reteis-
Imrg ; St. Petersburg is in dread of
licrhn. England looks jealously at
Russia, who, meanwhile, is arming in
grim silence, and wiUi occasional
manifestations of her old predilec-
tions. France counts now for noth-
ing. Prussi.i, which Iifteen years
4
Iittrop/s Future.
ago was allowerl merely by the favor
of Amtrb lo sit in the congress of
the great iH>wt!rB. is now the only
great milit.iry power in Europe. We
say military^ for it is not the real, the
hid<lcn power. As in the Greek my-
thology grim, inexorable fate ruled
above all the gods, so the head lodge
of the secret societies makes of the
FruHsian leaders its blind tools; Italy
obeys it; \apoleon was iw slave;
Austria, iis sacnftce; and now Prussia
also must bend the knee. Such is
Eurape ten years after the Franco-
Austrian war: the Europe of Met-
teniich, Ncsselrodc, and Wellington.
V.
THK INTEKKAI, POI.ICV OF THE EURO-
PEAN STATES SINCE 17S9.
The revolution has changed the
internal |>oltcy of stales as wl-U as their
cxtrmal relations. Forty years ago,
Donoso Cones remarked that Eng-
land vo* endeavoring to introduce
its constitut'ion into the Continent ;
and that the Continent would try to
introrfoce its difftTcni governmental
sysiruu into England. We are now
witnesses of the truth of this obser-
vation. Democratic ideas are gain-
ing ground in Great liritain ; and
bureaucracy, with its centralizing
tendencies, is replacing the English
theory of self-government. Mihtary
conscriptions, along with universal suf-
frage, will come next. Owiug to the
extension of the franchise, the House
of Commons is losing its aristocratic
chancter. and the House of Lords
its influence. England will go the
mvf of France.
We sec what the liberal sj-stcra be-
gotten of the revolution has caused
in France. An enervated, un-self-
reliant, Uisunitcd generation, with-
out tr.nihiions, organixaiion, consis-
tcncy, faith, or true patriotism, is its
VOL. XIII. — 6
result. The decrees of tlie Codt
Napoleon concerning inheritances
hiLve broken up families ; the de-
partmental system has destroyed
the provincial peculiarities in which
lies the people's strength ; the system
of common lodging houses for the
laboring classes has destroyed respect
for authority, and afforded ready
material for the purposes of despot-
ism or secret .societies.
In Italy and Spain, we see the same
spectacle. The French, led into Italy'
by the first Napoleon, brought iliither
the principle of centralization and
a revolutionary code. After Napo-
leon's downfall, the restored princes
allowed too much of his system to
remain. This arose from a want of
judgment. The ancient municipali-
ties were destroyed, even to some ex-
tent in the States of the Church;
I'iedmont receiving most of the poi-
son, and thus becoming the hearth of
the revolution. Constitutionalism,
anarchy, and military governments in
^jain pro^-e the working of revolu-
tionary doctrines. The old freedom
of that Catholic country, the growth I
of centuries, gives way before a nom-
inal liberty, but a real despoiism.
In (jermany, loo, centra I i/ntioti
carries the day. This country had
the good fortune to be comitosed of
several independent states, without
any great central power, and the
provincial spirit consequenlly re-
mained strong. But now two un-
Gcrman words, "unificarion" and
*' uniformity," expressing un-German
tendencies, arc carrying the Germans
into despotism. Germany will be
Prussianized, and Prussia German-
izc\l, say the uniticators; but all will,
in the end, be compelled to give w.-iy
before the republicans aixi socialists.
The high schools of Germany are all
infected with the revolutionary doc-
trines and Masonic ideas.
\V'hat shall wc say of Austria?
82
Barfifif's Future.
Thunks to " libcmlism," it has dis-
appeared, and ta now a dualism in \K»
povemment and tri-parliamentary in
\if- system.
'I'iie licentiousncRS of the i^ress
helps tt) flL-stroy even-ihing stable in
govemments. Journals without prin-
ciple, honor, or religion, filled with
:andals, ed itcd by adventurers,
rhosc only object is to make money
and scrvf faithfully their o^yneTs,
issue (heir thousands of copies daily
to corrupt the public mind. Kvil
spreads more rapidly thiui good, and
ronHei|uently the influence of the
religious press is weak compared lo
that of the revolutionary papers, sub-
sidized by the agents of seiret socie-
ties or by the unprincipled men of
wealth, who readily purchase the aitl
of corrujitcd tniuds to help on their
ambition.
VI.
THE POSmON OFTHK CHUROI UNDER
THC LIBERAL S%'3TEM.
GovKKSMENTS have therefore ceas-
ed to In: Christian, and have become
'* liberal," that is. infidel. Acrording
10 liberalJMn. religion is the private
affair of each individual. Civil so-
I icly should recognize no dogma, no
MTorsbip, no God. We know well
tiiai this principle, from its very intrin-
sic absurdity, cannot be jiractirallv
carried uut. For instance, Goil wilt
be rrr.iiKiiized when it is necessary tn
swear fiilclitj' lo a constitution, and
the external ftirms of religion will be
invoked at ihe opcninj; of a new
railroad ur a. session of pailiameni.
Bur in principle the liberal state
ignores all positive rcb^:ious belief.
Its only doguia is that a Inu passed
by a majority of virtcrs remains a
law until the next majority abrogates
it. This s)-stera is oUled " separation
tf church and stale, " or " a free
church in a free stale." Tlien fol-
low broken concordulii — in France
and liavaria, broken by organic
articles: in Baden, Piedmont^ Austria,
and Spain, destroyed by the will of
the prince and cabinet ministers.
Then fullows a usurpeil educatioiiul
system, in which the rt{;ht5 of liic
family and church are disregarded.
In all of tliesc Males, more or less,
there is a public persecniion of the
church ; a repression of her rights;
enthrallment of her ministers; inva-
sion of her privileges. Uod is in
heaven, cunsequcntly the church
should confine herself to the sanctu-
ary; That is to say, God does not
trouble himself abnul the conduct of
natiuns. politics, legislation, or science.
These arc all neutral affairs, over
which his authority does not extend,
and therefore the church has nothing
lo do with public hfe. So say the
liberals. They take from Goil and
give it to C.Tsar, the modem civil
divinity, all that ts his, except one
thing which it is impossible for thcQi
to take from him, .ind that is con-
science. I'iiey endeavor to estrange
conscience from God more and more
by educ.ition, by the jire^s, and by
public opiriion manufactured by the
leaders of the secret societies. Hence
idl the talk about " lil>erty of con-
science. " For the same cnil, they
talk of toleration, but they mane
simply inditierence, which hence be-
forncs the shibboleth of the par^
which the church unceasingly op-
poses!
This is, in a few words, the actual
comliilon of the church in European
society. It is an unnatural condition.
Even M.icrhiavclli says : " Princes
and republics whidi would remain
sound must, before ail things guanl
the ceremonies of religion and keep
them crcrin honor, 1 hereforc, there
is im siuer Mgn of the decay of a
stale than when it sees the worship of
J
Europe's Future.
83
the Most High disregarded." Mac-
chiavelli spoke from the lessons of
experience and as a mere utiHtarian.
Our modem utilitarian politicians
have not his capacity or penetration.
They are mere superficial observers
of fact, and cannot see that the fum-
mum utiU is the sumiimm jus. This
fault lies in ignoring the assistance of
the supernatural order — in their erron-
eous opinion that there is no absolute
truth. The church is not a hospital
for diseased souls ; Cliristianity is not
a mere specific for individual mala-
dies ; but as our Lord has taught us
• to pray, " Thy kingdom come . . .
OD earth as it is in heaven," so must
revealed truth pervade the earth ;
percolate through civil society, not
merely in its individual members, but
in all its natural relations, family, mu-
nicipal, and state. This is what the
church has taught Europe, and only
by conforming with this teaching can
Europe stand. Since Christianity
came into the world, the Christian
state is the normal condition of po-
litical governments, and not an ideal
impossible of realization. Undoubt-
edly, human weakness will always
cause many aberrations from the rule.
But the question is not regarding this
point, but as to the recognition of
the rule. The sin against the Holy
Ghost is the most grievous of all sins.
Our Lord, always so mild and for-
bearing toward human passions, is
unflindiingly stem against malicious
resistance to truth, and this has been
precisely tlie great evi! of our time
ever since 1789. In the early ages,
individuals and nations fell into
many errors, but they never touched
the sacred principles of religion. Lib-
eralism and Freemasonry have caused
the denial of truth itself.
" Must we, then,fjdl back into the
darkness of the middle ages?" Such
a question, while it shows little know-
ledge of the middle ages, exhibits
likewi.se a spirit of unfairness in dis-
cussion. For our purpose, it suffices
to show the latter. What would we
think of a man who, on being told
that our faith should be childlike,
should say to the priest, " Must I, then,
become a child again ?" Plainly, wc
would say to him: Good friend, you
talk nonsense; for you know well
that you cannot get again your in-
fant body, nor blot out the know-
ledge and experience acquired in a
life of thirty years. But was not the
sun the same four years ago as it is
now ? Do not two and two make
four now as long ago ? Did you
not eat and drink when you were a
child as you do now ? Some things
are always true in all places and
times; and therefore we do not want
to bring you back into the middle
ages merely because we want to give
the church that position which God
has assigned to her.
" Then you want to saddle a theo-
cracy on the back of the nineteenth
century?" Let us understand each
other. In a certain sense, a theocm-
cy must be the aim of every rational
being. God has appointed two or-
ders to govern men : they are church
and state, neither of wliich must ab-
sorb the other. "I'heocracy is not a
government of priests, as those ima-
gine who have before their eyes the
Hindoo civil systems. Let us for a
moment forget dicse catchwords.
" middle ages " and " theocracy,''
and go to the marrow of the sul>
ject.
'Jhc church is tlic guide of con-
sciences ; not the arbitrary teaclier o!
nicn, but the interpreter of reveLitioi
for them. St Thomas likens the offici
of the Vicar of Christ to that of thi
rtag-ship of a fleet, which the other ves-
sels, that is, the secular governments
must follow on the open sea in order
to reach the common haven of safe
ty. F.ach vessel has its own sails
Europe's Future,
moves in its own way, nnd is ma-
naged by its own mariners. The
church never interferes in tlie appro-
priaie sphere of the secular power.
Hut she w.irns ; she advises ; she cor-
rects all civil authority when ii devi-
ates from the truth and.o[»j>oses the
revealed onler. Her iiithority over
tlie state is not direct, but indirect ;
bhe tcAches, but she cannot coerce;
she must teach, for political and so-
cial questions necessarily have rela-
tions with dogmatic and moral sub-
jects. The church must condemn
wrongs, no matter by whom perpe-
trated, whether by states or indivi-
duals, 1'his is nil the theocratic
jKixver the church claims. A Chris-
tian stale will respcclfully hear her
warning voice, and tluis avoid the
danger ; while a pagan state shuts its
unn». despises (he church's admoni-
tion":, and plunges into the abyss.
M.MJcm paganism in civil govern-
meiiis has brought Euro|>e into her
pri-sent miserable condition. Can
she gel out of it, or is European so-
ciety hopelessly lost ?
VII,
EUROPF.'S rirTURE.
Thk Franco-l'ruRsian war of 1870
is one of the most im|iortant events
in the hislory of Europe. ITie pros-
tration of France is no indication
that she will never rise again, for in
1807 Prtissia was in a worse condi-
tion than France is now. In 1815.
and until the past few ycarr, Prussia
was last in the list of Uie great pow-
ers, though now she is ihe nrsr.
Frnncc, then, in a few yein may rise
again lo her full power. There arc
no more fresh, uncivilized races to
come into Europe to taJtc the place
of tlicr.e which are now s.-iid to be
^
dctajiug. We have shown tlial li-
beralism has reached its acme, been
found wanting, and is dying. iLs ef-
forts in Jtaly, Spain, Germany, Vien-
na, and I'esth arc but the last con-
vulsions nf an expiring sysiem. The
natural child of liberalism — socialism
— must also disiippcar before the com-
mon sense of mankind. What re*
mains? Will tlierc be in Europe the
alternate anarchy and dcs)>otism of
the Central American republics with-
out any end? Must wc despair of
Europe's future ? No, a thousand
times no ! We look to the future
with hope and consolation.
Common sense and religion will
win the day; Christianity has still
the regenerating power which she
showed in dvilizing the bari)arians.
CImstianity has been the ])rinciple
of national life since the Redeemer
established it as a world religion.
The spiritual lile must be renovated
by truth and morahty. Christianity is
botli. We Cliristians hope, rhcreforv,
for the conversion of the popular
mind ; we begin even lujw to per-
ceive signs of regeneration, renova-
tion, renewed energy, and vigor in
mental convictions and civic virtues.
God's punishments are proofe of
his mercy. He chastises to convert
■^I'he fjrst punishment of France, ia
1789, was not enough lo teach her
to repent. I.ouis XVill. carae lo
llie throne a frec-ihmfccr instead of
a Christian. The prostrate armies
of Metz and Sedan are the result of
corrupiirjg and cncrvatini; iiilidclit/.
Cod cliasttscs ambition and pnde in
nations as well as in individuals, llie
Republic has shown itself iucaiiable,
because it possessed neither honor,
pnni iple, nor lettgion. Ihe victories
of Prussia are a blesjing of Gad for
France. The Prus.sian army is but
the instrument which God has used
to punish a culprit nation — a revolu-
tionary, irreligious, and frivolous sys-
tem of government. Victorious Ger-
Europe's Future.
many, too, will be taught to reflect
when it nc-cs the blood of its thou-
i^ancts of slnughlcred sons, and ibc
inisenes wliicli the war has entailed
on its once hn]}|>y fnniilics. Wars
leitch unruly nations to rcHect. Will
the pi^scnt war suttice to humhle
Europe, and cause hvx to reHect ?
We know not ; but Cjod will send
oihtn- chastisements if this one avails
nolliing. Dark clouds arc already
rising in the Kast, which may soon
burst over Austria and tjcrmany.
The rod o( Clod's anger will be felt
by Austria again, for her lessons of
1859 ami 1866 have been forgotten.
They have only made her throw her-
self more fondly into the arms of the
de\il. In Italy, the secret smieties
will yet avenge on the house of
Savoy the blood of the defenders of
the Vicar of Chris:.
But the Gcrin;in empire has been
rc-c?iiablished under a Prussian em-
peror. Yes, but this is only an qii-
sode in the actual crisis of the workl.
A rtoimant emperor of Germany is
entirely diflerent from a German em-
peror. The old German emperors
rej>rcsenled ilie idea of the Christian
inonajrhy ; the IVotcstant emperor
in Hcrlm represents modern Casar-
ism. His empire cannot last long,
for history tells us that empires of
fruddeo and accidental growth lose
rapidly the power which they as
rapidly aci]nirefl. Hut is not Prus-
sia's triumph the triumph of Pro-
testantism in Euru]>c ? Such a ques-
tion is easily answered : Protestant-
ism as a positive religion no longer
exias in Prussia or elsewhere ; and
rrt>muQtism as a negation exists
everywhere, {lerhaps more in some
t!aiholic lands than in Prussia. Un
the battle-fields of WOrth and Grave-
luUe, the Catholic Church was not
represented by France, and LuLher-
ani^im by Prussia. Catholic Bava-
rians, Westphalians, and Khiucland-
ers fought for Prussia, and would be
astounded to hear that they were fight-
ing for heresy. Priests and Sisters of
Charity acL-ompanled them to battle.
\S\\o, on the other hand, would call
the Turcos Catholics ? Or the French
olficers, who never heard Mas-s, and
who curtailed the number of Catholic
chaplains to the minimum ? Were
the French soldiers, who drilled on
Sundays instead of going to church,
un whose barracks, in some cases,
was written, "No admission for po-
licemen, dogs, or priests" — were
they the Catholic champions ? No;
the Christian soldier in France first
ap|)eared. in this war, with Charette
:in<l Cathelineau in the Loire army.
demoralized and destroyed, however,
by the mad-cap radical, Gambetta,
and his infidel associates. In fact,
the Prussian army was more Catholic
than the French. The latter must
be won back to religion from the
enervating inlluejicesof Freemasonry
and Voltairianism before it can re-
gain its prestige. The only hope for
France is in her zealous clergy, in
the vigor of the old Catholic pro-
vinces, and in her humiliations, which
ought to bring repentance.
The rustling of Catholic renova-
tion is heard all over Furo[)e. Tlie
rising generation will bring Italy
back to the church. The spirit of
the Tyrol and of Westphalia ts
spreading through Germany. The
Ultramoniancs in Saxony, JJoheraia,
Stcyemiaric, show the energy of this
renovation. The i)easantry of Aus-
tria aud of a large portion of Ger-
many are still uncorrupled. Hun-
gary Is steadfast in the faith. The
seizure of Rome by the Sardinian
robbers has roused the Catholic heart
of the world and heljied on the cause
of regeneration. Where the Catholic
faith was supposed to be crushed,
lo ! it has raised its liead defiantly.
'ITie deceived nations want peace,
I
Bishop TiiuoH.
frcudom, order, and authority. These
blessitigs inftdelity and liberalism
Iiave taken away. The people are
beginning to see that the old yet
ever young Ajiostohc Church .ilonc
can guarantee ihcm. TJicy wil! turn
to Rome, where lives the Vicar of
Him who said, " I am the way. the
truth, and the life;" to Rome freed
again from tJic barbarians : to Rome
become Roman again when it has
.cciued to be Sardinian ; to Rome
will the people look for peace and
order. It is Rome that icUs men
(hat Christ is Lord of Uic world ;
that he conquers ; that he governs.
The social dominion of Christ will
again be established. We shall see
again Chnstian states founded on
Ctiristioa principles and traditions,
M ith Christian laws and rulers.
Whether these rulers will be kings or
presidents we know not; but they
will in either case consider themselves
OS mere delegates uf Jesus Christ, and
uf his jicuplc, not :us llyxanline des-
pots or rcpriisentalives of mob t)Taii-
ny. They will understand that
.statesmanship does not consist in
giving license to the wicked • and
forging chains for the good. W/e
shall have Christian scliools, Christian
univeraities. Christian stalesnicn. Ye
liI>eraLs in name, well may ye
grow pale ! The future of the world
belongs to the principles of the Sylla-
bus, anil this future is not for off.
We conclude with tiie words of Count
(le Maisire : " In the year 17*9. the
rights of man were proclaimed ; in
the yL-ar 1889. man will proclaim the
rights of Clod 1"
■
BISHOP TIMON.t
We hope the day may come before
many years when historians will sec
in the records of the struggles, mis-
fortunes, and triumphs of the church
a theme for the employment of bril-
liant pens as tempting as they now
fmd in the clash of armies and the
intrigues of statesmen. Scholars have
devoted to our records the patient
investigation oi jvars ; the general
history of the church has been suui-
marixcd for pojjular reading in most
of the principal modem languages;
and for the use of theologians and
students there are eLiborate and cost-
ly collections. Individual biographies
" ''The art nf j[nrem<nK mm doe* opt cnn^t
In (tlvjni; them llcvlMc lo do «vll." —Ptrt l.n-
t TAt UJt »nd Timt t/ tki Ri^ Xrv.JTwAm
of saints and preachers innumerable
have been written for the edification
of the dc\'out. Sketches of local
church historv', more or less com-
plete, have occasionally nppeareii —
sketches, for instance, like 77i^ Cafhtt-
Ik Chunk in the (JfHUd Sfatf3, by l>e
Courcy and Shea; She;i s //«A»/7 jj^
Ml* Catholic Miaiorix among the In-
dian tribes of America, and Bishop
Baylcy*s little volume on the histt>ry
of the church in New York. But a
work of a different kind, broader in
iis design than some of these excel-
lent and useful publications, more
limited in scope than tlic dry and
7Vww#, r>.D.. FtrM Rnmtfl C«fccjlc niihan of
Ituffalo. hy Charl««G. DcMUier. BnAlo: pub
lltked by ibc Autbot.
wpnmon\
ly general histories sttU aivaiis
[the hund uf a poU&lied and cnthu:>i'
[•siic man of letters. Why khould
not the ume eloquenoe and \\sxx\\\wg
be devoted to the rcHgious hLstury of
|tlie great eauiilrics of liie jijlobe that
LftlaciiuJay, and MolJcy, and Froudc
[have cx|Hnided upon ihc poHtical re-
rolutions of stales and the intricate
InuDOSor diplomacy? Why shouhl
[not some glowing peu do lor tlic
piuni-vrs ot the cross »liat I'reiicutt
i<lid for the jiioneers of Spanish con-
I quest in tiie new hemisphere ? J'ro-
fperly told, the cburcii history uf al-
I Dtost any cuimtr^' of ibe world, of al-
Itnosi any pexiad in Chnsuan times,
irati\e not only of re-
l _ ' jQiic, but of ihrillinjf
I intcfc&t. ^lu men ever passed through
Jptore oiraonhiury adventures, ton-
[Adcrcd even fioro a human point of
I view, tliaatlw rai>>sioj)arit:s who pene-
|>trate(l into unknown lands or first
I frcnl among unbelieving nations.
No contest between hostile kingdunis
ur rival dynasties ever ufiered a more
icmplu>i{ theme fur dramatic narra-
ti^'ca/id glowing description than the
.contest ohicii has raged for eighteen
cmluricsamla half, between the pow-
ers of iight and the powers of dark-
iiDe&s, in all the thiTerent quartei-s of the
ivUixcd world. Think what a bril-
iant writer might make of &ucli u
[■•iibjcct as the church history of tler-
Eviaiiy! Think what has y«t to be
[4oi)e ibr the cliurches of England and
Ireland and France, when the com-
>ing hi&toriaii rescues their chronicles
i£roin the dusty archives of state and
the gloom of monastic libraries, and
causes the old stories to glow with a
new li((ht, such as Gibbon threw
upon the recor<U of the declining
'supire !
Wc doubt not tlie literary alche-
mist will come in time, and melt
down the dull metals in hU crucible,
and pour out from it the shining com-
pound which shall possess a popular
value a hundredfold beyumi that of
the untransmuted materials. No-
where, perhaps, will the labor be
more amply repaid than in Americ>i-
Nowhere will the collection of nia-
ttrials be less arduous and the result
more brilliaiit. Our church history
begins just when Uiat of Kurope is
most perplexing, and to an investiga-
tor with time, patience, and a mode-
rate revenue at his command, it offeis
no appalling ditticulties. In a great
j>an of America, ihe introduction of
the Cathohc religion is an event with-
in the memor)- of men still living.
The pioneers of many of the states
are stiU at work. The first mission-
aricj of some of the most important
seesare but just passing to their reward.
There are no monumental slanders
upon our history to be removed ; no
Protestant writers have seriously en-
cumbered the field with misrcpresenla-
tian.H. Industrious students of our own
faith have already prepared the way ;
scattered chapters have been written
with more or less literan- skill; tlie
slorehouMzs of information have been
discovered and f>artly explored ; and
every year the facilities lor the histo-
rian are multiplied. And certainly tlie
theme is rich in romantic interest and
variety, l-'rom the time of the monks
and friars who came over with the
first disi:overers of the country down
to the present year of our U'jrd, when
missionaries are perilling their lives
amung the Indians of the great West,
and i>riests arc lighting for die faith
against the cultivated I'rotestants of
the Atlantic cities, the Catholic luv
tury of the United States has been a
series of bold adventures, stanling
incidents, and contests of the most
dramatic chiuacter. In the whole
story there is not a really dull chap-
ter, llie Cathohc annals of Ame-
rica abound aUo with tliat variety
which Ihe historian necdn to render
hshpp TtmoH.
his Paiges really attraciive; and
among the great men tvho woukl
naturally be ihc central figures of
such a work, there is the widest dif-
ference of character, the most pictur-
esque divergence of pursuits nnd per-
sonal pcculiaritieii. Group together
the most distinguished of the Chris-
tian heroes who have illustrated our
chronicles, and you have what an ar-
tist might call a wondtrfiilly rich va-
riety of coloring. There are ihe sim-
ple raindol. enthusiastic Sjianish Fran-
ciscans, following thjL* armies uf Cor-
tez and Pizarro, and exploring the
xtrange realms of the Aztccji and the
Inc:^. There is the Vrench Jesuit,
building up his Christian empire
among the Indians of the St. Law-
rence nnd the Great Lakes. There
is the gentle Marquette, floating in his
bark canoe doirn the mighty river
with whose discovery his name will
ever be a-ssocialed, and breathing his
last in the midst of the primeval wil-
derness. There are Jognes and Bre-
boeuf, suficring unheard-of torments
among the Iroquois; Chevcriis, the
polished and fascinating cardinal,
winning the affection of the New
F.nglanrI Puritans; Kngland, conci-
liating the Huguenots and Anglicans
of the South. Tlie saintly Hruic,
most amiable of scholars, mmt de-
vout of Stivuns, is a (juaint but beau-
tiftil character around whom duster
some of our most touching associa-
tions. Bishop IJubois, Ihc *' Little
Honapnrtp" of the Mountain; (ial-
litrin. the Rnssian prince who hid the
lustre of his rank among the logca-
btns of the .'Vllcghanics; Hughes, the
great fighting archbisho)), swinging
his In (tie axe over the heads of the
parsons; De Smcl. the mild-man-
nered but indomitable missionary of
the Rocky Mountains— these are spe*
cimens of our leaders whose i>larc in
history has yet to be described by the
true literarv artist. Several have been
: col- I
fron^HJ
.ular^^H
made the subject of special biog^-
phics, but none have yet appeared
their true light us the central tigu
of an American church history.
The book which suggests the*e
remarks Is a contribution of materials
for the future historian, and as su( h
we give it a cordial welcome. Mr.
Deuther> it is trtie, is not a praellseU
writer, and is not entirely at his ease
in the use of our language. But he
has shown great industrj' m the col-
lection of facts, and has rescued
oblivion many interesting partir.u
of the early career of Bishop Timon
in a jiart of the United States whose
missionary himnry is ver)* imperfect- j
1y known. Thus he has rendered an.^H|
important service to CatlioUc litcra.-^^
lure, and can)e{l full forgiveness (or
the literary offences which impair the
value of his book as a biography.
The episcopacy of the estimable roan
whose life is here told was not an
especially eventful one, an<l except ijt
one instance nttr;icled coin pa rati vetj^
little public notice. The most con-
bpicuous men, however, are not al-
ways the most useful. Bishop TJ*
mon had a great work to perform in
the organization and settlement of
his new diocese, and he diil it none
the less efficiendy because he bbor-
c<i quietly. 'Ilic best known mci-
dcnt of his official life — the lamentA'
bic contest with the trustees of the
Church of St. f-ouis in ButTulo — isntrt
one which Catholics can take any
satisfaction in recalling ; l>ut it had a
serious bearing upon the future of
the American C^hurch, and its les-
sons even now may be reviewed with
profit. Bishop Kcnrick in I'hiladel-
phia, Bishop Hughes in Ne»v York.
nn<l Bishop Timon in Buffalo have
bet%veen them the honor, if not of
destroying a system which had done
the church incalculable injury, at
least of extracting its evil principle.
Mr. Deuther gives the history of this
1
usnopTtimn.
89
warfare at consida-able length, and
with an affluence of documeuu which,
though not very entertaining to read,
^1 ba found convenient wine time
or anotlier for refercnre. We pre-
sume that most peojilt; will be inlc-
resled rather in the earlier ".hapicrs
of the biography, and to these we
shall coiwtf^ucntly give our princi-
pal attention.
John Timon was of American birth
but JfLsh iiart-nl-ige. ilis father,
James, eniij;ratcil from Un; county
Ca\-aii in the latter part of 1796 or
the beginning of 1797, and settled
Bt Concwago,* in .Adamn County,
Pennsylvania; where, in a rude log-
rbouse, the subject of this bioRrapby
was bom on tltc 12th of Febnjar>-.
J 797, the second of a family oi ten
I chiiclrai. Hie father and mother
10 have been remari:ably de-
[vout people, and from an anecdote
ffeUtcJ by Mr. Deuthcr wc can fancy
ilhat the lavish beneficence which
. cbaractcriccd the bibhop wa^ an he-
reditary virtue in the family. Mr.
James '[ nnon called, one day, upon a
priest whom he had known in Ire-
lantl, and, taking it for granted that
■ Uie rcvcrenrf gentleman must be in
i%4nt of money, he slipped into his
[band at parting a $joo bill, and hur-
ried away. I'he priest, supposing
lUr. 'Hmon had m.'Kle a mintnlce, ran
fter him, and overtook him in the
' street. '* My dear fiieiA" said the ge-
■ D«rous Irishman, " it Mas no mistake.
I intended it lor you." " But," said
|.thc clergyman, ** 1 a.ssurc you I am
|ltot in want; I do not need it."
•* Never mind^ there are many who
do. If you have no use for the mo-
ney yourself, give it to the poor."
TTic Timon family removed to Bal-
timore in 1802, and there John re-
ceived his school education, such as
it was* As soon as he was old
* Kf. XMutber (nconvdlT cmlls Uils Con«v>CD.
enough, he became a clerk in a dry-
goods shop kept by his father ; and
Mr. Dcuther prints a very foolish
story to the effect that he was so
much liked by evcr>-body that by the
lime he was nineteen '• he had be-
come a toast for all agetl mothers
with marriageable daughters," and
had refused *' many eligil>le and grand
offers of marriage," which we take
the liberty of doubling. Krom Bal-
timore the family removed, in 1818,
to Louisville, and thence in ihe fol-
lowing spring to St. Louis. Here pros-
perity at last rewarded Mr. Timon's
industry, and he accumulated a c«i-
siderable fortune, only to lose it, how-
ever, in the commercial crisis of 1823.
In the miilst of these pecuniar}' mis-
lortunes, John Titnon ^uffc^ed a still
heavier loss in the death of a young
lady to whom he was engaged to be
married. Mr. Ucuther's apology for
mentioning this incident — which he
strangety characterizes as an ** unde-
veloped frivolity " in the life of a bi-
shop of Uie cJiurch — is entirely su-
perlIuou.s ; he would have l>een a
faithless biographer if he had not
mentioned it. We may look upon it
as a nunifestaiion of the kindness of
divine Providence, which called the
young man to a higlier and more
useful life, and designed first to break
off his atrachment to all the things
of this world. He heard and obey-
ed the call, and, in the monih of
April, 1823, became a student of the
Lazarisls at their preparatory semi-
nary of St. Mary's of the Barrens, in
Perry County, Alissouri. about eighty
miles below St. Louis.
The Lazarisis, or Priests of the Mis-
sion, had been introduced into rhe
United Stalosonly six years before, and
their institutions, founded, with great
dilVicuIty. in the midst of a poor and
scattered papulation, were still strug-
gling with debt and discouragement.
The little establishment at the Barrens
i
was lor miiiiy years in a pitiable con-
dition of dcstitutioQ. When Mr. Ti-
mon entered as a candidate not only
for the* priciitbood, but for admission
to the congregnttoi), it was governed
by the Rev. Joseph Rosaii, who be-
came, a year later, the I'lntt Bishop of
Si. 1/OUis. The buildings consiste*!
of a few log-houses. The largc>t of
them, a one-story cabin, contoinetl in
one comer the theological depart-
ment, in another the schools of philo-
fophy and general literature, ,4n a
third the tailur's shop, and in the
fottrth the shoemaker's, 'llie rcfev;-
lory was a detached log-house; and,
in very l>ad weather, the seminarians
often went to beil supperles« rather
than make the journey thither in
search of their very scanty fare. Ic
was no tmcommon thing for them,
of a winter's morning, to rise from
their matuesses. spread upon the
floor, and find over their blankets a
covering of snow which had drifted
through the crevices of the logs.
The system upon which the semi-
nary was supported was the same
that prev.iils at Mount St. Mary's.
For three hours in the day the stu-
tlcnts of divinity Were expected to
teach in the secular college connect-
ed with tiie seminary, and for nut-nf-
door exercise tlicy tut fuel and work-
ed on the farm. Mr. Tiuion^ in spite
of these lalMirs, made such rapid pro-
gress in his studies that, in 1824, he
was ordained sub-deacon, and began
to accompany his superiors occasion-
ally in their missionary excursions.
They lived in the midst of ^piritu::!
destitution. The l*'rench pioneers of
die Western conntry had planted the
faith at St. Louis and some other pro-
nunent points, but Uiey had left few
or no traces in the vast tracts of ter-
ritor>' suaounding the earlier settle-
ment!!, and to most of the country
people the Roman Catholic Church
was no U.*(tcr than a sort of aggra-
vatctl pagan impos'.ure. Protcscatit
preachurs used to -^liuw Uicm^elvcs aC^
the vcr)* doors of the churches and
challenge the pnests to come out and
be confuted. Wherever the Lazarista
travelled, they were looker! at wil
the most intense curioMty. Very jcwi
of the settlers had ever seen a priest
before. The Catholics, strattered here
and there, had generally been de-
prived, for yean, of Mass and the.
sacraments, and their children wer<
growing up utterly ignorant of reli-j
gion. Mr. 'I'imon was accustomed]
to make a regular missionary circuit
of riftcen or tuenty miles around the
lUrrcns in coniixony %-ith I-'alher
Odin, afterward Archbishop of New^
Orlc.ins. The duty of Ihcsub-deacc
was to preach, catechise, and instruct^
Sometimes they had no other shelter ^
than the woods, and no other food
than wild berries. At a settlement
called Apple Creek, Uiey made a
chapel out of a large jjig-pen, clean-
ing it out with their own handS|j
building an altar, and so decorating,
the poor little place with fresh boughs,
that it became the wonder of the
neighborhood. In 1S34, Messrs.
Odin and Tinion made a long mis-
sionary tour on horseback. Mr. Dcu-.
iher says they went to " New Ma-
drid, rexas," and ihcncc as far as
" the Port of Arkansas." New Ma-
drid, of course, is in Missouri, and
the Port of ^kansos undoubtedly
means Arkansas Post, in the State '
of Arkansas, wliich could not vcxyii
well be reached by the way of Texas.
.Mong the route ihey travelled —
where tlicy had to swim rivers, floun-
der through morasses, and sleep inj
the swamps— no priest had been seen
for more than ihirty-fivc years. Their
zeal, intclligenro, graceful and impas-
sioned speech, and modest manners,
seem to have made a great impres-
sion on the settlers. They had the
satisfaction of disarming much preju-
I
Bishop ThnoH.
4t
(Ecc receiving some converts, and
adtnini^ttrring the sucrutnenU; and,
after an interesting viiiit tu an Indian
Iiibe on the Arlnnsas Kiver. ihey rc-
tumed to the Barrens. Ahout thin
lirac (in 1S25). Mr. Tinion was pro-
moted to the pni^thocxi and appoint-
ed a professor at tbe seminary. His
uwsktoary latKirs were now greatly
LQcreascd. Mr. DcuUkt tells some
interesting anecdotes ot' liis tours,
which curiously illustrate the state
of religion at that time in the West.
One day» father 'I'imon was sum-
moned to Jackson, Misiiouri, to visit
a murderer under sentence of death.
With some difficulty he got admission
to the jail, but a crowd of men, led
by a Baptist minister named Gtcch,
who was also editor of the village
newspaper, entered with him. 'I'he
pmoner was found lying on a heap
of straw and chained to a post. The
ho&nle mob refused to leave the priest
alone with htm ; but, in spite of their
inlerfcren;;e. Father Timou suceeed<:d
in touching the nwn's heart ami i)re-
paring htm fur the sacraments. While
they were repealing the Afiosilcs'
L'rced together, the minister pushed
Jiurward and exclaimed, " Do not
die [»oor man lose his soul
teaching him the commandments
of men !** and this interruption was
followed by a violent invective against
Romish cumiptiuns.
•' Mr. Green," said the priest, "not
long ago, I refuted all these charges
before a public meeting in the court-
house of diis village, and challenged
anybody who could answer me to
4 forth aDiJ do so. You were
nt, but you made no answer.
rely this is uo time for yuu to inier-
ferc — when I am preparing a man
for death 1"
Mr. Green's only reply was a chal-
lenge to a public controversy next
day, which Father Ttmon immedi-
ately accepted. The minister then
LMtend
^ lu'rel
insisted upon making a rancorous
)>oleniieal prayer, in the course q(
which he said: "O iiod of mercy I
save this man from the fangs of Anti*
ihrisi, ivho now seeks to teach him
idolatry and the vain traditions of
men."
" Gentlemen," exclaimeil the
priest to the crowd which now filled
the dungeon. " is it right that, in a
prayer to the God of charily and trudi,
this man should introduce a cjilumny
against tJie majority of Christians ?"
How far the extraordinary discus-
sion might have gone it woukl be hard
to guess, had not the sheriff turned
cver%-bodyom and locked the jail for
the night. The next morning, the
debate took place according to agree-
ment, the district judge being ap-
pointed moderator. After about three
or four hours' speaking, Mr. Green
gave up the battle and withdrew.
Father Timoii kept on for an hour
and a half longer, and the result is
said to have been a great Catholic
revival in the community. The pri-
soner, who had steadily refused to
accept the ministrations of any but a
C'aiholic clergjraan, was baptised ira-
meiiiately after the debate.
Un another occasion, Father 'I'i-
mon earned on a debate wuh a l*ro-
testant clergyman — apparently a Me*
tliodibt — in the court-house at Perry-
ville. The Methodist was easily worec-
ed, but there was soon to be a con-
ference meeting some eighteen miles
off, and there he felt sure tlie priest
would meet his match.
" Do you mean this as a chal-
lenge ?"
** No ; I don't vavitc you. I only
say you can go if you choose."
Father Ttmon ri;^use<i 10 go under
these circumstances; but. learning af-
terward that a rumor was in circula-
tion that he had pledged himself lo
be on the ground, he change*! his
mind, and reached the scene of the
•
meeting — which was in the open air-
just after Diicof thcprciclicrahad tin-
ished a discourse on Transubstantia-
lion and the Real I'rewnre, '• There
is a Romish priest prcsciil." this ora-
tor had said, " and, if he darci to come
fnrwanl, the error ol* his ways will lie
pointed out to him." So Fatlier Ti-
Uion mounted a stump, and annuunc-
od that in a quarter of an hour he
would be^in a discouret; on the Real
l*rescnce. 'I'his was more than the
ininistcni had bargained for. 'llicy
had l»een confident he would noi at-
tend. 'ITiey surrounded him, in con-
siderable excitement, and declared
that he should not preach. Father
TInion ap[«:alcd to the people, and
they decided that lie should be heard.
He Iwrrowed a Jlilde from one of
bis adveriarics, and with the aid of
numerous texts explained and sup-
ported the Catholic doctrine. The dis-
cuiuion was long and earnest. 'Che
preachers at last were silentctl, and
l-'athi-r 'Timon continued for wine lime
to exhort the crowd and urge them
to return to the true church. Which
was, to say the least, a curious termi-
nation for a Methodist conference
nweting.
One of the most serious ditficultie-i
which the pioneer missionaries had
to cncounicr was the want of opi)or-
tunilics of private converse with-pco-
plc whose hearts ha'l bscn stirred by
the firal motions of <livine grace.
The log-dwellings of the settlers rare-
ly contained more than one room,
and that often held a pretty large
family. Many anecdotes are told
of confessions made among the corn-
sUlks in the girden. or under the
shadow of ihe forert, or on honicback
in the lonely roads. On one occa-
sion Father Timon had been sum-
monolalong distanc-e to visit a dy-
ing man. The cabin consisted of a
iingle room. When all was over, the
wife of the dead man knell beside
the body and made her confession,
the rest of the family and the neigh-
bors, meanwhile, standing outdoors
in the rain. Then the widow was
baptized into the church, and. as the
.storm was violent and the hour past
uiidnight, Father Timon slept on the
bed with the corijse, while the rest
of the company disposed themselves
on the floor.
'Ten years had been passed in la-
l>ors of this kind, when, in 1835, let-
ters arrived from I'aris, erecting the
.•\n)erican mission of the Lazarists
into a province, ami appointing Fa-
ther 'Timon visitor. He accepted
the charge with great reluctance and
only after long hesitation. It was
indceti a heavy burden. Hie affain<
of the congregation were far from
pros[)erous. The institution at the
Barrens was deeply in debt. The
revenues were uncertain. The rela-
tions between the seminary and the
bishop were nor entirely harmonious.
Several jiriests had left the communi-
ty, and were sening ])arishes unthout
the jKrnnission of their su|>erior8. To
restore discipline would he an invidi-
ous task on many accounts. But,
liaving undertiikcn the oftice. Father
'Timon did not shrink. He saved
the college ami semitinry from threat-
ened extinction ; he brought back
his truant brethren ; he revived the
spirit of zeal and self-sacrifice; he
restored harmony ; he grently improv-
ed the finances. In a short lime, he
made a visit to Fnnce, and a-tumed
with a small supply of moncv and a
company of priests. On Christmas
Eve, in 1838, he sailed for OaWcs-
ton. m order to make a report to the
Holy Sec upon the condition of reli-
8>on in the republic of levas. He
found th« country in a sad slate of
spiritual destitution. The only ^ricsts
were two Mexir.inc m <;..« A
There were no churches. There were
J
Bishop Timon.
$3
no sacraments. Evcii marriage n'a?>
a rite about which the senlcrs were
fwt overparticular. Father 'I'inion
tlid wluit little he could, on a hurried
lour, tu remedy these evils ; but a
year or two lalcr he came hack as
prefect apostolic, accompanied by
M. Odin, and now he n-ns able to
introduce great refomis. Congrega-
tions were collected, c.hiin:heK begun
in all Ihc largest scitlemcnts, and the
scandalsot San Antonio abated. Firm
in correction, but gracious in nijinncr,
untiring in labors, insensible to fear,
leaking long journeys with a wngle
companion through dangerous In-
dian countries, struggling through
swamps, swimming broad rivers — the
prefect and his assiiitant, M. Odin,
travelled, fotitsore, hungry, and in
rags, through this rude wilderness,
and wherever tliey parsed they plant-
ed the goofl seed and made ready
the soil for the husbandmen u'ho
were to cvme after them. In the
{irincipal towns and selUements they
were invariably received with honor.
The court-houses or other public
r<>om5 were placed at their disposal
for redgious ser\ices, and iJie educat-
ed P^otcstiUil inhabilnnts took pnitis
to meet them socially and learn from
them suracLbing about the faith. We
6nd in tJic account of these tours
BO trace of the acrimonious polemi-
cal (lis* u^sions which used to t-nliveii
the laborii of the mibsionarics at the
Barrenfi. Hiere wa-s little or no con-
troTCTsy, and the priests were invited
to explain religious truth rather over
the dinner-table tlian on the rostrum.
At the rcf|irc^t of Mr. Timon, M. Odin
was soon afterward ajtpointod vicar
apostolic of Tex.is, and sent to con-
tioue the work thus happily begun.
It was in 1847 that Mr. Timon
temovcd from the Western field
d consecrated first Bishop of Huf-
lo. When he had disposed all his
affoirs and made ready for his dcpar-
11
ture, his worldly goods eonsisted of
a small trunk about halffull of scan-
ty clothing. He had to borro%v mO'
ney enough to pay his way to New
York. But meanwhile s<mie friends,
having heard of his poverty, replen-
ished his wardrobe, and made up a
purse of $400 for his immediate
needs. He was conse<Taie<i in the
cathedral of New York by Ilishops
Hughes, W.ilsh, and McCloskey. on
the 17th of October, and reached
Buffalo five days aflerward. It was
cvx-ning when he arrived. An im-
mense crowd of pcojile — it is said as
many as 10,000— were in waiting for
him at the railway station. There
were bands of music, banners, and
flambeaux, a four-horse cjirriage for
the bi.shop, and a long torchlight
procession to escort him home. It
is reported — but the biograplier gives
the slory with some rescr%-c — that, af-
ter the iortf^e had gone some dis-
tance, the humble bishop wns discov-
ered, valise in hand, trudging afoot
tluough the rain and mud, behind
the coach in which he was supposed
to l)e riding. In after-times be nnisl
have sadly compared the cordial
greeting of his flock on this night
with the trials, the insults, the perse-
cutions, which he had to bear from
some of the very same people during
almost the whole of his episcopate.
_ We shall not enlarge upon the histo-
ry of these sad years. The scandals
which arose from the factious and
schismattcal spirit of the tnistecs of
the Church of St. Louis in BulTalo
arc too recent to have been forgotten
by our readers. The troubles began
whUe Bishop Timon was still a hum-
ble missionary in Mi.ssoiiri. Thcjr
had been quelled by the firmness of
Bishop Hughes, but they broke out
again very soon after the creation of
the new diocese, and Bishop Timon
suffered from them M^ the end of his
life. Having no cathedral and no
kM
house, he lodged wlien he first arriv-
ed with the pastor of St. LnuiVs, but
liL- had Ijceii there only a few weeks
when ilie Uuiilees, in their mad jea-
lousy of possible inva-sion of their
imaginary' rights, reqiiestKl hina to
find a home iomcftherc else, "i'hi-s
brutal behavior was tlic beginning
of a long warfare. Those who may-
care about studying it will find the
necirssary documents in Mr. Deuth-
er's book. Let us ratlicr devote the
short spare remaining at our dbpu-
sal to a ilescription of some of the
charming traits of character of the
holy man who crowned a life of inces-
sant labor with an old ngc of saber-
ing. From the moment of his ele-
vation to the cpi.scopal dignity, the
sacred bimplicily of his disposition
seems to have daily increased. If
the anecdote of his behavior at the
torchlight reception is not true, it Is
at any rale consistent with his cha-
rjicter. Hibhop Hujjhcs declared
that the Bishop of llul^alo was the
humblest man he had ever known.
'I'hough he was vt;r>' neat and pre-
cise in cvcrytliing relating to the ser-
vice of the sanctuary, rags of any
kuid secineil W liirn " good enougli
for ihi: old bishop," and it was only
by stealth, .so to *speak, that his
firicntk couUl keep his wardrobe tole-
rably well supplied. In his visits to
the seminary it was his delight to^
Cdk faniitiarly ^fith the young men.
At the orphan asylum tlie children
used to ride on his hack. Visiting
strange churche*., he wnuhl kneel in
the confeswonal like any other peni-
leoL In hit [irivate and otlicial in-
tercourse wiih his tlergy, It was not
lunisual fur him to beg parilon with
the utmost humility for fancied acts
of injuslicc. On one occasion he
liod slightly rebuked a jmest for some
irregularity. Satisfied afterward that
lite rebuke had not Itccn deserved.
he invited the priest to dinner, plac
ed him at the head of the tab!
trente<l him with marked distinclto
and afterward, taking him to his
own room, in the presence of anoth-
er bishop, ihrcA' himself upon hi
knees and begged lo be forgive
In the course of a \-isitation to a dii
turbed ])arish, a member of the coi
gregation he w;!s addressing publi
ly spat in the bishop's face. He
look no notice of the occurrence, but
went on with his remarks. " Nev
shall I forget," wrote the late disti:
guishcd Jesuit, Father Smarius, *' the
days of the missions for the laity and
of the retreaLs for the clergy which
i had the pleasure to conduct in the
cathedral of Uutialo during the three
or four ye.Trs previous to his holy de-
mise. The first lo rise in the mo
ing and to ring the bell fur nicdit
lion and for prayer, he would totter
from door to door along the corridors
of the episcopal residence, with a
lighted candle in his hand, to see
whether all had responded to the call
of the bell and lietaken thcinselv
to the spot marked out for die j
formance of that sacred and whol
some duty. . . . ,\nd then, th
more tlian fatherly heart, that forgi
ing kindness to repentant sinaerSi'
even such as had again and again
(iescr\'cdly incurred his disple-isurc
and the penalties of crclesiastical
censures or excommunications. * Fa-
ther.' he would sav, ' I Iea\ e this cose
in vour handj. ] give you all pQwcr,
only save his soul.' And then, that
simple, child-like humility, which
sccmetl wounded by even tne perfor-
mance of acts which the excellence
and dignity of the ejiiscopacy na
rally force from its sulijects and i
riors. How often have 1 seen him
fall on his oged knees, face to face
with one or other of my clerical
brethren, who had Cillen on theirs to
cter^^
,
lich
for- I
mcc i
him
J
Bishop Timon.
95
receive his saintly blessing I" He
took great pains to cultivate the vir-
tue of humility in his clergy. A
proud priest he- had little hope for.
To those who complained of the
hardships of the mission, he would
answer, ". Why did you become a
priest ? It was to suffer, to be per-
secuted, according to the example
laid down by our Lord Jesus Christ."
In the strictness with which he tried
to watch over the spiritual welfare of
his clergy, and changed their posi-
tions when he thought the good of
their souls required it, his rule was
like that of the superior of a monas-
tery rather than the head of a dio-
cese. He was filled to a remaikable
decree with the spirit of prayer. He
began no labor, decided no question,
without long and fervent supplication
for the divine assistance. On occa-
sions of festivity or ceremony, he lov-
ed to steal away to the quiet of the
sanctuary, and under the shadow of
a column in the cathedral to pass
long hours in meditation. In travel-
ling hte was often seen kneeling in
his seat in the cars. His Iiouschold
was alH'a}'S ordered like a religious
community. The day began and
ended with prayer and meditation in
common. The bishop rose at fivej
and in the evening retired early to
his room — not to sleep, but to pass
most of the night in devotion, study,
and writing. Up to the very close
of his life he used to set out in the
depth of winter to visit distant par-
ishes unannounced, starting from the
house before any one else was awake,
and trudging painfully through the
snow with his bag in his hand. Religi-
ous communities, when they assembled
for morning devotions, were often sur-
prised to find the bishop on his
knees waiting for them. By these
sudden visits he was sometimes en-
abled to correct irregularities, which
he never suffered to pass unrebuked ;
but he used to say that in dealing
with others he would rather be too
lax than too severe, as he hoped to be
judged mercifully by Almighty (Jod.
Mr. Deuther, in attempting to show
that the bishop had to conquer a natu-
rally quick temper, has created an im-
pression, we fear, that this saintly man
was irascible if not violent in his dis-
position. It is most earnestly to be
hoped that no one will conceive such
an utterly wTong idea. Mr. Deuther
himself corrects his own unguarded
language, and it is only necessary to
read the book carefully to see that
he does not mean what at first glance
he seems not to say, but to imply.
Nobody who knew Bishop Timon
will hesitate to call him one of the
kindest and most amiable of men ;
whatever faults he may have had,
nobody will think of mentioning a
hot temper as one of them. The
sweetness of his disposition was in
correspondence with the tenderness
of his heart. The patience witli
which he bore the sorrows of his epis-
copate was equalled by the keenness
with whidi he felt them. 'J'oward
the close of his life several anony-
mous communications, accusing hnn
of cruelty, avarice, injustice, and
many other faults — of cruelty, this
man whose heart was as soft as a
woman's — of avarice, this charitable
soul, who gave away cvorytliing he
had, and left himself at times not
even a cii-ange of linen— of injustice,
this bishop who pardoned every one
but himself — were sent him in the
form of printed circulars. So deeply
was he wounded that his biograpl»er
is assured that the incident hastened
his death; lie never was the same-
man afterward. At the end of the
next diocesan synod he knelt before
his priests, and, in a voice broken by
tears, asked pardon of every one pre-
96
Gualbertos V'iciory.
sent wliom he might have in any he himself was the first to foresee,
manner treated unjustly. Hodtcdon and his last hours were as beautiful
the i6th of April, 1&67, after a rapid and inspiring am hU years of holy
but gradual decay whose termination labor.
GUALBERTO'S VICTORY.
A Moi.'N TAIN-PASS, SO naiTow that a man
Riding that way to Florence, stoojiing, can
Touch with his hand the rocks on either side,
And pluck the flowers that in the crannies hide —
Here, on Oood Friday, centuries ago,
Moimted and armed, John tliialliert met his foe,
Mounted and armed as well, but riding down
To the fair city from the woodland brown,
This way and that swinging \\\s jewcU'd whip,
A gay old love-song on his careless lip.
An accidental meeting — yet the s«n
Burned on their brows as if it had been one
Of deep design, so deadly was the look
Of rauiiial hate thifr olive faces look,
As (knightly courtesy forgot in wrath)
NviLhcr would yield his enemy the path.
"Hack!"' cried (laulberto. " Never!" yelled his foe.
And on the instant, sword in hand, they throw
Them from their saddles, nothing loth,
And fall to fighting with a 'smothered oath.
A |>air of shapely, stalwart cavaliers,
Wdl-matched in stature, weajjous, weight, and years,
llicirs was a long, ficrco struggle on the grass,
Thrusting and parrying up and down the pass,
Swaying from left to right, till blood-drops oozed
Upon the racks, and head and hands were bruised ;
But at its close, when Ciualbert slopped to rest,
His heel was planted on his foeman's breast ;
And. looking up. the fallen courtier sees,
As in a dream, gray rocks and waving trees
Before his g1a2ing eyes begin to float.
While Gualbert's sabre glitters at his throat.
** Now die, base wretch !" the \-ictor fiercely cries,
His heart of hate outflashing from his eyes.
" Never ag.iin, by the all righteous Lord,
Shalt thou with life escape this trusty sword t
Gualberto's Victory. 97
Revenge is sweet !" And upward flash'd the steel,
But e'er it fell — dear Lord ! a silvery peal
Of voices, chanting in the town below,
Rose, like a fountain's spray, from spires of snow,
And chimed, and chimed, to die in echoes slow.
In the sweet silence following the sound,
Gualberto and the man upon the ground
Glared at each other with bewildered eyes.
And then the latter, struggling to rise,
Made one last effort, while his face grew dark
With pleading agony : " Gualberto ! hark I
The chant — the hour — you know the olden fashion —
The monks below intone Our Lord's dear Passion.
Oh ! by this cross " — and here he caught the hilt
Of Gualbert's sword — " and by the blood once spilt
Upon it for us both long years ago,
Forgive — forget — and spare your fallen foe !"
The face that bent above grew white and set,
The lips were drawn, the brow bedew'd with sweat,
But on the grass the harmless sword was flung,
And, stooping down, the generous hero wrung
The outstretched hand. Then, lest he lose control
Of the but half-tamed passions of his soul.
Fled up the pathway, tearing casque and coat,
To ease the throbbing tempest at his throat —
Fled up the crags, as if a fiend pursued,
Nor paused until he reached the chapel rude.
There, in the cool, dim stillness, on his knees, ,
Trembling, he flings himself, and, startled, sees
Set in the rock a crucifix antique,
From wliich the wounded Christ bends down to speak :
" T/tou hast done well, Gualberto. For my sake
Thau didst forgive thine enemy ; now take
My ^ruious pardon for thy years of sin,
And from, this day a letter life begin.^'
^Vhite flash'd the angels' wings above his head,
Rare subtile perfumes thro' the place were shed ;
And golden harps and sweetest voices pour'd
Their glorious hosannas to the Lord,
Who, in that hour and in that chapel quaint,
Changed, by his power, by his sweet love's constraint,
Gualbert tlie sinner into John the saint.
VOL. xiii. — 7
The enemies of "superstition"
had bst a Rcwxi deal of ground in
their Otspcrate struggle against the
events which for the bsl ten or twelve
weeks had scandalized their distress-
ed philosophy. As it had become
impossible to deny the existence of
the ibuniain whos* pure streams were
flowing before the eyes of the amazed
people, so it was becoming imirossi-
ble to continue denying ihc reality
of llie cures which were being work-
ed, continually and in many places,
by the use of this mysterious water.
At first the incredulous had shrug-
ged tiicir shoulders at the reixirt of
these cures, taking the simple course
of denying them out-amj-oul, and
refusing tu make any examination.
Then some skilful jicrsuns had in-
vented several f^lse miracles, to en-
joy an easy triumph in refuting them.
But they had vcrj* soon been con-
founded Uy I lie multiplicity of these
wonderful cures, of which a few have
been mentioned. 'ITie facts were
evident. They became so numerous
and so striking that it was nccessar)',
however painful it might be, cither
to acknowledge ihcir miraculous na-
ture or find Kotuc natural explanation
for tlicro.
The free thinkers, then, unilerstood
thai, unIi;sE iliey were willing either
to surrenduT or to deny in tlic face
of complete evidence, it was abso*
lutely ncf-cssary to lake up fcomc
new tine of tactics.
The most intelligent of the clifjuet
indeed, saw that things had already
gone too far, and jK-rceivcd the grave
error which they had committed at
the outset in denying prematurriy
and without examination facts which
had nAerward become patent and
perfectly well established, such as
ike appearance of the fountain, and
the cures of a great number of many
who were notoriously incurable by
natural means, and who were now
to be seen going about ihe streets of
the town in perfect health. What
made the mistake worse and almost
irreparable was that thc-se unfortu-
nate denials of the most well-attest-
ed events were authentically and offi-
cially recorded in all the newspapers
of the department.
II.
The greater part of the cures ef-
fected by the Massabielle water had
a cliaracter of rapidity, nay, even of
iiistantaneousuess, which clearly show-
ed the immediate action of sovereign
power, 'I'here were some, however^
which did not present this evidently
supernatural appearance, being ac-
( omplished after baths or draughts
repeated a few or many times, and
in a slow and gradual manner— re-
sembling somewhat in iheir mode ihc
ordinary course of natural cures,
though in reality dilVcrenL
In a lillagL* called Cvt, near
I.ourdes, a little child of seven years
had been the subject of one of thesi*
cures, of a mixed character, n hich, ac-
cording to one's natunil inclination,
might be attributed to a special grace
of (iod or to tlic unaided forces of
Okf Lady ef Ijourdcs.
nature. This cliiltl, Tiametl I^sha-
rcUles, had been bom eniircly de-
formed, with a douWo ciirvalnrc of
Uie batk and breasl-boiie. His ihin
and almost withered legs were use-
less ftom their extreme weakness ;
the poor Utile Imy had never been
able to walk, but was always cither
Kitting or lying down. When he
bad to move, his mother rarne<l him
in her arms. Sometimes, ini.Iecd, the
child, resting on the edge of the tv
hlc or hd[H:d by his mother's hand,
coukl manai^e to keep liimself up and
to lake a few steps ; but it was at
the c(.rst of violent effbns and im-
mense fatigue. The jiliysician uf the
|)lace had professed himself unable
lo cure him; and the disease being
organic, no remedy had ever been
resorted to.
The parents of this unfortunate
child, having heard of the mtrairles
of Lourdcs, had procured some of
Ihc water from the grotto ; and in the
courw of a fortnight had applie<l it
on three different occasions to the
body of tlie little fellow without ob-
taining any fffcrl. Hut their faith
was not dtscouraj^cd on that account ;
if ho|»e was bani;ihc<l from the world,
it would &tin remain in the hearts of
mothers. A fourth application was
nude an Holy Thuniday, the first of
April, 1S58. That day the chil<i took
seven! steps without assistanro.
The bathings from that lime lie-
came more and more clHcaciuus, and
the health uf the patient gradually
im))toyc<L After three or four weeks,
he ln'rame strong enough to walk
almwi as well as other people. ^Ve
say "almost," for there was still in
his gait a certain awkwardnc-ss, which
Mienied like a reminUrence of his
original infirmity. The thinness of
his legJi had slowly disappeared to-
gether with their weakness, and the
deformity of liis chest w.as almost
entirely gone. All ilie people of the
village of Ge«, knowing his previous
condition, said that it was a miracle.
Were they right or wrong ? What-
ever our own opinion may Ixr, there
is certainly much to be said on both
sides of the question.
Another child, Denys Uouchet, of
the town of Lamarquc, in the can-
ton of Ossun, had also lieen cured
of a general paralysis in very much
the same way. A young man of
twenty - seven years, Jean Louis
Amarc, who was subject to epileptic
fits, had been completely though gra-
dually curwl of his terrible malady
solely by the use of the water of
Massabielle.
Some other sdmilar cases had also
occurred.*
III.
Ir- we were not acquainted with
the wonderfully varied forms which
supernatural cures have assumed since
the Christian wa, wc might perliaps
be inclined to believe that I'rovidence
had thus disposed thing<i at tliis mo-
ment to cause proud human philoso-
phy lo catch itself in its own nets,
and to destroy itself with its own
hands. But let us not think that
there was in this case such a snare
on the part of God. He lies ip am-
bush for no one. But truth in iis
normal and regular developments, the
logic of which is unknown to human
philosophy, is of iiselfan eternal snare
for error.
• Wt tliliik It wrcll to Mr tli«t rto one uT tbeic
rutcs, r)i-r[il Ihit n\ Dcnr^ Hnurhct. whom the
plijrs'iL-tam lisil tiT->n'junc<;J nbADliitvIv aait can-
s11iitit»nnll>' Iniuial^k. wat (Icct>rc4 lo be tnitS'
ruliui hy [lie cpis'')!!*! coinmissi"n wHrh will bO
mcntiiini-'tl further oti. Kor ihcnc . . ■ , ih,
tsay be coniulted. Whuterertti- ; , o(
dirtae Inlerrentinn msy he In vich ta<ct, the
L-hurch brruifs pruclaliulflf; ■ nilractc rs<]tilTet
(Aal nu ttatiritl tJe/ii*mtilirn ef thr/mt tkitntJ
it f.'uii'f.-. »nJ sell »i\At, wilttoul •(Tirmlnir or
dcnvltiK tvcry "^c In whltll ilil* cufullUoo )■
uot louii'l. S£ic 14 I utilcnl i:t xa^ AVi.-j-i.
Wc^lull hcri-ifEti have otoiwuii lu iipnk of
(h: work of the comoUaiwtL
I
:
lOO
Our Lady ef Leurdes.
However Ihis may be, the sitvants
and physicians of the country hasten-
ed to find in ihe«,' various cures, the
cause of which was doubtful, ihi^ufjh
llieir reality and progressive nature
were well ascertained, an admirable
oppurtunity aj)d an excellent pretext
to elTecl that change of base which
the increasing evidence of facts made
absolutely nccessar)-.
Ceasing, therefore, to ascribe these
cures to such a cominonjilacc cause
as imagination, they loudly attribut-
ed llicm to the natural virtues which
this remarkable water, which had been
discovered by the merest chance, un-
doubtedly posse5Ke<i. To give this
explanation was of course equivalent
to recognizing the cures.
Let the reader recall the beginning
of this stor)', when a little shepherd-
ess, going out to gather some dead
woo<i, claimed to have seen a shining
appariiion. Let him remember the
sneers of the great men of I^urdes,
the shrugging of shoulders at the
club, the supreme contempt with
which these strong-minded individuals
received this childish nonsense ; what
progress tlie supernatural ha<l made ;
and how much incrcluhly, science,
and philosophy had lost, since the
first events which had so suddenly
occurred at the lonely grotto on the
banks of the Gave.
The miraculous had, if we may
use such an expression, taken the of-
fensive. Free thought, Liiely so
proud and confident in its attacks,
was now pursued by facts and oblig-
ed to defend itself,
llie representatives of philosophy
and scienLC were none the less posi-
tive, however, antl fjiowcd as much
disd.iin as ever for the ixjpul.ir super-
stition,
" Well, be it so,** said they, affect-
ing a tone of good humor and the
air of good faith. " We acknowledge
that the water of the grotto cures
certain maladies. What can be more
simple ? What need is there of having
recoun*e to miracles, supL-rnaiural grac-
es, ami divine intervention to explain
eftecis similar to, if not even exactly
the same as, those of the thousand
springs which, from Vidiy or Uaden-
U.-iden to Luchon, act with such effi-
cacy on the human system ? The
Massabielle water has merely some
ver)* powerful mineral (pialities. like
those which are found in the springs
of Bareges or Cautercts. a litdc high-
er up in the mountains. The grotto
of Lourdcs has no connection with
religion, but comes within the pro>
vince of medical science.*'
A letter, which we lake at random
from our documents, presents l)ctter
than we could the attitude of the
sai^anls of the neighborhood regard-
ing the wonders worked by the Mas-
sabielle water. This letter, written
by an eminent ph)Tdcian of that re-
gion, Dr. Lary, who had no faith
whatever iu the miracuious cxplana-
Uons of the cures, was addressetl
by him to a member of the faculty :
"OsstiN. April sS, iSsS.
" I hanen, my deai w, tu send j-uu ttie
deuils which you ask of me lu rcK^riJ (o
llie ci»« of ihe woman liaUp of our
commune.
•■ Tliis woman, in consct^uence of flWtt-
matism in llie lofi hand, had lost the
power of tioldlng aoydiiiiff wiih ir. Hence,
if she wislicd to wash or carry a glass
will) l)iis h:iiid.*hc was very apt lo diop
il. and she was obliged lo give up dr.-iw-
Ing waitT from tlic well, liccAuse ihln
liand was unable lo hold llic rope. J- or
mote tlwn eight raonihs she had not
made her bed and bad not spun a ainglu
skein of thread.
'■ Now, after a single journey to Lourdci,
wlteie »he tnailc ww of the water inter
iLillr and ejiiernally. she spin* wiih ease,
maktt Iter M, tfnt-^t wattr, MMr*« uud
tarruf the glat/es and Mthes, and. in sktrt,
Utft Ihit A,iMjt Hi uvU HI the eifier.
■' Tlie movements of (he left hand are
not jT( qmtt as free as befure the illness.
but vo per ccni.of the power thai had
Our Lady
b«en loit berote the use of llie walcr from
ilio srollo at LouTtles bas bcon restored.
The woman piuposcs, boiverer. to go
again lo (he gtotto. I ^alt a»k her tu
pass your way that you may we her. and
convince yourself of all that I have Mid.
" You will lind, in cxumiiilng her case,
an incomplete anchylosis of the lotrcr
joint of the forefinger. If the ie[iejtcd
uie of the water of the grotto dcMroys
this morbid condition, il will be an addi-
tional f rr>of of its alkaline properties.*
" tnconcl union, I beg you to believe me
youis Tvty (ailhfully,
" Larv, M-D."
This explanation, once admitted
and considered as ccrlain in advance.
the doctors were less unwilUitg to ac-
cept the cares worked by the water
of the grotto; and from this period
they set lo work to generalize their
thesis, and to apply it almost wiiliuut
any distinction to all cases, even to
those which were marked by the
most amazing rapidity, which could
by no means be ascribed to the ordi-
narj- action of mineral waters. The
learned i^rsonages of the place got
out of this difficulty by attributing to
the water of the grollo extremely
powerful properties, such as had been
I>reWoiuly unknown. It mattered
little that they dlstartled all the laws
of nature in their theories, provided
that heaven gut no profit thence.
They willingly admittal the prcier-
Datural in order lo get rid of the su-
pernatural.
'ITicre were among the uithfut
some perverse and troublesome per-
suOfi, who by impertinent reniarks in-
terftircd with the profound conclu-
sions of the scientific coterie.
'■ How," the)' said, " is it that this
mineral spring, so extraordinarily pow-
erful llut it workii instantaneous cures,
was found by Ikniadctte when in a
state of ecstasy, and came after her
accounts of certain celestial visions,
* T))e Miknt wm. In Cki. cntlrdr carvd at lb«
iMOQij nsU lo LunnlEa.
and apparently in support of them ?
How did it hapffen that the fountain
sprang out pix^cikiy.at the moment
when Bemadeite* hl-lievcd herself to
hear a heavenly voice leltmg her to
drink and bathe ? A-iirt Xbw is it
that this fountain, which', ffppearcd
suddenly under the eyes of HiPthe
people in such vet)' unusual c^re^^rt-
slances, yields not ordinary watvjs*'
but a water which, as you yourselves-
acknowledge, has already curc<l so
many sick persons whose cases hati
been abandoned as hopeless, and
who have used it without medical
advice, and merely in the spirit of re-
ligious faith ?"
These objections, repeated under
many diffcTcnt forms, provoked the
free-thinkers, philosophers, and m-
vants cxcee<Iingly. They tri<»<l to
evade them by answers which were
really so poor and miserable lliat
they ought, one would think, to have
hardly presented a good appearance
even in their authors' eyes ; but then,
to find any others «-as no doubt very
difficult.
" Why not ?" said they. *' Coffee
was discovered by a goat. A shep-
herd found by chance the waters of
Luchon. It was also by accident
that the ruins of Pompeii were
brought to light by the pickaxe of a
laborer. Why should we be so much
surpri.sed that this little girl, while
amusing herself by digging in the
ground during her hallucination,
should have come upon a spring, and
that the water of this spring should
be mineral and alkaline ? That she
imagined at tlie moment that the
Blessed Virgin was l>efore her, and
that she heard a voire directing her
to the fountain, is merely a coinci-
dence, entirely accidental, but of
which superstition tries to make a
miracle. On this occasion, as on the
others, chance has done everything,
and has been the real discoverer."
102
CUjr**Jj<i(fy of Lourdes.
The Ciithful were AOif^liowcvcr,
moved by this &o/i*'<)f 'argument.
They had ihe b.iir.'Wpf to think that
lo explain evdJj'Vljrnit by accidental
coincidence. wiU'C \o do viulcnce to
reason iH3<ieP the pretext of defend-
ing it. ' Xhis' Lrritated the free-think-
ers, -VIeV though acknowledging at
l.ltit;Iw? reality of the cures, deplored
li^jofe than ever Ihe religious and su-
;*6rnatural character which the com-
mon people intiisted upon giving to
these strange events ; ami, as was na-
tural under the circumsLinces, they
were inclined to resort to force to
stop the popular movement. •* If
these waters are mineral," they be-
g.in to say, " they belong to the state
or to the niunicii>alily ; i>eople should
not use them except by the advice of
a doctor; and an estabtishment for
ttaths should be built at the spot,
not n chapel."
The science of Lourdes, ibrced to
assent to the facts in this case, had
arrived at t]ic slate of mind just de-
scribed when the measua'S of the
prefect, relative to the objects de-
posited in the grotto, and the at-
tempt to imprison Uernadeite under
the pretext of insanity, were an-
nouneeil — this atlem|il. as we have
seen, having been (tereatcti by the
unex[)ected intervention of the cure,
M. Fcjramale.
IV.
A CERTAIN and oflici.il basis for all
these theses of the desperate adhe-
rents of the medical theory wa.<i still
a desideratum. M. Massy had al-
ready l}cthought himself of asking
.such a basis from one of the most
wonderful and indubitable sciences
of the age — namely, that of chcmis-
tr)'. With this view, he had applied,
through the mayor of Lourdes, to a
chemist of some distinction in the
dcpanmeut— M. I^tour de Trie.
To show, not in detail by the ex-i
aniination of each special case, but
once for all, tliat these cures which
were rising up xs formidable objec-
tions were naturally explained by Uie'
chemical constitJti:>n of the new
spring, seemed to him a master-
stroke ; and he considereil that, in
.iccompUshing it, he would lay sci-
ence and philosophy under ubllga-l
tioti, not to mention also the admin-
istration, represented by the minister,
M. KouLind.
Seeing that it w.is impossible to
have Bernadette arrested as insanCfj
he urged the analysis, which was tot
show officially the mineral .ind heal-'!
ing qualities of the water. It was
becoming imperatively necessary to
get rid of the intrusive supeniaiural
I>owcr which, after having produced'
the fountain, was now rnring the sick
people, and threatening to pass all
bounds. Though its abominable in*
(luence should continue strong in
many (|uartcre, a really official an.ily*
sis might be of great service.
The chemist of the prefecture,
therefore, .set to wort to make this
precious investigation of the water,
fn:ra M.x>is.T.biclIc, and, \iith a good
conscience, if not with perfect sci-
ence, be found at the bottom of his
crucibles a solution perfectly agreo
ing with the explanations of the doc-
tors, the reasonings of the philoso-
phers, and the desues of the prefect
But was trutli also as well satisfied
with it as the prefecture, the philoso-
phers, and tlie faculty ? At Jllst,
perhaps, this question was not pro-
jjosed, but it lay in store for a futnre
occasion. Uui, nnt to consider thi»l
fur the present, let us see what was
this analysis which M. I.jtour dc
Trie, chemist of the administration,
addressed officially, on the fiih of
May. to the mayor of Lourdes, and
which Ihe latter immediately forward-
ed to the Baron Maiisy :
Our Latfjf of LmrdiS.
r03
"ClIEMirAt ASALYSIS.
"Tlic walcr of ihc srotio of Loordes
is ¥Cry deaf, wilhoul »mell or decided
taste. I(* specific f-ravity is very nearly
thai uf diMillcd w:iivr. lu itnipcttalurc
at the spring Is 15' Cent. (59" Faht.)
" It coi>i.iin» ilie foUowing elements:
" i»L Ctiloijiles of sodium, calcium
and raaenesium in abundance.*
" 3d. Carbonates of lime and of mag-
nesia.
" 3d. Silicates of lime and of alumina.
" 4lh. Oxide of iron.
" Sill. Sulphaic and c-irlianateof soda.
•• 6ih. Phosphate (traces).
"Tlh. Organic mailer — ulmine.
"The complete absence of sulphate nf
lime )D Ibis water is alto established by
ibis analysis.
'" This remarkable pcciiltatity is entire-
ly to its advantage, and entitles tl to be
constdeied as very favorable to digestion,
and as ffiring lo the animal economy a
disposilicn favorable to the e<juilibrtui»
of the vital aclion.
•• We do not think it impnident to say.
in consideration nfthr nttnibcr and qtial-
llf of th« substances wtiicli compose it,
tluu uedical scienco will, perhaps, soon
lecogniKe in it special curative propcilies
whicli vr'ill entitle i( to be classed aniung
the waters whirh constitute the mineral
wealth of our drpanment.
" Be pinsed 10 accept, etc.
" A. Latour dk Trik."
The civil order Is not so well <iis-
cipIiDCf] as the milJtar)', .inti, ihrougli
misnndcrstinding, false steps are oc-
casionally taken in ii. The prefect,
in the muUiliJilc of hib avocations,
had omitted lo give his orders to the
e<litors ol the o6icial newspaper of
the department, the Erg Imp^r'utle,
so^hat, while the cheniLsi of the pre-
fecture said M-hilc, its journalist said
black ; while the former was recog-
nizing in the spring at Lourdcs one
of the future medical and mineral
treasures of the Pyrenees, the latter
■ TI)e f>re«nr« nf chloride otwidlan (cotnman
nln, to ny (Mitiineol Ibe othcrx. in a^intlitntt,
wtlkimit s <]ecltlc<1 uit« in ihe wairr. it ■ little
■rHenooii, Tlie niiRiiul rmilt: " Ch^nruf u% tie
KMiie, lie =luus ft dc uikgnitle: at>ood4iiU."—
K«ll IV TxANSLATOIt.
was railing it dirty water, and jok-
ing at>out the cures which had been
obtained.
" It is neetUess to say." he wrote
on the prcxisc day on which M. La-
tour de Trie sent in his report — that
is, on the 6th of May — " that the
famous grotto turns out miracles in
abundance, atid that our department
is inimdated Mtili ihcm. At every
comer you will intx't with jwople
who tell you of a thousand cures
obtained by the use of some dirty
water,
" The doctors will soon have noth-
ing to do, and the rheumatic and
consumptive people will have disap-
peared from the department," etc
NotwithslanJing these discrepan-'
cies, which might have been avoided,
it must be acknowledged that liaron
Massy was, ©n the whole, attentive
to his business. On the 4th of May,
at about noon, he had delii'ert.'d hi&
address lo the mayors of the canton
of I>3urdes, and given his orders.
On the 4th of May, in the evening,
the grotto had been stripped of the
offerings and ex-vvtos. On the
morning of the 5th, he had ascertain-
ed the impossibility of having Bema-
derte arrested, and had abandoned
this measure. On the 6th. in the
evening, he received the analysis of
his chemist. Fortified wiili this Im-
portant document, he waited the
course of events.
What was about to take place at
Lourdcs ? What would happen at
the grotto ? What would he done
by Bemadclte, whose every move-
ment was watched by the Argus eyes
of Jacomi;tand of his agents ? Wotilil
not the fountain at the grotto dLsap
pear in the coming hot weather, and
thus put an end to the whole busi-
ness ? What attitude would the peo-
ple assume ? Such were (he hopes
and anxieties of the Baron Massy,^
imj^rial prefect.
4
I
104
Our Z^dy of Lourdes.
■
V.
At the grotto the miraculous foun-
tain continued to flow, abundant and
clear, with lliat character of quiet
jMrpctuity wliicli Is generally found
in springs coming from the rock.
The supernatural apparition did
not cease to assert its existence, and
to prove it hy benefiis conferred.
The grace of tJod continued to
descend visibly and invisibly upon the
people, sometimes quick as the light-
ning which flashes ibrgugh the clouds,
somciimes gradual like the light of
dawn.
We can only speak of those graces
which were external and manifest.
At six or seven kilometres (four
miles) from Lourdes, at Ijiubajac,
lived a good wom-in, a peasant, who
had fonnerly been accustomed to la-
bor, but whom an accident had for
eighteen months past reduced to a
most painful Inaction. Her name
was Catherine Latapie-Chouat. Ju
October, 1856, having climbed an
oak to knock down some acorns, she
had lost her balance, and suffered a
violent fall, which caused a severe
dislocation of the right arm and
hand. The reduction — as is stated
in the report and the official state-
ment, which are now Iwfore us —
though perfonned immediately by
an able surgeon, and ihoui^h it
nearly restored the arm to its normal
state, had nevertheless not prevent-
ed an extreme weakness in it. The
most intelligent and continuous treat-
ment had been inelTcLtual in remov-
ing the stifl"ness of the three most im-
portant lingers of the hand. The
thumb and first two fingers remained
obstinately bent and paralyzed, so
that it was impossible either to
straighten them or to enable them to
move in the least. The unfortunate
peasant, still young enough for much
labor, fur bhe was hardly thirty-eight,
could not sew, spin, knit, or take care
ofthehouse. The doctor, after having
treated her case for a long lime with-
out success, had told her that it was
incurable, and that she must resign
herself to give up the use of that
hand. This sentence, from such a
reliable authority, was for the poor
woman tlie announcement of an irre-
parable misfortune. The poor haw
no resource but work ; for them com-
pulsory inaction is inevitable misery.
Catherine had become pregnant
nine or ten months after the accident,
and her time was approaching at the
date of ournarrativc. One night she
awaked with a sudden thought or in<
spiration. " An interior spirit," to
quote her own words to myself,
"said 10 me as it were with irresis-
tible force, * Go to the grotto ! go to
the grotto, and you will be cured !' "
Who ibis mysterious being was who
spoke thus, and whom this ignorant
peasant — ignorant at least as far as
human knowledge is concerned —
called a " spirit," is no doubt known
by her angel guardian.
It was three o'clock in the morn-
ing. Catherine called two of her
children who were large enough to
accompany her.
'* I>o you remain to work," said
she to her husband. " I am going
to the grollo."
" In your present condition it is
impossible," replied he; "to go to
I-ourdes and return is full tliree
leagues."
" Nothing is impossible. I am go-
ing to get cured."
No objection had the least effect
upon her, and she set out with her
two children. It was a fine moon-
light night ; but the awful silence.
occasionally broken by strange and
mysterious sounds, the solitude of
the plains only dimly visible, and
seemingly peopled by vague forms,
terrified the children. They trem-
Our Lady of Leurdes.
105
I thi
m
bled, and would have stopped a' eve-
ry step had not Catherine reassured
them. Slie had no fear, and felt that
c was going to the fouDtahi of
e.
She arrived at I-ourdes at day-
, and happened to meet Bcma-
tte. Some one telling her who it
s, Catherine, without saying
ylhing. approached the child
csscd by the Lord and beloved by
ary, an<I touched her dress hum-
f. Then slie continued her Jour-
y to the rocks of Massabiellc, where,
spile of the eariy hour, a great
y pilgrims were already assembled
,d were on their knees.
Catherine and her children also
elt and prayed. Then she rose,
d quietly bathed her hand in the
rvcllous water.
Her fingers immediately straight-
ed, l»ecame tJexihle, and under her
trol. Tlie Blessed Virgin had
ed the incurable.
What did Catherine do ? She was
<x surprised. She did not utter a
, but again fell on her knees, and
ve thanks to God and to Mary.
the lirst time for eighteen months.
c prayed with her hands joined, and
sped the resuscitated fingers with
others.
She remained thus for a long lime,
rbcd in an act of thanksgiving.
ch moments are sweet ; the soul Is
,d to forget itself, and thinks that
in Paradise.
But violent sufferings recalled Ca-
erine to the earth — this earth of
;hs and tears, where the curse pro-
,ounce<l upon the guilty mother of
the human race has never ceased to
l>e felt by her innumerable [)Osterity.
3Ve have said tliat Catltcrinc wa.s
iry near her confinement, and as
was still upon her knees she
found herself suddenly seized by the
terrible pains of childbirth. She
shuddered, seeing that tiicre would
fvr
IS
be no time to go even to Lourdes,
and that her delivery was about to
occur in the jiresenccof the surround-
ing multitude. And for a moment
she looked arouml with terror and
anguish.
But this terror did not last long.
Catherine returned to the Queen
whom nature obeys.
"Good Mother," said she simplf,
" you have just shown me so great a
favor, I know you will spare me the
shame of being delivered before all
these people, and at leist grant that
I may return home before giving birth
to my child."
Immediately aU her pains ceased,
and the interior spirit of whom she
spoke to us, and who, we believe, was
her angel guardian, said to her:
" Do not be alarmed. Set out
with confidence; you will arrive safe-
ly."
" Let us go home now," said Ca-
therine to her two children.
Accordingly she took the road to
Loubajac, holding them by the hand,
without intimating to any one her
critical state, and without showing
any uneasiness, even to the midwife
of her own village, who happened to
be there in the midst of the crowd
of pilgrims. With inexpressible hap-
piness she quietly traversed the long
and rough road which separatc<I
her from home. The two children
were not afraid of it now ; the sun
was risen, and their mother was
cured.
As soon as she returned, she wish-
ed still to pray ; but immediately her
pains returned. In a cjuarter of an
hour she was the motlier of a third
son.*
•The re»(lCT will jMrrhaps like Id sm the f»-
(■tilts a! tUc cpiu-opal comiclmlofi on thlscu«:
■• lUrJly h».l Ca(hcnnc I.il»ple-t'.hriiiil plunK-
e.1 her h.»nil into ihe wiiat, [limi •Jic lell hrr-i^lf
tu bv snllrely i^ureil ; hct linecr^ f ecuvC(c4 Ibirkr
luilural *utiplciie«!i anil eluikiiy. bo that itM
could qutcklr open and «hi» Utcn, uid tii« then
io6
Our Lady of
At the same time, a woman of La-
marque, Mariamie Carrot, had been
relieved in less than ten days, merely
by lotions willi the water from the
grotto, of a white cnipiion which had
covered her wliole face, and whith
for two years had resi:ited all treat-
ment. Ur. Amadou, of Pontacq, her
physician, ttas satisfied of the fact,
and was an incontestable witness of
it subsequently before the cpisco{>al
commission.*
with PS mucb cue ma twfoto Vki aoctdent of Oo-
lobct. iSv^,
" 1-iutnilul lJm« tht liM hid no more iroable
wlUi ihcm.
" Tlie (Irtormitt- of ihv hanil ur Calhetide Lk<
taple, anil ibc liiii<wisiDiIi(>' oC mine '^ tvctnfi due
tQ ku aitthj'lo-ii vS the )utnl> nf the ftnucts, bikI
to « coRiplrte Icilnn »f the iirivnot the flcxoi
Uo4iin\ U 1* cerlun Uul tlic c«se vru a vci/ se-
rious one ; as alto by lb* uMlnuiffits of x\\ the
mMas o( cure uwd durtnc eltbtccu tnomhi. jrvd
by tke Kronral of Ihc ph^tkian, who bad dcclar-
e<l to thli woman thai hrr cDfulitMn wa< liremc-
dbbU.
" Ncvatthdcu, In •pile of the faiUr« of auch
long aniJ r«pcaic-t attcicpu. Ihc cmploTRiertI nf
Tirioui anirr heulmit aceots, anil tbr ^atrmciit
or the fihysldin. ihiitevcre tmon JtMti[>c»*d
IniViedlaMlr. N"w. ihii utidilcn (lliii|i[>i:>i-iifKo
of Ihe InBnnitv. r.nd rvslaratiofk of the liaeert [O
Ihdr ufUinal stAlo, U cvitleDUx tcyonU ami
tttoro the uiiiifcl cotirte of nntiirc.aml of ihc Uws
which corcin thr c^icacy nl Um aKCiita.
■* Tlic moiii tiv wtikh this rcfwU has been
broui{hl ab'Jiil Uairc no doulit in ihi* rc«pecl,
and riiahllUi ihli conrluiiun incantestably. In
fad. il hubaonai'ciTodJ.d) thalthe Mui-tblellc
watct i> of ai uidinary rhuacier, without the
ItaK curative prnf^enkt. It cannit. then, bv Its
nuural action, have Mralichiencil th« finccn ol
tatkerine l^upl« anil irMurcd ihelr MppteDcis
■Bil afUlty, whKh had not bc«n accomplbhed by
lb« Micoiific rein«dl«« whlrh w«ra >o varl-
oa% anH h!Ic<I for *a lung a time. The vmnderful
rewll. tbvn. which the mere touch o[ thii w.il*t
ItBitteOlaicIy [itaduced. caonot be aacribcd to il.
(nitwc oiuit li^c toa tupc'ioTcaitv.anc) Jn faom.
aX« far i( 14 a «Mi>ernati)t«l powei, nl w)iiih ths
water of MaanbleUa has been, aAUwcfc. th« veil
and ioerl koatinincflt
•• llMhIn, If ordlnarf water had been ponewed
rvf «urh a ptodleloui puwei, CatbctiDv L^taplc
wiiuM hare experienced Its effect Ifn« before by
the dally UM whkh ahe maOe of it In wiKhtnj;
hcficir ami hit chililrcn; li>r »ht: hwl Jnily cui-
ploytil ("f '*>'• pnf?'^*e water eiartly tiniilar to
thai at I>ve tiiait'>."~firtrait/r«m IJkt ii/A /w
•V^rrr *</ ^ tAr tfmntitttm.
dat Tbki wan, in farl. aulheiilli-allr averred. Ibe
admlnUtralivc analv^* in the tron'.tarv niilwilh-
aiandinc.at Ihciimcof thc/''n-ft-ivr^t(T of Uw
COBOllUloa.
•WewlU almKtvelheDOBduiioM of Umoob-
mlnioB an ihit poial.
"AncnipiiTe affcctlooof thbsortmtyhi set of
At Bordercs, near Nay, the widov
Marie Lanou-Uomenge, eighty years
old, had been for three years a sufTercr
from an incomplete paralysi:? in the
whole I-jft siile. Site could not take
a step without assistaucc, and was
unable to do any work.
Ur. Poueyruiroo, of Mircpoix, af-
ter having inefiectiially used some
remedies to restore life in the paUied
parts, though continuing his visits,
had abandoned medical treatment of
the case.
Hope, however, is with difHcuIty
extinguiKhcd in the hearts of the sick.
" When shall I get well ?" the good
woman would say to Dr. Poucynoi-
roo, every time that he came.
>* You will get well when the good
God sees fit," was the invariable reply
of lite doctor, who was far from suspect-
ing the prophetic nature of his ivords.
*' Why should I not believe what
itself have a very {[rare cbaracicr. not tbreatefl
serious duiget or disastrous conscqiicncei.
Still, that from wblcb Marianne fiarTni had suf-
fered wniilfl iTidkate by ili iluraiion. by Us revls-
Unce lu Die ttcatunrtit ivliiih had been preactib-
ed a'ld faithfully (ullcwcd, and bv its cobUihmI
and prof reiUrc iprcniiinK. a very decidedly i
llgnant character, ihc Irioculathio, soiotfkcsli, i
a dceiily seated lirm, to e»pel which would r»^
qutre ionic and pcraevrnnir allentlon, with a pa-
tient ■.-oniiinuaoce oJ the liealincnt aticsdy adopi-
cd or of siome other more approixisie and cSec-
toal "na.
"The rapid ihouihnot InMsntancmisdisappnt^
anee of ibe nhile cnii>linii from Ihe face of llM
palleni Is very diffeieat Icom Ibe usual effect of
chemlca] preparations ; foi the first lolton produc-
ed a percr|itiblc iinprovement ur partial curv
itutam/timfamtij, which waa adraisced hj Iha
second, made luur days aftcrt«aid ; and without
the alil of any other remedy. the»e iwo lotinm
■':cr,nip1iUied a romplrtc re^torailon in a few
da/i tiy B coJiial and lapiil |j|'j){Ich,
Sf-'". the liquid the eo:poynient ci whkh pro-
duced this S|tcedrcnerl was noIhlnK btii w^w,
wilbuiil any special prupetUes, and i^ilhoial %ny
relsiion or appraprlaiencM to Ihe di^eBse whkh
it overcame, btmI which, be^dcs. If It hsd possess-
cil any \\it\\ iiiialilirs. would loiif( befurc bava
pfiMluLed Ihe eBed IhrouKh tlia lUilv "Se whicIS
the i-aueid inBdo ol it lor di mkinc and t*ashln||.
" Thi* * iifc canrvoi, ihf r, l>e AKribcil lo the na-
tural elficacv ■)< the Hatsahiclle waler, and al
tbecircttinilancca, as U would seem~nsin«ly, ths
tenacity and actiTlty of the eruption, the rapIdUj
nl the i-iire, and the Innpproprlsieneas of the ele-
fflcat wltiih tiinuKht it about' eiincur to show In
it a t^BuNC toiciRDBod superior lo natural afeiitL"
—fJjfrAii /r«m lAt ij/* frvrtf**riiU </" «U
i
Our Lady of Lourdts.
107
he says, and throw myself direct-
ly on the divine goodness ?" said the
old peasant woman one day to her-
self, when she heard people talking
of the fountain of Massabielle.
Accordingly, she sent some one to
Lourdes to get at the spring itself a
little of this healing water.
When it was brought to her, she
was much excited.
" Take me out of bed," said she,
" and hold me up."
Tliey took her out, and dressed
her hurriedly. Both the actors and
spectators in this scene were some-
what disturbed.
Two persons held her up, placing
their hands under her shoulders.
A glass of water from the grotto
was presented to her.
She extended her trembling hand
toward the quickening water and
dipped her fingers in it. Then she
made a great sign of the cross on
herself, raised the glass to lier lips,
and slowly drank the contents, no
doubt absorbed in fervent and silent
prayer.
Sie became so pale that they
thought fw the moment that she was
going to faint.
But while they were exerting them-
selves to prevent her from falling, she
rose with a quick and joyful move-
ment and looked around. Then
she cried out with a voice of tri-
umph:
"Let me go — quick! I am cured."
Those who were holding her with-
drew their arms partially and with
some hesitation. She immediately
freed herself from them, and walked
with as much confidence as if she
had never been ill.
Some one, however, who still had
some fear of the result, offered her a
stick to lean on.
She looked at it with a smile; then
took it and contemptuously threw it
far away, as a thing which was no
longer of use. And fi-om that day,
she employed herself as before in
hard out-door work.
Some visitors, who came to see
her and to convince themselves of the
fact, asked her to walk in their pres-
ence.
'• Walk, did you say ? I will run
for you!" And, true to her word,
she began to run.
This occurred in the month of
May. In the following July, the
people pointed out the vigorous oc-
togenarian as a curiosity, as she mow-
ed the grain, and was by no means
the last in the hard labors of the
harvest.
Her physician, the excellent Dr.
Poueymiroo, praised God for this
evident miracle, and subsequently,
with the examining commission, sign-
ed the proces-verbal on the extraor-
dinary events which we have just
related, in which he did not hesitate
to recognize " the direct and evident
action of divine power." •
* Ninth procd»-vertnI of Uie coininIaak>a.
TO Bl CONTINUSD.
In the adjuMinent of differences
to which conDicting interests or n
spirit of rivalry- mny give birth, gov-
ernments, like individuals, are prone
lo sati&fy themselves with conven-
tions limited to matters immediately
in dispute. 'Ihey are like medical
doctors, who treat symptoms as the
malady to be cured, and, satisfied
with alleviating present pain, leave
its causes to war against mortal life,
until disease becomes chronic and in-
curable.
Whether the labors of the Joint
High Commission, now sitting in
Washington, will be of this descrip-
tion, remains to be seen ; hut
such, it appears to us, has been
the character of treaties or conven-
tions affecting commercial relations
with our Canadian and provincial
neighbors. They seem not to have
been founded upon any iutclligenl
contiideratiun of the wants of con-
tractijig parties, but, presuppos-
ing that there must be conflicting
interests, are devised lo prevent rival
industries from merging in unlVicnd-
lincs:! and strife. We ask, then,
whether these rival interests have le-
giliroaic existence. The answer to
this question will be derived from an
examination of the statistics of the
two countries— their agricultural and
other products — their climatic and
social conditions, and the commer-
cial relations actually subsisting be-
tween Uiem, as welt as those which
lx)th sustain to other cuuntncs and
peoples.
'I he productions of a countt)' are
proj)erly classilied according lo the
sources whence they are derived.
We have, then, five distinct classes
of products, namely : 'Hie natural
productions of the sea, the earth, the
forest, and tlie results of industry
applied tu agriculture and manufiu:-
tures.
Let us now turn to the map of
British America. Beginning at the
east, the watersof Newfoundland and
the IJulf of St. Lawrence arc rich in
fisheries. They yield salmon, mac-
kerel, codfish, haddock, ling, herring,
and oystcrii, in great abundance.
Newfoundland has not enough of
agriculture to save its own popula-
tion from absolute suffering when
there is a failure in Uie catch of &sh
along its sliores. it {Assesses rich
though undeveloped deposits of cop-
per, iron, and other ores. I'rince
Kdward Island, in the centre of the
mackerel fisheries, is, perhaps, more
favored by nature than the other ma-
ritime provinces, livcrj* acre of its
surface may be reckoned as arable
land. Its agriculluie, always limited
to tlic growth of hay, oats, potatoes,
and turnips, is only paniiiily deve-
loped, though even now yielding
a considerable surjilus ior export
Its forests are exhausted of timber.
And though, from habit, its people
still continue to build wooden ships
to send " home " for sale, they are
obliged to import tlic material for
their construction. The southern
jiart of Nova Scotia contains a con-
siderable portion of good farm lands;
yielding the invariable crops of hay,
oats, potatoes, and turnips. In
some districts, apples and peara,
of excellent quality, arc grown in
abundance. Ihe eastern portion*
especially the island of Cape Bre-
ton, is rich in coal, lime, freestone,
and marble ; all so placed as to be
easily accessible to commerce. Even
J
Our NorUierH Neighbors.
109
now, despite protective duties on co-
lonial products, the streets of some
of our Atlantic cities arc lighted
ith gn5 from Nova Scutia coal.
Gold has been found iu sufficient
quantity to atford opportunity for
specubuon, but not fur proht. The
yield for 1667 was 37,583 oz. =
*4<3.74S; *of *868, 20.541 oz, =
4jo8, 1 1 5. The same amount of
ta])ital applied to the growing of po-
tatoes ivould doubtless altbrd a niucli
larger return. Coal is the most ini-
poTtant mineral product ; and its
cliief market is found in the United
States. The net amount mined in
one year was 418,313 tons; sold
for home consumption and to neigh-
lOring colonies, 176,392 tuns; sent
the United States, 241,921 tons.
New Brudsw-ick offers the same
icultural products as the neigh-
g provinces of Prince Edward
land and Nova Scotia. A great
of its territory, like the northern
of Moine, is cold, rocky, and
ible. But its fore^its yield lar^^c
!aDtitie»of pine lumber, oak, beech,
maple, and other valuable woods,
d Mrk for tanning leather. This
urce of wealth is, however, rapidly
failing. The forests begin to give
evidence of exhaustion. St. John
already asks what shall be her re-
source when the lumber is gone.
Formerly, ship-buihling was a large
interest in these lower provinces.
But from the growing scarcity of
ship timber, as well as from the more
general use of iron vessels, it bus
been declining from year to year.
^^B We see, then, what these provin-
^^■es can now contribuie to commerce ;
^^Ktd we also sec their prime dcficien-
^^Hf, They cannot supply their peo-
^^Be with bread. That comes from
^^^anada and the United States.
But Canada does not want their
mackerel or other (ish, their outs,
potatoes^ turnips, or hay. She wants
ma
money; and for want of a near-
er market, the surplus oats must
l»e sent upon a very doubtful ven-
ture across the ocean, the macke-
rel to the United States, and the
dried fish to the West Indies and
Bra/il, to get money to pay for Ca-
nadian bread. But time is money.
It is more than money — it is life.
And when we take into account the
loss of lime in going to and fro acros
the ocean, and the great expenditure
of unproductive labor that ix required
by this selling to Peter on one side
of the world to pay Paul on the oth-
er, we cannot help believing that the
po<jr provincial pays a high ])rice for
bread to eat and clothes to wear, as
well as for the various ]tro<lucts of
other lands which, from being only
conveniences, have become the ne-
cessaries of hfc.
We come now to the Province
of Quebec — prior to the Dominion,
called C.inada East. Nc;trly .ill her
territor>* lies north of the forty-sixth
parallel of latitude. Need we say that
agriculture, save for the few and slen-
der productions of cold climates, is
here impossible ? For nearly seven
months of tlie year tlie greater part
of her rivers and harbors are closed
to commerce by bars of impenetra-
ble ice. The soil, and every industry
relating to it, is under the dominion
of frost.
The forests of timber may be acces-
sible despite the snows of winter, and
in Uie early spring her people may
hunt seals along the coasts of Labra-
dor; but during the long |>eriod of
actu.il winter, her agriculturists, near-
ly her whole industrial population,
must be employed upon indoor la-
Iwr, or be left to hibernate in posi-
tive idleness. It Is simply impossi-
ble that agriculture can ever be a
successful industry in so rigorous a
climate as that of Quebec.
Going u-estward through what
Out' Northern Neighbors.
uas once called Canada West, now
the Province of Ontario, n-c find a
l>t'nuisifla bounded by ihc St. I jw-
rencc River. Lake Ootario, and I^alce
Erif. on llic south ainl cast ; and by
I-ikesSi. Clair and Huron, with their
connecting slraiLs on the west. 'I'his
jicninsula, south of 45" N., comimses
the wheal -growing lands of Canada
east oi I-ake Winnipeg. Its area is
something less tlian that of the State
of New York. It produces good crops
of wheat and other cereals, and near-
ly all vegetables and fruits grown in
OUT northern and northwestern suites.
Farther west, we have the valleys of
the Saskaiehawan and its tributaries,
capable of produtinj; cereals, gr;isses,
potatoes, and other vegetables. Hut
our information, <lirrived from mis-
sionarit-s and others long resilient in
that region, induces the belief that it
is mere folly to regard a country in
whose streams the fish lie torpid, and
where the snow-fall is not enough to
protect the land from killing frosts,
in winter, as suited to the growth of
cereals for export, or as capable of
giving bread to any considerable
population.
Much has been said and written
conrerning the terriior)' lying on the
Pacific roait. We believe it is well
ascertained that the climate of llri-
tish Columbia west of the mountains
— wc might well add the southcx<jt
coast of Alaska— is as niild as that of
the state of New York. Unfortu-
naicly, it is very much more moist ;
so much more thai it never can be-
come a good agricultural country.
The reason is .so ob^HouR that one i-;
hardly (1 isposcd to question the asser-
tion. The vast accumulations of ire
and jmow in and immcfliatciy nonh
of Hehring Strait, and on the high
rnountam range lying on the east side
of this termor;', must prwluce intense
cold when the wind blo«H from the
north and cast. When the warm air
comes from the southwest, the whole
aimospherc- must resemble a vapor-
bath. Seeds may readily germinate,
but can they produce ripe crops ?
We have reccndy discu&sed this
subjc<:l with a friend who has had
intimate personal acquaintance with
this coast for more Uian ten ycare,
and we but reiterate his assertion
in saying thai, nnnh of Oregon, ag-
riculture is not a safe reliance for the
support of a colony. We do not
doubt that hay, oats, and potatiu-s
will grow there. It is well known
that they may grow where the sub-
soil is everlasting ice. But ive know
that agriculture cannot be profitable
either there or wlierc the heats oi
summer last just long enough to melt
the snows on adjacent mountaitls
and convert the soil to mud. There
must always be an excess of mois*
ture to contend with in maturing
CT0[K). (Jur information as to the
fact is positive. Hut suppose that,
in process of time, by the clearing
of forest lands, and other causes in-
cident to the peopling and cultiva-
tion of ihe soil, these difficulties were
overcome. Does any one believe
that the products of the land couhl
be carric*! by rail and inland wa-
ters through a distance of three
thousand milo-, and two or three
thousand more by sea, and, after
successive rtshipmcnts, at last pay
ihe proflucer — save in rumubition of
expenses added to the orij-inal cost
of goods received in return ? If,
then, this far western country should
ever have an excess of food or other
commodities, they must find a readi-
er market than cither the far-off
country of eastern Canada or more
distant Ian<!s ran aftbrd. lis trade
must be with the neighboring .^tates
of Washington, Oregon, and Califor-
nia, Will the people, on cither side,
long consent to pay trlbnte to gov-
ernment officials for the privilege
Our Northern Neighbors.
Ill
of exchanging the fruils of ihcir
toil?
Were Uiey really of difierenl races —
dislinct in language, maniKrrs, and
customs bcvund the degree that al-
ways makes ihc dwellers in one vil-
lage imagine us *' evccllcnt society "
a little superior to that of the neigh-
Iwnng hatnlct — we might say, yes I
Ilut knouing, as we do, that they
are by race, by conditions of soil
and climate, and by reason of mutu-
al interests, but one people, we do
believe iL
Let us now glance at the map of
United Stales. Leaving out
ine, northern New Hampshire,
id Vermont, in the northeast ; the
ow belt north ol' Uie 48lh [taral-
, Iwiween Lake Superior and the
cific Ocean, in the uorthwc&t ;
rida, Louisiana, and southern
xas in the south; the whole vast
a between the 32d and 46th par-
lels of latitude, from the Atlantic
the Pacific Ocean — in evlent equi-
cnttothrcc-fuunhs of alt Kuropc —
suited tu the production of wheat,
barlc}', Imlian com, oats, hay,
latoes, and every fruit found in
iipcrate clicnalcs. There are no
:s to render agriculture a mere
culalive enterprise; no bonds of
to dose the ports to commerce,
-lime and harvest may be count-
ed upon as certainty as the succes-
n of seasons. Can there be a
ubl that here the material inle-
nr-st forming the baiiis of :dl others
is agriculture ? We have no exact
data for a comparison of the several
products of the United States and
British America ; but for our imme-
■^atc purpo«;e it is quite unnecessary
^^K presL'nt tables of siaiisiics. We
^^Ber only to, chief products, l-'irst —
HHl tliose cummun to both countries,
the productions of the United States
arc to the productions of Canada
and the Lower Prov'mccsas 13 to i.
'I"he whole agricultural products of
the United States, excluding those
of orchards, vineyards, and gardens
— which would present a still wider
difference — are to Those of Canada
as 15 to I. The annual yield of In-
dian com in the United States is
worth tipwanls of $800,000,000, or
about five times the entire value of
tlie Rgricuhuinl product of British
America. If we include in the com-
parison the values of animals and
animal products, orchards, vineyards,
and gardens, the proportion is some-
thing nearer 30 to 1, while the breadth
of improved land is not as 10 to i.
And this while the breadth of onr
improved land is not more than one-
thirteenth of our territory — though
double the whole area of (Jrcat Bri-
tain and Ireland— anil while any
great expansion of agriculture in Ca-
nada is forbidden by the conditions
of soil and climate. Are not these
ronsi«ier;itions sufticient to show the
absurdity of persistence in the de-
velopment of rivalry in agricultural
and commercial interests ? Do we
not see chat in the United States
agriculture is legitimately the great-
est industrial interest, and that in
Canada it is not ? And we may
well ask why the industrial [jopula-
tion of Canada should not be em-
ployed in utilizing its timt>er and
other products of the forest and the
mine, or, where material is more rea-
dily found in tlie neighboring coun-
try, Using the forces so abundantly
provided by their inland w^atcrs and
mines of coal, as well as by the mus-
cle half-wasted for want of use, in
supplying fabrics which they now
import, and ]>ay for by the scanty
lalM^rs of just half the time that (iod
has given them ? These considera-
tions arc in some degree applicable
to New England. The difference is*
that New l^igland knows it, and acts
upon the knowledge.
MaDufacturing is the appropriate
industry of coki diinalcs. U hen this
is acknowledged, hibernation ceases.
The people are no longer forced to
eke out a meagre existence in winter
upon (he slender profits of toil spent
in contention with chilling winds and
frosts. True, Canada — a small part
of it — produces ba-ad for export.
We know it: and ne also know that
every loaf costs twiee as much, in
human toil, as the better loaf yielded
by the more generous soils and ge-
nial suns of Illinois, Minnesota, lown,
New York, Ohio, Maryland, Virgi-
nia, and California. Canada pro-
duces good beef, mutton, pork, and,
of course, the raw materials for ma-
nufactures incident to these products.
But the herdsmen on the plains
of Illinois, Iowa, Florida, and Texas
would grow rich in selling beeves,
swine, and sheep for the cost of their
keeping through a Canadian winter I
On the other hand, wc see, in
some parts of our own country, whole
communities of people engaged in
mechanical industries, while the earth
calls for tillage. Even in our more
populous territories, enough of what
should be fruitful lands to yield .sub-
sistence to a larger population than
Canada will ever contain, lies fallow
and neglected. But our commercial
relations are adverse to the proper
ailjustment of industrial pursuits.
The Canadians dare not rely u[K)n
their neighbors for bread to cat, any
more than those neighbors would
venture to build their workshops and
factories in Canada. 'l"he more ven-
turesome tr>* to obviate the ditficul-
iy, to some extent, by illicit trade ;
but all the obstacles to legitimate
comraerce — to the conveniences of
living — remain ; and they must re-
main as long as the American and
Canadian producers have to pay tri-
bute to Cxsar on exchanging the
fruits of their laJjora. Reciprocity
treaties may modify, but they cannot
remove, this great obstacle to pros-
perous trade.
Treaties regulating trade cannot
so change the industries of the two
countries as to confine large agricul-
tural entcrjmses tu the soil and cli-
mate that would insure success, nor
send the artisan, now living on rich
uncultivated lands, to till the earth.
What means the extraordinary emi-
gration from Canada to the States?
.And how can we account for the sud-
den expansion of nianufac luring in-
dustries in Montreal and other Cana-
dian towns ? It meansthat, while gov-
ernments are discussing treaties for re-
ciprocal trade, iheir people are practis-
ing reciprocal emigration — but with a
diflercnce. The Canadian becomes an
American citizen — the .American very
rarely a British subject. Wc recollect
two incidents in our own experience
apropos to llie matter under cunsido
ration.
Some two years ago wc passed a
summer in the " Lower Provinces.']
In the parlor of our hotel, we fell in-*
to conversation with an intelligent
man of business who proved to be
a commercial traveller from Canada.
His specialty was boots and shoes;
On mcniioning that Lynn, in Massa-
chusetts, was the great shoe factory
of '■ the States," his reply was, " Yes I
the head of our firm is &um Lynn."
L)"!)!) had gone to Montreal to em-
ploy Canadian hands in turning Ca-
nadian leather into boots and shoes
to supply colonial markets. "The
head of our firm," like other heads
of firms, had solved the problem of
appropriate industry as far as he was
concerned. He had leanied where
material, and bands to work it, were
cheapest, and he M'as utilizing them.
He had emigrated to employ the
cheap labor that could not emigrate.
At another time, we met a well-dress-
ed mechanic who was not at Afft/u.
His home was in " the States."
He was only \-iBmng his birthpbce
and kindred, in reply to the remark
that the high wagirs which had en-
ticed him to the States were only high
in sound, .since greenbacks were nt a
great discount, and food, clothing,
and rent at inflated prices, his reply
evinced a perfect understanding of
the whole question, as it affected htm
and the class lo which he belonged.
**True," said he, "I am paid in
greenbacks; but 1 have a beitci
house, better food, and better clothes
than I ever had before. And at the
end of tlic year, my surplus green-
backs are wortJi more, in giriii, than I
could get for a year's labor in tlus
>lony."
Here ate two parlies whose inie-
;sts are reciprocal, whuse social con-
Efhtions arc esscniially the same, who
[live in juxtaposition to each other,
|i)Dt with broad ocean between them
tod other countries and peoples, frit-
[iciing away material interests, wast-
ing revenues tliat of it^ht .should be
employed for ihcir advancement in
soaal life, to gratify a spirit of anta-
gonism where even rivalry should be
] deemed insane. But is there no
['remedy for thcM disorders in our
)Iitical economy ? Wc think there
I a vety obvious one ; and if we mny
say, "What (Jod has joined to-
[igethcr, let not man put asunder," be-
ccause the parties arc not agreed, wc
lean and do say, the sooner they
f«re agreed, the better for bolh. We
would say lo Canada, do not waste
[.your time and strength in trying to
cficct impossibilities. Let us we
your many rivers ahve with the arti-
sans who can send to the market
sometliin^ else tlian .s]u[h timber and
deals. Let us sec the smoke of the
*'forgc and the foundry rise in prox-
imity to your nuncs of coal. We
want all that you can make, and
have no fear that you will in any
vot.. XI 1 1. — S
degree impair the prosperity of our
own industrial people. And we will
pay you in bread, better and cheaper
than you can get from your colder
and l«is fruitful lands. And when
your coarser materials arc wrought
into shape for ex])ort, we have skilled
labor, nearer than Britain, to receive
your surjilus products and fashion
them into the thousand fabrics which
only skilled labor can supply.
We have no de«re to see your
whcdt-fields fail or to dccr>' their pro-
ducts in the market. We only say
that they are too limited for danger-
ous competition with ours. And we
further say, that if you will but de-
velop other and more legitimate in-
dustries, so that your wheat-growing
dUlricts cannot feed your people, wc
will be sure to have bread enough
and to spore. And you may be also
sure that all your cHoris will not so
overstock the markets wc can offer
as to make trade languish, when the
thousands now peopling this conti-
nent shall become millions, though
tlie Old World should want nodung
tJiat you can give. And, then, you
have but a doubtful road to the mar-
kets of the Old World. For half the
year your highway to the ocean and
to other lands must be across our
territory. Intercolonial railways
through unsettled and unproduc-
tive countries will not answer the de-
mands of commerce. They will not
payi and, if tliey would, the inte-
rests served ought not to be so bur
dened where access may be had lo
readier and cheaper lines of com-
munication.
Docs all this imply annexation ?
Call it what you will. As one of
yuur Canadian statesmen said to the
people of a lesser province, " If you
do not want us to annex you, wc arc
willing that you should annex us."
If you are more conservative tJian
wc are, a little conscr^'atism will do
us no harm ; and the interests you
would cnnsen'e would be quite as
safe under the eagle's be.ik as under
the lion*s paw. If one be a bird, ihe
uth'LT is surely a beast of prey; and
we believe that h-irmlcss folk have
less to apprehend from one alone
than from the jealous rivalries of
both.
Of one thing we feel assured: the
lime is not far distant when the peo-
ple of this northern half of America
will have to adopt a policy so dis-
tinct from that of the older nations
of Europe that sclf-preservalion will
demand a union of power where
there is now an evident identity of
interests,
U were well that this union should
be preceded by such guarantees of
existing rights and privileges as
might, without specific and just con-
ventions, be open to subsequent
question and dispute. And it were
also well for governments to direct
the march which ncrcssity compels
their people to make, rather than
incur the risk of hnding themselves
at variance M-ith those for whose
greater good civil government is
designed. We do not purpose to
discuss (he origin or foundation of
civil government. Il is enough for
us to know that man requires and (lod
wills il ; and that, in the absence of
other and higher sanctions, the best
evidence of his will is found in the
intelligent, honest consent of the gov-
erned. Does any one doubt what
the more inlclligent and honest people
of Canada and the United States
require ? We do not ask what may
be the rSlt of the political adventur-
er, the oflice-seelter, the government
speculator or tuft-hunter. \Vc always
know that the end of ail their loyalty
or patriotism is self. Hut we ask
what is needed for the greater good
of the people. Not alone the peo-
ple of to-day or to-morrow, but of
the future as well. How the people
of to-day esteem the policy of their
lawgivers, may be known by their
conduct under it. And the army of
government revenue officers and de-
tecrives on either side along the
frontiers of Canada and " the States "
offers sufficient evidence of the es-
teem in which the laws of trade
are held. We know not which is the
more corrupt — the law-breakers or
the agents of the law; but we do
know, from the notoriety of the fact,
that the commercial relations now
existing between the Canadas and
the States are, in effect, so demoral-
izing, to commercial people and com-
mercial interests, that the laws which
propose to govern them were better
abrogated than left to offer a premi-
um to chicanery and fraud.
Wc arc neither alarmists nor po-
litical propagandists. We have no
greedy desire for our neighbor's goods,
no fanatical wish to im{K)sc our po-
litical dogmas or theories upon the
people of other states. Wc but be-
hold and sec what Is before and
around us — and, seeing it, weonly give
utleraxice to belief that has grown
and strengthened, until scarcely a
doubt remains, when wc say that we
believe the ultimate union of the
United States and British America to
be inevitable. Hie rime may be
more or less distant, the occasion and
the means may be as yet undreamed,
of; but the event seems as certain
as the coming of the morrow's sun
while the shades of evening gather
over and around us. If, unfortunate-
ly, war should Ukc the place erf
peaceful union, the calamity would
hardly be less to us than to Canada.
By peaceful union, existing rights
of the weaker party are made secure.
By war, they are jeopardized and
may be lost. But to us, as well as to
them, war would be a calamity of
such fearful magnitude, that we are
Oh thf Highr Hdmation,
"5
constrained to look with hope to the
lime when the conflicting interests
of the Old World shall have no pon-
er to disturb the peaceful relations
lh.it should always exist between oar-
selves and our neighbors.
ON THE HIGHER EDUCATION.
SECOND ARTICLE.
Tub whole scope of the subject
properiy comprised under the title
" Higher Education " obviously in-
cludes all that I>elongs to even- kind
of institute of le.iming above common
schools. We have selected this title
order to leave freedom to cur-
ves to discourse upon any part of
c bubie<:t we might think pro[>er,
hough itiourfir^t article we limited
ir remarks to a class of schools in-
ded for that which is more strict-
lo be designated as intermediate
ueation. We have a few addition-
remarks to offer upon ilie same
of our subject, after which we
in proceed to throw out a few sug-
tions upon some of its remaining
d still more important portions.
We are not attempting lo treat these
ics fully and minutely, and our
Tvations will be, therefore, brief
d desultory.
In regard to the course of studies
be pursued in intermediate schools,
is a question of great practical
moment how to anange the several
anclies tn be taught to the pupils
such a way as to prepare them
efficiently for the future occu-
lions of their lives. The course
mon to all ought to be made up
those studies which are alike nec-
aiy or important to all. In addi-
n to these common studies, certain
blanches should be uught, or
lost
the distinct branches of the common
course more extensively carried out,
for distinct classes of pupils, varying
these optional studies according to
the different occupations for which
they are preparing. For instance, a
moderate quantity of mathematics
and a rudimental, general course of
instrxiction in physic.il sricnccs are suf-
ficient for all, except those who will
need greater knowledge and practice
in them for use in their profession.
It is useless lo attempt, in these
days, education on the encyclopasdic
principle. The common and sulid
basis of all education once laid, the
more specific it becomes, the better ;
and for want of good sense and skill
in selecting studies, apportioning the
relative time and labor given to them,
and directing them to a definite end.
ver)' great waste and loss are incur-
red in education.
One other most important point,
which wc merely notice, is the pro-
priety of providing the most thorough
instruction in the modem languages,
especially the French, which can
more easily be done, as we suppose,
in the schools of which we arc speak-
ing, that no time whatever, or at
most but a moderate amount, is
given to the ancient languages.
Without going further into details, it
is ob\nous that schools of the inter-
mediate class have an unlimited
sphere in which they can give any
kiml and degree of inirtruction be-
longing to the most extensive and
liberal education, deducting the clas-
sics, and stopping short of the iini-
versity, properly so called. Nor is
there any reason wliy, if we had uni-
versities in the Jnghest sense of the
terra, the pupils of these schools
should not afterward enjoy all the
privileges ihcy offer which do not
require a fcnowlcdgc of the ancient
languages. We wilt not say any-
thing on the vexed classical question.
Did it seem lo be practicable, wc
should strongly favor making the
study of I^tin a part of the education
of all who go beyond the common
rudiments, as well girls as boys, to
such an extent that they could un-
derstand the divine ohiccs of the
diurch. For all other uses or advan-
tages, wc are inclined to think that
many pupils who occupy a great
deal ot time in gaining a very imper-
fect smattering of Latin and Cireelt,
might belter spare it for other studies."
Howo'cr the qucbtion may be
eventually settled in regard to the
classics as a part of general educa-
tion, it is ctrrtair^ that they must
retain their place in the education of
the clergy, and of at least a select
portion of those who arc destined for
other learned pursuits and profes-
sions. We shall speak more fully
about this part of the subject a httlc
further on. Before leaving the topic
of Knjjiish education, however, we
hav« one or two supplementary ob-
Krvations to make, suggested by the
remarks of other ^Titers which we
have come across since we began
writing the present article.
F. Ualg.iirns, in an article which he
*IV9f. Scclye BdvocatmUiepUiiirfrfvtoUnsft
p«n '<r lh« Ilia* Jurinn tha l«it lira yMn ■(
Kokllili ftchooU to iJUtn. Tbe pt'ipcr »udy ot
EiRliit' oiiut bI'.o IncliiJc In ii mo anilvab uf tli*
Lfttiti e>pm«Qt, nnd an expUiuUoxi of the duiTi.
tloD of wordi ut Latin ohclu.
has published in the CfinUm/i^ntry Rt-
view, has expressed himself lu a man-
ner (luite similar to our own respect-
ing the necessity of a return to the
scholastic philosophy. His remarks
have given us great pleasure, and.
they furnish one more proof of the
tendency toward unity in philosophi-
cal doctrine among Catholics which
is daily spreading and gaining
strength. One ohser^-ation of his
on this head is specially worthy of
attention. He s.iys that it is necessa-
ry, if we desire lo teach the scholastic
philosophy to those who have re-
ceived or are receiving a modem or
I'.nglish cducition, to ininslale and
explain its terms in the best and
most intelligible Knglish. A mere
literal translation from Latin text-
books will not answer the purpose.
This is very true, and we cannot re-
frain from expressing the wish thnt
ilie health and occupations of F. Dal-
gainis may permit him to write an
entire series of philosophical essays,
like the one he h.is just publislied oa
the Soul^ to which we have just re-
ferred. Indeci], wc know of no one
better fitted by intellectual aptitude
for metaphysical reasoning and mas*
tcrj' of the requisite art a.s a writer,
to prepare a manual of philosophy
for English students.
The Dublin Jici'icw has repeated
and sanctioned ilie observations of
F, Dalgairns. and has added some-
thing to Ihcin equally worthy lo be
noticed — to wit, that our Catholic
text-books of logic need to be im-
proved by incorporating into ihem
Ihc results of tlie more careful and
thorough analysis of ihe la»vs of
logic which has been made by seve-
ral English writers. It is very iruc
tliat, although the English metaphy-
sic is a sorry afiair. there have been
several very acute logicians among
modem Knglish thinkers; as, iar
instance, Mr. MUl, Mr. De Morgan,
On the Higher Etitication.
117
id Sir William Hamilton. We
spose that the Dublin Kemew
tends to designate the doctrine of
|what is technically called the " quan-
icatton of the predicate " made
lowo by the two authors last men-
>ned, simultaneously and indepeii-
uly of each other, as a real
^' dbtcover)- in logical science, and an
addition to Aristotle's laws. We
hope the matter will be further dis-
^cusscd, and lliat not only English and
^bkincrican writers interested in the
^■hibject of philo-wphica.! teaching
Hprill give it their attention, but Conti-
tiental scholars also. For our own
part, our roU at present is the modest
one of giving hints and jirovoklng
^^discuision, and we therefore ahstanj
Hpom going any deeper than a mere
^■•cratch of llie rich soil we hope to
see well dug and planted before
Kroni another and very diflferent
irtcT, we have found within a day
two a corroboration of several
liniotts we expressed in our first
tide. Ptof. Seelye, of the Univer-
Bly of Cambridge. England, in a
Tttlc volume of essays, noticed by us
another place, advocates the tcath-
jg of logic in English schools, dwells
the importance of teaching history
Rcr a better method, and sketches
It a plan of impro\-ing t}ic instruc-
>n given in medium schools and
liversities, ivliirh is well wortliy of
jing read and thought over by those
rbo have the direction of education.
But wc will turn now to another
id still higher department of edu-
ition. which embraces the courses of
ly proper to the university and
ic schools which arc preparatory to
Beginning with that branch of
study which must undoubtedly still
^—continue 10 form an essential and
^P^riocipai branch of the strictly coUe-
^^giate education, the classics, wc do
nut hesitate to say that this brancli,
instead of being less, ought to be
more thoroughly and completely cul-
tivated. In so far as Latin is con-
cerned, it is evident that those who
aim at anything more than the de-
gree of knowledge requisite for
understanding better the modem
languages, and tlie terms which arc
in common use derived from Latin,
or, perhaps, for a more intelligent .ap-
preciation of church offices, ought t(
master the language fully, togethc
with its classical literature. 'i'h(
reasons which prove this statemer
apply with tenfold force to ecclesia
tics, for whom Latin ought to be a
second mother-tongue. It is not
necessary to give these reasons, fc
they are well known and fuHy apprt
ciated by all who are concerned witi
the collegiate or ecclesiastical educa-
tion of Catholic youth.
The question of Greek is a distinct
one. Kor those who study the clas-
sics for the sake of their intrinsic value
as works of art, Greek has the pre-
cedence of Latin in im|>orLancc. It
is evident, therefore, that a most,
thorough and extensive cour.<ie of
(Ireek is necessary for students of
this class. Whether such a coun>e
ought to be made a pan of the obliga-
tory- collegiate curriculum of studici,
or merely provided for a select class
who may choose to enter upon it,
wc leave to the distTction and judg-
ment of the learned. Undoubtedly,
we ought to have a certain number
of acconiplished Grecians among our
men of letters. It is necessary in the
intercsti of ecclesiastical learning
that we should have thorough Greek
scholars among our clergy. For ail
useful purposes, however, the value
of the amount of Greek actually
learned by tha majority is exceeding-
ly small, andr not to be compared
witJi the practical utility of a know-
ledge of any one of several modem
laiiguages, for example, the Ger-
4
I
tmmm giejptamtf^ *ifh the umi»«^
fVtW^ iP^V nP'iV MV'f * T^vV MWIHH^v
» MT wMI llW
^ H»ti; tit ttw <}rwrf(
i il'. *.. i., it,., t ..tin
'imri
. tliiit
kI^ tit l.ittitt U lliit
ii|l <*i liM Hii> iM'fil In
ti l'li(lM«ti|iti(r 1 II
l(li>'<<i'<i< <!' til IIIDlllVIMAMrii I iho
I><(l|lil4tl UllMMHHf (Dtll IttMUtUlO; lh«
ttl.. . ■ i -,,.,■, ,
wW
i»fcf
iK kM
The
improve- 1
^«
wust oDpnyve
^«duob»aadU>e
matt of thcftc •dtooh viS lo mm
bffMHc ih* colkges* by furnishing:
dMin villi nbjecti fined for a higher |
In uying tha, we beg to disavoi
liny inictition of undervaluing or
findiriK fault with the colleges and!
ftthooU at present cxi&ting, or the
Icurncd and lahorious corps of teach--
pi» employed in them. They de-J
•iprve the hi^ihcst meed of praise
Xrntiludc, and we may well conj
late unndvcs on the truly %-3St wi
which hn« been accomplished,
grvat CQKt and by dint ci great tt-
' n-k, in the causc of Catholic edacs-
I in ihiy country. But oar i
aid ever be* hke that of the
K-TAiKws, of bboRfs in this
I'pwaid aoJ oowanir*
J;>:tv^>te. (hat ail ve mar:
liv«e of iiHiiiuiniiwl
icr Edttcatton.
"9
i
uarters for the foundation of new
ncs. These l^t are chiefly among
holies, who &re extremely ahve
this necessity in several countries,
<ut especially iu Germany and Kng-
id. The fuundatiun of a great
atholic University for (iennany at
le s(K)t which is most ai>propriatc
r such a grand undertaking, on ar-
unt of its hallowed and scholojitic
emohes, Fulda, has been deter-
ined. We hope that the efforts to
make the Catholic University of
Dublin completely succei^fal, and to
found another in Kngland, may
Speedily produce their desired result.
n this country, tlie heads of the
Idcf Protestant colleges arc consid-
ing what measures can be taken to
raise these insiituilons lo the level of
.ihe universities of Europe. Among
c papers which we have read from
ifierent quarters on this subject,
ose of I'rofessor Seelye, of Cam-
idgc, and of one or two professors
f Yale College, writing in the Nrw
nghixder, have especially attracted
,our attention ; and we may have oc-
ion to reprtKluce some of their re-
marks or suggestions in the present
arlide. Among the Catholics of the
nited Sutes, the Gerni.ms have
iianifcsted what looks like the most
serious dt5{>osition which has yet
shown itself for taking the actual initi-
ative in the movement. We rejoice
lo see it, and hope they may go on.
They arc a most rcbpectable body ;
thdx energy, wealth, and power of
organized action are great. Ger-
many is full of young ecclesiastics of
the best education, who are sighing
for employment, and competent to
fill chairs in all the departments
except that of English literature.
We have but one precaution to
suggest, in case this enterprise ts
underuken, which is : that pro-
per care be taken to secure the
entire subordination of tlic corps of
governors and teadiers to the hierar-
chy and the Holy Sce,and to ascertain
the strict orthodoxy of the persons
called to fill the professorial chairs.
We want no followers of Hermes,
Dollinger, or any other leader of a
German sect in philosophy or ilie-
ology; and persons of that class
whose r$U is played out at home,
might be the very first to look oui
for a new field in which to practise
their manauvres, in a German Uni-
versity in the United Sutes, if they
saw a chance of securing in it the
desirable position of professors — a
position which has special attractions
for the German mind.
The Adisxate of Ixiuisvitle has re-
cently spoken out very strongly on
the need of a C;itholic University in
this country; and the topic is fre-
quently broached in conversation, as,
indeed, it has been for the last fifteen
years. Let the Germ.ins go forward
and take die lead if tlicy are able and
willing; but tliis will not lessen the
necessity of the same action on the
part of the other Catholics of the
countr)*, who, we may hope, will be
stimulated by the example of a body
of men so much smaller in number
than themselves. When the time
comes for action in this matter, the
direction of it will be in higher hands
than ours; hut, meanwhile, we will
indulge ourselves in the at least
harmless amusement of sketching an
ideal plan of the university as it lies
in our own imaginalioiij and of the
possible method of making it a
reality.
A university is a cori>oration ot
learned and studious men who are
devoted to the acquisllion and com-
munication of science and art in all
their higher branches. It may "be
more or less complete and extensive.
In its greatest extension it ought to
comprise one or more colleges for
imdergraduatcs, schools of all tha
120
Oh the Higher Education.
special professional studies, and a
school of the higher and more pro-
found studies in every department of
literature and science. It must have
a permanent body of learned men
residing witliin its precincts, whose
lives are entirely devoted to study
and instruction. It must have a
vast librar)' ; museums of science ard
antiquities; a gallery of painting,
sculpture, and all kinds of artistic
H-orks; a complete scientific appara-
tus, a iHitanical garden, magnificent
buildings, benutiful chapels, and a
grand collegiate churrh, with its
cliapter of clergj-men and perfectly
trained choir. It should ha*e, also,
a great publishing -house, and issue
regularly its periodical reviews and
magajiincs, as well as books, of the
first class of excellence in the several
distinct <lcpartmcnts of science and
teeters. It must be richly endowed,
'rind well governed, under the su-
preme control and direction of the
hierarchy and the Holy See. A
plan combining the chief distinctive
features of the Roman University,
Oitford, Louvain, and the best uni-
versities of France and Germany,
with some improvements, would re-
present the full and complete idea
wc have in our mind.
When wc come to llic ])ractical
question. What could be done now,
at once, toward the beginning of
such a colossal undertaking ? it Is
by no means so easy to solve It as tt
is to sketch the plan of our ideal uni-
vcrrity. We do not fancy, of course,
that such a grand intitiiution as tht5
wc have described, or even one simi-
lar to the best existing European
universities, can be created in a
hurry by any speedy or summary
process. Ilut if it is commenced
now, can it not be brought to com-
pletion by the beginning of the
twentieth century? It seerai to us
tbKt in the year 1900 or 1925 we
shall need not one only, but three
grand Catholic universities in the
United States. That we can and
ought to begin the work of founding
one without delay, wc have no
doubt. The difticulty is, however,
in pointing out a sensible and feasi-
ble method of doing well what many
or most of us arc ready to acknow-
ledge ought to be done quickly, l^i
us suppose that the requisite autho-
rity and the necessary funds arc con*
fided to the hands of the proper
commission, who are to lay the first
stones in the foundation of a univer-
sity. How should they proceed, and
what should they first undertake?
.\s these high powers exist only po-
tentially an<l in our own imagina-
tion, wc can be certain that they will
not take of!eiice if we j^resumc to
offer them our opinion and advice.
What is the first and most obvious
want which wc seek to satisfy by
founding a university? It is the
want of a collegiate system of educa-
tion and discipline superior to the
one already existing in our colleges,
and equal to any existing elsewhere.
The first thing to be done, then, is
to select some already existing col-
leges, or to establish a new one, as
[he nucleus of tlie future university.
Wc will suppose that some one of
our best colleges can l>e found which
has the requisite advantages of loca-
tion, etc., making it an eligible place
for a great university. Let measures
be taken to place the grade of educa-
tion .nnd instruction in this college at
the highest mark. Tlie first of these
measures must be to give it a. corps
of professors and tutors fully equal to
their task, and to make the position
of these professors a dignified, hon-
or.ihle, and permanent one. An-
other measure of immc<iiate neces-
sity would be the total separation of
the college from the grammar-school,
nnd the cstablmhment of a system of
4
4
(JiscipliDc suitable not for boys but
for young men. The mere an-
nouncement br sufficiently high au-
thority that such a system would be
inauguralcd in a college, would draw
at ont:c within its walls .students
enough eager to begin a thorough
course of study, to secure the success
of tlie experiment. At first, the
course of study already in vogue
might be c>irried on, merely adding
to it such branches as would not pre-
suppose a previous preparation not
actually possessed by the students.
For admission to the class of the
next year to come, ihe conditions
might be raised one grade higher,
and thus by successive changes, pre-
viously made known, the maximum
standard might be reached without
inconvenience or injustice to any ;
and the gmm mar-schools would be
enabled and olrtiged to jirepare their
pupils expresjiiy for tiic examination
they would have to pass for admit-
tance into the college. The college
thus properly planted and cultivated
would grow of itself in due time to
maturity and perfection. Nothing
more is wanietl than a good system,
fit men to administer it, plenty of
money, and a body of youth fit and
desirous to be instructed and edu-
cated in die best manner. The
library, the scientific cabinets^ the
philosophical apparatus, the build-
ings, groumls, and other exterior
means and appliances, should be
providcfl for as speedily and amply
as circumstances would permit.
The second great want, in our
of>iniou, is the provision for ec-
clesiastical simlcnts of the advan-
tages for education which can
only be completely furnished by a
university, antl which cannot, there-
fore, be fully enjoyed at separate ec-
clesiastical seminaries. The Little
Seminary is only a superior kind of
gnumnar-school, even tliuugh it gives
instruction in the ancient languages
and some other branches to the same
extent with a college. The Gran<i
Seminary is, stricUy speaking, a col-
lege for instructioi] in Uicology, al-
though it includes a year or two of
that study of philosophy which is only
introductory to the theological course.
A thorough university course, in
which all the instruction preparatory
to thoolocy should be finished, would
give a more complete and tliorough
education to young ecclesiastics, fit
them much better for their profes-
sional studies, and prepare them
much more cfticaciously for the high
position which belongs, by all divine
and human riyht, to the priesthood.
'ITiis is the way in which the clergy,
both secular and regular, were trained
during the Middle Ages. The system
of separate training came in after-
ward, and lias been kept up by a
sort of necessity, chiefly because the
universities have become so secular-
ized as to be dangerous places. AVe
have touched, in these last words, ilic
lender spot, which we well know
must be handled delicately. The
great argument for secluding young
ecclesiastics in seminaries entirely
separate from secular colleges is, that
their morals, their piety, (.heir voca-
tion, are otherwise endangered. Wc
reply to this by a suggestion in-
tended lo do away with the objcc-
tian to a university lifi-, and at the
same time to show how its advan-
tages may be secured. Let both sys-
tems be combined. Let there be a
college exclusively intended for
young ecclesiastics, in which they
shall he kept under the discipline of
the Little Seminary, at the university.
The Little Seminary will then l;die ita
place as a separate grammar-school
for boys who arc intended for the ec-
clesiastical state. I'"rom this school
ihey can pass, not before llieir seven-
teenth year, to the college at the uni-
versity, and they will have seven
years still remaining in which to
finish their education, before they ar-
rive at the canonical age for ordina-
tion to the priesthood. It seems to
us that the separate college is a suAi>
cicnt security for the morals, piety,
and vocation of any young man
above seventeen years of age who is
fit to be a priest in this country out-
side of the walls of a monastery.
Moreover, we arc speaking about a
model Catholic univcnsity, which, we
should hope, would not be so ex-
tremely dangerous a place for young
men. We have never heard that
Louvain is considered in that light
by the clergy of Belgium, and the
glimpse wc had of a large body of
the Louvain students at Malincs dur-
ing the session of the Congress of
1867. gave us the luost favorable
impression of their virtuous char-
acter.
The university should aUn be the
seal of the princi|>al Grand Scniioary,
and of a school of Higher Theology.
The reasons for locating the place of
education for ecclesiastics at a uni-
versity apply to all the grades of
their distinct schools above that of
the grammar-school with nearly equal
force, and they arc very weighty
in their nature. I'hey concent in
part the professors and in part the
students. So far as the former arc
concerned, it is evident that they
wouttl ctcrive the greatest advantage
from the facilities for study .ind intcr-
rourse ^vith learned men afl'ordcil by
the university, and would CJtertiac the
most salutary influence over the pro-
fmon in the departments of philoso-
phy and sernlar stiencc. One grc.it
end of tlic university ih to collet I
together a great boily of learned men
devoted to the pursuit of nniver«al
science; a.id it is obvious ilmt
this cannot be surcewifully arroni-
l>lislie<l uitleu the ccclcMuutical col-
leges are included within the corpo-
ration.
In regard to the students, it seems
plain enough that all that part of
their course which precedes theology
can be much more thoroughly carried
on at a university of the highest class
than at a Little Seminary, especially if
these seminaries arc numerous and
therefore necessarily limited in num-
bers and all kinds of means fur im-
provement. A concentration of the
endowments, the instructors, and the
pupils in one grand institution, makes
it possible to give a much better and
higher kind of education, and saves a
great deal of labor besides. It is es-
jiecially, however, in relation to the
lectures on physical science, and the
cultivation of other general branches
distinct from the routine of class
recitations, that the university has the
advantage over the scminarj'. The
students of thcolog)-, moreover, can
receive great benefit from lectures of
tliis kind, and from tlie libraries, mu-
seums, cabinets, etc., which a great
university will possess, as well as from
the greater ability and learning which
men chosen to fill the chairs of sacred
science in such an institution are
likely to have, in comparison with
those who can be made available for
giving instruction in many of the
smaller scmtnancs. Over and above
nil these advantages for actually gain-
ing a greater amount of knowledge,
there is the immense advantage lo be
gained of bringing up together and
bimling into one intellectual brother-
hood our most highly educated
Catholic youth. There is some-
thing in the atmf»sphere and the sur-
roundings of a great university which
quickens and enlarges the intellectual
life; brightens the faculties; uains
the mimi for its future career, and
fits it to net in society and upon
inrn. The alma mater is a centre
of iiillucnceit and aiaouations lasting
Ott tht Higher Education.
through life. The learned men ic-
sidtng there, and iheir pupils in all
professions, are bound logetber by
sacred ties, which are nut only a
cause uf pleasure to them in future
ycani, but of great power ibr good
in the coromumiy. Such a univcn»iiy
as n'c have described would in twenty-
five years produce a body uf alum-
ni who would intellectually exen a
great influence over the Cathohc
community throughout the United
States, and make themselves re-
jected by all classes of educated
men. The clergy ought to retain
the first place and a commanding
influence ajnong this body of educat-
ed Catholics. For this purpose, it
seems to us that they ought to be
educated with them, and look to
tlie same umvenity as tlicir alma
mater.
We see no reason, moreover, why
the icligious orders and congrega-
tions sliould not share and co-operate
in the labors and advantages of
this great enterprise. The smaller
congregations find the suitable edu*
cation of their postulants a diAicult
task. One or mure collcgc-s at a
university, where these students could
reside by themselves, under their
own rule and superior, but receiving
their in.struction from tlic university
professors, would solve this difficulty.
The older and more numerous reli-
gious societies have greater facilities
for educating their students, and are
governed by their own old and pecu-
liar traditions. We will not presume
so Jar as to give them any sugges-
dooa from our modern brain in re-
gard to matters in which they have
the experience of from one to six
cculuries. It slnkes us, however, as
a very pleasing and quite medixval
idea, that our proposed grand uni-
versity, which wc may as well make
as splendid as po!>sibIe wliile it re-
roaiiui purely ideal, should have its
Dominican, Jesuit, Sulpician, ami
Lazarist colleges. There is no rea-
son why such colleges should not
make constituent parts of the uni-
versity, each one having its own laws
and regulating its own uitemal af-
fairs according to its own standards.
We will say nothing about the law,
medical, scientific, and artistic schools
which a university ought to have to
make it complete.
Wc have only attempted to show
how a university might be started on
its career. Unce really alive and in
motion, the rest would be more easi-
ly provided for. Undoubtedly, a
vast sum of money would l>e requi-
site for such an undertaking. Our
wealthy Catholics would have to exer
cise a princely lilierality, and the whole
mass of the people would be obliged
to contribute generously for many
years in succession. We must ad-
mire the remarkable instances of
princely liberality in the cause of ge-
neral education recently given by Mr.
I'eabody, Mr. Cornell, and a consi-
derable number of other wealthy
gentlemen in the United States, whose
benefactions to colleges and schools
have been frequent and niuniticent.
Let us have onetweniielh jurt of
the money expended on education
by other religious or learned so-
cieties, and we will show again
what we did in fomicr ages, when
we founded Oxford, Cimbridge, St.
Gall, Bee, l*aris, Salamanca, Fulda,
I.ouvain, Cologne, Pavia, Padua. Ho-
iogna, and the other famous schools
of the middle ages. What more im-
portant or more glorious work can
he proposed to the Catholics of the
United States than lliis ? We know
what our Catholic youth .^rc, for we
have spent much time in giving them
both scholastic and religions instruc-
tion. What can be more ingenuous
bright, and promising than their cha-
racter — more capable of being mould-
124
Ofi tke Higher Education.
ed oad fonncd lo evcrjthing that is
virtuous ami noble ? lliey contain
the material wliich only nee<ls the
proper fomiaiion to produce a new
and belter age, which we fen-ently
hope is already beginning to dawn.
As the Alcuins, Lanfrancs, and other
illustrious falhere of education in
former times were among the princi-
pal agents in producing ciKKhs of
new life, so iho-ie who take up their
work now in our own country, and
throughout Christendom, will be
among the principal benefactors of
the church and the human race, and
deserve for themselves a most hon-
orable crown.
Our topic in the present arlirle has
led us to [jrcscnt almost exclusively
and in strong light the advantages to
be derived from a university and from
university education, in relation botli
to the ceclestastical state and secular
professions. To prevent mistake, we
add in conclusion, that we do not
desire or anticipate the suppression
or merging into one institution of all
our colleges and seminaries. It is
scarcely possililc th.it nil the students
of this vast country should be edu-
cated in one place. The necessity
for other colleges and seminaries will
of itself create or ronrinue them,
'i'hc nniversity will give them an ex-
ample and mcKiel to follow, will fur-
nish those nut already amply provid-
ed for from the bosom of old and
leamerl religious orders with profes-
sors, will give those who desire it a
chance to complete their studies af-
ter leaving college by residing for a
time within its walls, and will rci^jn
as a viuecn among lesser instilulioiis,
giving tone, character, and uniformity
to the scientific and literary commu-
nity of Catholic scholars throughout
the cuunlr}'. There arc doubtlcES ccr
tain respects in which the universj
ties of Kurope must always have an
advantage over any institution we
can hope to found in this new coud
trj'. Some, or even many, will
ways have a longinj; for a rc-sldcno
abroad in these ancient seats of lea:
Ing, which they may and ought
gratify, when it lies m their power
do 50. Above all other places, Horae
must ever draw to her those who de-
sire to drink faith, piety, and know-
ledgefrom their fountain-head. ^Vnd,
if a belter a{i;e is really coming, not
only will the Fopc necessarily be sccur-'
c<t in a more tranquil and firm possi
sion of his temporal kingdom in
the extent which he justly claims,
that he may govern the church with
all the plenitude of his supremacy,
but also that ilie wealth and prospe-
rity of the Roman Church may give to
her institutions of learning an ampli>
tudc and splendor which they have
never yet attained. Planets ore
nevertheless necessary as ivell as a
sun in a system, and so also arc satel-
lites. However ample and extensive
the provisions made at Rome may
be for educating a select portion of
the clergy of all countries, they can
never make 1: unnecessary to provide
also in every country fur the best
and highest education of Its own cler-
gy. So far as wc can see, ftsex-^ rea-
son and consideration cries out im-
peratively for the speedy foundation
of a Catholic University in the Unit-
ed States.
M
.w-
[id, n
lOtjHj
J
The Warning, 125
THE WARNING.
Ye nations of earth, give ear, give ear,
From Holy Writ comes the warning true,
The voice of the ancient captive seer
Through the dim-aisled centuries reaches you.
Thus saith the seer : " Ye have lifted high
Against his altar your impious hand ;
From the Lord's spoiled house is heard the cry,
' Destruction swift to this guilty land.' "
But a deeper than Belshazzar's wrong
Veils the light of these mournful years,
And many an eye in the saintly throng
Turns from the earth bedimmed with tears.
The Holy City by promise given,
A precious dower to the spotless bride,
Is trodden by feet outlawed, unshriven.
And her streets with martyrs' blood are dyed.
The crown that ever has fallen as light
On holy brows, from the Hand above.
Has been torn away by sinful might
From him whose rule was a father's love.
The deed was by one ; the sin by eU ;
By ay, or by silence, ye gave assent ;
Ye saw the shrine to the spoiler fall,
Nor hand ye lifted, nor aid ye lent.
O nations of earth ! give ear, give ear.
From Holy Writ comes the warning true^
The voice of the ancient captive seer,
From the far-off ages, speaks to you !
WRITING MATERIALS OF THE ANCIENTS.
It is curious to remark the varinus
and ap[>arenlly incongruous subsian-
ces which men, in tlicir efforts to pre-
serve knowledge or transmit ideas,
have used as writing matcri.ils. The
animal, vegetable, and mineral king-
doms have each atui all been laid
under contribution. In every land
and in every age, stone and marble
have been employed to perpetuate
the remembrance of the great deeds
of history. Inscripuons cut in jas-
per, cornelian, and agate arc to be
met with in every collection of anti-
quities. A cone of basalt covered
with cuneiform characters was found
some years since in the river Euphra-
tes, and is now preserved in the Im-
perial Library of Paris, side by side
with the sun-baked bricks on which
the Babylonian astronomers were
wont during seven centuries to in-
scribe their observations on the starry
heavens.
The Romans made books of bronze,
in which they engraved the conces-
sions granted to their colonics ; and
they prcser\cd on tablets and pillars
of the same durable material the de-
crees and treaties of the senate, and
sometimes, even, the speeches of Uieir
emperors,
" The Boeotians," says the learned
Greek geographer Pausanias, "show-
eil mc a roll of lead on which was
inscribed the whole work of Hesiod,
but in characters that time had near-
ly effaced."
" Who will grant me," cries Job,
" that my words may be written ?
who will grant me that they may be
marked down in a book ? With an
iron pen and in a plate of lead, or
else be graven with an instrument in
fliutstuiic ?" (xix. 23 34.)
Tanned skins were likewise em-
ployed for writing purposes by the
Asiatics, the Greeks, the Romans,
and the Celts. In the Bnissels li-
brary there is to be seen a manu-
script of (lie Pentateuch, believed to
be anterior to the ninth ccnturj', writ-
ten on fifty-seven skins sewed toge-
ther, and forming a roll more than
thirty-sue yards long.
The custom of writing on leathern
garments appears to have been pre-
valent during ilic middle ages. The
great Italian poet, Petrarch, used to
wear a leathern vest, on which, while
sitting or sauntering near the shaded
margin of the fountain of Vaucluse,
he would note each passing thought,
each poetic fancy. 'Hiis precious re-
lic, covered with erasures, still existed
in 1527.
We read, too, of a certain abbot
who strictly enjoined his monks, if
they happened lo meet with any of
the works of St Alhanasius, to trans-
scrilw the precious volumes on their
clothes, should paper be unattainable.
The use of prepared sheep-skin,
that is, parchment, dates from about
a hundred and fifty years before the
Christian era ; iis Latin name, pfrga-
m/na, is very evidently derived from
Pergamos, but whether because in-
vented there, or because it was more
perfectly prepared in that city than
elsewhere, is a question not yet de-
cided. Besides white and yellow
parchment, the ancients employed
purple, blue, and violet. These dark
shades were intended to be written
on witli gold and silver ink. Several
very beautiful mauuwjripts of this de-
scription are to be seen in the Impe-
rial Librarj- of Paris. Parchment
manuscripts were sometimes of great
H'ritir:^ Materials of the Ancients, xzy
)
size ; thus, the roll containing the in-
quiry concerning the Knights '\'tm-
plars, which is still preserved in the
archives of France, is full twenty-
three yarrU long.
Parchment became very scarce
during the invasions of the barbari-
ans, and this scarcity gave rise to the
custom of rflEicing the characters of
ancient manuscripts in order lo write
a second time on the skin. This un-
fortunate practice, most prevalent
among the Romans, and which wa.s
continued until the invention of rag
paper, has occasioned the loss of
many literary and scientific treasures.
The primitive characters of some few
of these doul>ly-writtcn manuscripts,
or palimpsests, as they are called,
have been restored by chemical sci-
ence, and several valuable works re-
covered ; among others, for instance,
Cicero's admirable treatise on the Re-
public
Kven the intestines of animals
have been used as writing material.
The magnificent library of Constan-
tinople, burnt under the Kmpcror of
the East, Uasiliscus, is said to have
contained, among iiii other curiosities,
the Iliad and the Odyssey, traced in
letters of gold on the intestine of a
serpent This rare specimen of cali-
graphy measured one hundred and
twenty feet
The most ancient inscribed cha-
racters we possess arc upon wood.
A sycamore tablet containing an en-
graved inscription was discovered,
about thirty years since, in one of
the Memphis pyramids; the learned
JEgyptolojiist who deciphered it pro-
'^unced it to have been in existence
wme five thousand nine hundred
years ! The Chinese, also, before
they invented paper two thousand
years ago, wrote upon wood and
bamboo. Many oriental nations still
make booksof palm-leaves, on wliich
the characters are scratched n-ith a
sharp-pointed instrument The Sy-
racusans of bygone times used to
write their votes on an olive-leaf.
The mod(;rn Maldivians trace their
hopes, fears, and wishes on the gi-
gantic foliage of their favorite tree,
the makareko, of which each leaf is
a yard long and half a yard wide.
The Imperial Library of Paris, rich
in all that is rare and interesting,
possesses several ancient leaf manu-
scripts, some beautifully varnished
and gilL
In Rome, before the use of bronze
tables and columns, the laws were
engraven on oak boards. " 'ilie an-
nals of the pagan higU-pricsts," says
a French writer, " whicli related day
by day the principal events of the
year, were probably written willi
black ink on an aihum, that is, a
wooden [ilank whitened with white-
lead. 'Ihese annals ceased a hun-
dred and twenty years before Christ,
but the use of the ail'uw was kept
up seme time longer." The Romans
also wrote their wills ou wood.
Linen cloth covered with writing
has been found in most of the raumniy-
cases that have been o|>encd. The
Egyprian Museum in the Lxiuvrc con-
tains several rituals on cloth. The
Sibylline Oracles were traced on
cloth. The first copy of the Empe-
ror Aureltan's joiuTial that was made
after his dealli was written on clotli,
and Is still preserved in the Library
of the Vatican. On cloth were writ-
ten also some of the edicts of the
first Christian emperors.
No certain epoch can be ascribed
to the fabrication of paper from the
papyrus reed. Tlic tclebratt;d French
savant, Champolli^n the younger, dis-
covered during his travels in Egypt
several contracts written on papyrus,
which by their date must have been
drawn up seventeen hundred years
U.C.
Egypt appears to have kept the mo-
us
Writing Materiais of the Ancients.
nopoly of the papyrus paper trade,
'file principal manufactories of it
were situated at Alexandria, and so
important an article of commerce did
rit become that a dearth of papyrus
was the cause of several popular dis-
turbances iji some of the great cities
of Italy and Greece. Under the
Emperor Tiberius, a scarcity in the
supply produced so formidable a riot
Rome, that the senate was com-
;lle<l to take measures similar to
lose necessary in years of famine,
'and actually had to name cornniissa-
rics, whose duty it was to distribute
to each citizen the quantity of writ-
ing-paper be absolutely required.
The papyrus reed seems indeed to
have been ancient Egypt's greatest
material blessing, for not only was it
the principal article of foreign com-
merce and source of immense wealth
in the fonn of paper, but it was also
of the most extraordinary utility to
the i>oorer classes. Household uten-
sils of every description were fabri-
cated fiom its routs ; boats were con-
structed of its stem ; roofing, sail-cloth,
ropes, and clothes were made of its
bark ; and from the appellation of " eat-
ers of papyrus," often applied to the
Eg)*pli.-ui5 by the Creeks, some have
thought that it was a common article
of food. How extraordinary docs it
then seem that a plant of such ines
timablc value should ever have dis-
appeared from a land which derived
such benefits from it. Nevertheless,
it is a singular fact that the papyrus
is no longer to be found in Egypt ;
recent travellers assure us that not a
stalk iR to l>e seen at the present day
in the Delta. Sicily alone now pos-
sesses Uic beautiful reed.
We arc ignorant of the exact pe-
riod of the introduclion of the papy-
rus paper into Greece and Italy, but
Pliny has left us copious details con-
cerning the manipulations it under-
went among the Romaoa. Sizing
was then, as it is now, one of the most
important operations in paper-mak-
ing. The membranous covering of
the stem o( the papyrus reed was far
from being kA a firm, compact tex-
ture, and the Alexandrian factories
probably sent it forth very imperfect-
ly prepared. The best quality of
paper was made by gluing together,
with starch and %-inegar, two sheets
of papyrus, one transversely to the
other, and dien si/mg iheni. These
sheets were sometimes of considera-
ble dimensions ; documents have been
discovered written on paper three
yards in length.
Those true lovers of literature, art,
and science, the .Athenians, raised a
statue to Philtatius — lo him who first
taught them the secret of sizing pa-
per!
It is a curious fact that, about thir-
ty years since, the vegetable si^e used
by the ancient Ejj;ypLians was intro-
duced, with some slight improvement,
as a new discovery, into the paper
raanul'actories of France, and has
now almost entirely abolished the use
of animal aire in that country for all
purposes connected witli the fabrica-
tion of paper.
About the fourth century, the Arabs
made Europe acquainted )vith cotton
paper, just then invented in Damas-
cus, thereby causing a great diminu-
tion in the papyrus trade. A long
struggle ensued between the rival
productions, which was only put an
end to at the commencement of the
twelfth century, by the invention of
paper manufactured from Haxtni and
hempen refuse. The p.-ipyrus disap-
peared at once and completely; soon
forgotten by commerce, but immor-
tal in the remembrance of poets and
sagej — immortal as the pnges of Ci-
cero and Virgil, whose sweet aiid
eloquent dioughts were first traced
on Egypt's reed.
Until the present time, this flaxen
J
Writing Materials of the Ancients.
129
and hempen rag paper has been pro-
duced in sufficient quantities for the
necessities of our civilization, but as
civilization increases, and as educa-
tion becomes more general, especially
among the masses of Europe, it is
evident that the supply of rags will
be inadequate to the demand, and
wood will most probably again be
brought into requisition, as in the
age of Pericles,
Not, however, in the form of the
ancient tablets, but transformed by
mechanical and chemical science in-
to sheets of white and pliant paper;
or the numerous fibrous plants of
Algeria, Cuba, and other tropical
countries will be tumet^ to account,
and no longer permitted to waste
their usefulness on the desert air.
Even now, in France, among the
Vosges Mountains, there is a pa-
per manufactory where wood is ma-
nipulated with the most complete
success. And some few years since,
a newspaper paragraph informed the
civilized world that a process of mak-
ing paper from marble had been dis-
covered by a canny Scotchman of
Glasgow! It is not, indeed, impossi-
ble that the marble painfully hewn
and engraven by our forefathers to
perpetuate the memory of a bloody
struggle or of some vain triumph,
may in time to come, by the magic
power of modem science, become a
sheet of snowy tissue, whereon the
fair, sHght hand of beauty shall trace
the dainty nothings of fashionable
life!
The tablets so continually men-
tioned by ancient writers must be
noted. They were made of parch-
ment, thin boards, ivory, or metal,
prepared to receive ink, or coated
with wax and written on with a sty-
lus, or sharp-pointed pencil. In the
Fourth Book of Kings we read : " I
will efface Jerusalem as tables are
wont to be effaced, and I will erase
VOL. xiii. — 9
and turn it, and draw the pencil over
the face thereof," Herodotus and
Demosthenes speak of their tablets.
In Rome, they were used not only
as note-books and journals, but also
for correspondence in the city and
its environs, while the papyrus served
for letters intended to be sent to a
distance. The receiver of one of
these notes not unfrequently rctuiu-
ed his answer on the same tablet.
Made of African cypress and highly
ornamented and inlaid, they were giv-
en as presents, precisely as portfolios,
souvenirs, and note-books are now-
adays. On the wax-covered tablets
was generally traced the first rough
copy of any document, to be after-
ward neatly written out either on
papyrus or parchment. These wax-
covered tablets were used in France
until the beginning of the last cen-
tury.
Two-leaved tablets were called
diptychs, and were sometimes of ex-
traordinary cost and beauty. The
Roman consuls and high magistrates
were accustomed, on their first ap-
pointment to oftice, to present their
friends with ivory diptychs, ex([uisite-
ly engraved and car\'ed, and orna-
mented with gold.
Ancient ink was composed of lamp-
black and gum-water. Pliny says
that the addition of a little vinegar
rendered it ineffaceable, and that a
little wormwood infused it in pre-
served the manuscript from mice.
This ink was used until the twelfth
century, when our present common
ink was invented.
Not only black, but also red, blue,
green, and yellow inks were employ-
ed in antiquity. Sepia ink and In-
dian ink are mentioned by Pliny.
Red ink, made from a murex. was es-
pecially esteemed, and reserved for
the emperor's exclusive use, under
pain of death to all infringers of the
privilege. Gold and silver inks, prin-
130
Dofta Fortutta and Don Dinere.
cipally used from the eighth to the
leiith centuries, were also prized;
writers in gold, termed chrysograph-
ers, forraci! a class apart aiiiontj writ-
ers in general. The imperial Library
of I'aris possesses several Greek Gos-
pels, ami the Uvre des Ilcures of
Charles the Bold, entirely written in
gold. Few manuscripts are extant
written in silver; Oie most celebrated
are the Gospels, prescned in the
Upsa) Librarj'.
The stylus, a* dangerous weapon
when made in iron, and proscribed
by Roman law, which required it to
be of bone ; the painting brush, used
K still by the Chinese ; (he reed, wliich
Was cut and shape<l like our mmlem
pen, and with which some oriental
nations write even now ; and the
feather pen, which is mentioned by
an anonymous WTiier of the fifth cen-
tury, were the general writing imple-
ments of antiquity and the middle
ages. Metallic pens are also supi>os-
ed to have been known ; the Patri-
archs of Constantinople were accus-
tomed to sign their ol)icial acts with
a silver reed, probably of the form
of a pen.
Some paintings found in Ilercu-
laneum give evidence thai the an*
cicnts were accustomed tu make use
of most, if not of all the various con-
veniences with which modem writers
surround themselves. The writ-
ing-desk, the inkstand, the penknife,
the eraser, the hone, and the ])owder-
box were well-known. They do not
seem, however, to have hail the hab-
it of sitting up to a table to, write,
but rested their tablet or paper on
their knee, or on their left hand, as
the orientals do at the present day.
doSa fortuna and don DINERO.*
ntRM TM« WAMIni or FKUIAN CAnALLBHO.
Well, sirs, Dofia Fortuna and
Don Dineto were so in love that you
never saw one without the other.
The bucket follows the rope, and
Don Dincro followed Dona Foriuna
till folks began to talk scandal. Then
they made up their minds to get
married.
Don Dinero was a big swollen fel-
low, with a head of Peruvian gold, a
belly of Mexican silver, legs of the
I copper of Segovia, and !ihoes of pa-
per irora the great factory of Ma-
drid.t
Dofta Fortuna was a mad -cap,
* MaiUne Furluiir and Sjt Honer.
ITUItaakorUAdnJ.
without faith or law, very slippery, un-
certain, and queer, and blinder than
a mole.
'J'he pair were at cross pur{>oses be-
fore they had finished the wedding,
take, nie woman wanted to take
the command, but this did not suit
Don Dinero, who was of an overbear-
ing and haughty disposition. Why,
sirs! my fallier (may ftlory be his
rest !) use<l to say that if the sea were
to get married he would lose his
fierceness. But Don Dinero was
more proud than the sea and did
not lose his presumption.
As both wished to be first and
best, and neither would consent to
be last or least, they determined, to
Dona Fartuna and Don Dinero,
\\x
dedde by a trial which of the two
had the more power.
" Look," said the wife to the hus-
band, " do you sec, down there in the
hollow o( that olive-tree, that poor man
so discouraged and chop-fallen ? Let's
try whellicryouor I can do more for
him."
The husband agreed, and they
went right away, he croaking, and
she with a jump, and took up their
c^uartcrs by the tree.
The man, who was a wretch that
had never in liis whole life seen cith-
er of them, opened eyes like a pair
of great olives when the two ap-
peared suddenly in front of him.
" God K" with you I" said Don
Dincro.
"And with his grace's worship
also," replied the poor man.
" Don't you know rac ?"
** I only know his highness to
serve him."
" You have never seen my
face?"
'* Never ance Got! made me."
" How is that — have you no-
thing ?"
■'Yes, sir; I have six childrirn .is
naked as colts, with throats like old
stocking-legs ; but, as to property, 1
have only p^b ami swallow^ and often
not that."
" Why don't yon work ?"
" Why ? Decaiise 1 can't find
work, and I'm so unlucky tliat cvcrj--
ihing I undertake turns out as crook-
ed as a goat's horn. Since I mar-
ried, it appears as though a frost had
fallen on me. I'm the fag of ill-hap.
Now, here — a master set us to dig
him a well for a price, promising
doubloons when it should be finb^h-
cd, but giving not a single maravedi*
beforehand."
" Tlic master was wise," remarked
Don Dinero. '* ♦ Money taken, arms
■ l^m Hub ■ lBrUiii%.
broken,' is a good saying. Go on, my
man."
" I put my soul in the work; for,
notwithstanding your worship
me looking so forlorn, I am a nmny>
sir."
** Yes," said Don Dinero, **I had
perceived that."
'* But there are four kinds of men,
scnor. There are men that are men;
there are good-for- naughts ; and con-
temptible monkeys ; and men that
are below monkc>'s, and not worth
the water they drink, But, as I was
telling you, tiie deeper we dug, the
lower down we went, but the fewer
signs we found of watLT. It appear-
ed as if the centre of tlie world had
been dried. Lastly, and finally, we
found nothing, senor, but a cob-
bler."
" In the bowels of the earth !" ex-
claimed Don Dinero, indignant at
hearing that his ancestral palace was
so meanly inhabited.
'* No, scnor I" said the man depre-
cadngly ; " not in the bowels ; further
on, in the country of the otlier
tribe."
•• What trihe. man >"
" The antipodes, senor."
" My friend, I am going to do you
a favor," said Don Dincro pompous-
ly; and he put a dollar in the roan's
hand.
The man hardly credited his eyes;
joy lent wings to his feet, he was not
long in arriving at a baker's shop
and buying bread, but, when he went
to take out his money, he found no-
thing in his pocket but the hole
through which his dollar had gone
without sapng good-by.
'rlie poor fellow was in despair; he
looked for it, but when did one of
his sort ever find an>-thing? No;
St. Anthony guards the pig that is
destined for tlie wolf. After the mo-
ney he lost time, and after time pa-
tience, and, that lost, he fell to coiii-
I
i
133
DolUi Foriuna and Don Dinero.
ing after his bad luck every curse
that evex opened lips.
Dona Furtuna strained herself with
laughing. Don Dinero's face turned
yellower with bile, but he had no re-
medy except to put his hand in his
pocket and bring out an onza * to
give the man.
The poor fellow was so full of joy
that it leaped out of his eyes. He
liid not go for bread this time,
but hurried to a dry-goods store to
buy a few clothes for his wife and
children. When he handed thew/srf
to pay for what he had bought, the
dealer said, and stuck to it, thai the
piece was bad ; that no douht its
owner wag a coiner of false money,
and that he was going to give him
up to justice. Ou hearing this, the
poor man was confounded, and his
face became so hot that you might
have toasted beans on it ; but he
took to his heels and ran to tell Don
Dinero what had happcncti, weeping
the while with shame and disap|W)int-
mcnt.
Dorla Fonuna nearly burst herself
with laughing, and Don Dinero felt
the mustard rising in his nose, f
'• Here/* said be to the poor man,
" take these tft-o thousand reals ; your
luck is truly bad; but if I don't mend
it, my power is less than I
think."
The man set off so delighted that
he saw nothing until he flattened his
nose against some robbers, llicy
left hiiu as his mother brought him
into the world.
\VIten his wife chucked him under
the chin and said it was her turn, and
it would soon be seen which had the
more power, the petticoats or the
breeches, Don Dinero looked more
shamefaced than a clown.
* A Rnld pfer« valuci) at lUtccn dolbn.
t Wu bccomiiig uigT)-,
She then went to the poor man,
who had thrown himself on the
ground and was tearing his hair, and
blew on him. At the instant the lost
dollar lay under his hand. " Somc-
tliing is something," lie said to him-
self; " I'll buy bread for my chil-
dren, for they have gone llirce days
on half a ration, and tltcir stomachs
must be as empty as a charity-
box."
As he passed before the shop
where he had bought the duthes, the
dealer called him in, and begge<i of
him to overlook his previous rude-
ness; said that he had really be-
lieved the oHza to be a bad one, but
that the assayer, who happened to
stop as he passed that way, had as-
sured him that it was one of the very
best, rather over than under weight,
in fact. He asked leave to return
the piece, and the cloUies besides,
which he begged him to accept as an
expression of sorrow for the atiDoy-
ance he had cause<l him.
The poor man declared hims
satisfied, loaded his arms with t
things ; and, if you will behevc rae^ _
he was crossing the plaza, some sol
diets of the civil guard were bringin
in the highwaymen that had robljcd
him. Immediately, the judge, who
was one of the judges God send
made them restore the two thousa
reals witliout costs or waste. Th'
poor man, in partnership with
neighbor of his, put his money in a
mine. Before ihey bad dug do
six feet they struck a vein of gol
another of lead, and another of iro
Right away people began to cull hi
Don, then " You Sir," then Your Ex-
cellency. Since that lime Dona For-
tuna has had her husband lumiblcd
and sliut up in her shoe, and she,
more a<ldte-pated and in discriminat-
ing than ever, goes on distributing
her favors niihout rhyme or reason;
■ho^i
d&M
Si. Francis of Assist.
133
without judgment or discretion — slick; and one of ihem will reach the
madly, foolishly, generously, hit or writer, if the reader is pleased with
Diiss, like tlie blows of the blind the tale.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI.
My brothers, ye are sad, and my sisters, ye arc poor.
But once was holy poverty the cloak that angels wore ;
My fathers, ye are lame, and my children, pale ye be,
But in everj' face, by his dear grace, that blessed Lord I see
Who broUier is and father Is, and all things, uuio me.
In the sigh of sick men's prayers, in the woeful leper's eye,
In the pangs of wicked men, in the groans of them that die.
Thy voice I hear, thine eye I see, thy thought dolh hedge me in.
Oh ! may thy sinner bear thy stripes for them that toil in sin,
And with thy ransomed suffering ones hnd rae my choicest kin.
For, whether down to pious rest on these bore stones I lie,
Or if at last upon thy cross triumphantly I die,
The joy of tlicc, the praise of thee, is more than all reward ;
For holy misery doth most with heavenly bliss accord :
All ways are sweet, all wounds arc dear, to them that seek the Lord.
I made a harp to praise the Lord with ever-glorious strain ;
I tuned a har]) to praise my God, and all its strings were pain :
Its song was like to fire, but sweet its keenest agony,
And thus in every tune and tear its burden seemed to be,
" So great is the joy that I expect, all pain is joy to ine."
Through all the wear)' world do I an exiled orphan roam,
Yet for thy sake were desert cave a palace and a home ;
And birds, and flowers, and stars arc lights to read thy Scripture by,
And earth is but a comment rude unto thy wondrous sky,
The which lo reach, my soul must teach earth's body how to die.
With thy wayfaring ones my crust I've broken by the brooks,
When flowers were as our children fair, our comrades were the oaks,
And wildest forests for thy praise were churches, choirs, and darks—
Such house and kindred doth he find who to thy wisdom harks.
Praise ye the Lord, ye spirits small — my sisters sweet, the larksl
The ontentcd air is home for me who in thy promise sleep.
Or wake to find thee ever nigh, and still my sins to M-eep;
tter /rem Romt.
And holy jjoverty's disguise is pleasant to thine eye ;
Yea, richer garb was never wi>ni, tliat treasures may not buy,
Since thou hast clad me with thy love, and clothed me with the sky.
Oh ! could I for one moment's light thy heavenly body see.
All joy were |>ain, all pain were joy, all toil were bliss to me.
1 would give mine eyes for weeping, and my blood should flow like
wine,
To purchase in that sight of bliss one blessed look of ihinc,
Wlio hath ransomed with a crown of pain this sinful soul of mine I
My brethren, ye are poor, but as children ye are wise,
Who wander through tJie wilderness in quest of paradise.
O little children! seek the I-oni, wherever he may be,
Whose blessed face by his dear grace on ever)* side I see,
Who brother is, who father is, aad all things, unto ye.
LETTER EROM ROME.
^
RoMt, Jan. gi, t%-it.
FotJR months have gone by since
the Italian troops entered Rume
through the breach made by the
cannon of Cadorna, fuur months
since a new tight dawned upon
the Eternal City, and its regener-
ators set about the accomplish-
ment of their aspirations. What
has been the development uf this
third life of Rome— /a tersa vita, as
Tcrenzio Mamiani has been pleased
to style it— in this its primal stage ?
The child is fiilher to the man—the
seed produces the tree and its fruit.
So. too. do the beginnings of a poli-
tical state give an index of its future,
fix the causes that are to produce
the results of the future. The his-
tory of these four months, then, must
be looked on witli interest, and pon-
dered with care.
The present century is universally
cotjsidered an age of progress, and it
was in the name of progress that the
forces of Victor Emmanuel entered
the capital of Christianity. Progress
implies motion from one state or
condition to another more perfect:
the simplicity of this statement can-
not be gainsaid, and we shall assume
it as uncontested. The party of
progress took possession of Rome
in the interest of progress. Hus
Rome progressed during these
months since the toth of September?
Has she gone from lier past stale to
one more perfect ? Facts must
speak : and facts wc give. One thing
at a time.
Abundance and cheapness of food
are the first essentials in the well-
being of n state, and necessarily con-
nected with this is the facility of ob-
taining it. We cannot say that food
is scarce in Rome ; but the absolute
and the relative cheapness have un-
dergone a decided change, to the dis-
advantage of ihe poorer as well as
the wealthier classes, since the ;oth
of SeptemlMrr. The motinatc. or so-
called grist-tax. extending even to
the grinding of dried vegetables,
chestnuts, and acorns, has sent up
Letter from Rome,
35
the price of bread. Salt has risen at
least scene per pound. The further
applicatioti of the system of lieuvy
tjxation is not likely to make other
articles of prime necessity cheaper.
>ind while this stale of things exists,
the facility of obtaining food has
become much less for the poorer
classes. The causes of this arc to
be sought in the tvant of emptuyerit.
It is the universal compUiint that
Ihcrc is oo work. Before the com-
ing of the present rulers, Ihe army
of the Pope, composed in great part
of young men of some mcnns, sprnt
n great deal among the people. This
source of gain ceased with the dis-
bandment of the Papal troops, for it
is notorious h'Ppis el ionsoribus. that
the men of the present contingent
have barel}' enough daily allowance
to keep body and soul together. Ite-
sidcs this, ecclesiastics spent their
revenues, fixed by law and sure, willi
a liberal hand. Now. when they And
difficulty in getting even what they
cannot be deprived of; now that
confiscation hangs over their heads
with men.^cing aspect ; now lliat re-
ligious orders are called on to make
immense oullaystosend theiryoung
xn^n toplacesofsafety — inonecaseto
the cjttcnt of six thousand dollars—
jl would be foolish to expect them to
Sacrifice what is necessary for them-
rsclves; though, to do theni justice,
they are always willing to share their
I little with the poor. De:irlh of for-
[etgn ecclesiastics, and of fareigners
|]n general, is another source of dis-
tress, and this is directly a consc-
[qaenrc of the invasion. The result
[of all this is (hat there is more mi-
iftcryin the city of Rumc than has
been seen for many a d;iy— beggars
are more numerous in the streets.
and needy families, ashamed to beg,
suffer in silence or pour their tale
of woe into the ear of the clergy.
who always are honored with the
confidence of the poor and afflicted.
Surely this state of things is not an
improvement on the plenty which
characterized the rule of the pon-
tiffs, Wc cannot say Rome in tlits
respect has moved into a better
progress-
sphere — (hat she has
cd.
Security of person and property is
another essential object of the at-
tention of ever)' state. No sLiie
thai cannotguaranteelhis is deserv-
ing of the name of having a good
government. Under the Papal rule,
it is well kiK)wn that not only in
Home did good order prevail, as the
iintneuse iiiultLlude present at the
CKcumcnical Council can attest, but
that also on the frontiers of the ter-
ritories governed by the Pope, af-
ter the withdrawal of the French
troops from Veroli and Anagni, the
cncrg\- displayed by the Roman dc-
legiitc was such as to liberate com-
pletely the provinces from the bands
sprung from the civil strifes of
southern It^ily. The city of Rome
itself was a mcfdel of good order and
of personal safety. Now things arc
changed. Only a few days ago, a
'■ guurdia di pubblica sicuiezza " was
stopped in the streets and robbed
of his watch :ind re^'oher. There is
not a day that has not in the daily
papers its record of thefts and acts
of personal violence. Only a few
days ago, there was a sacrilegious
robbery in the Church of St. .Andrea
della Valle. On the 8th of Decem-
ber there was rioting with bloodshed
in Rome. A band of young students
under the charge of a religious
were stoned on Sunday, January
15. On the i6th, the Very Rev.
Rector of the "" Ospizii> dcgli Orfan-
clli " was slntck with a stone. It
would be easy to multiply examples.
but those we have given are quite
enough to show that progress in se-
curity of person and property has
not been attained since the 20th
of September, 1870.
Then public niorality in the centre
of Christianity could not fiil to be
at a far higher standard, now that the
regeneration of the city of Rome has
been accomplished. What bitter il-
lusions fortune delights in dispens-
ing to those that trust licr I Before
the entrance of Italian statesmen into
Rome, vice and immorality did not
dare raise their heads— they could
Letter from Rome.
not flaunt ihcmsclves on the public
ways, Kow there is a change, and
the moral order of Italy has entered
through the breach at the Porta
Pia. XVc say no more, the subject is
R delicate one, and we therefore re-
frain from penniiiK facts notorious
in Rome. Surely, none who has re-
ceived ercn an elementary training
in virtue will deem this Rtatc of
things progress — an elevation to a
higher and more perfect Rtatc.
But the King of Italy came to
Rome to protect the independence
of the Sovereign Pontiff, to save
him from the bondage of foreign
hordes. Now, as the Pope is prin-
cipally a spiritual sovereign, it is his
spiritual power th.n most needs pro-
tection; consequently, the King of
Italy and his faithful servants have
been most zealous in preventing
.acts or publications that would tend
to diminish the respect due to the
Holy Father.
Incomprehensible, but true— the
very opposite lias taken place !
AVe have at hand the satiricil pa-
per, the D0it Pirlone FigUo. of Janu-
ary 19. On its first page is a ridicu-
lous adaptation of the heading used
by the Cardinal vicar in his ofllcial
notiQcations to the faithful. The
same page has an article grossly dis-
respectful to the Sovereign Pontiff,
and insulting to the Belgian depu-
tation, who have just come on to
present the protest of their coun-
trymen, and their contributions.
The Holy Father is styled Giovanni
Maslai dctto Colui cx-disponibilc
anchc lui : the members of the depu-
tation arc given ridiculous names;
and the contributors of Peter Pence
are blackbirdscaught in a cage; final-
ly, a ridiculous discourse is put in the
mouth of the Pope, concluding with
n benediction. The illustration re-
presents Pius IX. with a boot in his
hand, in the act of giving it to the
Emperor of Germany, who figures as
» cobbler. Such are the illustrations
Kod articles one sees exposed to the
public day by day. Wlit-n we who
have seen Rome under far different
circumstances witness these things,
is it at all strange that we refuse to
see ■' the general respect shown to
ecclesiastics in the exercise of thctr
sacred functions," even though on
the faith of a Lamarmora it be as-
serted to exist ? Can we be blamed
for thinking thai anything but pro-
gress in X'vncration of religion has
been the result of the taking of
Rome ?
After this, any of tlic advantages
arising from the occupation of Rome
can have no weight sufficient to war-
rant much nttcntinn — for they must
be. as they are. inaierial and of a low
order— chiefly regarding facility of
communication and despatch in by*
siness mailers, things desirable in
themselves, hut, it would seem, pur-
chased at a fearful sacrifice.
Is this state of things to continue?
Is the Italian kingdom on such a
permanent basis that the Papacy has
,ni> hope of a change that may give
it back its possessions ? Or can tho
kingdom of Italy be brought to
make restitution of what it has
seized, without itself undergoing
destruction ? A word in reply to
each of these queries. And first,
is this itatc of things to con*
linnc ?
When we consider who the Sover-
eign Pontiff is, and consult the opi-
nions of men famed for their fore-
sight and statesmanship, it is diffi-
cult to deny that the restoration of
the Pontiff to his rights is very pos-
sible. Napoleon Bonaparte, although
he afterwards made Pius VII. his
prisoner, left recorded his opinion
that it was impossible that the Pope
should be the subject of any on«
sovereign, and that it w.-is providen-
tial the head of the church had been
given the possession of a small stale
to secure his independence. M.
Thiers, in commendation of whom we
need say nothing.ashis rcputAlion is
world-wide, has clearly and forcibly
proclaimed this very opinion. In
the debates on the temporal power
in the French Senate, in 18G7. hii
viiice was heard calling on France
to protect Rome, and it was his
energy forced from the hypocri-
m
tical government of hU country the
fiun^us word, ullcrcd by Ruuhcr,
that struck terror into Italy —
" yamnis." One would jmai^ine that
now Rome has fallen, and France is
reduced lo the verge of desperation,
o man of '' liberal " political views
ould be foolhardy enough to risk
his reputation by reiterating an opi-
nion like this. Yet. strange to say,
there is one who has been willing to
run the risk, and that in the very
Chamber of Deputies at Morencc.
Only a few weeks ago, the Deputy
Tu^canclli. a liberal, and, we learn,
a fiee-lhinker, with a courage, a
strength of argument, and flow of
wit tljat gained the respect and atten-
tion uf I he house. ahnu&t in the words
of M. Thiers gave the same opinion.
In the days of the last of the Medici,
said the distinguished deputy, there
was a courl-jesler riding a spirited
horse down the Via(~aIzaioli, in Flo-
rence. The liorse got the better of
his rider, and started oRat full speed.
" Ho ! Sor Fagioli." cried out one
of the crowd, *■ where arc you going
lo fMllf" "No one knows or can
know." was the jester's answer, as
beheld on with \iu\\\ hands. Just
so is it with the government ; it has
mounted n jwlicy that is running
away wiih it, and neither it nor any
one elw knows where it is going to
fat). The government has gone to
Rome, and in Rome it canDot stay;
it cannot hold its own face to face
with the Pope. "I give you, then,
this advice : leave Rome, declare it
a free city under the protection of
the kingdom of Italy." So much far
the opinions of political men of emi-
nence ; we will examine the ques-
tion for a moment on its intrinsic
merits.
We know the Sovereign Pontiff in
bis official capacity of teacher of the
whole church is infallible in declara-
tions regarding faith or morals. But
in other matters of policy, of fact,
he has nn guarantee against error
beyond what is aflbrdcd hhn by
the use of ilie means which he
has lit hand, the information of
bis advisers, aud especially of the
Sacred College of Cardinals. Sup-
po:ie for a moment this means of
information is done away with, or
made a vehicle of untrue statements.
Suppose unworthy men are artfully
intruded on the Pope, and act in ac-
cordance with instructions received
from the rulers of Italy. Imagine
Italy at war or on bad terms with
the United States or England. A
crafty statesman sees an opportunity
of putting in a position to aid him
in one or the other country an able
man. through the inOueiice of some
liigh ecclesiastic, whose good opi-
nion will have great weight with
men of standing or with the people.
The whole matter is aiifuHy carried
out. There is an understanding be-
tween the Italian statesman and his
American or English friend; both
act cautiously and avoid alarming
susceptibilities. The alVair works
well. Persons around the Pope are
made to drop a word incidentally in
praise of the virtue and ability of
the ^nfi whom it is intended lo raise
to power. The Pope in Jus relations
with the bishops of foreign coun-
tries, speaking of the prospects of
the church in good faith, speaks also
to the ecclesiastic of whom we have
made mention, and in favorable
terms, of the person in question.
Who that knows human nature can
fail to see the thorough nature of
the influence thus used.' The craf-
ty originators are the ones to blame,
and the harm done is effected in per-
fect good faith by the unconscious
instruments of their design. To
slio%v we arc not buildingon our fan-
cy, we turn to the pages of a man
whose name all revere — Cardinal
Wiseman. In his Ktcoil^ctious of (he
Last Four Popes, he speaks of the
character of Pius VJl. :
" Wlien no longer a inonnrch. but a
capiive — when bciefl of all ndvice and
sympathy, but pressed on close by ihosc
who. thcmsclrcs probably deceived, tho-
roughly deceived liim, he comniiued Iho
one error of his life and poniifientc. in
1813. For there came to liim nicu 'of the
seed of AiiTon,* who could not be expect
ed to mislead htm, themselves free and
Lfiier from Romr.
moving in the bnsieitt of the world, who
Khuwcd him, through the loopholes of hts
prison, that vrorld from vrhlch he wis
shui out, as thougli agtiaicd on its sur-
face, and lo its lowest dopths, through
hift iint>cadinf,nesE ; the church torn to
Kchitm, nnd religion ncakened to dc-
&iru<:iion, from fthai they termed his
obstinacy. Ilewhohad but prayed and
bent hiK nrirk (u siilTtiing wii« nude (o
.-ipprat in his own cjcs a hiiiUi nnd cruel
masIvT, who would rather sec all peri^l)
than Iliusc his gr^sp on unrelenting but
impolvnt )urisdiclir)n.
" We yicld«Ml for a moment of coniicien-
tioos alarm ; he conwnled, lh<iuf;h con-
ditionally, iindtf false hut virliiouA im-
(iic^sioiis, to (lie letm!^ proposed to him
fni a nc-w concordat. But no sooner had
hiA iipri^hl mind discovered the error,
than it nobly and successfully repaired
If." (Chap. IV.)
Such arc the words of a man writ-
in;j after years of intcrcout^c with
tlie first men of Europe. Tlicy arc
iostruclivc words — for human nature
is ever the same. There are men still
ID Italy who Iblluw out closely the
piinciplesof Macchtavelli — to who«i
everything sacred ur profane, no
matter what veneration may have
surrniinried it, is hut llie means
to sclf-agKrandizement and the
5att!«l.ictiun of ambition. It is
foi: the nations of the world lo
%xy whether Ihcy are willing
to allow the existence of the per-
manent daiiKcr to themselves, ari^
ing from the subjection of the spi-
ritual head of the church to any
crowned head or even republic
whatsoever. Perhapn, of the two,
the latter would be the mure to
be dreaded. The Roman mobs that
drove Eugenius I V. from Rome, and
pelted him as he went down the
Tiber, or roadc many another Pope
seek safety in flight, could be easily
gotten together again, as the pres-
ent residents uf the Eternal City
know only too well.
We answAr. then, our first query,
und s-^y that this stale of things can-
not last. Time, the great remedy of
human ills, will solve this question,
and csljblish the See uf Peter ott a
k
perfectly independent bnsts—indi
pendent of all sovereign control
even if this be not done shortll
through the armed interference
European powers.
It is hardly necessary to inquit
whether the Italian kingdom is
firmly constituted that no hope
restoration of the Pope is to be seei
For ourseK*es, we think there arc it
dications that point to a speedy dii
solution of this state on the Hi
breaking out of a war between Ital]
and any great power. Ilcr |»olic/
to avoid enlangJing alliances, ai
this she is following out, striving
propitiate the Etnpcror of German]
for lier leaning towards Franc<
The first army that will enter t\
peninsula to aid the I'upcwill shivt
Italy to fragments. The soulbci
provinces have too li\*elya recolN
tion of the days of plenty undei
their kings.and too painful an imprei
sion of heavy taxation and procor
suKir domination of tlie Picdniontcs
race, to hcsilatc between submissiool
to them and the rcgainitig their ows]
autonomy, which will make N'aplcj
again one of the queenly capitals o(
the world.
One index of the general discon*J
tent or indifference is the smalt
number of those who vote at the
elections in proportion to those
who arc inscribed on the electoral
lists. The motto proposed by the
t'm'lA Cattoiica, the foremost Catho-
lic journal of Italy— ■•AV/Mrt-cAv/rt/
wof ^-/c/wrj"— has been adopted and
acted upon by very many throtigh-
out the country. Wc feel no diffi-
culty in saying that the majority of
the Italians are not with the Mouse
of Savoy, nor are they in favor of
United Italy. The ruling powcrha*
the government and the comntand
of the arnty, a fact that quite ac-
counts for the existing state of
things.
Our third question, whether the
kingdom of Italy can be brought to
make restitution of the territories
it has seized, without itself under-
going destruction, remains to be an-
swered. We believe it cannot, un-
Ntof Pttblicatums,
139
' Jess half-measures— alwn)^ more or
itcss dnogerous— be adopted. The
late spoliation is not more criminal
than the first, and no amount of
\^ibhiileKAXi make itlegitimate.no
more than — to use the words of the
/able editor of the t'/iZ/d Cattolica —
the popular approbation of the con-
dcmnaiion of Jesus Christ Icgiti-
Imizcd the crucifixion. The claim,
[then, to restitution extends to the
rhole of the former provinces, just-
ly held by the Popes to supply them
[■with the revenue needed to make
Ihem independent of the precarious
tcontributions of ths Peter Pence,
and which was none too large for
.that purpose.
Whatever may come, we know the
■future of the church is in the hands
'of One in whose holding are the
I liearts of princes and peoples. What
ymc have to do is to pray earnestly
>r cur spiritual head, aid him by
\o\xx means, console him with our
fftympathy, and give him whatever
[support, moral or other, it be in our
[twwer to offer. And while we do so,
'it is a juy to us to know we have
lessened the grief of his hardships
by what we have done hitherto, even
gtaddencd the hours of his captivity.
\A few: days ago. speaking to the
Belgian deputation, Pius IX. said :
P" Belgium gives me very often proofs
of her fidelity. Continue in the n-oy
in which you are walking; do not
allow your courage to fait. What is
happening today is only a trial, and
the church came into existence in
the midst of trials, liveti always
amid them, and amid them she
will end her earthly career. It is
our duty to battle and stand firm In
the face of danger, . . . We have an
Italian proverb which says: It is
one thing to talk of dying ; quite
another to die. People speak very
resignedly of persecuti<jns, but
Bometimcs it is hard lo bear them.
The world offers to-day a very sad
spectacle, and particularly this our
city of Rome, in which wc sec things
to which our eyes have not been ac-
customed. Let us all pray together
that God may soon deliver his
church, and re-establish public or-
der, so deeply shaken. Your efforts,
your prayers, your pious pilgrim-
ages, all lend to this end. and I
therefore bless them with all my
heart." May the words of the
Holy Father tind an echo in our
hearts; let us not lose cnuiagc. but
keep up our efforts. so happily begun,
and never rest tilt wrong he righted,
until wc see the most i^ublime dig-
nity and power on earth freed from
tlie surroundings that would seek to
make it us little as themselves.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Tecranism in Tuougmt and Morals.
An Address tlelivtiied t>efore the Phi
Beia Kappa Society of H.irvard Uni-
v*r*ily, June »g, 1870. Wilh Nbiea
and Adenhoughts. By Oliver Wendell
Holmes. liosion: James R, Osgood
&Co. 1671.
Dr. Holmes is a Benvcnuto Cel-
lini In literature, and everything he
produces is of precious metal, skil-
fully enchased, and adorned with
gems of art. The present address
is no exception to the genera] rule,
but rather an unusually good illus-
tration of it. It is a remarkably curi-
ous piece of work, containing many
interesting facts and speculations
derived from the author's scientific
studies on the mechanism of the
brain. There is nothing in it poai-
Ptibncathns.
lively affirmed which is necessarily
materialistic, rts far as wc cin see ;
rather, wc should say that its doc-
trine stands on one side of both mn-
tcrialism and spiritualism, and can
be reconciled with cither. It can be
exptaiued, if wc have understood
it correctly, in conformity with the
Aristotelian and scholastic philoso-
phy, in such a way as not to preju-
dice the truth of the distinct and
spiritual nature of the soul. The
author, indecfi, apjictrs inure in-
clined to that belief than the oppo-
site, although we arc sorry to find
him expressing himself in so hesitat-
ing and dubinuR a manner. When
he passes from thought to morals,
he gets out of his clement, and dis-
plays a flippancy and levity which
may pass very well in humorous
poetry, but arc out of pKicc in treat-
ing of graver topics. His remarks
on some paints of ('atholic doctrine
arc so cumpletely at fault as to show
his entire incompetency to meddle
with the subject atitU. His language
in regard to the Council of the
Vatican and Pius IX. is more tike
that of a perl and vulgar student of
Calvtnistic divinity than that of an
elegant and rettned Cambridge pro-
fe&sor. " Uut political freedom in-
evitably generates a new type of re-
ligions character, as the ctmclm-e thiit
(onUmplaies endoiving a dvlarii tvith
in/allibiUly \i^s, found out. we trust,
before this time " fp. 95). Dr.
Holmes has apparently profited by
his close observations among that
class of the female population of
Boston who are wont lo thrust their
bodies half out of their windows, and
"exhaust the vocabulary, to each
other's detriment." Wc congratu-
late him. and the learned .Society of
Pill Beta Kappn, on the choice sen-
tence wc have quoted above. We
trust those Catholics who are dis-
posed to think that we can make
use of Harvard University as a place
of education for our youth, will take
note of this sample of the lunguage
they may expect lo hear in that and
similar institutions, and open their
eyes to the necessity of providing
:es.
:ia-
Lhej
some better instruction for their
sons than can he had at such sources.
Notwithstanding our high apprecia-
tion of Ur. Holmes's genius, and the
great pleasure we have derived fro
his works, wc regret to say that
must consider his influence on youn.
people grievously dctrimenLif.
virtue of a reaction from Calvinism,
he has swung into an extreme of
rationalism the effect of which is
checked in his own person by the
influence of nn unusually good heart
and an early religious education, but
in itself is sure to overthrow all re-
verence, faith, and moral principle.
The whole elfect of this address on
the minds of young men tends lo a
most pernicious result, and encour-
ages them, with a kind of thought-
less gaiety, lo rush for^vard in ■
career of mental and moral lawless-
ness.
jKSfs AND Jerusalrm : OR, ToE Wat
Home. Books fur Spiritual Reading-.
First Sorics. Boston; Patrick Dona-
hoe. 1S71.
Here we have a plain, practical,
but vcr>* attractively and charmingly
written book of spiritual reading
for everybody. It emanates from
the Convent of Poor Clares. Ken-
mare, County Kerry, Ireland, who
are anything but pour in intellectual
gifts and religious zeal. We suppose
it is from the pen of the gifted
authoress of the Hntory of Ireland
and several other works of the high-
est literary merit. The idea of the
volume is apparently taken from
the ■' Parable of a Pilgrim" in F,
Baker's Snncta Scpfna, of which it is
a minute paraphrase .nnd commen-
tary. Its minuteness, dilTusencss,
and fluency of style are. in our
opinion, great merits, considering
the end and object of the book. It
is easy reading, explains and en-
larges on each topic at length and
in detail with great tact and dis-
cretion, and is eminently fitted to
help a person in the acquisition and
practice of the homely, everyday
Christian virtues. Its bread is of
line quality, broken up fine. It 11
AVttf Publications.
141
eminently ndaptcd for the young and
simple, timid beginners, and persons
lii'tng an cvcr^'dny busy lire, and also
for the sick, the sufTering, and the
afflicted. At the same time, a pro-
fessorof theology, or even a bishop.
may read it with gfent profit and
satisfaction. We rccummend this
book with more than usual earnest-
ness, .ind we trust the good Sis-
ters of Kcnmarc will keep citi with
their scries, which must certainly
produce an cilraordinary amount of
good.
EuA ; OK. SpAtv Firi-Y Years Aoo.
Trantlaled Trom ilic Spaniih of Fcrnan
Cabatleio. New York : Caihollc Pub-
lication Society
Feroan Caballcro is the Mdm de
piumt of Madame de Uacr, who is
now an aged lady, though still in the
full po';se<(sion of her intellectual
jwers. We admire the old Spanish
[■character, customs, faith, and chival-
[Ty. Mme.dc Hacr is thcirchampion,
Fand the enemy of the revolution
which has desolated that grand old
Catholic countn-. This is one of her
stories writti^n to that point, and we
trust il will lind even here m»ny a
reader who will sympathize with the
author, and help (o neutralize the
tpojsoo, too widely spread, of modern
Liibcmli»ni — the deadly epidemic of
^Spnin and all Europe. It is a very
tauitable book for school premiums,
f«nd ought to be In every library.
fOthcr persons, also, will find it a
.lively and cnterLiinIng book, with a
liatrong dash of the peculiar quaint-
^ncss usually found in Spanish stories.
Roman twFr.KiAi.tsM. ano oTRn Lrc>
TUKK.^ ANn Emay», by J. R. Scelrc,
M.D.. Professor of Modern History in
ibe L'niTCTsity oTCambtiilfir. (Autlifji
of "£ccc Homo."} boston: Rubcrts
BroUiora. 1871.
Thew essays are cleverly and
agreeably written. Their topics arc
very miscellaneous, but alt of litem
important and interesting. Those
on "Liberal Education in Universi-
ties," "English in Schools," "The
Church as a Teacher of Morality."
and the •• Teaching of Politics," are
especially worthy of attention. Somo
ofthe writers ofthe" Broad Church,"
to which Prof. Seelye belongs, are
quite remarkable for their honorable
candor, largetiess of mind, original*
ily of thought, and, in certain re-
spects, npprujcimation to Catholic
views. We like to read them better
than most other Pruteslaitl writers,
and often lind tlicir writings instruc-
tive. Wc have seldom seen a book
wiilten by a Protestant in which a
Catholic can lind so tnaiiy things to
approve of and be pleased with, and
so few in which he is obliged to dif-
fer from the aullioi, as the present
volume.
Ijfe and Self.ct Wkitings of the Vkn.
Louis Makix Gricnus i>k Montfort.
TianiUiKil from the French by a Secu-
lar Piiesc. l.oniion : KichardsoQ. 1870.
The Vcn. Giigiion dc Monlfurt
was u priest of nobtc birtlt. who
lived and labored in Fiance as a
missionary, and became the founder
of two religious congregations, dur-
ing the eighteenth century. He
u'3S a person of great individuality
of character and many peculiar gifts
and traits, which made his life quite
a salient one, if wc may be allowed
the expression. His talents for
poetry, music, and the arts of de-
sign, and a marked poetic fervor in
his tcinperaricnt, gave a certain zest
and racines.s to his career as a mis-
sionary, and were a great help to his
success. His character was chival-
rous and daring, and his sanctity
shows a kind of exaltation, a sort of
gay mockery of danger, contempt,
privation, and sufTciing. which it al-
most takes one's breath away to con-
template. His life Was very short,
but his labors, persecutions, and
services were very great. He is
best known in modern times by his
extraordinary devotion to the Bless-
ed Virgin. It is altogether probable
that ere long the process of his can-
onization will be completed, and a
decree of the Vicar of Christ enrol
4
143
New Pubiications.
his name among the saints. Those
who are capable of profiting by an
example, .iiid by writings of such
sublime spirituality, will find some-
thing in this book seldom tu be met
with even in the Lives of Saints.
ATkxt-Book of Elemkntakv Ciiemis<
TKV, THKOKKTlfAL ANII InorcANIC. Bjf
George F. Barker. M.D., Professor of
Physiologicul ChcmiMry in Yale Col-
lege, New ILtvcn, Conn. Cliailes C.
Ctialticid & Co. 1870.
Chemical science, as Prof. Barker
remarks in his preface, has indeed
undergone a remarkable revolution
in the last fow years ; ,ind the text-
books which were excellent not long
ago are now almost useless, as far
as the theoretical part of the subject
is concerned. And though, in all
probability, more brilliant discove-
ries as to the internal constitution of
matter, the formation of molecules,
and the nature of the chemical ad-
hesion of atoms are in store than
any yet made, still the conclusions
recently attained on these points
may be considered as well cstablisti-
ed, and can by no means he con-
sidered as crude speculations, to be
overthrown to-morrow by others of
no greater weight. Chemistry seems,
at present, to promise better than
ever before to solve the problem of
the arrangement of the ultimate
material elements, though, perhaps,
the laws of the forces which con-
nect them, and the nature of the
molecular movements, will be rather
obtained from other sources.
Prof. Barker's book is an admir-
able exprmcnt of the science in its
present state. The tirsl quarter of
it is devoted to an explanation of
the principles of theoretical chemis-
tr^*, and it is Uiis, of course, which
is specially interesting and import-
ant at present, though the remain-
der will be found much easier read-
ing. The work is one. however,
which is meant to be studied, rather
than merely read, contiining a great
dealof information, and giving much
materi.-il for mental exercise through-
out. It would not have been easy
tu put more \-aluable matter in il
few pages, and its merits as a texl
book are very great. The type is
very clear, and the illustrations au-_
merous and excellent.
Varietkis of Irish Hismiv. Rv j^imes
J. Gasltin. Dublin: W. a Kelly. New
Vork: Tbc Caibolic Publication So-
ciety, 9 Warren Street. 1871.
If Mr. Gaskin had not stated i
his preface that " the present work
is. in great part, based on a lecture
delivered by the authnr before a
highly influential, intelligent, and
fasliionablc audience." we would
have anticipated, from the title of
his book, something not only inter-
esting but instructive relating tOi
Irish history. But knowing ve
well what pleases a highly fashion-
able audience in the dwarfed and
provincialized capital of Ireland, this
announcement was enough tu satisf]
us that his conception of what make
history was neither very lucid nor
comprehensive. It is unnecessary
to say that, within the shadow of
Dublin Castle, any rash man who
would be unthinking enough to
write or speak seriously about the
history of Ireland — that protracted
tragedy upon which the curtain has
not yet fallen — would soon be voted
a bore, or something worse, by the
fashionable people who are privi-
leged once or twice a year to kiss th
hand of the representative of xoyi
ty. But tlie author is cx-idcnily to
well bred to commit such a solecism, 1
and accordingly, under a very at-
tractive exterior, he treats us to all
sorts of gossip, from the doings of
Gra na Uiie. a sort of western Vi-
quccn, to the murder of Captain Gins,
a Scotch privateersman. The inter-
vals between these two great histori-
cal events is filled up with the mock
regal ceremonies that used to be ob-
served annually on Ihc island of
Oalkcy ; reminiscences of Swift, Dr.
Dclaney. Curran, and other distin-
guished men of the last cenluryi
which, though not new, arc pleasant
to read ; and some correct and ela-
4
i> 1
J
few
Hcations.
>^
borate descriptions of scencn' in the
Euburbs of Dublin, which will not be
without interest to those who have
visited that pait of Ireland. The
Varitties is not a book which will
find much favor with historical stu-
ijents, but for railro:id iind steam-
boat travellers, who wish lo read as
they run, and as a book far the
dmwinR-rooni, being light in style
and handsomely illustrated, it will
be found eiiterlaioing and agree-
able.
A HaMII BOCW OF LrCEN-pART AND Mv-
THOLOCICAI. Abt. By Clara F.rskine
Clemcnl. Witli Dciicrlpiivc Illusira-
ttons. New York : Hiiid& llougliion.
The best thinjf we can say about
this book is that it alTords another
strtkir^ oroof that the Catholic
Church is the genius of all true
poetry and art. One-half of the
volume is devoted to sketches of
the lives of Catholic saints, the other
half being equally divided between
legends of German localities and the
Rods and goddesses of Greece and
Rome. We look in vain for some
notice of works of art or poetic le-
gend lo which Protestantism, with
its heroes, or modern Kalionalisrn,
with no heroes, has given tnEpira-
tion. The authoress, however, is
not a Catholic, for she calls us
'• Komaojsls/' a vulgar term, the use
ofwhich.sheought to know, wc con-
sider as impertinent and in:iuUing.
False legends and true biographies
^f our saints are strung together
Ithout discrimination. This we
)utd not complain of so much, if,
as she would seem to imply, they arc
both illustrated by art ; but the in-
stances in which these apocryphal
and unworthy stories have been
chosen by the painter or sculptor as
fitting subjects arc exceedingly rare,
and where they are, as in the case
of Dilrer's painting of " St. John
Chrysostom's Penance," which is
repioduccd by the authoress (shall
wc say with her in the preface. " to
interest and instruct her children " ?),
they bear evidence of an art de-
graded in inspiration and debased
in morals.
Saksheld ; OR, The Last Grkat Smuc-
ui.E FOR IKE1.AMI. By D. P. Conytig-
ham. Bgston : Patrick Donahac.
This short historical novel has
been written for two purposes— to
disprove the correctness of the say-
ing, attributed to Voltaire, that the
Irish always fought badly at home.
and to illustrate, in a popular man-
ner, the strugijle between lames II.
and his son-in-law, the Prince ol
Orange. With due respect lo the
author, we submit that tfjo much
importance has already been attach-
ed to \"o]laire's ipa ili.xil with re-
gard to the lighting f(ualitics of the
Irish. It is of little importance, in-
deed, what that gifted infidel has
said about anything or anybody, as
it is pretty well understood in our
day thiirt among his numerous fail-
ings veracity was not very conspicu-
ous. Mr. Conyngham has, however,
succeeded very creditably in nrxom-
plishing his main object, and pre-
sents us with a succinct and truttiful
view of the rival forces which, for
three years, contested for the Eng-
lish crown on the soil of Ireland.
There is very little plot in the story,
the principal interest centring in
the acts of Sarsfield and other well-
known historical personages; hut
the narrative of the war is well sus-
tained, and the author's conception
of the inner life of his principal
characters is in the main correct and
natural.
Arthi'R Rrown. riy Rev. EUjali Kcl-
lo^)!;. Bofiion: l.cc & SLicpard.
This is one of that class of books
for hovs full of hair-breadth escapes
and improbable incidents. It is the
first of The Pleasant Cmv Stries,
which means five more just like this.
The fact that the characters have
been introduced ina former "series,"
and are to be carried forward through
the coming five volumes, renders
the story a little obscure at times.
This, however, will not prevent
144
NfW Piibh'catioHS.
boys who enjoy tales or perilous
se:i voyages uiid nianxllous en>
counters from finding; this volume
interesting and amusing.
PHAVI'JIS (IKIl CERr-MOStES OF THE MASS I
or. Mom), Dncthnal, and Liturgical
Explanaiiofis of the Praypis and Cere-
monies of the Mass. By Wiy Rct,
John T. Sullivan, V.U. Diocese of
Wheeling, W. Va. New York . D. &
J. Sadlier & Co. tznio. 187a.
The subject ;ind ii.iture of this lit-
tle book arc suH'icicntly expressed
ill Its tide. The position of the
Very Reverend author, and approba-
tionshy the Archbishopof New York
and the Ki^ht Reverend Bislicp of
^Vheclin)^. testify la its sound doc-
trine and usefulness as a book of in-
struction.
Ijttui Pussy \Viu.nw. By Harriet
Bccrher Stowc. Boston : Fields, Os-
good & Co.
J'msy Willffui is a charming girl
and a charming woman, but wc think
that it is not often that nature ac-
complishes so much even with the
aidof country air and simple, hcatth-
fut habits and pleasures. However,
we must nctt forget the fairy's gift,
of always looking at the bright side
of things. Pity wc had not more
of us this gifl I Rut the girls must
read for themselves.
FoUA Eccx.t;siA5TiCA. ad notandura Mis-
sat persoh'endas ct pcrsoluus, pro
cleco ordinata ct dlsposila. Nco-
Ebonici cr Cincinn.itji : suoiptibus et
tyt>ls Ffidcrici Pusict.
This Httle memorandum book n-ilt
be found quite useful for the purpose
designed. Besides Lite pages appro-
priated to the record of Masses, there
arc also ■■ Indices N'co-Communican-
tiutn. Cnnfirmandorum, Confraterni-
tatuni," etc., etc.
SYNCIIKoNOtnCV OF THK pRINCIPAl.
ICvKNrs IN SAcatD A.sn pRorAWn llii-
roRY, FROM THE Crf-ation or Man to
TitE pRESRNT TuiB. 'Hifrd edition.
Revised. Bostun : Lcc Jit ShcpArd.
New York: Lee, Shcpanl & Dilling-
ham. 1 vol. 8ro.
Before its republication, this work
aliould have been placed in the
hands of a competent editor. As Hj
is now, it is very objecUonable, and;
loses all its value. Here is one quo-'
tation, taken at random. tFnder thtt'
year 1362, we read : " Pope Urban V.
at Avignon ; beautifies the city of
Rome; presents the rt)^ht arm ofj
Thomas Aquinas to Charles V. of
France as an ebjfct 0/ wonhip,"
Pof-iis. Uy Urct Uarlc. Boston : Fields,
Osgood & Co. iByt.
We have read this unprctendinjp^
little volume witli much interest.
The author is a true poet, and has
the merit of originality quite as much
as of descriptive power, llis mure
serious poems display a bigli apprt:-'
ciation of the beautiful and tlie rr>-i
niantic, and there is a Catholic toiie^
about them. Those in dialect, with
the other humorous pieces, 9Xt
equally pleasing in their way. The
futmer, particulaily. reflect a side of ^
life which is generally supposed tht
least poetical cf all. Mr. Bret Hat
has "gathered honey from thcweed.!'
Corrigendum. — In the article
'■ Which is tlie School of Religious
Kraudulencc," in our last number,
p. 7QI, col. 3. near the middle, the
sentence beginning. " It is no marl
of falsity, (herefurc. in any doctt'^
nieut," should be thus concluded:
"that it occurs there, unless it oc-
curs there alone and nowhere else."
DOGKS RECEIVED.
From Imo, Mcrphv & c o.. n«Kinior« -. A Clnmlu
L«turt>nili« Tviui>(jia1 fuwct \A the Pop«l|
BtlilfCSMil to the (--lecRy and lailjr □( tbe Vicarfr .
ate Apattollc of North Cirotina. Hy tho Ri| ' "
Kt*. ]atn» ClbtvrMit, U.D.
From tbD VotM; Cnt-su'BR OBice. flotton : Pro- 1
tuts of Ike l*(ii>c aO'l I'eoiilc a|[ainM Itic ITitit^
[mlinn of ihe SovrTciRnty o( Kiru« by tbsj
•iedmnnlfM? Covcfiiintnl.' l
Ktnm V. }. KiuiKOT. New Vork : The Life otSt.*
Mary oi Egyuf. To whirh iiadilol ibc I^« of
5l CeeJlta and Hic Ufc ofSt Brid(t«i.
Fron I'araa K. Ci'KKiMiirAU, Pbibuleltitita: Tb>
Acti of Uic Eiily Matiyrt. Ily J. li. U. Va-
trt, S.J.
From I.KvroLnr A Hoi.t, New Turk: Actom
Amcrlra and Aua. Ky Raphael Pumpclly.
Fifth edition. RcTlwd.— Art In thf Nether-
lands. 11/ II. lalne. Tnulatctl by J. Pu-
Fffun Patbkk D"SAno«. Bosloii: The "Our
l-'alhei." Itelnclllualiatlonsurihe urveisl pv
lliiaiiv of llic l.oTit'« Pravcr, Tniistaled from
lh« German of the Kc» I>r, J, EininucI Vdth,
by lh« K*T. U4l<rard Cos. Xt.D.
X't'itn Kntta»m Brrrr«r«s, Hwitun: Ad Ctrriiin;
Advice to m Vo«t»ir f*rcacher. By Jose{ili
I'atkcT. D.D.
"-.;.-/
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. XIII., No. 74.— MAY, 1871.
THE CHURCH ACCREDITS HERSELF.*
Archbishop Manning's pastoral
letter to his clergy on the first coun-
cil, 2^ Vatican and Us Defitiitiom, to
which are appended the two consti-
tutions the council adopted — the one
the ConsHtutio de Fide Caiholica, and
the other the C&mtitutio Do^miica
rrima de EccUsia — the case of Hono-
rius, and the Letter of the German
bishops on the council, though con-
taining little that is new to our read-
ers, is a volume which is highly
valuable in itself, and most conve-
nient to every Catholic who would
know the real character of the coun-
cil and what is the purport of its
definitions. Few members of the
council were more assiduous in their
attendance on its sessions or took
a more active part in its deliberations
than the illustrious Archbishop of
Westminster, and no one can give a
more trustworthy account of its dis-
positions or of its acts. We are
glad, therefore, that the volume has
been republished in this country, and
• Tht VatieitM Council And Us DeJiHiiiens. A
Putonl Letter to (he Clergy. Ily Henry Ed-
mtrd. Archbishop of Westminster. New York :
D. &J. Sadlier, 1S71. lamo, pp. isi.
hope it will be widely read both by
Catholics and non-Catholics.
The character of the book and of
the documents it contains renders any
attempt by us either to review it or to
explain it alike unnecessary and im-
pertinent. The pastoral is addressed
officially by the Archbishop to his
clergy ; the constitutions or definitions
adopted by tlie Holy Synod declare,
by the assistance of the Holy Ghost,
what is, and always has been, and
always will be the Catholic faith on
the matters defined ; and we need not
say that we cordially accept it as the
word of God, and as the faith which
all must accept ex animo, and without
which it is impossible to please God.
What the council has defined is the
law of God, and binds us as if spoken
to us directly by God himself in a
voice from heaven. He speaks to us
by his church, his organ, and her
voice is in fact his voice, and what
we take on her authority we take on
his authority, for he assists her,
vouches for her, and commands us
to believe and obey her.
There are, indeed, enemies of the
faith who pretend that Catholics be*
■ound, according to Act of Con{rres5, in the year 1871, by Rev. 1. T. Hbckkb, in the Olfice of
the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
licvc solely on the authority of the
church sA an organic body; but this
is a misapprehension. VVe believe
what is revealed on the veracity of
God alone, because it is hti> word,
and it is impossible for his word to
be false; and we bel>cvc that it is his
word on the authority or testimony
of the church, with whom the word ia
deposited, and who is its divinely
commissioned keeper, guardian,, wit-
ness, and interpreter. The word of
God is and must be true, ami lUcre is
and can be no higher ground of faith
or even of knowledge than the fact
that God says it. Nothing can be
more consonant to reason than lo
believe God on his word. Certainly, it
i& answered, if wc have bis word ;
but liow do I know that what Is pro-
posed to roe as his word is his word ?
We take the fact that it is his word
on the authority of the Catholic
Church ; we believe it is his word
because she declares it lo be his
word. It is permitted no one lo
doubt the word of God ist:onccdcd;
but whence from that (act docs it
follow ihat I am not permitted to
doubt the word of the church ? Or
why should I believe her testimony
or her declaration rather than tliatof
any one else ?
To this question ihe general an-
swer is, that she has been divinely
instituted, and is protected and as-
sisted to bear true witness lo the
revelation which it has pleased God
to make, lo proclaim it, declare its
sense, and condemn whatever im-
pugns or tends to obscure it. Sup-
posing she has been instituted and
rommissioned by our Lord himself,
for this very purpose, her authority
a sufficient for believing whatever
iihe teaches and declares or defines
to be the word of God is his word
or the truth he has rcvcale<l ; for the
divme commission is the divine
word pledged for her veracity and
infiUlibility. This is plain enough and
indubitable ; but how am I to kno
or lo be assured that she has
so instituted or commissioned, and
so assisted ?
Tlierc are several onswer^i to th
question ; but wc would remar
before proceeding to give any an-
swer, thai the church is in possession*
has from the moment of tlie descent
of the Holy Ghost upon the apos-
tles on the day of Feniecosi claimed
to be in fjossession of the authority in
quebtion, and has had her claim ac-
knowledged by the whole body of
the faithful, and denied by none ex-
cept those who deny or impugn
authority itself. Ueing in possession*
it Ls for those who queMion her nght
to show that she is wrongfully in
possession. They arc, to use a Icg^
term, the plaintiffs in anion, aa
must make out their case. Ev
one is presumetl in law to be inno-
cent till proven guilty. The chu
must be presumu-d to be rightl'ully i
possession till the contrarj- is show
They who question her possesui
must, then, adduce at least /rii
fade evidence for ousting her before'
she can be called upon to produce
her title-deeds. This has never beea
done, and never can be done ; for, if
it could be done, some of our able an'
learned Protestant divines would, i
the course of the last tlircc hund:
years and over, have done it. There is,
then, in reality no need, in or<lcr to jus-
tify the liiith of Catholics, to prove
extnnsii. testimony the divine instito*'
tionand commi>»ion of the church to
teach all men and nations all things
whatsoever God has revealed and
commanded to be believed.
But we have no disposition to
avail ourselves just now of what some
may regard as a mere legal tcchni
cality. We answer the question
saying the church is herself the ■
ness in Oic case, and accredits t
The Church Accredits Herself.
H7
self, or her existence itself proves her
divine institution, commission, and
assistance or guidance.
'Vhe church was founded by our
Lord on the prophets and apostles,
being himself the chief corner-stone.
This is asserted here as a simple his-
torical fact. Historically, the church
has existed, without any break or
defect of continuity, from the apos-
tles down to our times. Its un-
broken existence from that time to
this cannot be questioned. It has
been a fact during all that period
in the world's history, and too mo-
mentous a fact to escape observation.
Indeed, it has been the one great
fact of history for over eighteen
hundred years ; the central fact
around which all the facts of history
have revolved, and without which
they would be inexplicable and
meaningless. This assumed or grant-
ed, it must be conceded that she
unites as one continuous fact, in one
body, the apostles and the believers
of to-day. She is a continuous fact ;
a present fact during all the period
of time that has elapsed between the
apostles and us, and therefore is alike
present to them and to us. Her exist-
ence being unbroken, she has never
fallen into the past; never been a past
fact ; but has always been and is a ])res-
ent fact ; and therefore as present with
the apostles to-day as she was on the
day of Pentecost, when they received
the Holy Ghost ; and therefore pre-
sents us not simply what they taught,
but what they teach her now and
here. She bridges over the abyss
of time between our Lord himself
and us, and makes us and the
apostles, so to speak, contempora-
ries; so that, as it is our Lord him-
self we hear in the apostles, so it is
the apostles themselves that we hear
in her.
This continuity or unity of the
church in time is a simple historical
fact, and as certain as any other his-
torical fact, and even more so, for it
is a fact that has never fallen into
the past, and to be established only
by trustworthy witnesses or docu-
ments. By it the church to-day is
and must be as apostolic and as au-
thoritative as in the days of the apos-
tles Peter, James, and John. Indi-
viduals die, but the church dies not :
individuals arc changed, as arc the
particles of our bodies, but the church
changes not. As in the human race
individuals pass off, but tlie race re-
mains always the same ; so in the
church individuals ])ass away, but
the church remains unchanged in all
its integrity ; for the individuals die
not all at once, and the new indivi-
duals born in their places are bom
into the one identical body, thr.tdoes
not die, but remains ever the same.
No matter, then, how many genera-
tions succeed one another in their
birth and death, the body of tlie
church is subject to no law of suc-
cession, and remains not only one
and the same church, but always the
one and the same present church.
The church of to-day is identically
the church of yesterday, the church
of yesterday is identically the church
of the day before, and thus step by
step back to the apostles ; on the oth-
er hand, the church in the time of
the apostles is identically the church
of their successors down through all
succeeding generations of individuals
to us. There has never been an in-
terval of time when it was not, or
when it lost its identity as one and
the same body. The church is pre-
cisely as apostolic now as it was in
the beginning, or as were the apostles
themselves.
Now, if we suppose our Lord com-
municated the whole revelation to
the apostles cither by his personal
teaching or by the inspiration of the
Holy Ghost, then he communicated
Thi Church AccreiUts Hersilf.
I
it to her, and she is an eye and ear
witness to the fact of revelation in
the same ticiiite that the apostles
Were, and her historical identity tvith
the apostles makes her a perpetual
and contemporary witness to the fact
uf revelation and to what is revealed.
What misleads not a few on this
poiiil is that they regard the church
as a mere aggregation of individuals,
bom ami dying with tlicm, or suc-
ceeding to herself with the succes-
sion of each new generation of in-
dividuals. But this is no more the
case with the church tlian with the
human race itself, or with aiiy parti-
cular nation that has an historical
existemx' through several generations.
In all historical hwlics the genera-
tions overlap one another, and no
generation of individuals is cither
aggregated to the body or segregat-
ed from it all at once. The body
does not die with the receding nor
is it born anew with the acceding
generation. The church, indeed, is
an organism, not a mere aggregation
of individuals, but even if it were
the conclusion would not follow ; for
though the individuals are successive-
ly aggregated or affiliated, they arc
aggregated or affiliated to her as a
persistent body, and though they pass
off successively, ihey leave the body
standing, one and identical. This is
the simple IvistoHcal fact. The church,
as an ever-present body, remains one
and the same identical body amid
all the successive changes of indivi-
duals, and b just as much the deposi-
tary of the revelation and an eye-
witness of the facts recorded in the
Gospels, as were the apostles them-
selves.
We say, then, the church is herself
the witness, ami a competent and
credible witness, to her own divme
commission lo leach and declare the
word of (Jod which he has revealed,
and no better, no more competent
or credible witness is needetl or, in
fact, conceivable. She is compctenlj
because she is the identical apostoli*
cal boily, the contemporary and tl
eye-witness through the successii
ages of the facts to which she testi-
fies. She is a credible witness, be-
cause even as a human body it would
be hardly possible for lier cither lo
mistake or to misreprcseot the facts
to which she Icstitics, since ihcy ar
always present before her eyes, sincej
however her individual members
may change, she herself knows no
change M'ith lapse of lime, and no
succession. She could not forget the
faith, change it. or corrupt it, because
there is at all times in her commu-
nion an innumerable body ol living
witnesses to its unity, purity, and in-
legriiy, who would delect ihc cliange,
or alteration and expose it It
not with her as it would be with
book having a limited rircuLitioi
Copies of the book could easily be
altered or interjjoluted without detec-
tion ; but the living testimony of the
church, spread over the whole world
and teaching all nations, cannot be
interpolated or corrupted. It is on
the fidelity of the tliurdi, her vi-
gilant gu.irdianship, and unifornli
testimony th.ii we depend fur otir'
confidence in the genuineness and au-
thenticity of our copies of tlie sacredj
writings, and it is worthy of not
that in proportion n<i men throw oi
the auihority of the church, and ii
ject her traditions, ihcy lose lliat con-
fidence, and fail to agree among
themselves what books, if any. are
inspired ; so that widtout the lestiroOr.
ny of the church the Holy Scriptui
themselves cease to be an autboritf^
in matters of faith.
In huutan tribunals the supreme
court is presumed to know the law,
which constitutes it. and it dcfii
its own jurisdiction and powers. If
declares ihe law of whicli it is the
The Cliurch Accredits Herself.
UP
dqx>sitar>' and guardian, ^d though
the judges have only their human
wisdom, learning, and sagacity, it is
remarkable how few mistakes through
a long series of ages they commit
as to what is or is not the law they
are appointed to administer, and
nearly all the mistakes they do com-
mit are due to the changes the legis-
lature makes in the law or in the
constitution of the court Why should
the church be less competent to
judge of the law under which she
is constituted, and to define her jur-
isdiction and powers ? And since
her constitution, as well as the law
she administers, changes not, why
should she be less exempt, even as a
human court, from mistakes in inter-
preting and declaring the law, than
the supreme court of England or
the United States? What higher
authority can there be to judge of
her own constitution and the law
given her to administer than the
church herself?
The church received her constitu-
tion in the commission given to the
apostolic body with whom she is one
and identical, and the law or reveal-
ed word in the reception of it by the
apostles. Being one and identical
body with them, she has received
what they received, and knows what
they knew, is taught what they were
taught, understands it in the same
sense that they did, and has the same
authority to interpret and declare il
that they had. If they were com-
missioned to teach all nations to ob-
serve all things whatsoever our Lord
commanded them, she is commission-
ed in their commission to do the
same. If he promised them his effi-
cacious presence and assistance to
the consummation of the world, he
made the prombe to her ; if he made
Peter the prince of the apostles, the
father and teacher of all Christians,
and gave him plenary authority to
feed, rule, and govern the universa
church, he made the successor of
Peter the visible head of the church,
and gave him the same authority.
The church, being the apostolic body
persisting through all times, knows
what the apostles received, knows
therefore both her own constitution
and the law deposited with her, and is
as competent to judge of them as the
apostles were, and has full authority
to interpret and declare both, and it
is to her, as to the supreme court of
a nation, to judge what they are, and
to define her constitution, jurisdiction,
and powers.
The objection which many make
to this conclusion arises from their
confounding the authority of the
church to interpret and define the
law — and, as a part of the law, her
own constitution, jurisdiction, and
powers or functions — with the authori-
ty to make the law : a mistake like
that of confounding the supreme
court of the United States with Con-
gress. The church, like the court or
the supreme executive, may make her
own rules and orders — what are
called the orders and rules of court,
for the purpose of carrying out the
intent of the law — but she no more
makes the law than does the civil
court make the law under which it is
constituted, and which it administers.
God alone is the lawgiver or law-
maker, and his revealed word is the
law — the law for the human reason
and will, and which binds all men in
thought, word, and deed. We want
no church, as the supreme judge of
the law, to tell us this, for it is a die-
tamen of reason itself. It is the re-
vealed word of God, which again is
only his will, the will of the supreme
Lawgiver — that is the law under
which the church is constituted, and
which she guards, interprets, and de-
clares, whenever a question of law
arises. She dops not make the law;
150
The Church Accredits Herself^
she keeps, interprets, dcthires, and
cWleiuU or vindicaiw it. liven wilh
only human wLstlum, she can nu more
make ihe law, or declare that to be
law which is not, than Uie supreme
civil court can declare that to be civil
law which us not civil law. The ob-
jection, therefore, is not well taken.
The law» it is agreed on all liaiids—
that is, the revelation, whether writ-
ten or unwritten — ivas de|>osited with
(he apostles, ihen it was deposited, as
wc have seen, with the church iden-
tical with the apostolic body. Now,
she knows, as tlie aposUeb knew, what
she received, the law committed to
her charge, and, as she is constituted
by the law she has received, she
knows, and cannot but know, her
own eoHiiiitulion and powers, also
what promises, if any, she has re-
ceived from her divine Lawgiver and
Founder. The promises of Goil can-
not fail; and if he has>promiscd her
his assistance as an itnmiuiily from
error she know.s it, and knows that
her judijmeiits of law, or in matters
of faith, are through that a$i>istance
mfalhble. Of all these questions she
is the divinely constituted judge. She
is the jtidgc of the law constituting
her, of her own appointment and
commission, and of her righu, pow'
ers, and jurisdiction, no less than of
the law or revelation committed to
her charge for all this is induiled in
the law. If she defines that in her
commission is included iJic promise
of the divine assistance tu protect
her firum error in imcq)reting and <ie-
daring the law— that is, the faith, the
revealed word of God — then of all
this she judges infallibly, and she is
the intallitMcauthorit}-, not for believ-
ing what (itid has revealed — for that
is believed on tlie veracity of (niii
alone— but for bclicviiiH that what she
bfochcs as his revealed word is his
Tcve.-Uerf wrord, and therefore the law
ve are to obey in thought, word,
deed, as the supreme court is tlie
authority for dcfming its own consti*
tution and powers, and what is or is
not the law of the state. Say wc not,
then, truly that the church is her
own witness and accredits herwrlf?
Say we not truly, also, llmt she is the
faithful and infallible witness to the fact
of revelation, and teacher and judge
of what God has or has not reveal-
ed ? The fact, then, that the church
defines that she is the divinely ap-
pointed guardian and infallible teach-
er and judge of revelation, is all wc
need to know in order to know that
it is Go<l wc believe in believing her,
None of the sects can apply this
argument t<j themselves ; for no one
of them can pretend to be the iden-
tical apustulical buily, ur to span the
distance of time from the apostles to
us, so as to be at once their contem- -]
porary and ours. They all have
either originated too late or have died
too soon for tliat. Not one of them
can pretend to have originated in the
apostolic communion, and to have
e\i:>ted as one continuous body duwo
to us. I'here were sectaries in the
lifetime of the apostles, but they were
not in the apostolic communion, but
separated from it ; and there is, as far
as wc know, no sect in existence that
originated in apostolic times. Some
of the Gnostic sects sprang up at a
very early day, but they have oU
disappeared, tliough many of their
errors arc revived in our day. The
Nestorian and Jacobite sects still
subsist in the Last, but they were
bom too late to be of afiostolic ori-
gin, and our modem Uuitariiuu
arc not the old ;Vnans continued
in one unbroken body. 'Die Lu-
theran and Calvinistic sects are of yes
lerday, and iliey and their numerous
offshoots are out of the question.
The poor Anglicans talk of apostolic
succession indeed, but they separat-
ed or were cut off from the apostolic
The Church Accredits Herself.
151
body in the sixteenth century, and,
with all the pretensions of a few of
them, are only a Protestant sect, bom
of the Reformation, as the greater part
ofthera strenuously contend. There is
something in people's instincts \ and it
is worthy ot note that no people who
have cast off the authority of the
Holy See have ever ventured to as-
sume as their official name the title
of APOSTOLIC. Even the schisma-
tic Greeks, while they claim to be or-
thodox, do not officially call their
church apostolic; and the American
Anglicans assume only the name of
Protestant Episcopal. Protestant apos-
Ulk would strike the whole world
as incongruous, and very much as a
contradiction in terms.
Let the argument be worth little
or much, the only body claiming to
be the church of Christ that has or
has had an uninterrupted historical
existence from the apostles to us, is
the body that is in communion with
the See of Rome, and recognizes the
successor of Peter in that see as
the Vicar of Christ, the teacher of
the nations, supreme pastor of the
faithful, with plenary authority from
our Lord himself to feed, rule, and
govern the universal church. The
fact is too plain on the very face of
history "for any one who knows his-
tory at all to deny it. Nor, in fact,
does any one deny it. All in reality
concede it ; and the pretence is that
to be in communion with that see is
not necessary in order to be in com-
munion with Christ, or with the uni-
versal church.
But this is a question of law or of
its interpretation, and can itself be
determined only by the supreme
court instituted to keep, interpret, and
declare the law. The court of last
resort has already decided the ques-
tion. It is res adjudUata, and no long-
er an open question. The court has
decided that extra ecclesiam, nulla
sa/us, or, that out of communion
with the church there is no commu-
nion with Christ; and that out of
communion with the Holy See there
is no communion with the universal
church, for there is no such church.
Do you appeal from the decision
of the court ? To what tribunal ?
To a higher tribunal ? But there is
no higher tribunal than the court of
last resort None of the sects are
higher than the church, or competent
to set aside or overrule her decisions.
Do you appeal to the Bible ? But
this were only appealing from the
law as expounded by the church or
the supreme court to the law as ex-
pounded by yourself or your sect.
Such an appeal cannot be entertain-
ed, for it is an appeal, not from an
inferior court to a superior, but from
the highest court to the lowest. The
law expounded by the individual or
the sect is below, not above, the law
expounded and declared by the
church. The sect has confessedly
no authority, and the law expounded
and applied by the sect is no more
than the law expounded and applied
by the private individual ; and no pri-
vate individual is allowed to expound
and apply the law for himself, but
must take it as expounded and applied
by the court, and the judgment as to
what the law is of the court of last
resort is final, and from it, as every
lawyer knows, there lies no appeal.
To be able to set aside or overrule
the judgment of the church, it is ne-
cessary, then, to have a court of su-
perior jurisdiction, competent to re-
vise her judgments and to confirm
or to overrule them. But, unhappi-
ly for those who are dissatisfied with
her judgments, there is and can be
no such court to which tlicy can ap-
peal
There might be some plausibility
in the pretended appeal from the
church to the Bible, if the church had
not the Bible, or if she avowedly
rejected its divine authority ; but as
the case stands, siich an appeal is
irregular, illegal, and absurd. The
church has and alv\-ays has had the
Hililcevcr since it was wTJlten. It was,
2s wc have seen, uriginally deposited
with her, and it is only from her that
those outside uf her communion have
obtained it or their knowledge of it.
She has always helil and taught it
to be the divinely inspired and autho-
ritative written word of (Jod, which
none of her children are allowed to
deny or questiou. There is no op-
position possible between her teach-
ing and the Kibic, for the Uible is
included in her teaching, and conse-
quently no .-xppeal from her leaching
to the Bible. It would be only an
appeal from herself to herself. The
only api>eal conceivable in the case
is from her understanding of the sa-
cred Scriptures or the rcvcalc*! word
of (Jod to — your own ; but as you
at best have confessedly no autho-
rity to cx[>ound. inter])ret, or de-
clare the law, your understanding
of Uie written word can in no case
override or set aside hers.
The RcfonucTs, when they pre-
tended to appeal from the church to
the Bible, mistook the tiueslion and
proceeded on a false assumption.
There never was any question be-
tween the church and the Bible; the
only question there was or could be
was between her understanding of
the Bible and theirs, or, as wc have
said, between the Bible as expound-
ed by the church and the Bible as
expounded by private individuals.
This the Rcformcra did not or woulil
not see, and this their followers do
not or Hill not see to this day, Now,
count the authority of the church fur
as little as )>os!ub1e, her understand-
ing cannot be below that of private
individuals, and the understanding
of private individuals can never over-
ride it, or be a sufHcicnt reason for
setting it aside. The Reformers had
recognized the church as the supreme
authority in matters of faith, and the
•luesiion was not on aduiiliing her
authority as soraetliing hitlierto un*
recogni/wl, but on rejecting an
authority tliey had hitherto ac-
knowledged as divine. They could
not legally reject it except on a high-
er authority, or by the judgment of
a superior court. But there was no
superior court, no higher authority,
and they could oppose to her not the
authority of the Bible, as they pre-
tended, but at best only their
vale opinion or views of what
leaches, which in no case could coun:
for more than her judgment,
therefore could not overrule it or an-
thorizc its rejection.
It is all very well to deny the
divine commission and authority
the church to expouiul the word and
declare the law of Ciod ; but a deni
10 serve any purpose, or to be worti
anything, must have a reason, and a
higher reason thau has the affirma-
tion denied. One can deny only by
an authority sulficient to warrant an
affirmation. It needs as much rea-
son to deny as to affirm. The autho-
rity of the church can really be de-
nied only by opposing to her a tru
that disproves it. A simple negatio:
is nothing, and proves or dis[jrov
nothing. Yet the Reformers opp
to the church only a simple negatioi
They opposed to her no authority
no affirmative truth, and consequent
ly gave no reason for denying or un-
churching her. Indeed, no individ-
ual or sect ever opposes cither to
the church or to ber teaching any-
thing but simple negation, and no
one ever makes an .iffirmation or
affirms any truth or positive doctrine
which she does not herself aflinn
or hold and leach. Every known
heresy, from that of the Docctx down
iwe-
pri.^J
)UDl^H
u
Tk« Church Accredits Herself.
153
to the latest development of Protes-
tantisni, simply denies what the church
teaches, and affinns nothing which
she does not herself affirm, as Catho-
lics have shown over and over again.
These denials, based as they are on
no principle or affirmative truth, are
gratuitous, and count for nothing
against the church or her teaching.
Who would count the denial by a
madman that the sun shines in a clear
sky at noonday ?
The simple fact is that whoever
denies the church or her judgments
does it without any authority or
reason but his own private opinion or
caprice, and that is simply no author-
ity or reason at all. It is not possi-
ble to allege any authority against
her or her teaching. Men may cavil
at the truth, may by their sophistries
and subtleties obscure the truth or
involve themselves in a dense men-
tal fog, so that they are unable to see
anything distinctly, or to tell where
the^ are or in what direction they
are moving. They may thus imag-
ine that they have some reason for
their denials, and even persuade
others that such is the fact; but when-
ever the fog is cleared away, and
they have fljjiirtf themselves, they can-
not, if they have ordinary intelligence,
fail to discover that th« truth which
in their own minds they opposed to
her or her teaching is a truth which
she herself holds and teaches as an
integral part of her doctrine, or as
included in the depositum of faith
she has received. Do you say there
is truth outside of the church ; truth
in all religions; in all superstitions,
even ? Be it so ; but there is no
truth outside of her in any religion or
superstition that she denies or does
not recognize and hold, and hold in
its unity and catholicity. There may
be facts in natural hi-story, in physics,
chemistry, in all the special sciences,
u in the several handicrafts, that she
does not teach; but there is no prin-
ciple of science of any sort that she
does not hold and apply whenever
an occasion for its application occurs.
None of the special sciences have
their principles in themselves, or do
or can demonstrate the principles on
which they depend, and from which
they derive their scientific character.
They all depend for their scientific
character on a higher science, the
science of sciences, which the church
and the church alone teaches. The
principles of ethics, and therefore of
politics as a branch of ethics, all
lie in the theological order, and
without theology there is and can be
no science of ethics or politics ; and
hence we see that both, with those who
reject theology, are purely empirical,
without any scientific basis. An
atheist may be moral in his conduct,
but if there were no God there
could be no morality; so may an
atheist be a geometrician, but if there
were no God there could be no ge-
ometry. Deny God, and what be-
comes of lines that may be infinitely
projected, or of space shading off in-
to immensity, on which so much in the
science of geometry depends ? Nay,
deny God, and what would become
even of finite space ? Yet without the
conception of space, which is in
truth only the power of God to ex-
ternize his acts, geometry would be
impossible. All the special sciences
are secondary, and are really science
only when carried up to their first
principles and explained by them.
What more absurd, then, than the at-
tempt of scientists to prove by science
there is no God, or to oppose
science to the theology of the church,
without which no science is possible ?
We need but look at tlie present
state of men's minds to see how the
world gets on without the church.
Never were men more active or inde-
fatigable in their researches : they send
154
Tht Church Accredit i linsttf.
L
iheir piercing glances into all subjects,
sacred and profane; they investigate
the heavens and the earth, the pres-
ent and tliL* past, and leave no nook or
comer of nature unexplored, and yel
there is not a principle of ethics, pol-
itics, or science that is not denied or
called in question. In the moral and
]>olitica] world nothing is fixed or
settled, and moral anrl intellectual
science, as well assiatesmansliip, dis-
appears. Duubt and uncertainty
bang over all questions, and the dis-
tinctions betncen right and wrong,
just and unjust, as well as between
good and evil, arc obscured and well-
nigh oblitcmted. 'J'hc utmost con-
fusioni reigns in the uhnlu world oi
thought, and " men," as a distin-
guished pn:1ate sai<l to us the other
day, " arc trjing the cxpeamcnt of
governing the world without con-
science." AU this proves what we
nuintain, that they who deny the
cliuFch, or reject her teaching, have
no truth in oppase to her, no reason
for their denial, and no principle on
which they Uise their rejection of
her authority. Their rejection of the
church and her teaching is purely
gratuitous, and therefore, if not iin-
ful, is at least l>asetes$.
This much is ccruin, that it is
either the church or nothing. 'J'hcrc
is no other allenialive. Notliing is
more absurd than for those who re-
ject the churdi and her teacln'ng
to pretend to be Christian teachers
or believers. 'I'hey cannot believe
the n:veiatton Go{l has made on thc
vcracity of God alone, for they have
no witness, not even an unassisted
human iiiincss, of the fact of revela-
tion, of wlwt God has revealed, or
that he has or ha.s not revealed any-
thing, .since ihcy have no witness
who was die contemporarj' of oiu"
Lord and his apostles — they were
none of them bom then — and ihcy
have no institution that dates from
apostolic limes, and that has con-
tinued without break down to the
present. In fact, what they profess^
to believe, in so far as they believe '^x^
at all, they believe on the authorityj
of the church, or of that very tradi>
tion which they reject and deny to be
authority. They agree among them-
selves in their doctrinal belief only
when and where they agree with
the church ; whenever and wherever
they break fnnn ("atholic tradition,
preserved and hantieil tiown by her,
they disagree and fight with one an-l
other, are all at sea, and have neilhctH
chart nor compass. Do they tell usl
that they agree in the eiwentials cX\
the Christian faith ? Yet it is only
far as they follow Cailiolic iradilit
that they know or can agree amoDf
themselves as to what are
are not essentials. There is a wide
difference between what Hr. Pusejs;
holds to be esiiential and what is hel<
to be essential by Dr. Uellows. Nearl]
the only point in which the two ai
is in rejecting the infallible authoni
of the successor of Peter ; anii, in re-^
iecting that authority, neither has ail)''
authority for believing what he !«-*
lieves, or for denying what he denies*'
Deny the church, and you have no
authority fur asserting divine reve-
lation at all, ;is your rationalists and
radicals conclusively prove:
Hut, happily, the other altemadve
saves lis from all these logical incon^
sislcncies. The churtli niccis evci
demand, removes every ciiibarrass-
ment, ami affords us the precise au-
thority we need for faith, for she a
in every age and every land ft livini
witness to the fact of revelation, anj
an cver-jirescnt juilge competent to
declare what (jod reveals, and (o
teach us what we have, and what
have not, llie veracity of God for
lieving. Slie can assure us of the
divine inspiration and audiority of
the Holy Scriptures, which without
The Church Accredits Herself,
155
her tradition is not jirovable ; for she
has received them through the apos-
tles from our Lord himself. She can
enable us to read them aright, and
can unfold to us by her teaching their
real sense; for the Holy Ghost has
deposited with her the whole revela-
tion of God, whether written or un-
uTitten. Outside of her, men, if
they have the book called the Bible,
can make little or nothing of it, can
come to no agreement as to its sense,
except so far as they inconsistently
and surreptitiously avail themselves of
her interpretation of it. They have
no key to its sense. But she has the
kc}' to its meaning in her possession
and knowledge of all that God re-
veals, or in the divine instruction she
has received in the beginning. The
whole word of God, and the word
of God as a whole, is included in
the depositum she has received, and
therefore she is able at all times and
in all places to give the true sense
of the whole, and of the relation
to the whole of each and every
part. In her tradition the Bible
is a book of divine instruction, of
living truth, of inestimable value,
and entitled to the profoundest reve-
rence, which we know it is not in the
hands of those who wrest it from her
tradition, and have no clue to its
meaning but grammar and lexicon.
The notion that a man who knows
nothing of the Christian faith, and is
a stranger to the whole order of
Christian thought and life, can take
up the Bible, even when correctly
translated into his mother-tongue,
and from reading and studying it ar-
rive at an adequate knowledge, or
any real knowledge at all, of Chris-
tian truth or the revelation which
God has made to man, is preposter-
ous, and contradicted by every day's
experience. Just in proportion as
men depart from the tradition of faith
preserved by the churcli, the Bible
becomes an unintelligible book, ceas-
es to be of any use to the mind,
and, if reverenced at all, becomes,
except in a few plain moral precepts,
a source of error much more fre-
quently than of truth. One of the
most precious gifts -of God to man
becomes instead of a benefit a real
injury to the individual and lo socie-
ty. Our school-boards may, then,
easily understand why we Catholics
object to the reading of the Bible in
schools where the church cannot be
present to enlighten the pupil's mind
as to its real and true sense. It
is the court that keeps the statute-
books, and interprets and applies the
law, whether the lex sciipta or the
Ux non scripta.
The church, existing in all ages
and in all nations as one identical
body, is a living witness in .all times
and places, as we have said, of the
fact that God has revealed what she
believes and teaches, and is through
his assistance a competent and suffi-
cient authority for that fact, and to
interpret and declare the revealed
law, as much so, to say the least, as
the supreme court of a nation is to
declare what is the law of the state.
The objection made by rationalists
and others to believing on the autho-
rity of the church, or to recognizing
her authority to declare the faith, is
founded on the false assumption that
the church makes the faith, and can
make anything of faith she pleases,
whether God has revealed it or not.
We have already answered this ob-
jection. The church bears witness
to the fact of revelation, and declares
what i;i or is not the faith God has
revealed, as the supreme court de-
clares what is or is not the law of
the state ; but she can declare noth-
ing to be of faith that is not of faith,
or that God has not revealed and
commanded all men to believe, for
through the divine assistance she is
156
Thi Ckureh Accredits Herself.
infallible, and therefore cannot err in
matters of faith, or in any matters
pertaining in any respect to friith and
moraU. Since she cannot err m de-
claring what frt>d has revealed and
commanded, we are assured that
what she declares to he revealed is
revealed, or to be commanded is com-
tnamlcd, mid therefore we know that
whatever we are required to bcHeve
as of faith, or to do as commanded
of Gn<l, we have the authority of
God himself for IwHeving and doing,
the highest possible reason for faith,
since God is truth ittielf, and con nei-
ther deceive nor be deceived ; and the
highest possible lavv, for Go<l is the
Supreme Kiwgiver. It is they who
reject the church or deny her autho-
rity that have only an arbitrary and
capricious human authority, and who
abdicate their reason and their free-
dom, and make themselves slaves,
and slaves of human jiassion, arro-
gance, and ignorance. The Catholic
is the only man who ha.s true mental
freedom, or a reason for his faith.
His faith makes him free. It is the
truth that liberates; and therefore our
Lord soys, " If the Son shall make
you free, ye shall be free indeed."
Who can be freer than he who is held
to believe and obey only God ? They
whom the truth does not make free
may fancy ihcy arc free, but they are
not; they arc in bondage, and abject
slaves.
llie church in affirming herself is
not maJcing hcn^clf the ju<lj;c in her
own cause, is not one of the litinanls, as
some pretend, for the cause in which
she judges is not hers, but that of
God himself. She is the court insti-
tuted by the Supreme Lawgiver to
keep, interpret, and declare his law.
imd therefore to judge between him
and the subjects his law binds. She,
in determining a case of faith or mo-
rals, no more judges in her own cause
than the supreme court uf a nalicn
does in defining its own jurisdiction,
and in dctcmiining a case arising tin*
der the law of which it is constituted
by the national authority the judge.
She has, of course, the right, as ha.1
every civil court, to punish contempt,
whether of her orvlers or her jurisdic-
tion, for he who contemns her con-
temns him who has instituted her;
but the questions to be decidcil arc
questions of law, which she does not
make, and is therefore no more a
party to the cause litigated, and no
more interested or less impartial, than
is a civil court in a civil action. In-
deed, wc sec not, if it pleases Almighty
God to make a revelation, ami to set
up his kingdom on earth with that
revelation for its law. how he can
provide for its due administration
without such a body as the church
affirms herself to be, nor how it would
be possible to institute a higher or
more satisfactory method of deter-
mining what the law of his kingdom
is, than by the decision of a coun
instituted and assisted by him for that
very purpose. In our judgment, no
better way is practicable, and no oth-
er way of attaining the end desired
is possible. Wc repeat, therefore, that
the church meets every demand of
the case, and removes every real dif-
ficulty in ascertaining what is the
faith God has revealed, a.s well as
what is opposed to it, or tends to ol»-
scure or impair it.
It is agreeil on all hands, by all
who hold that our heavenly Father
has made us a revelation and insti-
tuted a church, that the Church of
Rome, founded by Saints Peter and
Paul^ was in the beginning catholic
and apostolic If she was so in the
beginning, she is so now ; for she has
not changed, and claims no authori-
ty which she has not claimed and ex-
ercised, as the occasion arose, from the
first. She is the same identical body
as she hiis been from tl\e beginning.
Tke Church Acfrcdtts Herself.
All the sectarian and srhtsniarical
bodies that oppose or refuse to sub-
mit to her authorily acknowledged
her authority- pnur to rejecting it. and
were in communion with her. The
change is not hers, hut theirs. 'Ilicy
have changed and gone out from her,
hecaiiM they were not of her, but she
has remained ever the sanie. T.ikc
the schismatic Greeks. They origi-
nally were one body with her, and
held the successor of I'eier in the
Roman Sec as primate or head of the
whole visible church. I'licy gut an-
gT>' or were jxTrvertcd, and rejected the
authority of the Roman I'oniirT, and
have nc\'creveti to this day ventured
to call themselves officially ihcCatho-
licor the Apostolic church. The men
who founded the Reformed Church-
es so-called — the Anglican among
the rest — were brought up in the
communion of the Catholic Church,
and ocknowlcd^^ed the supremacy of
the Roman Pohtiff, and the Church
of Rome as the mother and mistress
of all the churches. Tlie separation
was caused by ihdr change, not by
hers. She held and taught at the
time of die separation what she ha^i
always held and taught, and claim-
ed no authority which she had not
claimed from the first. Evidently,
then, it was they and not she that
changed and ilcntcd what they had
jireviously believed. She lost indi-
viduals and nations from her com-
munion, but she tost not her identi-
ty, or any iwnion of her rights nnd
authority, as the one and only church
of Christ, for she holds from God, not
from the faithful. She h.is continued
to be what she was at first, while
they have gone from one change to
another, have fallen into a confusion
of tongues, as their prototypes did at
Babel ; and LuOier and Calvin could
hardly recognizv* their followers in
those who go by their name to-day.
In the very existence of the church
through so many changes in the world
around her, the rise and fall of states
and empires, assailed as she hiLS been
on every hand, and by all sorts of
enemies, is a standing miracle, and a
sufficient proof of her divinity. She
was assailcii by the Jews, who cruci-
fied her l.ord and stirred up, wher-
ever they went, the hostility of the
people against his holy aposdes and
mbisionaries ; she was assailct! by the
relentless persecution of the Roman
Kmpire, the strongest organization
the world has ever seen, and the
greatest political power of which his-
tory gives any hint- — an empire
which wielded the whole power of
organised |>aganism ; she was ilrivcn
to the catacombs, and obliged to
ofier up the holy sacrifice under the
earth, for there was no place for her
altars on its surface. Yet she survived
the empire; emerged from the cata-
combs and |>]ai)ted the cross on the
Capitol of the pagan world. She
had then to encounter a hardly
less formidable enemy in the Arian
heresy, sustained by the civil power;
then came her struggle with the bar-
barian invaders and conquerors from
the fifth to the tenth century— tlic
revolt of the East, or the Greek
schism ; the great schism of the
West ; the Northern revolt, or the so-
called Refonnation of the sixteenth
centur)* ; and the hostility since of
the greatest and most powerful slates
of the modem world; yet she stands
erect where she did nearly twenty
centuries ago, maintaining herself
against all opposition ; against the
power, wealth, learning, and refine-
ment of this world ; against Jew,
pagan, barbarian, heretic, and schis-
matic, and preserving her identity
and her faith unchanged through all
the vicissitudes of the world in the
midst of which she is placed. She
never could have done it if she had
been su^itainud only by human virtue,
Bordeanx.
hnman wisdom, aixl human sagacity;
she could not have survived un-
changed if Khe had not been under
the divine protection, and upheld by
thir arm of Almighty God. The
fact that she ha« livc^l on and pre-
served her identity, rspccialty if we
add 10 the uppostiion from witliuut
the scandals thai have occurred with-
in, is conclusive proof that under her
hutn:iii form Khe livens a <Iivine and
supernatiirnl life; therefore tliat she is
the chufth of God, and is what she
affirms herself to be.
Believinj; ihc church to be what
she atRrms herself to be ; believing the
Roman Puiiiiff to be the succes-sor of
Peter, the Vicar of Christ on earth,
the father and teacher of all Chris-
tian<tr we have no fear tliat slie will
not survive the pcrsecuiion which
now rages a;:;ain<tt her, and that the
I'ope will not see his enemies pros-
trate at his feel. Tlirough all hi
hi|y||pi
tory, we have seen that the successes
of her enemies ha\'e been short-hved,
and the terrible losses they have oc-
casioned have been theirs, not hers.
It will always be so. Kings, emperors.
prjlenlales. >itates, and era]iires way
destroy themselves by opposing her,
but her they cannot harm. See wc
not how the wrongs done to the
Holy Father by Italian robbcra,
obeying the dictates of the .tecret
sociciies, some of which, like the
Mihin NiUuni. date almost irom apos-
tolic times, arc t|Uickcning the faith
and fervor of Catholic!> throughout
the world ? Nut fur centuries has
the Holy Father been so strong in
the love and devotion of his faithful
children as lo-tby. Never is the
church stronger or nearer a victory*
than wjien al>aiuloncd by all thi
powers of this world, and thrown bi
on the support of her divine Spot
nc.
BORDEAUX.
ONKof the first objects that strikes
the mariner asccndmg Ihe Garonne
towards Hordeaux is the ancient tow-
er of St Michel. I visited it the
very morning nf^cr my arrival in that
city. It is the belfry of a church of
the ume name, but is separated from
it. being about forty yar*ts distant.
It was built in 1472. and is two hun-
dred and fifty feet high. Formerly.
it was over three hundred feet in
hei)(ht, but the steeple was blown
down hy a hurricane on the 8th
of September, 1768. The view from
the top is superb. Before you, like
a map, lies the whole city — a noted
commercial centre from ihc lime of
the Ca^ars — encircling a great be
of die river. The eye is at first coi
fusc<! by the mass of roofs, spires, ai
streets, but In a moment singles out
the great cruciform cliurches of St.
Andre, Ste. Croix, and St. Michel
They lie beneath like imrnen
crosses with arms stretched out
perpetual apjieal to heaven.
rem cnib ranees of Calvary must ever
ktand between a sinful world and
justice of Almighty God. How
he look down upon alt the iniqui
of a great city, and not feel the 1
lent Aine nobis of these sacred arms
extended over it, repeating silently,
as it were, the divine prayer, *' Father.
Bordeaux,
159
forgive them, for they know not what
they do !" Oh ! what a love for the
Passion dwelt in the heart of the
middle ages which built these church-
es. Absorbed in the thought, I lost
sight of the city. Its activity, its
historical associations, the fine build-
ings and extensive view, all disap^
pear before the cross. Bordeaux is
generally thought of only as a wine-
mart, but it also has holier associa-
tions. " Evwy foot-path on this
planet may lead to the door of a
hero," it is said, and very few paths
there are in this Old World that do
not bring us upon the traces of the
saints — the most heroic of men, who
have triumphed over themselves,
which is better than the taking of a
strong city. They it was that made
these great signs of the cross on the
breast of this fair city, hallowing it
for ever.
Beneath the tower of St. Michel
is a cav^au, around which are ranged
ninety mummies in a state of preser-
vation said to be owing to the na-
ture of the soil. Why is it that eve-
ry one is enticed down to witness so
horrid a spectacle ? Dust to dust
and ashes to ashes is far preferable
to these withered bodies, and a quiet
resting-place, deep, deep in the bo-
som of mother earth till the resur-
rection. Edmond About says the
twelfth century would have embroi-
dered many a charming legend to
throw around these bodies, but the
moderns have less imagination, and
the guardian of the tower, who dis-
plays them by the light of his poor
candle, is totally deficient in poesy.
Had this writer been at Bordeaux
on the eve of All Souls' day, he would
have been invited at the midnight
hour, " when spirits have power," to
listen to the lugubrious cries and ■
chants that come up from the caveau,
where, as the popular voice declares,
these ninety forms are having their
yearly dance — the dance of death !
I wonder if the mummy next the
door, as you gladly pass out into the
upper air, has his hand still extended
like an an revoir. . . . Yes, there
is one place where we shall meet,
but not in this repulsive form. May
we all be found there with glorified
bodies !
The church of St. Michel is older
than the tower, having been built in
the twelfth century. It is of the Go-
thic style, and one of those antique
churches that speak so loudly to the
heart of the traveller from the New
World — one in which w^ are pene-
trated with
*'An inward stillness.
That perfect silence when the lips and heart
Are Btill, and we no lonf;cr entertain
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,
Hut God alune speaks in us. and we wait
In singleness of heart that we may know
His will, and in tbc Mlence of our spirits
That he may do his will, and do that only.''
The ancients had a deep meaning
when they represented the veiled Isis
with her finger on her hushed lii)s.
The soul profoundly impressed by
the Divine Presence is speechless.
In one of the side chapels is the
tomb of an old bishop of the middle
ages, in a niche of the wall. On it
he lies carven in stone, with the mitre
on his head, and clad in his pontifi-
cal vestments, and his hands folded
in prayer.
" Still praying in thy sleep
With lifted hands and face supine,
Meet attitude of calm and reverettce deep.
Keeping thy marble watch in hallowed
shrine."
The cathedral of St. Andre is an-
other of these venerable monuments
of the past. Founded in the fourth
century, destroyed by the barbarians,
restored by Charlemagne, and again
ruined by the Normans, it was re-
built in the eleventh century, and
consecrated by Pope Urban II., in
1096. I went there at an early hour
Bordeaux.
>
L
10 offer up my thanksgiving for the
happy end of this stage of my jour-
ney. The canons were just chanting
Uie hours, which reverberated among
the hghi arches with fine effect.
Classes were being offered in various
chapcN, and there were woriJiip[>ers
everywhere. I M-as panicularly struck
with tlie devout appearance of a ve-
nerable old man in one of the dim-
mest and mo.';l remote chapels, enve-
loped in a hooded cloak, with the
capuche drawn over his head. He
looked aii if hib soul, as well as his
body, was almost done with time.
Through all these aisles and ora-
tories, which whispering lips filled
with the perftjmc of prayer stream-
ing through the old windows came
the morning sun,
" Whine b«an», tbu* hallotved by ihe iccacs
T«U round the llooi cacti pafable of glui."
I can still see the puqile light fill-
ing the chapel of the Sacred Heart
and ensanguining the upliftctl Host.
" A iwcct rcltflMit uilncft. like a do*«,
UftMxtao'ct Ibli pUce. Thn irliislcteiJ pliUrs
Ate ri«^d o'er bv ihc mnrnint »liy :
Ami I'ltHn tlic tmrca-hucil windows lat aborc,
I ntcusc a« adomion. watui a> lave,
A parjilc kIitv rircfi \% ^crn to lie.
Tiirn, |>nel, (htiMtar, tww the vctloiM typ.
Wberv, in while vcvis, a mci-k and \\a\y band,
rKanitnit Ood'* prai»<! in wilcfnn ocdci, uinil.
n hear ihat edukI'I' swell lai up artd die !
(till Icmjdc, ih>- l'a^l letiiuricA ceem but fCKra,
Where wise anri lioly men liealorifieil!
Uiir lieatii are lull, our aouli ate orcupled,
Aiul pleiv has liiilh in ()ulet teaial''
And all the worshippers in ihi.'j
church were turned toward the holy
East, whence comcth the Son of
Man. The glory of the Lord c^me
into the house by the way of the
gate whose prospect is toward the
Kajit. 1 like this orientation of
churches now too rauch neglected.
The old symbolic usages of the
church should be perpelunted. This
turning to the East in prayer was at
one age the mark of a true believer,
distinguishing him from those who
had separated from the church,
some of the uld basilicas at Ron'
and cisewliere liave their altars at t
west, but, according to the ritual a
such churches, the priest turns towa
the people, thus looking to the I'la
Cassiodorus and others say that o
Lord on the cross had his face to-
ward the west. So, in directing our
thoughts and hearts lo Calvary, it i
almost iostiuclivc to look to the EasL
" Whh tuitiilsoutslrelcheil, l>le«i1iHc and bare,
Ite dulb ill ilcalb bit Inniwcai tieail recline,
Tumiiv [■> lI)C vroiL DeKvodiag frocn
bH^hi.
Tbe sun behcM. an'l relied liiin from the iil(liL
ThiUier, wbile lium (be fterpenta wound n*
pine,
To ibee, remevherlng that bapllwial alcilt
We luin and drink anew Iby bealing bi
Let us, then, place, as Wordsw
says,
** LLko men of elder days.
Our Cbrutlan alut lailbfitl (a Ibc east.
Whence itie tail window drinki tlic biotiiI
rwjr*-"
While I was lingering with
liar interest Ireforo a monument
the memory of Cardinal dc Chevi
rus, the first Bistiop of Boston, a
afterward Archbishop of Uurdcau
whose memory is revered in the O
World and the New, I heard a ch
ing afar off, and, looking around,
through the open door a funeral p
cession coming hastily along
street toward the church, and singing
the Miserere — coming, not with
mournful step and slow, as wiUi us,
but like the followers of Islam, w
believe the soul is in torment be-
tween death and burial, and so lay
aside their usual dignified depo:
ment and hurr)' tlic Iwfly to the graveJ
Hut in I-'rance the funeral iortegt
does not necessarily include the
relatives, and I felt this very haste
might be typical of their eagerness to
commence the Office of the Dead.
Anyhow. I forgave ihcm when, in the
ciiajM-'l draptcl in black, I saw them
devoutly betake themselves to prayer
Bordeaux.
ring the Holy Sacrifice. I. loo,
3ppctl my Hide bead of prayer for
eternal rest of duu whuac name
' know not, but which is known to
' f I«l[i. Lottl. (Ite ■onl& vrhlcli tliou liut r)»<I«.
The souls lo ihe* w dear ;
In pn'svn for tbe debt unpaid.
Ofiini cotDinUie<t here."
The confessionals scenietl to be
greatly frequcnied the dny I was at
1st. Andre's — lliose sepulchres into
Miich rolb the great burden of our
BIS. There
1
"The ffreiC Atxolvcr with relkt
SuiMb by the door, uid bc^ri Uie key.
O'er peoiutii.« on Ixtiiled knee."
What non-Catholic has not felt, at
least once in hU life, as if he would
ve n-otlds for the mor.iI courage
lay down the burden of memory at
feet of some holy man endowed
h the power of absolving from sin I
iiighty (.loti has made his church
c interjux'ter between himself and
Lieaturcs; hence the peculiar grace
holy confessor has to meet the
nts of tlie human heart laid bare
fore him. Zoroaster told his disci-
es that the wings of the soul, lost by
, might lie regained by bedewing
icm with the waic-rs of life found
the garden of (.iod. It is only
consecrated priest who has tlie
•wer of unsealing this fountain to
one of us. These confessionals
distributed in the various chapels,
■where meeting the eye of the
bed and «n-wurn traveller who
uld
\** KiM«l 49«D. and tftke the wt»(! dlvloe,
Aholvo rs."
Of course there is a I.adyc Chapel
this church, as in all others. Je-
and Mar\', whose names are ever
ingled on Catliolic lips, the first ihey
im and the last llicy murmur, ere
:r separated in our churches. Dc-
don to the Virgin has grown up
VOL. XIII. — 11
through the church, beautifying and
perfuming it like the famous rose-
bush in the Cathedral of Hildeshelm
in Germany — the oldest of all known
TOSf-bushes. It takes root under the
choir in the crypt. Its agt- is un-
known, but a document proves that
nearly a thousand years ago liishop
Hezilo h-itl it protected by a stone
roof still to be seen. So with devo-
tion to our Mystical Rose — <}uan
plantatio rostz in yen'chi>^i\s roots
go down deep among the founda-
tions of the church ; saints have pro-
tected and nourished it, and all na-
tions come to sit under its vine and
inhale its perfume.
" QIoxKim for ercr. Monoming rod !
Tbou dlJit not blomom oaco to die ;
Tint life which, isniinji forth from Gad.
Thy life cnkiuitle4, runt not dir.
" Wllhaul a rout ia alii-sbiincd ckrlh,
'T<vu thine to bud ulvftll<Hi*k fiower.
No >itiKl« nnul (he church t>rin|tH furlh
But bloams liuni tlicc, Mtil t» Uiy dower."
What a safeguard to man is devo-
tion to Mary Most Pure! It is like
the Pridwin — the shield of King Ar-
thur — on which was emblazoned the
Holy Virgin, warding off the strokes
of the great enemy of souls.
There are some poetical xssociO'- '
tions connected with Hordeaux ;
among others, t)ie memory of the
troubadours who enriched and per-
fected the Romance tongue, but whose
songs at last died away in the sad
discord of the ^Mbigensian wars.
Here the gay and beautiful KIcanoi
of Aquitainc held her court of love,
gathering around her all tlie lamous
troubadours of her time, and decid
ing upon the merits of their songa
Among these w;ls her favorite, Ber-
nard rie Ventadour, chiefly know-n
to fame by being mentioned by Pe-
trarch. Eleanor herself was a musi-
cian and a lover of poetry^lastcs
she inherited from her grandfather,
William, 1 >uke of .-Xquitaine, general-
ly called the Count dc Poitiers, one
BordeaHX.
of the earliest of ihc troubadours
whose songs liavc come down to us.
Araund tliis charraing queen of love
and song gathered the admiring vo-
taries of hi ffiia scittuia, Uke night-
ingales i»inging around the ros«, all
vowing, as in duty bound, that
their licarts were bleeding on the
horns 1
Poor maligned Eleanor was too
gay a butlerfly for the gloomy court
of Louis VII. She wanted the bright
lun of her own ]jruviiice in whicli to
Boat, .md the incense of admiring
voices to waft her along. She hcr-
iclf was a composer oi ehamoNs, and
is reckoned among the aulhurs uf
France. She dearly loved Bordeaux,
her capital, and was adored by its
people. Here she was married with
great pomp to Louis, after which the
Duke of Aquitaine bid a^ide his in-
signia of power, and, assuming the
garb of a hermit, went on a pilgri-
mage to St. James of Coiupostclla,
and devoted the remainder of his
life to prayer and penance in hermi-
tage on Montserrai, by way of pre-
paration for death. It is well to
pause awhile before plunging into
the great ocean of eternity.
These pilgrimages to Compostella
were exceedingly popular in that
«gc, and hospices for the pilgrims to
that shrine were to be found in all
the large cities and towns. There
was one at Auch, and anotlier at Pa-
in the Rue du Temple, which was
particularly celebrated and served
by Augustiuian nuns. And here at
Bordeaux was the Hospice of St. An-
dr6 for the reception of ihc weary
votary of St. Jago.
" Here comes a pilgrim,'* says one
of Shakespeare's characters. •' God
save you, pilgrim. Where arc you
bound?"
" To Sl Jacques Ic Grand. Where
do the palmers lodge, I beseech
JOB?"
" EdMODci unto bh boly bofpftslt
Tbit wu foit>y Ou vrjt)*. vh<! UiiJ Um briiiff.
In wtikhtevcn hnd men ihnt Uad rowed «U
Tlicir life to mtvIm u( hisli ticKvon's Klnjc,
Ua Kpcad llicii dalci in ilo>ii|[ ic^**"/ tl"<ij[ j
Their cue* 10 all wcr« opso cnnaotc,
Tbat bjr Ibe wearle way were ifavcUinc
And one utc wayling erar (h«B bctura
To caU in co(Dcr*-by, tbat D«*ily mtn uut
pore."
Digby says the hospitality and
charity of these hospices had their
origin in the bishops' houses. Tor-
lunatus thus speaks of Leontius IL,
Archbishop of Bordeaux, who, in ac-
cordance with the apostle's injunc-
tion, was given to hospitality :
"Suiceptor pcrctrum cli«tri1>nenita crniani.
Loiisiut eitivmo al ijuU |)iii{)ci-«m«I ab ortx,
Advcaa mos ridli, bunc ail cue patrem."
That the devotion of the middle
ages \i yet alive in tlic church la
proved by the influx of pilgrims at
the shrine of St. Germaine of Pibrac,
at Notre Dame de Lourdes, and a
thousand other places of popular de-
votion. So great is the number of
pilgrims to Lourdcs, drawn by the
brightness of Mary's radiant form,
that the railway between Tarbes a
Pau was turned from its intended
rcct line in order to pass ihrou
Lourdcs. Li one day the train from
Hayonne brought nine hundred, and
at another time over a thousand pil-
grims. And as fur the continued
charily and hospitality of the church,
witness the monks of St. Bernard
and of Paksiinc, known to all the
world. Howdisinieresled is genuine
Catholic charity, done unto the Lord
and not unto man ! Some suppose
the good works pracriscd among us
is by way of barter for heaven, but
they litde know the spirit of the
church. Charity is one expression
of its piety, which, in its highest ma-
nifestations, is devoid of sclf-mterc5L
Listen to John of Bordeaux, a holy
Franciscan friar, who, after quoting
a saying of Kpictetus, that we gene-
rally find piety where there is utility.
nn,
igB^
Bordeaux.
1*3
says : " He does not come up to the
standard of pure Christianity : he
pretends that piety takes its birth in
utility, so that it is interest that gives
rise to devotion. Yes, among the
profane, but not among Christians,
who, acquainted with the maxims of
our holy religion, have no other end
but to serve God for his love and for
his glory; forgetting all considera-
tions of their own advantage, they
aspire to attain to that devotion
which is agreeable to him without
any view to their own interest."
And in these practical times an-
other holy writer, Dr. Newman, says
in the same spirit : *' They who seek
religion for culture's sake, are aesthe-
tic, not religious, and will never gain
that grace which religion adds to
culture, because they can never have
the religion. To seek religion for
the present elevation, or even the so-
cial improvement it brings, is really
to fall from faith which rests in God,
and the knowledge of him as the ul-
timate good, and has no by-ends to
sen,e."
But to return to the romantic as-
sociations of this land of the vine,
we recall the celebrated old romance
of Huon of Bordeaux, which con-
tains some delightful pictures of the
age of chivalry. Here is one which
I have abridged, showing how the
religious spirit was inwoven with the
impulses of the knightly heart. The
Emperor Thierry, furious because his
nephews and followers had been
slain by Huon, seized upon Esclar-
monde (Huon's wife) and her atten-
dants, and threw them into a dun-
geon, there to await death. Huon,
greatly afflicted at this, disguised him-
self as a pilgrim from the Holy Land,
and set out for Mayence, where the
emperor lived. He arrived on Maun-
day-Thursday, and learned that it
was the custom of the emperor to
grant the petitions of him who first
presented himself after the office of
Good Friday morning. Huon was
so overjoyed at this information that
he could not sleep all that night, but
betook himself to his orisons, implor-
ing God to inspire and aid him so he
might again behold his wife. When
morning came, he took his pilgrim
staff and repaired to the chapel. As
soon as the office was ended, he con-
trived to be the first to attract atten-
tion. He told the emperor he was
there to avail himself of the custom
of the day in order to obtain a grace.
ITie emperor replied that, should he
even demand fourteen of his finest
cities, they would be given him, for
he would rather have one of his fists
cut off than recede from his oath;
therefore to make known his petition,
which would not be refused. Thea
Huon requested pardon for himself
and for all of his who might have
committed some offence. The em-
peror replied : " Pilgrim, doubt not
that what I have just promised, I
will fulfil, but I beg you right hum-
bly to tell me what manner of man
you arc, and to what country and
race you belong, that you request
such grace from me." Huon then
made himself known. The empe-
ror's face blanched while listening to
him, and for a long time he was un-
able to speak. At last lie said : " Are
you, then, Huon of Uordeaux, from
whom 1 have received such Ills — the
slayer of my nephews and followers ?
I cannot cease wondering at your
boldness in presenting yourself be-
fore me. I would rather have lost
four of my best cities, have had my
whole dominions laid waste and bur»
ed, and I a^id my people banished
for three years, than find you thus
before me. But since you have thus
taken me by surprise, know in truth
that what I have promised and vow
ed I will hold good, and, in honor
of the Passion of Jesus Christ, and
iordeoHx,
the blessed day which now is, on
which he was crucified and dead, I
pardon you all hatred and evil-doing,
and God forbid thai I should hold
your wife, or lands, or men, which I
will restore to your hancb*." Then
Huon threw hinfiself on his knees,
besetching the emperor to forgive
the injury he had done him. *' (Jot!
pardon you" said the emperor. "As
for me, I furj^ivc you with rij^hi good
will," and taking lluon hy the hand,
he gave hini.the kiss of peace. Huon
then said : *lMay it plea.sc our Lord
Jesus Christ that this guerdon he re-
lumed to you iwofal'l." 'Ilien the
priiioncrs were released, and, aftt;r a
sumptuous entertainment, the empe-
ror acxompanied I luon and his noble
lady on their way back to Bordeaux.
Bordeaux iii interesting to tfie Eng-
lish race, because, among other rea-
sons, it was for about three hundred
years a dei)endcncy of the Knglisli
crown, bciiig the dowry of Eleanor of
Atiuiiainc, who married Jlenry 11.
after her divorce from I.ouis le Jeune.
We associate ihc city, too, w iih I-'rois-
san and the Black Prince, who held
his court here. Richard 11. was bom
liard by ai (he Chateau de l-xjrmont.
And IIcnr>' 1 11. came here to receive
his son's bride, Islcanor of Castile,
and gave her so extravagant a mar-
riage feast ns to excite the remon-
strances of his nobles. The countrj-
prospercfl under the English govern-
ment. *I'hy men hants had es|>ecial
privileges granted them by Eleanor,
and their wines then, as no«v, found
a ready market in London. Bor-
deaux in particular Increase^] won-
derfully, and outgrew- its tlcfensive
walls. The church of St. Michel
dates from the time of English do-
mination, and in that (|uarter of tlie
city may be seen old houses, one
story projecting beyond the other,
and the whole surmounted by a py-
ramidal toof, said to be of English
PI
rc-
i
origin, and such as are to be seen In
some of the oldest sireets of Lon--
don.
Eleanor always used her influence "^
for the benefit of her people. The
most ancient charter of privileges
granted the Gascon merchants was
given by her on the first of
ii8g.
'I'hc English seem to have I
their war-cry from the old dukes
Aquitainc who charged to the sou
of " Sl George for the puiasant
duke." A devotion to St. George
W.1S brought from the East by the
Crusaders. RicliaTd L placed him-
self and his army under the special
protection of this saint, who, the re-
doubted slayer of the dragon and
the redrcsser of woman's wrongs, a
pealed to the temlcrest instincts
the chivalric heart. St. George's
mains were brought from Asia
the Crusaders, and a large part is
enshrined ai Toulouse, in Ihc great
basilica of St. Semin. The crest of
the dukes of Aquitaine was a leopa
which the kings of England bore
a long time on their shields. Edwa:
ML is called a valiant pard in
epitaph.
These old dukes of Aqui
jeem always to have gone to
trcmcs eiilicr as sinners or sain
Eleanor's grandfather, as I have
was one of the earliest of the trou
dours. He was distinguislied for
braver)*, his musii.al voice, and
manly beauty. His early life w
such as to incur ilie censure of
bishop, but he ended his career
penitence, and the last of his
is a farewell d it chn'alcrie qttit
tant tiim/e for the sake of the
He was one of the first to join
crusades at the head of sixty thou
sand warriors, but he lost his troops
and gained neither glory nor renowti.
The term Aquitainc was given th?."!
country by Julius Cssar on account
nuir
sat
Bordeaux.
%^
of its numerous rivers and ports.
The ancicjil province of ihis name ex-
tended troiii the Luire totlie Pyrenees.
la the time uf the Roman domin-
ion, Bordeaux was itsca{>ital under the
Bame of Hunligala. Tlie origin of the
city i^ uncertain, Sirabo, who lived
in the first century, mentions it as
a celebrated emporium. Some sup-
pose its 6n>t iiihabitanis to liavc bevn
of llKrian origin. The real tiistory
of the cit}' commences alwut the
middle of the third century, when Te-
tricus. governor of Aquit.iine, assum-
ed ihc purple and was proclaimed
emperor. About the same time St
Martial preached in this region, fiut
the pagan divinities were still invok-
ed in the tmie of Ausonius. In the
annals of the Council of Aries. 111314,
Orientalis, Bishop of bordeaux, is
mentionetL
The inicllet'tual superiority of the
Roraanii was always even more po-
tent ttiuu the force of their arms.
Barbarism diiiappeared before the
splendor of their civilization. Uurdi-
gala under their dominion felt the in-
fluence of this su|»eriorily, and rose
to such a degree of magnificence and
luxury as to be a theme for Ausonius,
St. Jerome, and Sidonius Apollinaris.
The remains of buildings at Bordeaux
belonging to this e|KK:h give an idea
of its prosperity and importance.
There is still an arena in ruins, com-
monly called the Palais-Gallien, but
the most remarkable Konian monu-
ment of the city was a temple called
Pdurt lit TtUelk, which, partly ruined,
was demolished in 1677, by the or-
der of Louis XIV., for the construc-
tion of a quay. Schools were establish-
ed at Bordeaux at an early day. We
learn from St. Jerome that inhLs time
the liberal arts were in the most ilour-
uhing condition here. In tlic time
of the Knman dominion, there were
tmivcrMiies at Bordeaux, Auch, Tou-
louse, Marseilles, 'Irives, etc. The
edicts issued for their bene5t show-
ed the imixirtantre attached to their
prosfienty by the government. The
college uf Bordeaux furnished pro-
fessors for Rome and Constantino-
ple. Valcniinian i. chose .\usontuSy
a native of Bordeaux, tu superintend
the education of hts son Cratian.
When the latter became emperor, he
made his old tutor a Kuman consul
(a.d. 379). The ]>qpms of Ausonius
are .still admired, but there is much
in them that is reprehensible. 'Hiey
were translated into French by M.
Jaubcrt, a priest at Bordeaux, who
lived in the la^it century.
That the wines of Aqultaine were
already celebrated in llie fourth cen-
tury is shown by the writings of Au-
sonius
"CHtrc* ,
NuD taudabi ralrms, nositt ijaun (Ittris tUiI."
St. P.iulinus, bishop of Nola, live<lt
at lliis time. He was bom at Bonieaux
in the year ^^■^, and was descended
from a lung line of illustrious sena-
tors. One of the several estates he^
owned near tlie city still I)ears the
name of Lt Puy Patdin, puy being z.^
word from Uie langtic Romaine, pcPr
haps synonymous with the Latitt
word podium. One of the public
s(|uarcs of Bordeaux also bears the
same name. J'aLilinus possciucti great
elevation of mind and a poetical ge-
nius, which he cultivated under Auso-
nius. for whose care he expresses his
gratitude in verse. Bui Ausonius
was magnanimous enough to acknow-
ledge that Paiilimis excelled him as
a |>oet and that no modem Roman
could vie with him.
In his early life Paulinus held dig-
nitied offices under government, but
his intercourse with Sl Delphinus,
bishop of Bordeaux, inspired him
with a love for retiremeiii, in which
his wife, a Spani-sh lady of wealth,
[larticipated. 'llicy passed over into
i66
Bordi.
aux.
Spain, and spent four years tliere in
the retirement of the counlrj-, but
not as anchorites. He seemed to
have given up all of life bui its sweet-
ness when he composed the follow-
ing prayer : " O Supreme Master of
«U ihiiigs, grant roy wishes, if tliey
are righteous. Let none of my days
be sad, and no anxiety trouble the
repose of my nights. Lt-t the good
things of nnothar never tempt me,
and may my own suffice to those
who ask my aid. Let joy dwell in
my house. I^t the slave born on
my hearth enjoy the abundance of
my stores. May I live surrounded
by faithful seri-ants, a cherlshe<i wife,
and the children she will bring me."
While in Spain they lost iheir only
son, whom they buried at Alcala,
near the bodies of the holy martyrs
Justus and Pastor. 'Iliis loss wean-
ed them completely from the world.
Their Spanish solitude had been a
garden of roses, but now ihey chose
the lily as their cmtilem, and resolv-
ed 10 lead a monastic life. Paulinus
received holy orders, and they both
sold all diey |>ossessed and g.ive the
money to Ihc poor. This drew upon
Paulinus the contempt of the world.
Even his own relatives and former
slaves rose up against him, but to all
their invectives he only replied : " O
beala injuria ilisplicere cunt Christo."
•^O ble«»ed scorn thai is shared with
Christ." .Ausonius, in particular, \vas
grieved to .we the extensive patrimo-
ny of Paulinus cut up among a hun-
dred possessors, and reproached him
in bitter terms for his madness. But
if the world rejccto! him, he was re-
ceived with open arms by such men
at St. Ambrose, St. Jerome, and Si.
Augustine. His devotion to St. Fe-
lix, whose tomb he had vi.sited in his
childhood, induced him to fix his rc-
sideni e near Noli in Campania.
Herr he live*] close by the church
where his favorite saint was ca^hrin-
ed. He had put on the livery of
Christ's poor ones, and contnUcd
himself with his cell and gardcnplot.
.And his meekness and sanctity, join-
ed to his talents as a writer, drew
upon him the admiration of the
world. Persons of the highest rank
from nil parts went to see him in hbs
retreat, as St. Jerome and Si. Augus-
tine testify. In his seclusion he writes
poems that have all the delicacy and
grace of Petrarch. He describes the
church of his loved saint, whose life
and miracles he Is never weary of
dwelling on, as hung with white dra-
peries and gleaming with aromatic
Iamp.sand ta[)crs; the porch is wreath- ,
ed with fresh flowers, and the cI(n|^^M
ters strewn with blossoms; and pO^H
grims come down from the moun-
tains, marching even at night by the
light of iheir torches, bringing their
children in sacks, and their sick on
tittei-s, to be healed at the tomb; for
all the world, a picture of an Italian
shrine of these days.
He loved the humblest duties
the sanctuary. " Suffer rae to remal
at thy gates," he says. " Let me
cleanse thy courts every morning,
and watch cvcr>- night for their pro-
tection. Suffer me to end my liays
amid the employments I love. VVe
take refuge within your hallowed pale
and make our nest in your bos
It is herein th.it we are cherisht
and expand into a better life. Cant-
ing off the earthly burden, we feel
soineiliing divine springing up with-
in us, and the unfolding of ilie wings
which arc to make us cquil to the
angels." These words sound as if
coming from the cloistered votary of
the middle ages, or even of the nine-
teenth centur)- ; the same is the spi-
rit of (he church in all ages.
The wrirings of St. Paulinus show
his devotion to the saints and theii
relics, a belief in the efficacy of
prayers for the dead, and in the doc-
la^^
I paie
isonu^
sheM
Bordeaux.
1^7
trine of ihe Real Presence. What
be more exijlidt, for instance,
J) these lilies on tlic Holy Kucha-
st?
■ In crucB 6aA aro est. qui pucor; dc cruee
nnruh
Ilk ttnit, rlbus quo bU>a, coril« Utb."
ic adorned the walls of his church
riih paintings and composed inscrip-
iuns for the attar, under which were
icpasited the relics of St. Andrew,
h. Luke, Sk. Na^ari^s, and others,
id sings thus:
In rec*' •hihJM with r-UT^e martle eraee.!,
Tkcirbone* '^c 'nmtb illiimincil al'>>i« iibc«<l.
Tkisp(oMb«nd'sionUiiiAtl in onevnall ctieK
Thai boMii such nvbt)- nataes wlttiin Ita tiny
brwft."
After fifteen years of retirement,
Pauhniw was made bishop of No-
Shorily before he dicil, as the
lamps were being hghied for the Ves-
ficrvicc, he murmured,
" I h&TC Irlmnied ny lamp iat CtiriM."
The prosperity of Bordeaux under
Ithc Romans was interrupted by the
[invasion of ihc barbarians that swept
lown from the north, blinking ruin
ind desolation to the land. For
jcaHy a ccutury the city remained
in the power of the Visigottis, who,
being Arians, persecuted the Catho-
lic inhahilant-i. Sidonius Apollinaria
deplores the injury done to learning
by their inva.sion, but perhaps the
decline of learning was partly owing
to a growing distaste for pagan lite-
rature among tliristians. The bar-
irians were tinally routed by Clovis
in 507, and he took possession of
jlkirtlcaux. Ch-irletnagne made A<iui-
uainc a kingdom for his son Louis le
llMbonnalre. Louis, son of Charles
Ic Chauve, was the Ia.st Ving of Aqui-
taine. When he asccndetl ihe throne
of France, it resumed its former rank
OS a dudiy.
The college of Guienne was found-
ed here in the middle ages. In
the sixteenth century, it had, at one
time, twenty-ftve hundred pupils.
'J'he famous Cleorgc Buchanan, whom
everybody knows, because his head
adorns Uie cover of Biacttv(wdt
Magazhu, but who ts more S|>okei\
of than read, taught in this college
three year^. He came here in 1539.
Among his pupils was the great Mon-
taigne, who passed most of his life at
Bordeaux and is buried in the church
of Ihe Feuillants. As Buchanan was
somewhat given to hilarity and lov-
ed the flavor of Gascon «incs, this
city probably had its attractions for
him. In his Maitt Qilettda, full of
gaiety and merry- makiiig, he i>peaks
of the grapes of the sandy soil of
Gascony
** Ncr tcatbtli ritudat i;en«ra«am c«lU Lyvuio,
yucm ilat arccoiu VaMronl» nra viV>."
One vintage season, Buchanan
went to Agen to enjoy it at the rea-
dence of )tis friend, the celebrated
Juhus Scaliger, who had been a pro-
fessor ai tht; college of Guienne, but
was now settled as a physitbn at
Ag?n.
Among the other literary celebri-
ties of Bordeaux is Arnaud Ber(|uin.
whose charming writings are still
|xipular. His Ami ttfs Efi/auis was
crowned by the French Academy in
1784. And Montesquieu was bom
at the clidtcauof I.a Brede near Bor-
deaux, whence he took his title of
Baron dc la Br6de.
Itnnleaux is now the frnest city In
France after Paris, and it ranks next
to Lyons in importance. Perhaps
1 cannot do better than quote what a
popular French aulhor of the day
says of it :
" Roidpaux is five miles long and ha»
one liundrcd and fifiy lliousand inhabi
■atf ; picnij* o( room for few jwoplc,
Bui the entire populxiion do<nt not
breaihc at its case. If llic g'^'* b«gto*»-
Ing In the streets and squaics of the new
town, there is some siillinf; felt in tJic
old disirlcls. The Jews, chapmen, brok-
ers, »nd marine store men live in a dirty
ami unhealthy hire, and their shops form
no straight line along the narrow and un-
paved streets. Yott may still Kce a (quan-
tity of those paunchy, hunchbacked, and
decrepit houses, which (oiiii ihe delight of
romantic archiooloi^. and you need only
go to Bordeaux to form an accurate idea
o( old Paris. In the new lown all is
Tssi, rectilinear, nnd monumental : llic
streets, squure?, avenues, esplanades and
buildings rival the splendor of what we
ate taught to admire Jn Paris. Tlu
Orand 'nitatre, coniaining only iwch'
hundred persons, has the intpos ingns-
pect of n Colosseum and a siairc:isc
which might be transferred with advan-
ugc to our Opera, lite caf£s are truly
monuments, and I .saw a bathing csiab.
lishmcnt which bore a strong resemblance
to a necropolis. All this grandeur dates
from Louis XV. and Louis XVI. The
population of Bordeaux is one of (he
prettiest specimens of the French nation.
The women posse*? more expression
than freshness, but with good hair, good
eyes, and while teeth, a woman cannot
but look well. Tho men have a sharp
THE "AMEN" OF THE STONES.
rvoM TiiB G•l*M^v.
iuolc, a lively nund, aad bfilliaacy of Ian*
KU-iBe."
One of the glortcs of Bortleatix »
the bridge across the Garonne built
by order of Napoleon the Clreal. It
has seventeen arches, and there is an
interior gallery communicating from
one arch to another which is acces-
sible.
There are some fine pictures in the
Muscc dcs Tableaux — a Pcrugino,
and others by Titian, Vandyke, Ru-
bens, etc. Some excellent artists have
been farmed in the School of Design,
«nong whom is Rosa Honheur, But
A«eoplc in general .ire more fond
^^music and tlie drama than the
otiicr fine arts,
'I'hc commeFce of Bordeaux is ex-
tensive, but is surpassed by that of
Havre, perliaps because there is too
much vf the /aisser-n/irr in a more
southern temperament. Neverthe-
less, the city is progressing. The
port, says the author already quoted,
is a third edition of the 'Ihamcs at
London and the Golden Horn at
Constantinople,
Blind with old age, n-cnt Reda forth to preach
The blessed Gospel to the world, and teach
The listening crowd of village and of town.
A peasant school-boy led him up and down,
Proclaiming aye God's word with youthful fire.
Rather in childish folly than in scorn,
The lad the trusting graybeard led, one mom,
Down to a vale where massive stones around
Were strewed. " A congregation fills the ground,"
He smd, '* and, lo, they wait to hear thee, sire."
Up rose the aged pilgrim, took the text.
Turned it^ explained it, and applied it next.
Thf House of Yorkf,
Implored, exhorleil, prajred, and, ending, bowed his head,
And to the lisleiung crowd the Pater Nustcr said.
When he had ended, from the circling stones
The cry went ibrtfi, as if in huraan tones,
" Amen, most revereml fallierl" and again
The circling stones in concert cried, ** Amen !"
The boy shrank back, remorseful, on his knees,
Confessed his fault, and sought to make his peace.
" Mock not God's word," the old wan to him said,
" Know that, though men were mute lo it, and dead.
The very stones will witness. Tis a living word,
And cuttcth sliurply, like a two-edged sword.
And if all human hearts to stones should turn,
A huraan heart withio these stones would bum."
:^^
THE HOUSE OF YORKE.
CllAPTEK in.
Dt£ll DISPOSB.
Tm early morning of Mr, Row.
I's burial had been heavy and
trk ; bui as they left the island a
lower of golden light broke through
le clouds, the water sparkled on all
yides, and the sighing air became a
)lic bree2e. Dick and the captain
righlened, and exchangetl a few
in seamen's phrase comph-
icnting the weather. Mrs. Rowan
roused herself, brushed the sand
)m her clollies, arranged the folds
her veil, and even smootlicd her
if. The poor creature's vanity
dead, but at the prospect of
leeting strangers it gave a slight
»l-mortem flicker. Out it went,
>ugh, the next insL-int, on the
ith of a ftigh. What did it matter
iw she looked ? But she glanced
tiousi)' at Edith.
The child h.id put on her mother's
red cape and drawn it up over her
tad, and she still held it there, one
lim hand pulling the folds close to*
ttlier under her chin. That she
It appear outlandish did not
trouble Edith. Indeed, she claimed
the right to be so on account of her
foreign blood. Hut when she noticed
Mrs. Rowan's attention to her own
toilet, and met her glance, she
pushed the cape off her head, and,
j>utting her arms up, began to
smooth her hair and plait it into
a long braid. It was rich, long hair,
not given to wilful ringlets, but
would curl when in the mood. Now
the wind blew little curls uut about
her face, and the risen sun steeped
the tresses in a pale flame.
'Hie braid finished, she tossed it
back, and caught it lightly into a
loop, the motion revealing a pair of
round white arms, to which the
hanils and wrists lookeil like colored
gauntlets. Then she unfoldcti her
precious Indian relic of tarnished re<l
and gold, and bound it straightty
about her head, half-covering the
forehead, so that the long, fringeil
end& hung behind, and a loose fold
fell over each ear.
Beholding her in that guise, Cap^
t7o
Tke House of Yorke,
tain Car)' thought lliat she looked
fitter for some oriental scene than for
this crude corner of a crude land.
*' She might be a stolen child stained
with gy|>sy-wort," lie said to him-
self.
Uiit she was Gypsy only in color.
No wild lircs burned in her face;
her cool eyes looked out calm and
observant; her mouth was gently
closed. The very sh.ipe of her fea-
tures expressed tranquillity.
The sailor found himself much in-
terested in this little girl. Besides
that her appearance pleased hira,
his goud-will had beeu bespoken ;
for on one of those days when their
ship ha<l tain becalmed in soutlieni
waters, Dick had told him all her
story. Listening to it. half-asleep, as
to something tlmt might be fact and
might be fancy, all the scene about
him had enlwine<l itself with the his-
tory and with the heroine's charac-
ter. The solid golden day, shut
down over a sea M-hnne .soft pulses
told of perfect repose; the wide-eyed,
radiant night, which seemed every
moment on the point of breaking
into music far and near, a fme. clear
music of countless sweet bells with
alnioit hun)an tongucs^they formed
the background on which her image
floatcfl. Seeing her did not dispel
but rather strengthened the illusion.
Something golden in her hair, some-
thitig tranquil in her face, some-
thing expectant in her eyes — all
were like.
The rough giant of a sailor mused
tenderly over this as he sent their
boat forward with powerful strokes,
and watched Edith Vorke bind on
her Egyptian coiffure.
They did not row to the nharf,
where the steamer had already ar-
rived, but to a place a few rod*
above, where Uie sea had taken a
good semicircular bite out of the
Uiid Here a stragghng bit of di-
lapidated woods had been allowed
to remain by the vandals who had
turned all the rest to grass and pas-
ture, and a mossy ledge broke tlic
leeih of the soft, gnawing waves.
Kdiih stepped lightly on shore.
She was young, healthy, brave, and
ignorant, and pain, though it called
forth her tcans, was stimulating to
her. That pang had pot yet corac
which could cut her heart in twaiD
and let nil the courage out.
" Vou are spry," Captain Cary
said, smiling down upon her.
She smiled faintly in return, but
said nothing.
Mrs. Rowan needed assistance
either hand. She had been brok
by pain.
I'hey stood awhile in the grovi
Dick and the captain making so;
business arrangements. The Hal-
cyoH was to remain four weeks at
Se-nton, and it was agreed that Dick
should have that time to get his
mother settled. Then the ship tvould
touch at New York, where he would
embark for the East again.
While they lingered, a large
low LOach, hiaded with passeDg<
rattled past amid clouds of dust.
" There is no hurry,** Dick said.
"It will take an hour to get the
freight off and on. But you needn't
wail, captain. They'll be lookiog
for you at the village."
The others drew near to Captain
Cary at that, holding his hands and
trying to utter their thanks.
" Oh ! it's nothing," he said, much
abashed. " I haven't done anything
to be thanked for. (iood-by ! Keep
up your courage, and you will cotoe
out first-rate. There's nothing like
grit.'*
A subsiding ripple tossed his boat
against the shore. At that hint he
stepped in, dallied with the rope,
then said, with a perfectly transpa-
rent aflcctation of having only Jnsl
mid
Thi House of Yorke.
\^\
thougbc of il: "Oh! I've got a ring
hcTc that Edilh Is welcome to, if slic
will wear it. I brought it home for
my niece ; but the child is dead. It
won't fit anybody else 1 know."
Mrs. Kowan immediately ihanked
hini. and KdiUi smiled with childish
plciisurc, " Vou are very kind, Cap-
tain Car)-," she said. "I alwoi-s
thought I would like to have a
ring."
Dick alone darkened ; but no one
noticed it. He had meant to do
everything for her ; and here was a
wish which she had never expressed
to him, and he had not knon*n
enough to anltci|>ale.
ITic captain drew a liny box from
hix pocket, and displayed a small
dn.)et in which was set a single
ark of diamond. Kdith extended
r left hand, and tlie sailor, leaning
er the boatside, slipped the ring
to her forefinger.
**Good-by, again T' he said then
iy, and gave eadi of ihcm a
of the hand. Dick could take
.-trc of himself; but the other two,
ulling out their tender hands im-
ulMvcfy, grew red in the face with
in at the grip of his iron fingers.
!ic next instant his boat shot out
to the bay. They looked after hlin
ho glanced back and saluted them
ith a nod, and two arches of spray
ed fi-om his oars; then turned
,d climbed the shore, Dick ossist-
g his motlier, Edith following.
"Good-by, treesl" said the child,
ancing up. '* Good-by, moss !"
ooping to gather a alkcn green
e and a cluster of red-topped
ay. The prettiest cup had a spider
it, and she would not disturb it.
Good-by, spider I" she whispered,
I'm never coming back again."
She had friends to take leave of,
er all — not human frienrls, but
's little creatures, who had never
itirt hcf save in self-defence.
Illl
When tliey reached the wharf, there
was no one in sight but the men who
trundled the freight oflf and on. At
the upper end of the wharf there was
a small building used as office and
waiting-room. The passage to the
boat being obstructed, Dick sent his
mother and lOdilli there, while he
went on board to get lidcets. 'ITiey
went to the door of the waiting-room,
hesitated a moment on seeing it
occupied, then went in, and seated
themselves in a retired comer.
The party who were .ilready in
possession glanced at the new-
comers, and immediately became
obh\-iou5 of them. *11iis party were
evidently the members of one family.
Some indefinable resemblance, is
well as their air of intimacy, showed
that. An elderly grrnllem.in walked
up and down the floor, his hands
clas(K-d behind his back, an<l a lady
not much over forty sat near, sur-
rounded by her three daughters. At
a window, to which the mother's
back was turned, looking up toward
the village, stood a young man
whose age couM not be over twenty-
three. I'hc .iges of the daughters
might vary from sixteen to twenty.
They formed rather a remarkable
group, and were attractive, though
the faces of all expressed more or
less dissatisfaction. 'I'hat of the
young man indicated jirofound dis-
gust The elder lady had a sweet
and melancholy expression, and ap-
peared like an invalid. The young-
est daughter, who sat beside her, was
as like her mother as the waxing
moon is like the waning. She was
pretty, had clinging, caressing ways,
a faint dimple in her left cheek,
splendid aul)um hair, and gray eyes.
They cillcd her Hester. On the
other hand sal the eldest daughter, a
rather stately, self satisfied young
woman, whose attentions to hc^
mother had an air of patronage:
i7«
The House of YcH
\
This wa:i Mclkenl. She was rathc-r
fair, neutral iti color, and excessively
near-sighicd. The second dau({httr
sioud behind her mother^ and was
very attentive to her, but ia an ab-
sent way, often doing more harm
than good by her assistance. " My
dear Clara, you arc bundling the
shawl all about my neckl My love,
you pull my bonnet off in arranging
ray veil ! Why, Clara, what .-vre you
doint; to- my scarf?" Suth remarks
as these were constantly being ad-
dressed to her. Clara was a dark
brunette, with small features, a su-
perb but not Icill figure, and large
gray eyes thnt looked black. Her
coal-black hair grew rallicr low on
the forehead, straight black brows
overshadowed her eyes and nearly
met over tlie nose, and an exquisitely
delicate mouth gave soilness to this
face which would otherwise have
been severe. She seemed to be a
girl of ininiense but undisciiJined
energy, and full of enthusiasm.
The gentleman who paced the
floor was slightly under-sized and
thin in figure, thin in face, loo, dark,
and sallow. T)ie very look of him
suggested bile and sarcasm. But
let him speak for himself, since he is
just now on this subject. " Bile, my
dear," he said to his wife — "bile
came into the world with original
sin. I ara not sure that bile is not
sin. It is Marah in a plcisant land.
It is a fountain of gall in the garden
of paradise. It poisons Ufe. Doc-
tors know nothing whatever about
bile, and liver-medicines are a super*
stition. He who shall discover a
way to eradicate bile from the sys-
tem will be a great moral reformer.
Every sin I ever committed in my
life took its rise in my hvcr. I be-
lieve the liver to be an tna'rpolation
in the original m«n. We should be
better without it."
Tlie gentleman who spoke had a
wide, thin moutli, very much drai
down at the comers and nowist
hidden, the gray moustache hi
spared in shaving being curled uj
at the ends. His manner was that^
of a person who would scarcely^
brook contradiction. His specci
was clear and emphatic, and he pro-j
nounccd his words as if he knev]
how they were spelt. A long, deli-j
rate aquiline nose had a good del
to do with his profile, as hod also ftl
pair of overhanging eyebrows. From
beneath these lirow.s looked forth x
pair of keen gray eyes, with count-
less complex wrinkles about tht
'Hie chin was handsome, welt-J
rounded, and, fortunately, not pro-
jecting. A projecting chin with an
aquiline nose is one of the greatest,
of facial misfortunes. Caricature can
do no more. The forehead was in-
tellectual, and weighty enough to
make it no wo.^der if the slight frame
grew nervous and irritable in carry-
ing out the behests of the brain hid-,
dcu there. The head was crowned
by a not inartistic confusion of gray
hair which seemed to have beea!
stirred by electricity.
•* I am sorry, madam, that I can-*
not compliment the climate of your
native stale," he remarked after a
pause. " The spring is a month or
six weeks behind that of Mxssachu-
setts, and the fall as much earlier.
The travelling here is simply intol-
erable. It is eitlier clouds of dust^<
bogs of mud, or drifts of snow, f
quite agree with the person who said ,
that Maine is a, good state to come^J
from"
"We all know, Charles, that the
climate of Massachusetts, and par-
ticularly of Boston, surpatises that of
any other part of the »-orUJ," the
lady replied with great composure.
The gentleman winced very slight-
ly. He was one of those who con-
stantly make sarcastic olxservatioos
Tht House of Yorke.
173
to others, but are peculiarly sensitive
when such are addressed to them-
selves. In his society, one was fre-
quently reminded of the little boy's
complaint : " Mother, make Tommy
be still. He keeps crying every
time I stiike him on the head with
the hammer."
" Here will be a chance to prac-
tise your famous English walks, Meli-
cent," the father said. *' I presume
the old chaise is dissolved. I re-
member it twenty years ago nodding
along the road in the must polite
manner. By the way, Amy, did you
ever observe that in genuine country
places people leave their defunct ve-
hicles to decay by the roadside ? I
am not sure that there is no poetr}-
in the custom. The weary wheels
crumble to dust in view of the track
over which they have rolled in life,
and are a memento mori to living car-
riages. It is not unlike the monu-
ment of Themistocles * on the watery
strand.' "
** Papa," exclaimed Hester, " why
didn't you say tired wheels ? You
started to."
" Because I detest a pun."
Melicent, who had been waiting
for a chance, now spoke. "You
don't mean to say, papa, that we
shall have no carriage ?"
A shrug of the shoulders was the
only reply.
The young woman's face wore a
look of dismay. "But, papal" she
exclaimed.
"Wait till the pumpkins grow," he
said with a mocking smile. " I will
give you the largest one, and your
mother will furnish the mice. I don't
doubt there are mice, and to spare."
"You don't mean that we must
walk everywhere ?" his daughter
cried.
" Dear me, Melicent, how persis-
tent you are I" interrupted Clara im-
patiently. " One would think there
was no need of borrowing trou
ble."
The elder sister gazed with an air
of superiority at the younger. " I
was speaking to papa," she remarked
with dignity.
The father frowned, the mother
raised a deprecating hand, and the
imminent retort was hushed. Clara
went to her brother, and, leaning on
his arm, whispered that, if Mel were
not her own sister, she should really
get to dislike her.
" How silent you are, Owen," said
Hester, looking around at him. " All
you have done to entertain us so far
has been to make faces when you
were sick. To be sure, that made us
laugh." 1
" A sea-sick person may be the
cause of wit in others, but is seldom
himself witty," was the laconic reply.
The speaker was a slim, elegant
youth, with golden tints in his light
hair, with rather drooping and very
bright blue eyes, and a beautiful, sen-
suous mouth.
Edith Yorke watched this party
with interest, and the longer she
looked at the elder gentleman the
better she liked him. His manner
of addressing the ladles suited her
inborn sense of what a gentleman's
manner should be. There was no
contemptuous waiting before answer-
ing them, no flinging the reply over
his shoulder, nor growHng it out like
a bear. Besides, she half-believed —
only half, for her eyes were heavy
with weeping and Joss of sleep — that
he had looked kindly at her. Once
she was sure that he spoke of her to
his wife, but she did not know what
he said. It was this : " My dear, do
you observe that child? She has an
uncommon face."
The lady glanced across the room
and nodded. She was too much pre-
occupied to think of anything but
their own affairs. But her husband,
174
Thd House of Yorkt.
on nliom these affairs had the con-
tran* effect cf <lri\ing him to seek
dbtraction, approached Kdith.
" Little fiiri," he said, "you remind
me so much of some one I have seen
that I would hke to know your nan)e»
if you p1ca<ic to tell it."
" My name is Edith Eugenic
Yorkc." she replied, with perfect
self-{)ossession.
He had bent slightly toward her
in speaking, but at sound of the
name he stood suddenly upright,
his sallow face turned very red, and
he looked at her witli a gaze so
piercing tliat she shrank from it.
"Who were your father and mo-
ther ?" he demanded.
" My mother was Eugenie Lubor-
mir^ki, a Polish exile, and my father
was Mr. Robert Yorkc, of Boston,"
said Edith. Her eyes were fixed in-
tently on the gentleman's face, and
licr heart began to beat quickly.
He turned away from her and re-
sumed his walk, but, after a minute,
came back again. " Your father and
mother arc both dead?" he a$ked in
a gender tone.
" Yes, sir."
"You have no brothers nor sis-
ters?"
" No, sir."
*' Who takes care of you ?"
•' Mrs, Jane Kowan," Edith re-
plicil, laying her hand on the widow's
lap.
He Itowcd, taking this for an lu-
trodurtion, a cold but courteous
bow.
"May I ask, madam," he inquir-
ed, " what claim you have on Uiis
child ?'■
Mrs. Rowan had shown some agi-
tation while litis convenalion was
going on, am! when Edith put out
her hand, she grasped it as if meaji-
ing in hold on to the child. Her
reply was made in a somewhat de-
fiant lune. "When Mrs. Robert
Yorke ilied, she asked rae to
pity on her daughter, and keep h
out uf the poor-house. \ have lak
care of her ever since; 'ITjc York'
had turned them off.'*
The gentleman drew himself a
and put out liis under lip. " Tha
you for the information," he saii
bitterly. Then to Edith, "Com
child." and took her hand.
She allowed him to lead her .icro
the room to his wife.
" Mrs. Yorkc," he said, " this is m;
brother Robert's orphan child I"
There was a slight sensation and
momentary pause : but the laxly re^
covered immediately. " I am gta
to sec you, dear," she said tn a kin
voice. *• Who is that person ?'* she
added to her husband, glancing at
Mrs. Rowan.
'Ilie widow was staring Jt them
angrily, and seemed ou the p<«nt
of coming to take Edith away by
force.
" One who has taken care of the
child since her mother's tleath, Amy,"
he answered. " She luis no daim oa
my ntenc, and will, of course, give
her up to us. llie little girl is named;
for my mother. Robert was aJwayi
fond of mother."
There was a pause of cubarrasseii
silence.
"You must perceive that there is
no other way," Mr. Yorke continued
with some stale. *' Aside from natu-
ral affection and pity for Uie child's
friendless condition, an Edith Yorkc
must not be allowed to go about the
country like a Oypsy with a sh^wl
over her head."
"It is ju3t as papa says," Meli-
cent interposed, and immediateljr
look Edith by the hand and kisse
her check. " You are my little cou-
sin, and you will go home and live
with us," she said sweetly.
Miss Yorke's manner was very con-
ciliating; but her suavity proceeded
1 1-
The House of Yorke,
175
less from real sweetness than from self-
complacency. She prided herself on
knowing and always doing what was
comme ilfaut, and took great pleasure
in being the mould of form.
" I shall go with Dick ! I am go-
mg to live with Dick !" Edith cried,
snatching her hand away. A blush
>f alarm overspread her face, and
she looked round in search of her
protector. At that moment he ap-
peared in the door, paused in sur-
prise at seeing where Edith was, then
went to his mother.
" The Yorkes have got her," Mrs.
Rowan said to him, breathless with
excitement " That is Mr. Charles
Yoike. I knew him the moment I
set eyes on hiin."
Dick wheeled about and faced
them. Edith, too proud to run
away, looked at him imploringly.
Then Miss Melicent Yorke arose,
Uke the goddess of peace, adjusted
her most impregnable smile, and
sailed across the room. " I am
Miss Yorke," she said brightly, as
though such an announcement would
be sure to delight them. " Of
course, the dear little Edith is my
cousin. Is it not the strangest thing
in the world that we should have met
in such a way ? I am sure we shall
all feel deeply indebted to you for
having protected the child while we
knew nothing of her necessities. Of
course, we should have sent for
her directly if we had known. But,
as it is, wc have the pleasure of meet-
ing you."
Pausing, Miss Yorke looked at the
two as if they were the dearest friends
she had on earth and it gave her heart-
felt joy to behold their countenances.
Dick choked with the words he
would have uttered. He felt keenly
the insolence of her perfectly confi-
dent and smiUng address, yet knew
not how to defend himself. If a man
had been in her place, he could have
met his airy assumption with a suffi-
ciently blunt rebuff; but the young
sailor was chivalric, and could not
look a woman in the face and utter
rude words. His mother's emotion
did not prevent her replying, and,
fortunately, to the point.
" Do you mean to say," Mrs. Row-
an exclaimed, "that you are going
to take Edith away from us without
leave or license, after we have sup-
ported her four years without your
troubling yourselves whether she
starved in the street or not ?"
For a moment. Miss Yorke's social
poniard wavered before this broad
thrust, but only for a moment.
" Every family has its own private
affairs, which no one else has either
the power or the right to decide
upon," she said smilingly. "All I
need say of ours is that, if Mr. Yorke,
my father, had known that his brother
left a child unprovided for, he would
have adopted her without delay. He
did not know it till this minute, and
his first thought is that there is only
one proper course for him. His niece
must be under his care, as her natural
protector, and must have the advan-
tages of education and society to
which she is entitled. I am sure
you would both be friendly enough
to her to wish her to occupy her
rightful position. As for any ex-
pense you may hove gone to on
her account, papa — "
" Stop there, madam !" Dick inter-
rupted haughtily. " \Vc will say no
more about that, if you please. As
to Edith's going with you, she shall
choose for herself. I don't deny that
it seems to be the proper thing ; but
allow me to say that it was ray inten-
tion to give her a good home and a
good education, such as no girl need
be ashamed of. I will speak to Edith,
and see what she thinks about it."
He turned unceremoniously away
from Miss Yorke's protestations, and
176
The House of Yotke.
went to the door, beckoning Edith to
fullow him. As he looked back, wail-
ing for her, he saw thai the whole
family had gone over in a body to
talk to hi^ mother.
Edith clasped the hand he held
out to her, and looked up into his
face with large icars flashing in her
eyes.
"I wouldn't leave you if they
would give mc all the world!" she
cxrlaimed.
He smiled invoUintarily, hut would
not take advantage of her affection-
ate im])ulsc. He saw clearly that
her true place was with her relatives.
They could do for her at once what
he could do only after years of weary
labor. Perhaps Ihcy could do at once
what he could never do. Bui it was
hard to give her up. Down in the
bottom of his heart was a thought
which he had never fully acknow-
ledged the presence of, but of which
he was alwas's conscious : he had
meant to bring the child up to be
his wife some day, if she should be
willing; to loa<l her with benefits; to
be the one to whom she should owe
evcr)'thing. But with the pang it
cost him to put this hojic in peril
came the glimpse of a |>ossibi1ily how
far more triumphant! Followiiig his
own plan, he should be hedging her
in ; giving her up now would be mak-
ing her free choice, if it should fall on
him, an infinitely greater boon. Be-
sides, and above all, it was right that
she should go.
Dick leaned back against the wall
of the building, and folded his arms
while he talked to her. At firet Kdith
broke iuto reproaches when she learn-
ed that he meant to give her up, but
inimediaiely an instinct of feminine
pride and delicacy checked the words
ujion her lips. It was impossible for
her to press her society on one who
voluntarily rclinqulslicd iL She lis-
tened to her sentence in silence.
"So you sec, Edith," he concTut
ed, " we must make up our minds
part"
She perceived no such ncccssit
but did not tell him so. "'I"hen I^
shall never sec you any more!"
said in a whisper, without looking
up.
Dick's eyes sparkled with resol
lion through the lears that filled the
" Yes, you will !" he exclaimed. '
mean to do the best I can fi
mother and myself, and you shall not'
be ashamed of us. And howcvef
high they may set you, Edith, I'll
climb! I'll climb! I won't be
far off but I can reach you !"
The coach had taken its first I
of passengers to the village, and b
came down to bring those who wrre to
take the steamer and carry the Vorl
back. It was time to go on boai
Dick stepped to the door of the wait
ingroom. " Come, mother!" he
said. *■ Edidi and I will sec you to
your state-room, and then 1 will bring
her back. She is to go with her uit'
cLc."
He was not surprised to sec that
his motlier had l>een completely talk-
ed over by Edith's relations, and
that, though tearful, no upposiiion wag
Co be cX|»ected from her. They scent-
ed to be the best of friends ;
when the widow rose to (nkc lea
of them, Mr. Vorke himself escort-
ed her to the boat. In fact, it w,
all very comfortably settle^!, as Mi
Vorke observed to her mother when
ihcy had taken their seats in the
coach.
When Edilh and Dick appcarei
again, hand in hand, Mr. Yorke st
at the coach-floor, waiting lo ass
his niece to her place.
" How picturesque I" Clara Vwke
exclaimed, as the two stepped
the planks and came toward th<
" It is like something out of the
bian Nights. He is Sindbad, and she
I'D \
-cto
?aii-^^
e
«ai
OTW,
Ar^
Tke House of Yorke.
\77
is one of those princesses who were
always getting into such ridiculous
situations and difficulties. The child
is absurd, of course, but she is love-
ly ; and the young man is really very
fine — of his kind."
Sindbad and his princess were both
very pale, "Sir," the sailor said,
presenting the child to her uncle, " I
hope she will be as happy with you
as I and my mother would have tried
to make her."
As he released her hand, Edith's
face suddenly whitened. All her lit-
tle world was slipping away from be-
neath her feet
Mr. Yorite was touched and im-
pressed. He liked the young man's
dignity. "I must compliment you,
sir, on your honorable conduct in this
a&ir," he said. " Let us hear from
you; and come to see us whenever
you are in our neighborhood."
Dick Rowan, in his turn, would
have been touched by this unexpect-
ed coT^ality, had not a slight raising
of Miss Melu:ent Yorke's eyebrows
neutralized its effect. The young
woman thought that her father was
really condescending unnecessarily.
That fkint, supercilious surprise check-
ed the young man's gratitude, and he
was turning away with a cold word
of thanks, when Mrs. Yorke called
him back. She was leaning from the
carriage, and held out her hand to
him.
" Good-by, Mr. Rowan !" she said
aloud. " You need not fear that we
shall not cherish this orphan whom
you have kindly protected so far, and
you need not fear that we shall try
to make her forget you. Ingratitude
is the vice of slaves. I am sure she
will never be ungrateful to you."
*' Thank you !" Dick said fervent-
ly, melted by the kind smile and
tremulous sweetness of tone. It was
none of Miss Melicent's exasperating
affability.
" And I have a favor to ask," she
added, leaning still further out, and
lowering her voice so that only he
could hear. " 1 take for granted that
you will write to my niece. Will you
allow her to let me read your let-
ters?"
Dick blushed deeply as he stam-
mered out another " Thank you !"
It was a delicately given warning
and kindly given permission. It
showed him, moreover, that the la-
dy's soft eyes had looked to the bot-
tom of his heart. At that moment
he was glad that the ring on Edith's
finger was Captain Gary's gift, not
his.
" I would like to see the steam-
boat just as long as it is in sight,"
Edith said faintly.
Her uncle immediately gave orders
to the driver to take them round
to a place from which they could
look down to the entrance of the
bay.
The boat steamed out over the
water, glided like a swan down the
bay, and soon disappeared around a
curve that led to the Narrows.
Edith gazed immovably after it, un-
conscious that they were all watch-
ing her. When it was no longer vi
sible, she closed her eyes, and sank
back into Mrs. Yorke's arms.
CHAPTER IV.
TIIR OLD KG ME.
Mrs. Charles Yorke was anative
of Seaton ; her maiden name. Arnold.
Her mother had died while Amy was
VOU XIII. — 12.
quite young, and in a few years the
father married again. This marriage
was an unfortunate one for the fami-
The House of Yorkt.
ly; aiul not only the daughter but
many of Mr. Aniold's friends had
tried to dissuade him from it. Their
chief argument was not that the per-
son whom he proposed to marry was
a vul^^ar woman whom his lost wife
would not have received as an ac-
quaintance, but that she was in every
way unworthy of him, and would be
a discreditable connection. They
met the fate which usually awaits
such intt-rfercnce. Truth itself never
appears so true as varnished false-
hood does. Mr. Arnold was flattered
and duped; and the end of the affair
was that Amy had the misery of
seeing his deceiver walk triumphant-
ly into her mother's sacred place.
Nor was this all. In a moment of
weakness, the father betrayed to his
new wife the efforts that had been
made to separate them, and she half-
guessed, half-drew from him every
name. From that moment her in-
stinctive jealous dislike of her step-
daughter was turned to hatred.
Had the young gid been wise, she
would have known that her only pro-
per course was to withdraw from the
field i but she was inexperienced and
pa.ssiuiiate, and had no better adviser
than her own heart. Had she been
a Catholic, she could have found in
the confessional the confidant and
counsel she needed ; but she was
not In Scaton there were no Ca-
tholics above the class of servants
and day-laborers. She was left,
therefore, completely to herself, and
in the power of an unscrupulous and
subtle tormentor. Miserable, indig*
nant, and desperate, the young girl
descended to the contest, and at
every step she was *Iefeated. She
called on her father for protection ;
but he saw nothing of her trials, or
was made to believe that she had
her^lf provoked them. It was the
old story of adroit deceit arraye*!
against impolitic sincerity. But, hap-
pily, the contest was not of long du-
ration.
Amy was not a person to remain
in a position so false and degrading.
There cAmc a time when, quite as
much to her own surprise as to theirs,
she had nothing more to say. But
their surprise was that she contend-
ed no longer, hers that she had con-
tended so long. The way was clear
before her, and her plans were soon
made. Her father had an unmarried
cousin living in Boston, and this lady
consented to receive her. Only on
the day preceding her dep,irture did
she announce her intentions. The
sufferings she had undergone were a
sulTicient excuse for her abruptness.
She had become too much weakened
and excited to bear any conlrovei4^H
upon the subject. Besides, the pari^H
ing from her father, if prolonged,
would have been unbearable, St
must tear herself away.
He sat a moment with downcasf
eyes after she had communicated lo
him lier design. His face expressed
emotion. He seemed both pained
and embarrassed, and quite al a loss
what lo say. In (act, his wife had
proposed this very plan, and was
anxious that Amy should go, and he
had entertained Uie project. Tlicre-
fore he could not express surprise.
For the first time, perhaps, a fccHng
of shame overcame him. He was
obliged to deceive! His pride, re-
volting at that shame, made him im-
patient, Unwilling to acknowledge
himself in the wrong, he wished to
appear injured.
" If you mean to deprive me of
my only child, and would rather live
with strangers than with your own
father, I will not oppose you," he
said. " But I think you might have
shown some confidence in me, and
told me your wishes before."
Amy's impulse had been, at the
first sight of his emotion, to throw
The House of York.
»79
herself into his anns, and forgive
him everything, or take upon herself
aU the blame. But at tlie^ words
she recoiled. Her silence was bet-
ter thoii any aii&wcr could have been.
" I don't blame you, child," her
tther resumed, blushing for ihe cva-
he had practised. " It would
cruel of mc to wish you to stay
in a home where you cannot live in
peace. 1 am grieved, Amy, but I
can do nothing. What can a man
do between women who disagree?"
" Find out which is wrong !" was
the answer that rose to her lips, but
she suppressed it. She had already
exhausted words to him. She had
poured out her pain, her love, her
_«ptrcaties, and they had been to him
the idle wind. She had been
}nged and iusultcd, and he would
it see it. She turned away with a
ling of despair.
•■ At least, let us part as a father
d daughter should," he said in a
ibliug voice.
She held out one hand to him,
id with the other covered her face,
}le to utter a word ; then broke
Iway, and shut heiself into her cham-
ber. There are times when entire
repar.irion only is tolerable, and we
demand full justice, or none.
So ihcy patted, and never met
again, though they corresponded re-
gularly, and wrote kind if not confi-
dential letters. The only sign the
daughter ever had of any change of
jtiniun in her father regarding the
Luse of their separation w.is when
he requested her to send her letters
his office and not to the house.
Her that they both wrote more
In her new home, Amy did not
find all sunshine. Miss Clinton was
Id and notional, and had too great
I fondness for thinking for others as
;ll as herself. Consequently, when
the young lady favored tlie addresses
of a poor artist who bad been em-
ployed to paint her jwrtrait, there
was an explosion. With her fathcrV'
consent, Amy married Carl Owen,
and her cousin discarded her. There
was one year of happiness ; then llie
young husband died, and left his
wife with an infant son.
In her trouble, Mrs. Owen made
ilic acquaintance of Mrs. Edith
Yorke, who became to her a helpful
friend ; and in hide more than a
year she married that lady's eldest
son, Charles. From that moment
herhappiness was assured. She found
herself surrounded by thoroughly
congenial society, and blest with the
companionship of* one who was to
her father, husband, and brother, all
she had ever lost or longed for. Mr.
Yorke adopted her son as his own,
and, so far from showing any jea-
lousy of his predecessor, was the one
to propose that the boy should retain
his own father's name in addition to
the one he adojited.
As daughten grew up around them,
he appeared to forget that Carl was
not his own son, at least so far as
pride in him went Probably he
showed more fondness for his girU.
Mr. Arnold died shortly iiller his
daughter's second marriage, and liis
wife followed him in a few years. By
their death Mrs. Yorke became the
owner of her old home. liut she
had no desire to revisit the scene of
so much misery, and for years the
house was left untenanted in the care
of a keeper. Nor would they ever
have gone there, probably, but for
pecuniary losses which made them
glad of any refuge,
Mr. Charles Yorke appreciated the
value of money, and knew alniira-
biy well how to spend it; but the
acuteness which can foresee and make
bargains, and the unscrupu loudness
which is so often necessary to insmc
their success, he had not. Conse-
iSO
Tke House of YorJte,
qucntly, when in an evil hour he em-
barked his inherited weallh in specu-
lation, it was nearly all swept away.
Crt^hiors, knowing his probity, of-
fered to wait
" Why should I wait ?" he asked.
" Will my debts contract as the cold
weather comes on ? I prefer an im-
mediate scttlcmcni."
Not displeased at his refusal to
profit by their generosity, they hint-
ed at a willingness to take a percent-
age on their claims.
•' A pcrccniaxc I" cried the debtor.
" Am 1 a swindler? Am I a beggar?
I shall pay a hundred per cent., and
I recommend you in your future deal-
ings with me to bear in mind that 1
am a gentleman and not an adven-
turer."
.•\ very old-fashioned man was Mr.
Charles Yorke, and a ver)- hard man
to pity.
Behold him, then, and his family
ftt rouie for their new home.
We have said that the two princi-
pal streets of the town of Seatou
crossed each oihcr at right angles,
one running north and south along
the river, (he other running east and
west across the river. These roads
carried themselves vcr>- slraighUy be-
fore folks, but once out of town,
forgot their company manners, and
meandered as they chose, splintered
into side-tracks, and wandered off m
vagabond ways. But the south road,
that passed by the Rowans', was the
only one that came to nothing. The
other Uuee persisted till they each
found a village or a city, twenty-five
ratles or so away. Half a mile from
the village centre, on North Street, a
very rtijjcciable-looking road started
uff eastwani, ran across a field, and
plunged into the forest that sncpt
down over a long smooth rise from
far-away regions of wildncss. Fol-
lowing this road half a mile, one saw
at the left a tumble-down stone wall
across an opening, with two gates,
painted black in imitation of iron,
about fifteen ro(h> apart. A little fur-
ther on, it iK-camc visible that
avenue went from gate to gate, c
closing a deep half-circle of lawn, on
which grew several fair enough ehns
and a really fine maple. After such
preliminaries you expect a house ;
and there it is at the head of Uic
avenue, a wide-s|)rend building, wi
a cupola in the centre, a portico
front, and a wing at either side.
is elevated on a deep terrace, aw
has a background of woods, and
woods at cither hand, only a lit
removed.
To be consistent, this house shou!
be of stone, or, at least, of brick
but it is neither. Still, it would n
be right to call it a "shingle palace^
for its frame is a massive net -wo
of solid oaken beams, and tt ts stro
enough to bear unmoved a shoi
that would set nine out of every i
modern city structures rattling do
into their cellars. A\'hcn Mrs. Vorke's
grandfather built this house, in the
year iSoo, English ideas and feelings
still prevailed in (hat region ; and in
building a house, a gentleman thought
of his grandchildren, who might live
in it. Kow nobody builils with
reference to his descendants.
But Mr. Arnold's plans had pro
cd larger Uian his purse. The pa
he meant to have had still remain'
three hundred acres of wild, un
ed land, the gartlcns never got
yond a few flowers, now chol
with weeds, and the kitchen-gard
kept alive by Patrick Chester, M
Vorke's keeper. As for the ore
it never saw the lif;h(. Mrs. York
father had done the place one g-
turn, for he had planted vines ev
where. Tlicir graceful banners,
simimcr-time, draped tlie i>ortico,
corners of the house, tJic dead o:
tree by ilic western wing, a.nd a
tir-
he
1
any,
ifen<
^
The House of Yorke,
l8t
bcre and tlierc over rocic, fence, or
stump.
Pack of the house, toward the
[hi, was a huge barn and a
maiy ; the eaves of both under-
ing with a solid row of swallows'
sts. On (his hrighl April ntorning,
whole air Has full of the twJd
id twitter of Uiese birds, and with
blue glancing of their uings
iroe invisible co'stalHiie ring
;nied to have been let down from
heavens over and around the
(use. and they followed its outline
their flight. Hut the homely,
:ad-and-buttcr robins had no such
y-stical ways. They flew or bopped
raight where they wanted lo go, and
)at they wanted to get was plainly
iiething to eat. One of them alight-
. on the threshold of the open front-
jr and looked curiously in. He
V a long hall, with a staircase on
le side, and open doors to right and
fl and at the furthest ciul. All
kc wood-work, walls, and ceilings
aght were dingy, and rais and
lice had assisted time in gnawing
^way ; but the furniture was bright,
three fires visible through die
open doors were brighter still.
St seemed to be much inter-
in dicsc fires. Probably he
was a bird from the city, and had
sver seen such large ones. Iliose
the front rooms were large enough,
It that in the kitchen was something
imense, and yet left room at one
ie of the fireplace for a person to
and look up chimney, if so dis-
•' Bm / " says the bird, with a nod,
)ppiug in, " the kitchen is the place
go to. As to those flowers and
ries on the floor, I am not to l)e
beaied by them. They are not
to eat, but only to walk on. I
a bird of culture ai^d society. I
know how people live. I am not
like that stupid diickea"
For a Utile yellow chickc>n, with-
out a sign of tail, had followed the
robin ill, and was eagerly peeking at
the spots in the carpet.
The bird of culture hopped along
to the door at the back of the hall,
and paused again to reconnoitre.
Here a long, narrow corridor ran
across, with doors opening into the
front rooms, and one into the kitchen,
and a second stairway at one end,
'ITircc more hops brought the bin] to
the threshold of the kitchen-door,
where a third pause oecurred, this
one not without ta-pldation ; for
here in the great kitchen a woman]
stood at a tahle with a pan of
tatocs before her. She had washed
them, and was now engaged in par*
tially paring them and cutting out
any suspicious spots that might be
visible on tlie surface*:. " It takca
mc to make new potatoes out of old
ones !" she said to herself with an air
of satisfaction, tossing the potato in
in her hand into a jian of cold water.
This woman was large-framed and
tall, and over forty years of age.
She had a homely, sensible, pleasant,
quick-tempered face, and the base of
her nose was an hypothenusc. Her
dark hair was drawn back and made
into a smooth French twist, with a
shell comb stuck in the top .^ litUe
a.skew. It is h.inl to fasten one of
those twists with the comb quite even,
if it has much top to it. This comb
had nuich top. The woman's face
shone with washing; she wore a
straightly-fitliiig calico gown and &
white linen collar. 'ITie gown was
newly done up and a little too stiff,
and to keep it from soil she had
doubled the skirt up in front and
pinned it behind, and tied on a large
apron. For further safeguard, the
sleeves were turned up and pinned to
die shoulder by the waistbands, .^t
every movement she made these stiff
clothes rattled.
l83
The House of Yorke,
L
This vomui was Miss Betsey
Bates. She had lived at Mr. Arnold's
when Miss Amy was a young girl, had
left when she left, and was now come
back to live with her again.
"Just let your water bile," Betsey
began, addressing an imaginary au-
dience — " let your water bile, and
throw in a handful of salt ; then wash
your potatoes clean ; peel 'cm all hut
a stiip or two to hold together ; cut
out the spots, and let 'em lay awhile
in coUl water ; when it's time to cook
'em, throw 'cm into your biling water,
and clap on your lid; then — "
Betsey stopj^d suddenly and
lookeil over her shoulder to listen,
but, hearing no carriage- wheels nor
human steps, resumed her occupa-
tion. She did not perceive the two
little bipeds on the threshold of the
door, where they were listening to
her soliloquy with great interest,
though it was the chicken's steps
that had attracted her attention.
That silly creature, dissatisfied with
his worsted banquet, had hopped
along lo the robin's side, where he
now stood with a hungry crop, romid
eyes, and two or three colored threads
sticking to his bill.
Betsey's thoughts took a new turn.
** I must go and sec lo the fires, and
put a gTKxl beach chunk on each one.
There's a little chill in the air, and
everybody wants a fire after a jour-
ney. It looks cheerful. I've got
six fires going in ihts house. What
do you think of that ? To my idea,
an open Bre tn a strange house is
equal to a first cousin, sometimes
better."
Here a step sounded outside the
open window behind the t.ililc, and
^^lt Chester appeared, a stout, fine-
looking. red-face<l man, with mis-
chievous eyes and an honest mouth.
Curiously enough, the base of hii
iioscniso wasan hypothenune. Other-
wise there was no resemblance be*
twcen the two. Betsey used to
to him, " Pat, the ends of our n
were sawed off the wrong way."
" Who are you talking lo ?" ask
Pat, stopping to look in and laugh
" Your belters," was the retort
" I don't envy 'em," said Pat, ani
went on about his business.
" And 1 must sec lo them clocks
again," pursued Betsey. •' The idea
of having a dock in every room in
the house ! It takes me half of my
time to set 'em forward and bac! ~
As to touching the pendulums
such docks as them, you don't catch
me. Hut I do aliominate to see o
mantelpiece a quarter past and
other quarter of at the same time."
I^Ierc a little peck on the floor
rested Betsey's attentioo, and, stretc
ing her neck, she saw the chick
and instantly flew at it with a lou
" shoo !" With its two bits of win
extended and its head advanced
far as possible, the little wretch II
through the hall, peeping with
ror. But the robin flew up and
capcd over Betsey's head. " Lau
sakcs !" she cried, holding on to her
comb and her eyes, " who ever saw a
chicken fly up like that f"
Wondering over this phenomcn
Betsey went up-stairs and replenish
the fires in three chambers, and set
some of the clocks forward and
others back, then hurried down to
perform the same duties below stairs,
just as she set the 1a.<tt hour-hand
carefully at nine o'clock. Pal put his
head in at the dining-room window.
" It's lime for 'em to be here," he
said, •* and I'm going down to the
gale tn watch. I'll give a whistle
the ntinule they come in sight"
Immersed in her own thoughts,
Betsey had jumpwl violently ai sound
of his voice. " I do believe you're
poucsscd lo go round poking your
head in at windows, and scaring peo-
ple oui of their wite!" she cried, with
in
The House of Yorke.
183
frightened laugh. " Here I came
within an ace of upsetting this clock
or going into the fire."
Pal lauyhcd back — he and Betsey
were aln-a-ys scolding and always
laughing at each other — muttered
[',aoineihing about skittish n-omcn, and
rwalkcd off" down the avenue to watch
ribr the family.
'* I believe cver\-thtng is ready,"
^Betsey said, looking round. Slie took
foff her apron, took down her skirt
jmnd sleeves, and gave herself a genc-
iTal crackling smoothing over. Then
[suddenly she assumed an amiable
lile, looked straight before her,
^dropped a short courtesy, and said,
^•* How do you do, Mrs. Yorkc ? I
fhope I sceyouwelL Hoivdoyoudo,
Lsir ? How do you do, miss ? I won-
^der if I had better go out to the door
[when the)- come, or stand in the en-
y, or stay in the kitchen. I declare
ito man I don't know what to do!
How do you do, ma'am ?" bcgin-
pmg her practising again, this lime
before the glass. " I hope ] sec you
well To think of my not being mar-
rieti at all, and her having grown-up
children !" she said, staring through
the window. -The last time I saw
[her, she was a pretty creature, as pale
[as a snow-drop. Poor thing ! she
|had a hard time of it with that Jezc-
[bcl. Stic never said anything to roc,
Iror I to her ; but many a lime she
[lias come to rac when th.it woman
has been up to her tricks, and held
on to me, and gasped for breath.
* O my heart 1 my heart !' she'd say.
' Don*t speak to me, lieiscy, but hold
me a minute!' It was awful to sec
her white face, and to feel her heart
jump as if it would tear jiself out.
'ITiat was Uie way trouble always took
hoUl of her."
SJie mused a moment longer, then
llHoke off suddenly, and began anew
Ifccr practice. " How do you do,
I'iUD ? I hope 1 see you wcU."
Presently a loud, shrill whistle in-
terrupted her. Uetsey rusheil excit-
edly into the kitchen, dashed her po-
tatoes into the kctUe, tic<l on a clean
apron tliat stood out tike cast-iron
with starch, and hovered in ihe rear
of the hall, to be ready for advance
or rcticat, as occasion might demand.
The old yellow coacth rame through
the gate, up the muddy avenue, and
drew up at the steps. Tlic two gen-
tlemen got out first, then the young
ladies, and all stood around while
Mrs. Yorke slowly alighted. She
was vcr>- jwilc, but smiled kindly on
tlicni, then took her sou's arm, and
went up the steps. Air, Yorke stop-
ped 10 ofler his hand to a little girl
who still remained in the coach.
•• Mysakes!" muttered Betsey. •• If
it isn't that Rowan young one !"
" Mother dear," said the son, " it
is possible to make a very beautiful
place of this."
She looked at him with a bright-
ening smile. " You think so, Carl ?"
She had been anxiously watching
what impression the sight of her old
home would make on her family, and
exaggerating its defects in her own
imagination, as she fancied they were
doing in theirs. Their silence so far
had given her a pang, since she in-
terpreted it to mean disappointment,
when in truth it had meant solici-
tude for her. 'I'hey thought that she
would t>c ngit.-ircd on cf>ming again
to her childhood's liome after so long
an absence. So she was; but her
own peculiar memories gave prece-
dence to that which concerned those
dearest to her.
" Hesides, mother," Owen continu-
ed, "this spot has a charm for me
which no other could have, however
beautiful: it \& yours"
That word conveyed the first inti-
mation Mrs. Yorke had ever received
that her son felt his dependence on a
stepfather. But the pain tlic know-
|84
The House of Yorkt.
ledge caused her was instantly ban-
ished by the recollection that the
cause of his uneasiness was now re-
moved.
" My great grandfather had ideas,
though he did not carry them out,"
remarked Melicent. " 1 1 he had built
his house of stone, it would have
done very well. It is astonishing
tliat he did not. But the earlier set-
tlers in lliis countr)' seemed to revel
m. wood, jirobably I>ecau3C it had
Iwcn to ihcm in the Old World a
luxur)-. Witli heaps of stones at
hand, they would )>cr^tst in building
ihcir houses of logs."
At this point Betsey rushed out to
welcome Mrs. Yorkc. The sight of
that pale face which seemed to be
looking for her, and the slight, cling-
ing form that used lo cling to her,
quite overcame her shyness.
'* You dear creature, how glad I
am to see you once more !" she cried
out. And, seizing the lady by the
<ihoulders, gave her a resounding kiss
on Uie cheek.
*' Please do not touch Mrs. Yorke's
left arm. It gives hei palpitation,"
said the son ratlicr sliiUv.
Young Mr. Owen had an invin-
cible repugnance to personal fami-
liarities, especially from inferiors.
" Dear Betsey, this is my son," the
mother said proudly, looking at her
manly young escort, as if to see him
anew with a stranger's admiring eyes.
'* Carl has heard me speak of you
many a time, my old friend !"
Betsey immediately dropped a so-
lemn courtesy. " I hope I sec you
well, sir !" she said, remembering her
manners.
" This must be Betsey Bates!" cried
Miss Melicent, coming forward with
great cordiality. ** Mamma has
spoken of you so often I knew you
at once.''
Miss Yorkc did not say that she
recognized Betsey by her nose, though
that was the fact. The impression
loft on the woman's mind was of
something highly complimentary, that
some air expressive of honesty, faith-
fulness, and affection, or some sub-
tile personal grace not universally ac-
knowledged, had led to the recogiu-^
tion. \
On the threshold of the door,
Mrs. Yorke turned to rt-ceivc her hus-
band. She could not utter a word
but her face expressed what she
would have said. In her look could
be read tliat she [daced in his hands
all that was hers, regretting only that
the gift was so small.
One saw then, too, that Mr. Yorke's
sarcastic face was r.ipablc of great
tenderness. As he met that mute
welcome, a look of indulgent kind-
ness softened his keen eyes, gave his
scornful mouth a new shape, and
lighted up his whole countenance.
But he knew better tlian .allow his
wife to yield to any excitement ol
fed in g.
" Yes, Amy !" he s.ii(l cheerfully,
" I think we shall make a very
pleasant home here. Now come in
and rest"
They went into the sittmg-room at
the left of the hall, and .Mrs. Yorke
was seated in an ann-chair there be^^^
twcen the fire and the sunshine, an^^l
they all waited on her. Hesterj^^
kneeling by her mother, removed her
gloves and overshoes, Clam took of
her bonnet and shawl, and Melicent
after whispering a word to Bet
went out with that factotum, and pi
.wntly returned bearing a tin cup
coffee on which a froth of cream st
floated.
" I've taken a cup, mamma,
said, "and I can reconmiend it
And breakfast will be ready in
minutes."
Owen Yorke, missing one of tl
company, went out, and found Kdith'
standing furlnm in the portico, bitiuj
]
TIte House of Yor^e.
185
her quivering lips, and straggling to
train the tears that threatened to
rflow her eyes. For the first lime
her hfe the rluld I'eh timid and
concerted. She was among Iicr
people, and they had forgotten
At that moment she longed
I passionately for Dick Rowan, and
would have flown to him had it been
' possible.
" Come, little Gypsy !" he said.
^^^Yoii'rc not going to run away, I
^^bpe? Did you think n'c had for-
^^fttten you ? See! I have not."
^H|c>wen Vorkc's face was very win-
^mnx ■when he chose, and his voice
could cx^jrcss n good deal of kindness.
Edith looked at him steadily a mo-
ment, then took the liand he oflered,
and went into the house with him.
As they cnteretl. Mrs. Yorke rose 10
give the child an affectionate wel-
come to her new home, and the
daughter!! gathereil about her with
those bright, profuse words which arc
(deasaoi nai when ihey mean so
.\ folding-door opened from the
ing-room into the dining-room,
which occupied the front half of the
west wing, and here a breakfLts: was
out that dismayed the eyes of those
%4io were expected to partake of it.
There was a fricassee which had cost
the lives of tliree hens of family, and
occasioned a serious squabble be-
tween Pat and Betsey ; there was a
vast planer of ham and eggs, and a
pyramid of potatoes piled so high
that the 6rit lime it was touched one
rolled off on to the doth. Poor Bet-
sey had no conception of the Yorke
idea! of a proper breakfast.
The gooil creature has sudi a
croiis heart!" Mrs. Yorke said,
king with a glance the riiter
hich her two younger daughters had
not tried to restrain. " And I am
sure that everything is delicious."
Taking a seat at tlic table, Edith
^£eoe
^rhic
recollected that a trial awaited her.
It was tn<lay; and abstinence frot
meal on that day was the one poini
in her mother's religion which she
knew and practised. Olhcrwisc she
was as ignorant of it as possible.
Owen Yori;e, sitting opposite,
watched her curiously, perceiving
that something was the matter. He
noticed the slight bracing of the mus-
cles of her face and neck, and that
she drew her breath in like one who
is preparing for a plunge, and kept
her eyes steadily fixed on Mr. Vorkc.
Edith's w.iy was to look at what she
feared.
" Some of tlie chicken, litOc niece ?"
her uncle asked plcasandy.
*' No, sir, 1 do not eat meat on
Friday. 1 am a Roman Catholic,"
the child answered with precision.
And, having made the announcement
thus fully, shut her mouth, and sat
pale, with her eyes lixcd on Mr,
Vorkc's face.
A smile flashed into Owen Yorke*s
eyes at this reply. " Little Spartan !"
he tiiought.
Kdidi did not miss the slight con-
traction of the brows and the down-
ward twitch of the corners of the
moutli in the face she watched ; but
the signs of displeasure passed as
quickly as they came. " Then I am
afraid you will make a poor break-
fast," Mr. Yorlte said gi-ntly. " But
I will do the best \ can for you."
There was a momcnlar)' silence;
then the talk went on as before. But
the family were deeply annoyed. It
seemed enough that lliey should have
to take tilts little waif, with they
knew not what low habibi and asso-
ciates, or what unruly fires of temper
inherited from her mother, without
having an alien religion brought
into their midst. Cadmlicism as they
had seen it abroad appealed to their
xsthetic sense. It floated there in a
higher atmosphere, adorned with all
iS6
The House of Yorhe,
that wealth and culture could do.
But at home they preferred to keep
it where, as a rule, they found it — in
the kitchen and the stable.
After they had returned to the sit-
thigrooui, Mr. Yorke called Edith
to him. She went trembling; for, in
spite of himself, her uncle's face wore
a judicial look. The girls, who were
iust going up-stoirs, lingered to hear
what would be Kai<I, ami Owen took
his stand behind Mr. Vorke's chair,
and looked at the child with an en-
couraging smile.
" Were the family you lived with
Catholics, my dear?" the judge be-
gan.
'• No, sir, Only Mr. Rowan was
when he was a little boy."
" And Mr. Rowan wished to make
a Catholic of you?" Mr. Yorke said,
his lip beginning to curl.
The child lifted her head. " Mr.
Rowan had nothing to say about
me," she replied. " It was my mo-
ther."
A slight smile went round the cir-
cle. They quite approved of her re-
ply.
" But you cannot recollect your
mother ?" Mr. Yorke continued.
" Oh I yes," Edith said with anima-
tion. " I remember how she looked,
and what she said. She made mc
hold up my hands, and promise that
I would be a Roman Catholic if I
had to die for it. And tliat w^as the
last word she ever said."
Mr. Yorke gave a short nod. To
bis mind the matter was settled.
" N'titcf pa$ f" he said to his wife.
She bowetl gravely, " There is no
other way. It is impassible to ask
her to break a promise so given.
When she is older, ibhe can choose
for herself."
'* Well, you hear.girls?" Mr. Yorke
said, looking at his daughters. ** Now
take her, and make her feel at
home."
Miss Yorke was dignified and in-
scrutable, Hester unmi.stakably colfl,
but Clara took her cousin's hand
with the utmost cordiality, and w
leading her from the room, whei
Edith stopped short, her eyes attract-
ed by a cabinet portrait in oils that
stood on a shelf near the door. This
portrait represented a young man*
with one of those ugly, beautiful
faces which fascinate us, we know
not why. Cireless, profuse locks of
golden brown clustered around his
head, steady, agate-color«l eyes fol-
lowed the beholder wherever he went,
and seemed at once defying him to
escape and entreating him not to go,
and the sunshine of a hidden smi
softened the curves of the mouth ani
chin.
Edith's e)'es sparkled, her face gn
crimson, and she clasped her hands
tightly on her breast.
" That is your father's portrait,
dear," Mrs. Yorke said, going to
*' Do you recognize it ?"
The child restrained herself o
moment, then she ran to the picture,
clasped her arms around it, and kiss-
ed it over and over, weeping passion-
ately. "It is mincl It is mine!'*
she cried out, when ber atint tried
to soothe her.
" You are right, dear !" Mrs. Yorke
said, much affected. *' 1 am sure no
one will object to your having the
portrait. You may take it to yo
own chamber, if you wish."
Edith controlleii herself, wiped her
eyes, and put the picture down.
" Dear Aunt Amy." she said, " you
know I want tt ; but 1 won't take it
unless you and Uncle Cliarlcs are
quite willing."
It was touching, her first acknow-
ledgment of kinship, and exprcssioa
of trust and submission. They
dially assured her of their willingii
kissed her again in token of a
adoption, and smiled after her as she
^
The House of Yorke.
went off with her father's portrait
clasped to Iicr heart.
Meliccnt and i^cste^ still lingered.
Melicent remembered faintly her Un-
cle Robert's marriage, and llie disa-
greeable feeling in the family at that
time. It had left on her mind a pre-
judice against " that Polish girl," and
a shade of disfavor toward her daugh-
ter. But she said nothing.
" It will be so disagreeable having
a Catholic in the family!" Hester
complained.
** Hcsicr, listen to mc !" her father
said severely. " I want no bigotry
nor petty persecutions in my family.
Your Cousin Edith h.rs as good a
right to her religion as you have to
yours; and if either should find her-
IBelf disagreeably situated, it is she,
[^for she is alone. Don't forget this;
,«nd don't let there be anything offen-
I sivc said, or hinted, or looked. I
|;tncan to be consistciU, and allow otli-
tn the same freedom which I claim
myself. Now, let me hear no more
of this."
Hester took refuge in tears. It
was her sc^e argumcnL She was
one of those soft creatures who re-
quire to be petted, and have a talent
[for being abused Possibly, too, she
rwas a little jealous of this new mcm-
Iber of ihc family.
■• Melicent, will you lead away this
I Weeping nymph, and dry her tears ?"
I the fadicr said impatiently. "Com-
lon sense is too robust for her con-
itution."
'ITie sisters went up -stairs, and
Owen followed them i)rcsenily, and
climlwd to ilie cupola. Leaning on
the window-sill there, he looked off
over the country. The horizon was
a ring of tow blue hills, wiih a grand
amethyst glittering to tell where the
sea lay. Through the centre of this
Tast circle glimmered the river, silver,
and gold, and steel-blue, and the
while houses of the town lay like a
heap of lilies scattered on its banks.
Everywhere else was forest.
Shadows of var)-ing thought swept
over the yoimg man's face as he
looked off, and drew freer breath
from the distance. " Henceforth my
shield must bear a manlet." he mut-
tered. " But whither shall I fly ?"
That was the problem he was stu-
dying. He had come to this place
only to sec his family settled, and
collect his own Uioughts after their
sudden fell from prosperity ; then he
would go out into tlic world, and
work his own way. It wxs not plea-
sant, the change from that life of
noble leisure and lofty work which
he had planned, to one where com-
pulsory labor for mere bread must
occupy the greater part of his time;
but it was inevitable. And as he
looked abroad now, and breathed
the fresh air that came frolicking out
of the northwest, and remembered
how wide the world is and how many
veins in it are unwrought, his young
courage rose, and the plans he had
been building up for that year crum-
bled and ceased lo excite his regret.
Only a few months before their
change of rircuanstances, his mother
had been won to consent that he
might VLsit Asia. He had meant to
go north, south, east, and west, in
that shabby, glorious old land, make
himself for llie nonce Tartar, Clii-
nese, Indian, Persian, what nut, and
get a look at creation through die
eyes of each. Tlus young man's
sympathies were by no means nar-
row. He had never been able to
believe that tiod smiles with peculiar
fuiidiiess on any particular continent,
island, peninsula, or part of either,
and is but a stepfather to the rest
of the world. He was bom with a
hatred of barriers. He sympathized
with Swift, who " hated all nations,
professions, and communities, and
gave all his love to individuals." Or,
188
Th< House of Vcrke.
better than Swift, he had at least n
theoretical love for mankind unfcnc-
ed. He did not hnve to learn to
love, that came naturally to him; he
had to Icam to hale. But he was a
good hater. Take him all in all,
Carl Owen Yorkc was at twenty-one
a noble, generous youth, of );ood
mind and unstained reputation ; ami
it was no proof of excessive vanity
in him that he believed himself capa-
ble of taking any position he might
si rive for.
" My dear Minerva tells me that I
have in me some of the elementSiof
failure,*' he said. *• J wonder what
they arc ?"
This '■'dear Minerva" was Miss
Alice Mills, Mr. Robert Yorkc's de-
serted fiath'/e. She and Owen were
very close friends. It was one of
those friendshi|>s which sometimes
grow up between a woman whose
j-outh is past and a youth whose
manhood has scarcely arrived. Such
a friendship may cQect incalculable
good or incalculable harm, as the
woman shall choose.
'• Well," he concluded, not caring
10 pu«Ie over the riddle, " she will
explain, I suppose, when she writes.
And if anybody can get at the cube-
root of the difficulty, she can."
Meantime, while the son was mus-
ing, and the daughters were selecting
their chambers, and making up a
toilet for Edith, Mr. Yorke had sent
for Patrick Chester in the sitting-room,
anrl was questioning him concerning
Catholic affairs in Scaton. 'I"hcy did
not seem to be in a flourishing con-
dition.
There was no priest settled there,
Patrick said ; but one came over
from B once in two months, and
said Mass for them. They had no
church yet, but a little chapel, what
there was left of it.
" What do you mean by that ?" his
master asked.
"Why, sir, some of the Seaton
rowdies got into the chapel, one nighl
not long ago, and smashed ilie win-1
dows, and broke up the labernaclc^i
and destroyed (he pictures entirely.^
.'Vnd they twisted off the crucifii
though it was of iron, two inch*
wide and half an inch thick. Tt
devil must have helped the man thai
did it, savin* your presence, ma'am."
" Are they vandals here?" demand-
ed Mr. Yorke.
" Tlierc are some fine folks in Sca-
ton," said Pat, who did not know
what i".^ndals are. " But the rowdies
have everything pretty much their
own way."
** And is there no law in the towni
asked Mr. Yorkc wrathfully.
'* '["here's a good many lawyers,*?]
said Pat, scratching his head.
" You mean to say that there wa
no effort made to discover and pim-
ish the perpetrators of such an out-
rage ?" exclaimed his master.
"Indeed there was not, sir!" PatJ
answered. " People knew pretty well
who did the mischief, and that the
fellow tljai brolcc off the crucifix was
taken bleeding at the lungs just after;
but nobody molested 'em. It wouldn't
be well for the one who would lift
his voice against the Seaton rowdies.
Why, some of 'cm belong to as weal-
thy families as there are in town.
They began witli a cast-iron band
years ago, and evervbody laughed at
'cm. All the harm they did was to
wake people out of sleep. Then
they broke up a lecture. It was ai
Mr. Kowle from lioston, who wa
preaching about education. An(
then they did a little mischief hcr«
and there to jieople they didn't like,
and now they are too strong to put.
down. And, indeed, sir, when ii'j
against tlie Catholics they arc, m
body wants to put 'em down."
Mr. Yorke glanced at his wife.^
She did not look up nor deny Pa»<
Our Lady of Guadalupe.
189
trick's charges. She was a little
ashamed of the character of her na-
tive town in this respect; for at
that time Seaton was notorious for
its lawlessness, and was even proud
of its reputation. No great harm
had been done, they said. It was
only the boys' fun. They were sony,
it is true, that a respectable lecturer
should have been insulted ; but that
a Catholic chapel should be dese-
crated, that was nothing. They did
not give it a second thought.
" Well, Patrick," Mr. Yorke resum-
ed, " my niece. Miss Edith Yorke, is
a Catholic, and I wish her to have
proper instruction, and to attend to
the services of her church when there
is opportunity. Let me know the
next time your priest comes here, and
I will call to see him. Now you
may go."
To » COMINUKD.
OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE.
The stoiy and celebration of Our
Lady of Guadalupe are not so fami-
liar to Catholics, or so well appre-
ciated by others, as to render useless
or uninteresting, especially In this
month of Mary, an account of her ve-
neration in Mexico. What this ac-
tually, veritably is, no writer, so far
as we are aware, has yet undertaken
to show — at least, from such literary
evidences of popular conviction as
best illustrate the subject. How any-
thing supernatural could shine or
blossom In a land of wars, robbers,
Indians, is an old doubt, notwithstand-
ing that revelarions have taken place
in countries which needed them less
than did the once idolatrous Aztecs.
Let us now endeavor to make clear
what the true nature of the miracle
of Guadalupe is; to exhibit its real
veneration by means of testimonies
borrowed from the worthiest Mexi-
cans ; and to prove that the faith of
Guadalupe is not shallow, but long
and well-established, widespread, and
sincere.
Here follows a brief history of the
renowned miracle of Tepcyac. In
1531, ten years after the conquest,
the pious and simple Indian, Juan
Diego, was on his way to the village
of Guadalupe, near the city of Mexi-
co» there to receive the instructions
of some reverend fathers. Suddenly,
at the hill of Tepeyac appeared to
him the Blessed Virgin, who com-
manded her amazed client to go forth-
with to the bishop, and make known
that she wished a church to be built
in her honor upon that spot. Next
day the Blessed Virgin returned to
hear the regret of Juan Diego that
he could not obtain the ear of the
bishop. " Go back," said the Holy
Lady, " and announce that I, Mary,
Mother of God, send thee." The
Indian again sought his bishop, who
this time required that he should
bring some token of the presence and
command of his patroness. On the
1 2th of December, Juan Diego again
saw Our I-ady, who ordered him
to climb to the top of the barren
rock of Tepcyac and there gather
roses for her. To his great astonish-
190
ay Of Uuadaiupe.
mrnt, he found the roses flourishiiiK
on ihc rock, and brought them to his
patroness, who threw ihem into his
lilma or apron, and said : " Go back
(o the bishop and ihow hira these
credentials." Again came the Indian
before the bishop, and, opening his
tilma to shotv the loscs, to ! there ap-
peared impressed upon it a mar\-el-
lous image of the Blessed Virgin.
The bishop was awestruck and over-
come. The miraculous occurrence
was made known and proved. Pro-
cessions and Masses celebrated it,
and its fame spread far and wide.
A large new cathedral was erected
on the hill of Guadalupe, and multi-
tudes from all imrts Hocked thither.
Specially notewonliy is the fact that
the new shrine to Our I,ady was
erected in the place where once the
Indians worshipped their goddess To-
tantzin, mother of oliier deities, and
protectress of fruits and fields. The
m.ir\'cllous picture was found im-
pressed upon the rudest cloth, that
of a poor Indian's apron, the last
upon which to attempt a painter's ar-
tifice — and hence the greater won-
der, the artistic testimony regarding
which is something fonnidablc and
womlcrful in iistlf.
What is known in Mexico as the
Day of Guadalujic is extraordinary
as a popular manifestntiou. On the
tath of December every year, fif-
teen oi- twenty thousand Indians con-
gregate in the village of that name
to celebrate the amiiversary of the
Marvellous A])parition. The whole
way to the famous suburb is crowil-
ed with cabs, riders, and pedcslrbns
of the poorest sort, a great number
of them barefooted. All day there is
an ever-moving multitude to and
from the vilLige, and, indeed, tlie
majority of the inhabitants of the city
of Mexico seem to be included in the
parties, families, and caravans of
strangely contrasted people that wend
their way to the Bhrines on the hil
The most numerous class of pilgrii
are Ihc saddest and the most wretch*
— we mean the ill-clad, iil-featurcf
simple, devoted Indians. On thei
the luxuries of the rich, the passior
of the fightere, the intrigues of polit^
cians, have borne with ruinous cflTe
Drudging men and women; hewc
of wood and drawers of water ;
breasted peasants, with faces dus
and dusty, the same who any daj
may be seen on Mexican roads cai
rying burdens of all sorts strapped
their backs ; children in plenty, ba
unkempt, untidy, and sometimes swa<
died about their mothers' shoulders;
numerous b.ibcs at the breast, hall
nude — these arc some of the featur
in a not overdrawn picture of the pri*
initive poverty which assembles
Guadalupe, and, in fact, in every
Mexican multitude whatsoever. Per-,
liaps nowhere outside of Mexico an^
(he race of Indians ran such a prol
1cm of multitudinous poverty be set
Its victims are those over %vhom th<
desert 'Slorms of wars and feuds inni:
merablc have passed, and, spite ol
all their wanderings as a race, th(
yet wear the guise and character of
tribes who are still trying to find tli
way out of a wilderness or a banci
waste. Let enthusiasts for self-wit
cd liberty say what they will, wacsl
of fifty years arc anything but con-
servative of happiness, cleanlint
good morals, and that true libcrtj
which should always accouipaii]
them. However fondly we dieris
our ideals of freedom, we must yet
bear In mind the wholesome, whole-
sale truth of history, that no actual
liberty is reached by the dagger and
guillotine, or by m.issacrc, or is
founded on bad blood or bad faith.
■JTiose who lately celebrated the exe-
cution of Louis XVI. and the intel-
lectual system of murder established
by Robespierre, and not totally tiis-
I
Our Lady of Guadalupe.
191
h3
approved by Mr. CaHylc, have good
reason to be cautious as to how they
oflcnd this menacing truth.
A cnthedral and four chapels are
the principal stnittuies of llic pictu-
resque hillside village of Guadalupe.
By a winding ascent among steep,
hcrbless rocks, tufted here and there
with the thorny green slabs of the cac-
tus, U reached at .some distance from
the cathetiral the highest of the clia-
pels, which contains the original im-
priiil of the figure of Our Lady.
Looking up to the chapel from the
crowd at tiic cathedral may be seen
a stsiking picture, not nnlitze what
Northern travellers have been taught
to fancy of the middle a^^cs, but the
dements of which arc still abundant
in the civilization nf I'iurope. It is
simply the curious crowd of pilgrims
going up and down the hill, to and
from the quaint old chapel, built per-
haps centuries ago. 'I'he scene from
the height itself is charming and im-
pressive, llie widespread valley of
Mexico— including lakes, woods, vil-
. lages. and a hch and substantial city,
ith towers and domes that take en-
chantment from distance — is all be-
fore iJie eye in one serene view of
landscape. In the village there is a
multitude like another Israel, sitting
in the dust or standing near the pul-
quenas, or moving about near the
church door. As Guadalupe is for
the most part composed of adobe
hou-ies, and as its mass of humble
visitors have litde finery to distin-
guish their bruwn personages from
ihc dust out of which man was origi-
nally created, the complexion of the
general scene which they constitute
can only be described as earth-like
and earth-wora. Elsewhere than in
a superficial glance at tlie poverty of
Guadalupe we must seek for the
meaning of its spectacle. Is this
swarming, dull-colored srene but an
aziiiuated 6ci.ioa ? No — it is the na-
tural seeking the supernatural. And
the supernatural — what is it? It is
redemption and immortality, our Ixird
and Our Lady, the angels and saints.
The cathedral is a b\iilding of pic-
turesque angles, but, cxccpi that it
is spacious, as so many of the Mexi-
can churches arc, makes no |)arttcu-
lar Ixiast of architecture. A copy
of the marvellous tilma, over the al-
tar, poetically represents Our Lady
in a blue cloak covered with stars,
and a rnbc said to be of crimson and
gold, her hands clasped, and her
foot on a crescent supported by a
cherub. This is the substance of a
description of it given by a traveller
who had better opportunities for see-
ing it closely than had the present
writer during the fiesta of Guadalu[>e
in 1S67. Whether the original picture is
rudeornot, from being impressed upon
a blanket, he has not personal know-
ledge, though aware that it has been
dcscribcfi as rude. Nevertheless, its
idea and design are beautiful and
tender. Ever)-where in Mexico it is
the favorite and, indeed, the most
lovely presenlnunt of Our Lady.
Like a compassionate angel of the
twilight, it looks out of many a
shrine, and, among all the images for
which the Mexican Church is noted,
none Is |>crhapa more essentially
ideal, and, in that point of view, r^rii/.
Where it appe.irs wrought in a sculp-
ture of 1686, by Francisco Alberto,
oil the side of San Aguslin's at the
capital, it is, though quaint, very ad-
mirable for its purity and gentleness.
Time respects it, and the birds have
built their nests near it. The various
chapels in and about the city dedi-
cated to Our Lady of Guadalupe
are recognized by the !it.-ir- man tied
figure. The Jiatbs of t!(C Penon,
the cathedral at the Plaza, tlie suburb
of Tacubay.i, have each their pictorial
witnesses of the faith of Guadalupe;
and to say that its manifestation
iga
Our Lady of Guadalupe.
abounds in Mexico is but to state a
(act of commonplace. Rich anc!
poor veucraie ihc tradriion of the
MarvellouJi Appearance, now for
three centuries celebrated, and always,
it seems, by multitudes.
What else is to be seen at Guada-
lupe besides its crowd and its aJtar
is not worthy of extended remark.
The organs of the cathedral arc high
and admirably carved; over the al-
tar's porphyry columns are cherubim
antl seraphim, all too dazrliiig with
paint and gold. Here, as in other
places of Spanish worship, the figures
of the crucifixion have been designed
Willi a painful realism. Outside of
the churth n party of Indians, dis-
playing gay feathers, danced in honor
of the fcxst, as their sires must have
done hundreds of years ago. Inside
it was densely crowded with visitors
or pilgrims, and far too uncomforta-
ble at times to make possible the
most accurate observation of its or-
naments. But it may be well to re-
peat that the church is divided into
three naves by eight columns, and is
about two hundred feet long, one
hundred and twenty feet broad, and
one hundred high. The total cost
of the building, and, we presume, its
allArs, is reckoned as high as $Soo,-
ooo. most of it, if not all^ contribut-
ed by alms. The altar at which is
placed the image of Our Lady is
said to have tost $381,000, its tabcr-
natlecont.iining 3,157 marks of silver,
and tiie ^old frame of the sacred pic-
ture 4.050 caiitcllaiios. The church's
omamcnls are calculated to be
worth more than $123,000. Two of
its candlesticks alone weighed 2,213
castcllanns in gold, end one lamp
750 marks of silver. To Cristobal
dc Agiiirre. who, in 1660, built a her-
mitage on the summit of Tepeyac,
wc owe the foundation of the cha-
pel tlicre. It was not, however, un-
til 1747 that Our Lady of Guadalupe
was formally declared the patronc
of the whole of Mexico.
Of the many celebrations of Me)
ico, none are altogether as signifi-
cant as that of Guadalupe. It haaj
become naltunal, and, in a eenaiftj
sense, religiously patriotic. Maxtmi-j
lian and Carlota, the writer was in-j
formed, washed the feet of the poc
near the altar of Our Lady, accord-]
ing to a well-known religious custonLj
The best men and women of MexicOi
have venerated the Marvellous Ap^j
pctuancc — whicli, however amusing
it may be to those who are scarcelj
as radical in their belief in nature
conservative in their views of thi
supernatural, is but a cireumstancd
to the older traditions which havoi]
entered into tlte mind of poetry an(
filled the heart of worship. \Vhi
of the wonderful happenings to ll
great fadicrs of the church and tl
mcdixval saints, all worshippers of]
unquestionable sublimalion ? Saj
what you please, doubt as you ma)
saints, angels, miracles, abide, ar
form the vtTy testament of belie
There is not a Catholic in the woi
who does not believe in mirat
whose faith is not to unbelievers
standing miracle of belief in a mira-]
cle the most prodigious, the mc
portentous; and yet to him it hi
only become natural to believe ift^
the supernatural. The Mexicans ve-
ncrate what three centuries and un-
counted millions have aftirmcd, whence
it appears th.il their veneration is
not a conceit or humbug, but at root
a faith. How can this be more clear-
ly illustrated than by quoting the
following very interesting poem of
Manuel Carpio, Mexico's favorite, if
not best modem pocL :
TMK VIROI.V OF CUAUALtlPS.
lie brav(ht them (o » daili uid uoubloui
And MatM lauchvcj th« Rcd Sc« mith ft rod.
Ami itie wirei partd, allet\az them ft pxth.
lib [icaple [lancd, but In the aliyxs iFinatiwil
EC^tf-jiUan botw atiil tlaler whu piirtuecU
M«ri;b»il on in« fla^.W «l Jacott. agil the Lord
Sprcait nrct th^m his all-prntecimx win^fi,
A* lli« tunc «a|)e shlnliti hci unflctlged jrouBE-
HoicftvetbeD lft(ul(,aG<J vii^atlet. and tpolU—
GIjmJ nailMi '. wbleh the Mailer nf the brareni
Lov«d as (he rcr)' ftppl< a' hii eye.
Uul now thin people, iceing IlicmaelYea Measeil
Bf bin «boM alighicat |lanc« tbcy not <lc-
Mtrcd,
Erectrd iicrishnbic Imaitct.
In Iminat!*! uiilo ittuixe ftntl pagan gOfl%
Th4 L^kJ it in<llirntiioacaid; "Ther wished
To make their Maker ^aliiq^ with vain itadii,
Howini: in iJiiAt the uj:rilc{-iuua kiMe
B«<ofc tht ilumO crcntlon of their hatidi.
Well. I will Minx their hearts with JealoBsr,
ShoMlBK myMll to ail unha|^y laniiu
WaLjuI tiiii'lorins '••^1 or tayMtTy."
II I hL« «a1emn word fullitlcfl.
( <rn the (aithc-vt enJiaf earth
Iv^;.,,.., „ — AiUaamli-Uiliicd—
TUc ifiul. !bc Scaniltnailan. Komn, GiMk.
And the nejc'ecied nice ■:( Meiiro,
Whom Ihc Almigliir Sovereign loved to well
The holjr tfuih he (TotiM rereal to them—
So that the bard bearlt of hit people tbonld
Be »<>flcncd. Vet bt> motL-y vraa not fuU:
I3ti*tn frum the diamutid bur ens be bade de-
scend
The V(rE<D, who with muthei's sorrowing core
Kurscd hin in Betltlehem wlten tte was a
^H cbUd.
^^^Blaftr to ttw tretBuloa* Teccoco take
^^^Klies a b«r< sad soLltAry bill,
^^^K'hete ncrrr crprtsit tall nnr cedar grows,
^^■^ bv«»
^^^Vba waste of hesMett toclcs and tterlte sand—
^^^E b«fien enunlry 'tta,dry, dusty, uil,
^^^n'here the rile wean suucc drags its leaglh
^^"^ aloof.
jfere U the place where Holy Maty conics
^ wn tmm her home atiOTc the aiure heareea
show herself (a laan, who, cnmfonleu,
' - --•;-■' fimn ttoufale* sure.
■> Uiat a ftiKT^nt plant
I lioms unteen, unknown.
igh tiri^tit its virginal budsaud rare its
fluwcts ;
I the modest diugbter of the Lord
I the moan, the plinel*, and the stats
■It adoiR hci furchcad and her fi-ct,
• ■-- •'■- poor Indian hcT gTace
■ ' In alt hl» kind.
Mulcts and ibe d«r.-,
and anlntftli,
'■•jmillty,
J, in Itk future need,
be Ar>£tl >>l AiMetiea fosnruM
tvdiaiti Akcbi. With snteful tar be
beard.
Twlo* dhl b« wotuletinc kned, utd twice
tffVlO
' H« kiued the white Icet of tHc boly mabl,
flat did not end God'ji pfoTJdence bentiTB -.
Tbc Alnighiv wished to leave to Mcjocaiu
Ilia Mother't likeness by his own great hand ,
In token of the love he had for u*.
lie took the t>«acll. saylD«: " We will make
In heftTen'i own Intare, as we mnuldcd man.
Kut what was .\ilam to my bcauteuusoae?"
So saying, drew be with sctencst fac-e
The gentle llkcncw of the Moihcr-maiJ,
lie saw the Image, and prun<Tu:iced II good-
Slmre then, sritb the endrdlng love of beavro,
A son she sees In every Mexican.
Mildly (be wandering ia(.«nM aba receives,
Attcndiux to his vow with human face ;
For her ihe teeming vspfirs yield their rain
To tbe green valley and the muMnUiu side.
Where Itcnd and wave the abundant hairest
Galds.
And the green herbs thai feed the laay kine.
She makes the putilying breetet pftM,
And on the restless and unsounded seas
She Mills the ligor of the hurricaoc.
The frighted pcujile see Ihe appruaiJi of deelh
When the brtMd earth Upon Its axis shake*.
But the wild eletncnls are piil to aleep
With but a smile fiiim her mild ccitintcnancc.
And she Itas moved the adamautinc heart
Of avarice, who saw dccrtpil sgc
Creep like an iutsrt on Itic duMv eailh.
To ope bis duie-abut liand, and tilcsi the poor.
She laaketh humbly kneel and h>n tbe ground
No tea the wtoe tlun simple. She i*ie great.
Dented hy their own glory, doth advise
7'bat soon their gaudy jMf eant shall l>e o'er.
And heaven's oblivion shall duwivc Ihclr
fame.
How oden has the llmld, trembling maid
IT pun the verge otf ruin Mmgbt thy help,
Shdtting her uyes to jileuute and to gold
At thought of thee, O Maideu pure and meek \
Centuries and ages will have vanivhed hy,
Within their currents beating kings and tnea ;
Great nioiiument!i shktl ixll ; tbe pytunlda
Of lonely Rgvpl innuldrr in ilecty ;
But lime shall never j'Ucc kis fatal hand
Upon tbc image of the lluly Maid.
N'of OB the [lioua lore of UesJco.
Manuel Carpio, who wrote (his,
his first ptK'tic composition, in 1831,
when forty years of age, w.-is a scho-
lar and profes.sor, and in 1834 a con-
gressman, lie made the Bible, we
are told, his favorite study ; and ccr-
Liinly it supphcd him with the themes
for his bcsi poems. But he was not
tbc only poet of Mexico who bore
earnest witness to the faith of which
we speak. I'adre Manuel Sartorio.
who wrote about the time of Itui-
bidc, deprecates the idea of prefer-
ring a capricious doubt respect-
ing '* la Virgcn dc tJuadalupe " to
a cou:itant belief founded in tradi-
tion. In the following lines the
'94
Our Lady ef Guadalupe.
nature of his own belief is iully at-
tested :
" Of Gtiftd>lup«, [hu EUr Imv a piclurwl
UdIo the veiverAiins eye al Hulco ;
Willi fturs aoit light adomcd, th« figure pftiot-
Of % Bovt nmlest Maiden, full or Knee ;
What tnMga Is II ? Copy 'lis dlrine
or Ufi MoUier of God.
And whalusutTtmcUikf f Mf teiid«i IhouRht.
Who Ihe d«i|[n cooceireilf TIte botlcu love.
Who ttcn poruaycd It? Tbe eternal God."
In Other lines on the same subject,
lorio speaks of the Lady of Gua-
'dalupc as " the purest rose of Uic ce-
lestial 6cld," aiid pays special re-
spect to her image in the Portal of
Flowers, of which there is a tradition,
not vulgar, of having spoken (hay
tradicion no vulgar de haber habla-
do) to the \'cncrablc Padre 2Capa, in
order to instruct the Indians, as re-
lates Cabrera, " Escudo dc Armas de
Mexico, numero 923." Who this
Cabrera may be we arc not aware,
and caiinot affirm that he is identical
with the great painter Cabrera, whose
belief in Our Lady of Guadalupe was
so distinct and positive.
One other poet of Mexico we shall
summon to give testimony. It is
Kray Manuel Navarrctc, who wrote
a scries of poems, well-known to his
counirymcn, called *' Sad Moments."
He was also the author of a number
of tributes to the fame of Carlos IV.
and Ferdinand VJL, and seems to
have possessed more influence, if not
more merit as a )x>et, than Padre Sar-
torio. From a posthumous volume,
bearing date of 1823, we take the fol-
lowing lines, the allusions of which
suflicicntly explain at what time they
were written:
TO TUB MOST HOLY VTRGIN UNDER
THE INVOCATION or GUADALUPE.
From her denial paUc«, fron lb* hoiVCM.
Onr riay HrMieoiltil (n Ametics,
When in Ha <*«rU aflilcttan. Ih« treat Mary,
ItftMtiioM-i lu matcnully cooiinla.
Bahiuld in Te|>ryac bow walchfutly
SIM nniKniM Um d«al(na ol barMy,
How ate ciUnxuiabes tbe fiie llul Sana
From the I»t Freoth nn'.'t liie ln<li«.ii auUI
What matltr. then, Ifprnuii Napotron,
With III! iufetnal h<nl» Ihe wnttil ■(ipaUinif,
Scetut to poaietl tbe land i>r Meatco \
To ■nD*, coiinirpncn : war. war 1
Far (be aai.*Tcil pallaiUnm of Guadalupe
IVotccta our oaiirc Uod.
Tba deity of peace hate palalrra skilled
Portrayed miiIi bounleouaErace anJ el«caiiM^
ruadcig a virgin wbo vrltb Ur wbtu hand!
An offerini; o( lender blo^tomf bore.
Tliui wefE Ibcir pcncili' tinvM CirellencTY
A prointM and Iuie»liaiIu»iiiE ul thi«,
Tbe imaf e <A Our Lady. wbJcb hi beavea
Received Its coiorm. Thin behekt li he.
The lortunale Indian, at Tcpeyac,
That bare and dcKlatc hUl, a miracle.
That tinia day has been pcrp«luate.
Now while the wotlii'K altlacu with livclr war.
Seems that aSrlghied peace Itaa Uken celof e
Within the hai[>py hDUMh<>l'h of our land.
How sadly, how oddly, sounds in
modem ears this felicitation of a poet
that peace, which has left the greater
part of the world, has taken refuge in
Mexico I Evidently our Fray Nav-
arrete did not foresee the results of
the war begun by the clerical revo-
lutionist Hidalgo. But whalerer
may have been the political bias of
this religious writer, he retains the eft-
teem of his countrymen as one of
fathers of their fragmentary literal
Our last witness is Miguel Cab
ra, the great Mexican painter, wK
merits have with reason been co
[)ared by an Italian traveller,
Count Beltrami, to those of Correggio
and Murillo. Altogettier, as carver,
architect, and painter, the New World
has not produced the equal in art
this extraordinary man, who wrou
almost without masters or mod
without emulation or fitting aid a
recompense, and whose worth
yet to be made well known to
continent which he honored,
our ubJL-ct now is to lend the wclg!
of this preface to the following sta
ment of the Mexican writer, Senor
Orozco y Bcrra ; ■
*' Cibtera wroic n shon (rcitlu dedi-
cated to his proicdor Sr. Salinas [Aich-
bishop of Mexico] with the title of Tkt
4
Statistics of Protestantism in flu United States.
>95
AmeritaH Man^ri, and Ct>nJHnt6oH ef H«rt
Marvfh, ohierotd u-t'M the Uiridu^i &f (he
Jtulej <>/ lAt A tl of Painting, in th*- .l/inr.'M-
lous Image \prodigioia iiria^eti] ef Our Lady
Iff Guodalufi* n/ Mexicfi. I( is a small
book in tjuarto, prinlcd in iys<t by the
press of the colleae of San Ddcfonso,
and conuiaiag thirty pa^es, with dcrdt-
coilon, approbaiioDS, and license nt the
begioding, and Ihc opinions of various
painters at (he end. The reason giren
for ibis writing was the iOTitalion made
by the abbot and council of the college
lo ihc b«5t known pniniets of Mexico, in
order that, after examining the painting
on cloth of Out Lady of Guadalupe, they
might declare if it could be ilic woik
of human hands. Cabrera was one of
those who joined in theexaminaiion.and
in his book he undcriukcs lo show that
Ml* I-'irfin tj Hot paiHieJ in a manner arii'
Jidal and human.
STATISTICS OF PROTESTANTISM IN THE UNITED STATES.
Under llie tenij FrolesUinHsm^ it is
intended to comprise all persons
of any religious sect, denomination,
or church in this country, except Ca-
tholics, Jews, and Chinese. So nu-
merous arc the divisiou.s and subdi-
visions that our limits will i>ennit i:s
to present only the name of each,
mth perhaps a word as lo its distinc-
tive features, its numbers at diiferenl
periods, and its average annual in-
crease for a given period. The giv-
en period thus selected is the twenty-
five years and upward preceding
the year 1868; because the statistics
of all the denominations which are
accessible, are at present more com-
plete up to that date than they have
yet become up to any subsequent
year, or even up to llie present date.
The statistics arc taken entirely from
Protestant sources, and chiefly from
official documents published by the
respective denoruinaiions. live final
results are then brought together, and
compared with the results presented
by the Federal census of the popula-
tion at different periods.
I. The name "Lutheran" was
given to the first Prote-stant denomi-
nation, in order to designate the fol-
lowers of Maiiii) Luther. A part
of the members of the denomination
in this country have recently chang-
ed their name to " Evangelical Lu-
theran Church."
The statistics, chiefly official, of the
denomiaaiioa for a series of years
have been as follows :
Uloistera. Ckurctiet. Mewbsn.
183}. 17$ 90a 4^000
■9lS i\m 1,000 6».ogo
•«4l *•« «JT< MI.40*
■841 *M la?) i^iTM
iSjo 66j t,6o4 (6j,oeo
tSn t,i34 *^i7 30],ti6l
>Bda 1,419 ig67f oli/ao
'8*3.. t,4i8 «,S33 «*q.98s
"■'l .'.1*3 •.?*» M!.7»3
1W5 i,t*} 9j$d 3i*.4)S
>3M. t.&44 a^iS S'JifltS
'8«T. I.7S* J.'" J3».IJJ
>868 1,79* 3,181 330,088
1869. 1.016 3.359 ]7^S^
1B70 l.ilt 3,517 »>.;«■
The average annual increaseduring
a scries of years {ending always with
1867) has been as follows :
MInlMcn. Churches. Mnnbeis.
In 4* ycEm iS 50 ^f,^ •
In iS " 51 47 7,>Ba
III a " 77 )i( tt^t
s. The German Reformed deno-
mination made its appearance, soon
.-vfter the Lutheran, in the German
part of Switzerland, and sprang out
of a dispute between Ulrich ZwingU
and Martin Luther concerning the
import of the words, " This is my
body," " This is my blood."
196
Stafis/ks of Protestantism in the United Statei,
The foltowing table shows their
growth in this counlry since 1820:
MUtUun. CliuichM. Meinbera.
iSaOu, ...,.4B 3)4 i4'4«>
«<>»• -M IW i7.'fc»
■140. U] 41a i7.7«a
<»*■ *3« 7W sa.r9a
iHou jgi IMS 9>.684
iM*..... aai I, in loo^i
•**«• 4*0 •-•l* lOT.sM
mM 47J t,i6a tog,>jS
»iiAr>. ...... ....491 T.ijt tio.foa
IHL SB] I, ill tij.fSj
••*•• J»» — t»T,9"
The average annual increase du-
ring a scries of years has been as fol-
lows :
U iRtfltera. CliurchDs. Members.
Iii47}-*an. 9 %A »^j
In ? " M ij ".Sja
3. The " United Brethren in Christ "
are the fruits of a " reformation " in
the German Reformed denomina-
tion — a sort of Method! St ical ofT-
slioot. The statements of their num-
bers arc as follows :
^ MlnbUra. SOt:l«Un. Mewbcra.
i8u.... jQo 1,800 £},oao
i96i. rio i,>07 91.IT0
»!*T *ll 3.MS <AM-i
■IW. ...H4 3,66] loS.in
The average annua) increase du-
ring twenty-five years has been as
follows :
M i niMcrs. Soc Ictlca. Memben.
In«i]reuv ...t% t6 ijij
4. The " Moravians," or United
Brethren, are a dislincl denomination
from the preceding; one. As known
in tliis country, they descended from a
colony of dissenters, who were first
gathered on his estate in Upper Alsa-
tia, in 1772, by Count Zinzendorf.
Their numbers have been stated
as follows :
Mlotelen.
,....■♦
Membcn.
6.000
lUt. - «.7«
Their annual average increa.'ic of
communicants has been in twenty-
five years 26.
5. The " Dutch Reformed Church."
as it was known until 1867. when tlic
name was changed to " Reformed
Church in America," is a descenilai
of the Dutch Reformed Church
Holland.
The following table shows tl
growth of this denomination sim
1 820:
Hloiitert. Churcbct. Mmt
iS*&. 71 t-Ji q.«>i '
'•}* ...lj« fTT «S.J7«
iSfo mjn «tS *J>7<*,
'*»* »9J a»» 3J«B1
»4*o. J«7 37* Sfi-f?
»«» 4"^ 4»9 —
"•Cj 446 4U 5J-o*7
l**S 4)0 4»T W.9S<
•>** 447 411 SS.V7
"•^ 4*» 4*4 3J.M
1M6 4A4 — ».J0i
>8«9 491 4A4 et.M4
The average annual increase
the dcnominnlion at different pcrio
has been as follows :
la*? ye* ....... IX
In 7 " i»
Cliurehn. Memb<
■o i(06o
6. The Mennoniies derive their
name from Menno Simon, born
Kricsland a.d. 1495. He was co
temporary with Luther, Bucer, at
Bullinger. lleobtained a greatnut
ber of followers. In 1683, the fi
01 tliem came over to this coun
others soon followed.
Their number has been estim
ed as follows :
1
iRfo..
i8fr>..
■84;..
MlrvlKers,
»J5
.»6a
Cburchev
■Co
3"
Menben.
39,000
39.«»
5 has I
10 the 1
The average annual increase m
members in twenty-four years has
been 3S0.
7. The Reformed Mennonilc
ty was first organized in iSi i.
members ascribe their origin to
corruptions of the Mcnnonites. The
reform extended into several coon*
ties of Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New
York, but their doctrines are regarded
as loo rigid for general acceptance
In 1S60, their numbers were
mated at about 11,000.
Ilic average annual increase
been about aoo.
Statistics of Protestantism in the United States.
J97
8. The denomination known a5
the " German Lvongelical Associa-
lion" first appeared in one of the
Middle States, about the year iSoo.
This tienominaiion is now regarded
as German Methodists, and thdr
numbers have been as follon's :
UlniMcn. Memben.
... .. ^ 4^1003
....SW 4T.]U
<I» 5*.wt
U
!&:;:::::::;::::
>»^
The average annual increase of the
denomination in twenty-four years
has been 1,791.
9. The " Chrisdans," or " Christian
Conneclioii," profess not to owe their
origin tu the labors of any one man,
hke ihc other Protcstjnt sects. They
rose almost simultaneously in dilTer-
enl and remote [>arts of this country,
without knowledge of each other's
movements.
The new organizations of this de-
nomination held their twenty-third
annual convention in June, i368.
The nunibcr of organizations was
one hunilred and sixty.
The numbers of the denomination
have been stated as follows:
Mloiotcri. Churclid. >fetnl>crs.
lBa4. . ..».voi> i.^uo 3*!/»<»
■IM. jjooo s.^^ sn>,oco
The average annual increase of
members has been as follows:
V
la >i yetrs. ... 7>SM ncuben.
The " Church of God," as it exists
by that name in the United States,
is a religious community, who profess
to have come out from all human
and unscriptural organixations, and
to have fallen back upon original
grounds, and who wish, therefore, to
be known and called by no other
distinctive name.
This denomination exists in Ohio
and Pennsylvania and the Western
States, and their numbers have been
stated as follows ;
HhtUan. CkurdMi. Mcnbei^
8) iij ia«ett
....»«» nS t«.MW
— 1*« Jl.«0»
The average annual increase has
been as follows ;
Cbuichn. M en ben.
« gfa
11. The denominations thus far
noticed are chiefly of German origin.
'ITie next class contains those of Scot-
tish origin. Among these the Pres-
byterian holds the first place in age
and numbers. The first organiza-
tion here was made in 1706, and
known as the Presbytery of Phila-
delphia. Their first synod was con-
vened September 17, 171S.
*J"hc fint General .\ssembly met in
1789, and a more efficient and exten-
sive development ensued. In iSio,
a division arose, and the fumiation
of the *' CumbeduDd Presbrtcnan **
organization. But the niMt exten-
sive division took place in 1S38, by
which a body wai organized and
known as the "New School," while
those who rema'med were designated
as " Old School " Presbyterians. Ihe
split thus made has continued for
thirty years, but is now ostensibly re-
moved by measures of reunion.
The statistics of the " Old School"
Presbyterians for the year 1863 first
show the effect of the separation of
tlie Southern portion during the war.
I'he report of numbers has been as
follows ;
UlBhten. CliurcHM. Menbett.
»8*1 '.*» •*«* >39>'»
tS^D- t.Ho s.ju )oai,l]a
tVr>.. - •.5»j M*; vr^Ay*
l«» ■•7*7 s.«4 v>At%
tMj. »«>J ".Mt >n.JfS
■ Hs >,aai *int >}a<tsa
\%bb ■.991 •.(gt 3jq.}a6
tM7 >.)0* '.Am it6j]o
"Kl.., ■,]!• »,7jr »1».5SJ
1B64 s.}tl >,7«» ■$Mo)
•»87» I^M — 446.561
The statistics of the Southern divi-
sion arc given as follows ;
• OU >nd New School ynllML
198
Statistics of Protestantism in the United S/atfS.
ifTCk.
MemberK.
B).oi4
The average annual increase of
llic denomination previous to the di-
vision caused by opjusitc views on
political questions was as foltows:
MInbten. Chuirlie*. MemtMn.
In iSyMra 74 K4 J.S74
The average annual increase of
the whole dcnoiiiinatiuii (North and
South) to 1S68 has been as follun's :
in as ytu% to
Cburcbcft.
Mem ban.
12. The division of the Presbyte-
rian Church was entirely consummat-
ed in 1840, by the meeting of a Ge-
Deral Assembly representing the sece-
deis, or " New School."
Subsequently, the loss of the South-
cm churches by the '* Old School "
denomination, and the increase of the
anti-slavery sentiment in the North-
em portion, suggested a reunion with
the " New School " soon alter the
outbreak of the recent war. At
length, in 1868, one General Assem-
bly met in Albany, wljilc the other
was in session in Harrisburg, Pa. A
plan of union was mutually prepared,
which, on being approved by the local
presbyteries, went into effect in 1870.
The statistics of the " New School "
Presbyterians have been as follon-s :
life...
iSdi...
iifa,..
Uinlucrs.
,-. 1.171
,. i.jf?
.....Ul
"•".SSS
...iAm
■•■MJ*
...(.tea
,..,iM
Ch arc lies.
MM
•.4»9
Mrtnb«n,
l4lAtS
■ )i>,40l
■<S".SJ8
The average annual increase in
twenty-eight years has been as fol-
lows :
U itdctns. Cbnrches. Members.
Ittt^JTMn. •* to «,>frT
13. Tlie "General Synod of the
Refonncd Prcsbylchan Church" is
1
the title of a denomination which
claims to be a direct descendant of
the ** Reformed Presbyterian Church"
of Scotland.
The statements of the numben of
this denomination have been aa fol-
lows:
Mloitten. ChurchM, M«Bb*n.
M 44 44DB
J»
S«
iSCii.
tte6.
■S67.
IKI.
ttjo.
M
«t
«■
Mit
•dW !
ie«> in I
The average annual increase 10
twenty-five years has been as fol-
lows:
Chufclm. HenbefA'
» «SJ
Utabun.
Ill*5 J^Bfl. iJi
14. The*'Synod of Reformed Pre
byterians " was formed by ccriat
persons who separated from the Rl
formed Presbyterians (General SynodV
princip.-illy on the ground thot ihey
were of opinion that the constitution
and government of the United States
are essentially inAdel and immoraL
llie separation took place in 1853.
The few statements relative to iht
numbers of this denomination have
been as follows :
Miniilart.
it6i.
1866.
.bo
OuirdiM.
HflBbrai
The average annual decrease dur-
i]ig the last half-dozen years has
been 108.
15. Another division is the "Ano-
ciate Presbyterian Church." This is
located chiefly in the Middle and
^Vcstem States. The members of
the denomination claim to be a
brancli of the Church of Scotland.
In 1858, the Associate Refomied
and tlic Associate churches reunited
under the name of " United Presby-
terian Church in North America,"
The statistics of the Associate
Presbyterian denomination after 1859
are merged in those of the United
Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 199
Pn:sb)-terians, and have been as fol-
Mlnbtcn. CtiuKhc*. Mcinbcn.
I«A
»t«
444
M,
!TJ«7
4J"
M)
M.TS»
$>J
<o«
57^1
vh
*59
JS^S
sn
6«6
sM*>
u^
7»7
A3.4»9
S4»
T3S
6i.6»»
•fs
7»«
6sjS«4
S5J
719
66^5
tThc average annual increase of
! denomination during the six years
subsequent to the union, ending in
S67, has been as follows :
MtnlMcrv
|6TM7S «♦
Memhcrx
t.aoo
j»Tbe statistics of the " Associate
lod of North America " above-
ittoned have been as follows:
Minlslcrt. Mcmbcrv.
49 ».«.V>
M f7«
1 6. Another order of Presbyterians
this country is known as tlie " As-
iaie Reformed Church." Since
32, the denomination has existed
three independent divisions, the
brthcm, the Western, aJtd the South-
Thcsc diusions are (|uiie stn;Lll
numbers, and their growth has
n insignificant They have been
ted as follows :
'Hie Associate Reformed Synod of
New York in 1843 had 3+ ministers
, and 43 congregations. In 1867, it
had t6 ministers and 1,631 members.
The Associate Reformed Synod of
the South in 1843 had 15 ministers
' and 40 congregations ; and in 1S67,
^^■limatcd at 1.500 members.
^^vThe Associate Synod of North
^^Mnerica in 1S67 had 11 ministers
^^Bd 778 members.
^^KTlie Free Presbyterian Synod, con-
^^bting, in 1861, of 41 ministers and
4,000 members, had previously sepa-
rated from the New School Presby-
terian denomination, but was reunit-
ed and absorbed after the outbreak
the recent war.
17. The Independent l*resliyterian
Church in South and North Carolina
consisted, in 1861, of 4 ministers and
about 1,000 members.
18. Another denomination of Pres-
byterians remains to be noticed. It
is called the '* Cumberland Presby-
terians " and first appeared in Ken-
tucky intheycar 1800. In rS29,there
were four synods and the first Gene-
ral Assembly of the denomination
was held. During the recent war
the Southern churches were not re-
ported in the Assembly, and there are
no complete statistics uf that period.
The numbers of the denomination
have been stated as follows :
Synodi. Prcsbf. Mtn. C4M)r«nloM.
Cliu relies.
i.iSS
Mi:nib«ra.
84.3 «4
esttnuled ino.ooa
i8;a... 1,116 — 8r-7a7
The average annual increase in
55 years, irom 1S12 to 1S67, has been
1,819.
19. Another large class of deno-
minations is known by the name of
" Baptists." They are divided in-
to ten separate sects : Baptists; Free-
will Baplibls ; Seventh- Day Baptists ;
German Baptists or Brethren; Ger-
man Seventh-Day Baptists ; Free
Communion liaptists ; Ohl School
Baptists; Six-Principle Baptists ; Riv-
er Brethren; Disciples of Christ, or
Camp bell ites.
An estimate of the numbers of the
regular Baptists at different periods,
made hy themselves, presents the
following results :
MinUicn. Churclm. Connnalcuils.
lUt...
. . ,6^000
9,00a
790,000
'■m- - -
.,,;.!(»
ii,6otf
Vt%fiea
B H
B ,
flM^OOD
HSj...
...7*S»
'•*S«
II*?...
...7.«7
**,T>*
>.OKN>>3
iKft..
—
t».«75
•/>«.**»
■ >6a ..
...*.yfi
»»-»SJ
1.041 %eA
.»69..
■ i.flfl*
■■.oil
l.ui.ijSS
1B70...
..».7»T
—
l.)lia«9
200 Statistics of Protestantism in the United States,
The average annual increase of
the denomination during twenty-five
years has l>een as follows :
MtnUtcrs, Ctiurcbes. M«Dibera.
la ■] yttui. 94 ijt •).T96
ao. The " Free-«ill Baptist Connec-
tion " made its first organized ap-
pearance in this counlT)' in 1780. In
r8»7, a General Conference was orga-
nized 10 represent the whole connec-
tion. The statfinenis of their num-
Iiers have been as follows :
MlnlHfrrs. Cburchc*. Commnnlaiiits.
tii» M
iSjo \fA%
i>» W7
itb -
»««» »."«
»•«! -
l«6 1^3
■Wr ■■• ittoo
itM r,i«i
iMg i.i4>
1.170
t^4
J6,0oo
S«.7«3
6i.«44
The average annual increase of
the denomination during the last
twenty-five years has been as follows :
Miaitlen. Chuttlin. Menbcii.
Inajyesn......! 4 »m
21. The "Seventh-Day Baptists"
arc so-called because they differ from
all other Protestant denominations in
their views of Ujc Sabbath, lliey
have gradually sjircad in the Eastern,
the Central, and some Northwestern
and Southern St.nes.
Little is known of their numbers,
but they have been stated as follows :
Mtabtan. Cliurciicft. CocnmuaiiranU.
■Bse.
iMj.
t»j.
tlH.
iMr.
«
•rt
•n
y
!•
w
7S
6 uoo
r.»»9
The annual average increase of
the denomination has been as fol-
lows:
MbtlMen. Cburchei. Membvn-
litis rota •« \ 4»
33. There is a denomination of
German R.iplists which has assumed
for itself the name of " Brethren,"
but they are commonly called " Duzi;
kcrs " or " Tunkcrs " to distinj
them fi-om the Mcnnonists. *H
have also been called '*'I'umblers"
from the manner in which they per-
form ba])tism, which is by putting the
person head forward under water
(while kneeling), so as to resemble
the motion of the body in (he act
of tumbling.
In 1843, their larger congregations!
contained from two to three hundred 1
members ; but little was then known
among themselves of their numbers.
l"hcir subsequent statistics Ijivc been
as folloi^'s :
Min<Bt«rs. Churches. Mcmbcn^^
■■w ., ..t)a iGo B.7fo
iB6a — — S.Ma
iS6>. lee >M M,MB
ito6 15a >oo »ajaou
ilft7 — — aoioaii
A membership of 3o,ooo has been
stated for this denomination duringi
the last half-dozen years without iivtj
crease or diminution.
33. The "German Scvenlh-Dayl
Baptists " first made their appear]
ance in (lerraany in 1694.
these, after their organization in th(
United Stales, sprang the Sevent
Day bmnch. Tlieir numbers in
were estimated at:
iSfe.
MiolMtn.
«»7
24. A society designated as" Kree*
Communion Baptists " arose in 1858
in McDonough Co., IlUnois, and or-
ganiixrd a quarterly meeting confer*
ence. At the quarterly meeting in
tS^t), one preacher, four licentiates,
a few small churches, ami 104 mem-
bers were reported.
25. The " Old School," or Anli^
mission, Baptists were formerly a por-
tion of the regular Baptists, above-
mentioned. They arc opposed to
the academical or theological educa-
tion of their ministers, and to Bible,
missionary, and all other voluntary
societies of like nature.
Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 201
Their number* have been statcU as
allows :
MlnbictS; Ckurchss, H«fnben.
475 ».T*» *»■«"
— ^ injaon
|)» t^lDO Aa,«Do
— — *3tO»
— ^ 6o,oM
— ttloo lo;,aco
The average annual increase of this
denomination during seven years by
1C5C Statements has been 6,143.
25. 'rhedenomination called *' Six-
rinciplc IJaptists " originated in
Ihode Island as early as 1665. They
distinguished from other Bapdsts
>y deducing their peculiarities from
le first three verses of the sixth clrnp-
Bf of lichrews.
Their niimliers have been cstimal-
OS follows :
3iln[«t«n. ChwrclHs. Mcmbcn.
.i9 »8 1.000
Recent statements put their ninn-
:re about the same, and there pro-
ibly has been no important increase.
27. The " River IJrethrcn " is an
irgnnization in ronnsylvania and
other states, so-called to distinguish
them tmm the German Baptists or
Brethren above-mentioned.
llicir meetings are generally held
in dwelling-houses, or bams fitted
up with seats; in other respects, they
are similar to the German Brethren.
Tlicir numbers have been stated xs
Allows :
MlulAcn. Cburcbn. Uembcn.
8j Bo 7,oo»
More recent statements make no
important alteration in these num-
bers.
2& The " Disciples of Christ," or,
as the denomination is often called,
" BaplisLs" " Reformed Baptists,"
"Reformers," ** Campbellites," etc.,
originated in ihe cariy part of the
present century. The first advocates
were Thomas and Alexander Camp-
bell in Pennsylvania.
The slatements of their numbers
have been as follows :
MuHlerh. Churchn, Mnnticra.
- - . — — 309.000
...i^Spa idoo ioo,noa
. .. — — 300,000
The average annual increase, ac>
cording to these statements, has been
in twcnty-onc years, in members,
4,762.
29. The first appearance of the
Puritans, since known as " Congre-
gationalists," was in the early part
of Queen Elizabeth's reign. The
first church forme<l upon C'ongrega-
tton.M principles was thai establishetl
by Robert Browne in 1 583. The de-
nomination is the largest in New Kng-
land, and exists in small bodies in a
numlwr of the states.
Their numbers are stated to be as
follows :
Hlnluen. CbutcHn. Members.
■ •4'*
»74'-
iSyi
1858
Il6l
iKi
(Ml
1M4
1863
jSM
"867 •.9JI
leea —
TB6g —
..U4
U7.t<«6
»*'.474
*S].*oo
•6a.oi{
•91^74
The average annual increase of
this denomination during the last
iwenty-five years has been as fol-
lows :
M inlucn. Chti re hn. U tmbm.
InvjyMis n 61 4.73*
30. The denomination of " Unita-
rians " arose in this country from a
division of opinion among Congrc-
gationalists on the divinity of Christ.
'ITicir st-iiisiics contain no rc[)Ort of
the membership. All who arc re-
spectable and ordcriy meml>crs of the
society are admitted to the sacra,
menls if they desire to be.
'Hieir numbers for a series of years
have been estimated at 30,000.
ii
Stalistics of Protestantism in tht United States.
a«c>..
■Sjo.-
1U4..
1I67..
MuUiien. Societici. M«nben.
jng the last nine years has bccii as
follows :
.apt
■ M
■M3
.).6
-370
ate
300
TR,aat
Minislen. Cliurchc^
Kcmbera.
The average annual increase has
been estimated for a scries of forty
or more years at about one per ccnt.»
or 300.
31. The denomination of ** Unt-
vcrsalista " first made its appearance
in England about 1750. In Glou-
cester, Massachusetts, the first Uni-
versalist society was formed in 1779.
No statistics of the denorainaiion
contain the " inctnbcn>hip " like those
of other denominations, as to believe
is to Iiccome a member. The active
members have been estimated in
1850 at 60,000, although the popu-
lation among which Univcrsalism
exists to ihc exchision of other deno-
uinations may be ten times greater.
33. Another large dass of deno-
minations is embraced under the ge-
neral term ■' Methodism.*' The first
denomination, out of which all the
others have sprung, was an ofishoot
of the Church of Kngland, knowa
ill this counirj' as the Protestant Kpb-
copal Churdi.
The statistics of the dcnominattoa
have been as follows :
Prcselien,
!«««..
Ulnlnen. Sodctiits. Member*.
Iter..
•6«6
.yea
Ui
DOfCOO
nn-
1783..
'WJ.-
1813..
l»3^.
iSso..
i8w..
i56a..
■ Wj..
xttA..
1K7..
tt6^.
■ »>
■ i.im
Hentwnk,
■"♦.IT
SW'73*
Average annual incrcaiic in twenty
years, t,ooo.
3*. "ihe Protestant Episcopal
Church is a well-known offshoot of
the church established by the Urittsh
Parliament in England.
Their numbers and growth have
been as follows :
Mlnliieiii. Cbtircbe*. Mcmbcri.
!•« »-oj»
■Mn -s-tTo
t»6j ».7T»
«8ft* I.M
i«S M«7
ttM. ■tS3D
Mr. mjim,
lIM. >.r36
■.111
».J«7
•.]■•
«J7"
t«),t}4t
• 7M«
The average annual increase since
the separation of the South, and dur-
ing seventeen years, has l»een 30,377.
Since the close of the war conferen-
ces have been organized in eight of
the Southern states, and 1 00,000
members gained from the church
South.
34. A secession took place in 1830
from the Methodists, and the |icnons
who composed it assumed the name
ofthc" Methodist ProtcstantChurch."
Its statistics have been as follows :
TnYclUaff preschen. M«nibert.
iS]0 _ 83 S.009
>^* — U.8tS
'*V- T«0 *♦%"»
i8s« — T»^*
i8sI- liMa qaiOM
The average annual increase dur- In 1866, a convention was held
* tftcomplete.
4 Southern Suim not fvpo«lc4.
* S«iMraron nrSonth Is tl«).
f (Icnteokiy feu.
Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 303
Cincinnati to unite the Methodist
[Protestants, the Wesleyan Connection,
fthcyrcc Methodists, the IMmiiive Me-
thodists, and some independent Me-
lodist congregations, under the name
the" Methodist Chuith." Theun-
^ion was joined by few save the North-
cm conferences of tlic Methodist
Protestant body, who now compose
the Methodist Church; the South-
ern conferences retain the original
,jiameof Methodist fVotestant. 'Ilieir
lumbers in 1867 were estimated at
jo,ooo ; in 1869, they were eslimat-
at 72,000.
There has been no actual increase
those now indicated by this name
twenty (five years preceding 1868.
35. 'Fhe " Methodist Church " is
iposcd of the Northern confercn-
of the Methodist Protestant
'hurch which, in attempting to form
union with others in 1866, caused
split among themselves. Their re-
}rt, made in 1867, states as follows :
1S69.
Minl«ient. Members.
69; S<\<M°
6m A^ty^
i
Thfe is strictly an increase of the
ethodist Protestants, but appears
dcr a new name. It is an average
nual increase of 2,000.
36. Out of the urij{inal separation
if the Methodist Protestants from
e Methodist Kpiscopal another de-
imination sprang up, under the
me of the "True Wesleyan Me-
lOdists."
The denomination has increased
ry slowly since its organization, as
Ippeari by the following statements ;
•Ma..
Miaittcri. Mcmbera.
}a» so^oo
.....50a •o,eao
iH »"■»>
..••• — ■S.OM
SH •0,000
Average annual increase in twen-
ty-five years, ioo.
37. The African Methodist Epis-
copal Church owes its origin to the
prejudice against the colored mem-
l>ers and attendants of the Methodist
Kpiscopal Church. In the early days
of the latter, this prejudice was so
deep that llie colored persons were
not unfrcqucntly pulled from their
knees while at prayer in the church,
and ordered to the back scats.
This denomination has greatly in-
creased by the addition of emanci-
pated slaves. Its statistics arc as
follows :
Uifucten. Membcnk
1S41 — ij.wv
tUn — vt^oon
1H4 ••■-.. — JOiMV
iWs 4«j VMOu
tSM. — TtNooA
■ B67. \,Sm 900,000
iH9- ...1,500 Km,«sa
The average annual increase in
twenty-live years has been 7,500.
38. The operation of the same
prejudice against color in New York
g.ive rise to the " Zion African Me-
thodist Episcopal Church." Its sta-
tistics show a large increase recently
at the South, and arc as follows :
lUo.
1S69.
MlfflMen. Members.
> .... — 4,000
— 6,000
y^
*tfioa
£0,000
1^4,000
The average annual increase of
the denomination has been a,oo3.
39. The " Methodist Episcopal
Church, South," is the second largest
body of Methodists in the United
States. It arose from a division of
the Methodist Episcopal Church, in
accordance with resolutions of the
General Conference in 1844.
The membership of (his denomi-
nation has been reduced by the war,
by the invasion of its territory by
the Northern Methodist Episcopal,
and by the African and Zion church-
es. Its statistics are as follows :
204 Statistics of Protestantism in the United States.
«, . Minlftors. Mcnbere.
IHd, 'S-* ii^'S"
■■I».T..A 3*7^9 3D5.I'"
tMf.. 3«" JJS/>4*'
■Uf |ir«Mnu no impof uat ctMnec.
Tlic average annual increase in
seventeen years has been 4,087.
40. I'hc '■ Free Melhodist Church "
originated in 1859, and consisted of
a few congregations in New York
and other Northern stales. Its sta-
tistics have been as follows;
tU4.
iBH.
■«««.
PreMhers. llenb«i>.
» J.SSS
85 4^9
94 *.ooB
The average annual increase in
two years has been 617.
4T. The "Western Primitive Me-
thodist Church " held ils twenty-se-
cond annual toufercnce in New Dig-
gings, Wisconsin, 1866. The subject
of union with other nou-cpiscopat
bodies was favorably considered.
Their numbers were in 1865 as fol-
lows: Prcirhcrs, 30; members, 2,000.
42. The " Independent Methodist
Church" organized its first congre-
gation in New York City in i86o.
The third annual session of its con-
ference was held in 1864, and a
tnovement made toward union with
otJier non-eptsi:opaI bodies.
43. The " Friends," or " Quakers,"
arose in Kngland about 1647, under
the preaching of Mr. George I'ox.
The numbers of this denomination
are estimated at 100,000, comprised
in eight yearly meetings.
44. A division took place during
the first qu.artcr of the present cen-
tury among the Friends, under Mr.
Eltas Hicks. A distinct and inde-
pendent association was made under
his name. Their numbers are esti-
mated at 40,000,
45. The •' Shakers," or United So-
ciety of Believeni, arc a small deno-
mination which first made its ap-
pearance in this country in 1776.
Their statistics have been as rot-
lows:
1 8aS 4S 4>see
1860 — 4.J13
They are found in Maine, Massa-
chusetts, New Hampshire, New York,
Kentucky, Connecticut
46. The "Adventists," or "Second
Adventists," owe their rise in the
United States to Mr. Wm. Miller, of
Low Hampton, New York.
In 1U59, they were estimated to
comprise about 18,000 persons, and
in 1867 about 30,000, exclusive of
members of other denominations.
Average annual increase in eight
years, 1,500.
47. The " New Church," or **Swe-
denborgiaiis," accept as their rule of
faith and discipline the Holy Scrip-
tures as interpreted by Mr. Kmanuel
Swede nborg.
Their numl)ers in the United States
have been estimated as follows :
MlnUten. Churches. Mcuibcnk
i8|a. A' )o yoao
'3*1 S7 49 ifi<»
Average annual increase in twelve
years, 166.
48. Modem " Spiritualism " made
its appe^irance in We^iem New York
about twenty years ago. It came at
first in the form of rappings, knock-
ings, tabie-tippings, and other noisy
demonstrations, for the purpose of at-
tracting general attention. The be-
lievers held conventions and public
meetings, but adopted no form or plan
of organization. Great numbers in
all denominations arc supposed to ap-
prove more or less of their views; ^J
but the number of separate public ^H
adherents is estimated at 165,000. ^^
49. The " Mormon Church," or
"Church of Jesus (."hrist of Latter-
Day Saints," was first organized in
the town of Manchester, New York,
on April 6, 1830, by Mr. Joseph
Smith, of Vermont The fortunes
Statistics of Prottstanthm in the United States, ^5
of tlie tihurcli thus started have been
variable in New York, Ohio, Missou-
rit and fthnoU, until persecution has
compdled her to withdraw to the
wilderness of Utah. Their number
is stated to be 60,000. The average
annual increase tn Iwcnty-five years,
l,OOD.
50. Four miles from Oneida, Madi-
son County, New York, is located an
organized community the members
of which call ihcrasclvei " Christian
Perfectionists." It was started by
Mr. John K Noyes,a native of Brat-
lleboro, Vermont.
'llicy have now a community in
Oneida, WalUngford, Conn., New
Haven, Conn., and New York, which
conaistcd of 355 members in 1867.
This i.<i an average annual increase
01 10.
51. The "Catholic AfwatoUc
Church," or " Irvingiles," originated
from the views of Mr. Edw.ird Irving,
reached in London in 1S30.
There are about a halfdoatcn of
lesc congregations in this country,
tlimated to contain 250 members.
A niusber of small nuclei of per-
tps future denominations exists in
ierent states, which it is unnecessa-
to mention.
A recap it ulauon of (he preceding
imtics presents the following re-
Ita:
Cliurdi
HcBbci*
IH
1. Luthcrdtn* llt.'IS
■, r.^tntiii Kcfi.iTni«<l 110^408
]. tJniic'I tIfctliFeo 97*«'3
4. Mormvikiis «jt5s
5. Dulcli R«lorinetl ttf^^
t. McftuoQilM 39<*i«
r- ReroimtJ M«nnonllM.... wfitm
(Oil I ' tlOa saa,Doo
Clii- ja^oo
O, ■- ; ;ilrt , ., •i6jta
N. &. I'l oLivlfi iAIll >b«|jjt
KatotmcJ l'ie*b]rurUm
<CenrraI Syncxl) . . It3t4
SysfHl lit Rcldfved !>/«••
bytertiQk C^mo
A»ccteic anil Unlicd
Piubywrlaoa. is>4^
Annuii]
lDCrMl«
7.iS>
»<)«
t«
t,»ftt
NO
<^
«i3
•5-
Cburcfa
In
Auodat* ttBionned Pre«>
bylfifBOR. yf^
Free Pn^byrctiuii i,dm
Cuuibcf had Piesbytt'iij. 109,003
ItaptiiU. <.o9).to<
Krcc-Will HaptiM*. .. m,iii
S«rentli'I>>]r llafiliMs, , . . 7^}l
Ounkns . MjOM
Gtfrimui Serenth* Itajr
OaptisU i,Sao
Prce-Cammun. HapdiM.. i«>4
AnIi-.Miixian Hapllsls,... taspao
Stx-l'iinciFle B«;rlkts 3,000
Riref Ilr«i(ircn f.oop
Di.ici|)lco (C;>inpb«111t«S>. . :iCM>/»>
CoagftcaUunaliitv wf^^t
(Jniuriin* jD.ara
UnlireruliHs.. Bo^ooo
rrolcvunt KttUcnjml. .. 1^,641
Mcihodlil Bplicopal i.i^fi^t
Mc(ho<ti« l*roir*Uflt.... S^.ns
MethodUt rhurcti 5t>/ic«
Tntt Wnlcj-aa •3.000
African McUuxUau. aoDiaDa
/inn African Mcthodin . Co.ooo
MeUiivibl V.^\x. tSotttfc).. si%04»
Fiee McUi Hlisl t,fAi
Wcsicm I'lunitir* M«-
ikndid s,(MO
IndDpofidcnt MatbodtbU. 8ao
Pi1«n(U, Of (^tuak«n. .... 100.CKV
Hich»Ues 4«,ooo
ShakcTB 4<1>3
Aitvcnbiu. )o,ooo
Sw«tenbor|[lKDs %fioet
Splritualisin i(s,mo
Hora»oo Churcb.. 60.000
CbrtitlaB Perfccttonlna. . a^
Catholic Apost. Churcb. , ajo
6."<l
Toul e.iad,ita \nJki*
Thus the whole number of mem-
bers of Protestant cliurchcs in the
United Stales in 1867 was 6,396,1 to.
Tlic average annual incrca-sc of this
membership during the preceding
twenty -five years has been 134,803.
The population of ilie United
States according lo the usual census
and that of the Uureau of Stati&tica
for 1S67, has been aa follows :
•'■(• ■, "J.**?.*!?
iSjo.. ......... ....ahigt.tTti
•*** • •S».4*3-3»
1BC7 • 36.741.1»8
i8}o locomplclo official) f.
The average annual increase in
twenty-seven years has been 728,509.
If we deduct from the population
of the United States in 1867 the
number of persons who were meni-
Grtai Pia^arist,
bers of Protestant churches, there
will remain 30,347,088 persons in
the United States in 1S67 who were
not members of Protestant churches,
who made no public profession of
faith in their doctrines, and who did
not partake of their sacraments.
If we suppose the church-niember-
sliip of Protestant denominations to
increase at the same average annual
rate during the next thirty - three
years, until the year 1900, that in-
crease will amount to 4,448,466. If
this increase is added to the number
of church-members in 1867, the mem-
bership of all the Protestant churches
in the year 1900 will be 10,844,576.
If we suppose the population of
the United States to increase in the
same average annual rate during the
next Uiirty-threc years, until the year
1900, that increase will amount to
34,040,797. This amount added
to the population of 1867 will raakal
the population in igoo reach the|
number 60,784,945, of whom 49,-
940,419 wiK not be members ol*
any Protestant church, nor make a
public profession of faith in their doc^
trines, nor partake of their sacra-
men is.
It may be said that the average
annual increase of I'rotestantism for
twenty-five years subsequent to 1867
will be numerically greater than for
the previous twenty-five years. So will
also be numerically larger the aver-
age annual increase of the popula-!
tion for a like period, but the relative
proportion of the denominations to
the population would remain un-<
changed.
/^-,
ON A GREAT PLAGIARIST.
PiitEBt;s drew back mth just disdain
Tlie wreatli : tlie Delphic Temple frowned ;
The suppliant fled to Hermes' fane,
'ITiat stood on lower, wealthier ground.
The Thief-God spake, with smile star-bright:
" Go thou where luckier poets browse,
The pastures of the Lord of l.ight,
And do — what I did with his cows." •
AuBRKV De Vere.
• He itolc, killed, aiid mte the wbole of Apotld'l InnI, before he w«s ft Aty oM 1 S«e HoBlf^a
It^mm it Mmmrj,
Mary Beneditia,
207
MARY BENEDJCTA.
We were at school toEether. We
little dreamed, cither of us, in those
mLschief-lo\Tijg days of frolic and fun,
that she was one day to be a saint,
and that I would write her storj'.
Yet look well at tlie face. Is tlicrc
not souictbing like a promise of
sainthood on the pure, white brow ?
And the eyes, bluc-gray Irish eyes,
,with the long, dark lashes Uirowing
shadow iindemcaih, "diamonds
^ut in with dirty fingers," have dicy
}t a spiritual ouUook that speaks to
rou with a promise — a revelation of
)me vision or growth of some beau-
bcyond what meets your gaze ?
fet, though it seems so clear in the
Hrospeci, ihLs prophetic side of h
iuty» I own it, never struck me
rules at defiance, she was the tor-
ment of her inistrciscs .ind the delight
of her companions. Widi the latter,
her good-nature and good temper
carried her serenely above alt the
little maJtccs and jealou.sie.s that dis-
play themselves in th-it miniature
world, a school; and, at the same
time, her spirit of independence,
while it was constantly getting her
into '• scrapes," was so redeemed by
genuine abhorrence of everything ap-
proaching to meanness or deceit that
it did not prevent her Uring a univer-
sal favorite with the nuns. One in
particular, who from her rigorous
dusciplinarianism was the terror of us
nil, was even less proof than the
1 am going to tell her story sim-
ily, with strict accuracy as to the
daits of her character — the facts of
er life and her death. I shall tell the
d with the good, neither striving to
smish her faults nor to heighten, by
\y dramatic coiuring, ihu beautiful
aiity of her virtues. The story is
e calculated, it seems to me, to be
a light and a lesson to many. The
very faults and follies, the strange
I beginning, so unlike the end, all taken
|U parts of a whole in itie true expe-
hence of a soul, contain a leaching
vhose sole eloquence must be its
^th and its simplicity.
\ I &aid wc were at school together,
but, though in the same convent, we
were not in the same class. Mary
(this was her real Cliristian name) was
a lew years older than I. Her ca-
reer at this time was one of the wildest
that ever a school-girl lived (luough.
High-s^iiritcd, reckless, setting all
.c^ a:
n^Voihers against the indomitable sweet
temper and lovablencss of her rebel-
lious pupil. They were in a state of
permanent warfare, but occasionally,
after a hot skinnish carried on before
the public, viz., the second class,
Afother Bcncdicta would lake the
rebel aside, and try privately to coax
her into a semblance of apology, or
mayhap a promise of amendment.
Sometimes she succeeded, for tlie re-
fractory young lady was always more
amenable to caresses than to threats,
and was, besides, notwithstanding the
war footing on which they stood,
very fondly attached to Mother Ben-
cdicta, but she never pledged herself
unconditionally. This was a great
grievance with the mistress. She
used to argue, and threaten, and
plead by the hour, in order to in-
duce Mary to give her '* word of
honor," as the phrase was amongst
us, that she would obser\'e such and
such a prohibition, or obey such and
such a ndc — silence was the chronic
casus M/i—hMX all to no pur-
post*.
" No, sister, 1 promise you to try ;
but 1 won't promise to do or not to
do," she would answer, undcfiantly,
but quite resolutely.
Jt was a common thing for Mother
Benedicts to say. after one of these
conferences which ended, as usual,
in the cautious, " I'll try, sister,"
that, if ahc could once get Mary to
promise her outright to mend her
ways, she would never take any more
trouble about her. *' If she pledged
her word of honor to be a saint, I be-
lieve she would keep it," observed the
nun, with a sigh.
I mention this little incident ad-
visedly, for, though at the time we,
in our Mit>doin, thought it must be
pure perversity on the part of our
mistress that made her so pursue
Mary on the subject, considering
that we were all in the habit of
pledging our words of honor any given
number of times a week with no par-
ticular result, I lived to see that in
this individual insuncc she was guid-
ed by prophetic insight.
She never succeeded, however, in
inducing Mary to commit hcreelf
during the four years that she was
under her charge. It was war to the
end ; not to the biUer end, for the strife
did not weaken, nay, it probably
strengthened the enduring attach-
ment that had sprung up between
them. My way of sealing irrevoca-
bly and publicly this attachment on
her side, Mary added the nun's name
to her own, and even after she left
school she continued to sign herself
Mary IJenediclx When the lime
came round for frequenting the sa-
craments, it was the sure signal for a
quarrel between Uie two belligercnls.
There was no plea or stratagem that
Mary would not have recourse to in
order to avoid going to confession.
Yet wiihal she had a reputation in the
school for piety — a queer, impulsive
sort of piety peculiar to herself, that
came by fits and starts, Wc had an
unaccountable belief in the efficacy of
her prayers, and in any difiiculty she
was one of those habitually appealed
to to pray us out of it; not. indeed,
that wc were a(:luate<i by any precise
view as to the spiritual quaUly of the
prayers, only impressed vaguely by
her general character, that whatever
she did she put her heart in ami did
thoroughly. Mother Ucnedicta use^^H
to say that her devotion to the BIcstft^H
ed Sacrament would save her. Bat
this devotion consisted, as far as we
could see, in an enthusiastic love for ,
Benediction ; and as Mary was pas* [
sionatcly fond of music, and confess- !
ed a weakness for effective ceremonial, !
Mother Benedicia herself ocrxsional-
ly had misgivings as to how much of
the devotion went to the object of
the ceremony and how much to iia
accessories, the lights, the music, an
the incense. At any rate, once ovi
it exercised no ap[)arcnt control ov
her life. The rules of the school
systematically ignon^l ; the rule 'of
silence she looked upon with special
contempt as a bondage fit for fods,
but unworthy of rational human be-
ings. To the last day of her sojourn
in the school, she practically illas<
trated the opinion that speech was of
gold and silence of brass, and left it
with the reputation of being the most
indefatigable talker ; the most unruly
and untidy subject, but tlie sweetest
nature that ever tried the patience and^i
won the hcarls of the community, ^^k
When she was about eighteen, he^^
father sent her to the Sacrd Cccur, in
Paris, to complete her education,
which, in spite of considerable ex-
pense on his part, and niasten: with-
out end, was at this advanced period
in a sadly retrograde state, the little
she had learned at school in Ireland
having been assiduously forgotten in
an^^
ffr^ Bcnetfieta.
«9
le coarse of a year's anarchical
)liday, when reading of every sort
and even her favorite music were set
aside for the more congenial pastimes
ot dancing, and skatin;?, and flying
across cnuniry after the hounds,
I was then hving in Paris, and
iTy was placed under my modier's
\x\%. We went to sec her on the
yifurs de Parhir^ and she came to us
on the yvmn de Sortie. But it did
not Ixst long. As might have been ex-
pected, the sudden change from a life
of excitement and constant oxit-door
exercise to one of seclusion and se-
itary habits proved too trying to
health, and after a few months
medical man of the convent de-
ircU that he was not prepared to
:cpt the responsibility of taking
irge of her, and strongly advised
It she should be sent home.
We communicated this inlclligence
her father, begging at the same
»e that liefore he came to remove
she might be allowed to spend
lonih Willi us. The request was
ned and Mary came to stay with
(That we might lose as little as pos-
Ic of each other's company while
were together, she shared my
)m. We spent llie mornings at
le ; I studying or taking my les-
«he reAding, or lolling about
room, watching the clock, and
ijfing for the master (o go and set
free, that we might go out.
^>ly mother, who only in a lesser
shared my affection for Mary,
was anxious to make her visit as
»»nnt as possible, took her about
fill the places beft worth seeing
the city — the picture galleries, the
laces, the museums, and the
chnrchc«. 'llic latter, though many
them, even as works of art, were
>ngsi the most interesting nionu-
rnls for a stranger, Mary seemed
uoughly itt'litTcrent to. When
vou x"i. — M
we entered one, instead of kneeltn(
a moment before the sanctuary, a^
any Catholic does from mere force
of habit and impulse, she would'
just make the necessary genuflcx-'
ion, and, without wailing for us,
hurry on round the building, exam-
ine llie pictures and the staine<l glass,
and then go out with as little delay
as might be. This did not strike
my mother, who was apt to remain
all the lime at her prayers, while I
waJkcd about doing tlie Iionors of
the church to Mary; but it struck
mc, and it pained and puizlcd me.
She was loo innately honest to at-
tempt llic shadow of prevarication
or pose even in her attitude, and her
haste in despatching the inspection
of every church we enlercd was so
undisguised that I saw ^e did not
care whether I noticed it or not.
Once, on coming out of the little
church of St. (rcnevicve, one of the
loveliest shrines ever raised to thel
worship of God by the genius o!
man, I said rather sharply to her,
for she had beaten a more precipi-
tate retreat than usual, and cut short
my motlier's devotions at the tomb
of the saint:
" Mary," I said, *' one really would
think the devil was at your heels the
moment you enter a church, you are
in such A violent hurry to gel out of
it."
She laughed, not mockingly, with
a sort of half-ashamed cxi)ression,
and turning her ptuv, full eyes on
me.
" I hate to stay anywhere under
false apjwa ranees," she said, '* and I
always feel such a hypocrite kneeling
before the HIessed Sacrament ! I feel
as if I would choke if I stay there
over five minutes.''
I felt shocked, and I suppose I
looked iL
"Don't look at me as if I were
possessed of the dcvD," she said, stitt
fary JStne^uta^
laughing, though there was a touch
of sadness, ii binick me, in her voice
and face. " I mean to be convert-
ed by-and-by, and mend my ways;
hut meantime let mc have my fun,
and» above all, don't preach to
mc!"
*' I don't feel the least indined," \
replied.
•• I suppose you think I'm gone be-
yond it. Well, you can pray for me.
I'm not gone beyond llic reaoli of
that !"
This was the only serious conver-
sation, if it dcscr^'cs the name, that
we had during the first week of her
visit. She enjoyed herself thoroughly,
throwing alt the zest of her earnest
nature iJito everything. The people
and their odd French ways, the shops
and their exquisite wares, the opera,
the gay Bois uith the brilliant throng
of fashion that crowded round the
lake every day at the hour of prome-
nade — the novelty of the scene and
the place altogether enchanted her,
and there was something quite re-
fresihing in the spirit of enjoyment
she threw into it all.
One evening, after a long day of
sight-seeing, we were invited by a
friend of hers to dine at tlie iabU
d'hvU of the Louvre. It was the
graNdf nouveaul^ just then, and
Mary was consequently wild to see
it We went, and during dinner the
admiration excitetl by her beauty was
so glanngly expressed by the persist-
ent stare of every eye wiUiin range
of her at the table that my mother
was provoked at having brought her
and exposed her to such an ordeal.
But Mary herself was bhssfulty un-
conscious of the elTect she was pro-
ducing; indeed, it would hardly be
an exaggeration to say she was un-
oonscious of the cause. Certainly,
no woman ever had less internal
perception or outward complacency
in her beauty than she had. This
indifTcrencc amounted to a fault, forij
it per\'aded her habits of tlress, u hichj
were very- untidy, and betokened
total disregard of personal appear-^
ance. The old fault that had been^
one of Mother Beneduta's standing
grievances was as strong as ever,
and it was all I could do to get her
to put on her clothes straight, and to,,
tie her bonnet under her chin in-tl
stead of under her ear, when she-
cnmc out with us.
But 10 return to the Louvre. Il,
had been settled that after dmner wc
should walk across to the Palais
Royal, and let Mary see the dia-
mond shops illuminated, and all the
other wonderful shops j but during
dinner she ovcrhe.ird some one say-
ing that the Kmperor and Empress,
were to be at the Grand Opera that
night. Her first impulse was to lake
a box and go there. But my mother
objected that it was Saturday, the
opera was never over before mld'^fi
night, and consequently we could]
not be home and in tied before one
o'clock on Sunday morning.
With evident disappointment, bat,
as usual, with the sweetest good tem-
per. Mar)' gave way. I Icr friend then
proposed that, before going to the
FaUis Royal, wc should walk on to
the Rue LcpcUeticr, and see the Em-
pcror and Kmpre>s going in to the
Opera. There was no difficulty in
the way of this amendment, so it wasj
adopted.
On coming out of the Louvre,
however, wc found, to our surprise
and discomfiture, that the weather
had been plotting against our littlQj
programme. The ground, which ws
frozen dry and hard when wc drove
down from the Champs Kly^^es less
than two hours before, had become
hice polished glass under a heavy
fall of sleet; the horses were already
slipping about in a very uncomfortfl
blc way, and there was a decided
Mary Bencdicta.
211
inclination on the part of pedestrians
to trust themselves to cabs. Fate
had decreed that Mary was not to
see the Emperor on any terms that
night. It would have been absurdly
imprudent to venture on the maca-
dam of the boulevards, and increase
the risk of driving at all by waiting
till the streets were so slippery that
no horse could keep his footing on
them. There was nothing for it but
to go straight home, which we did,
the horse snailing at a foot-pace all
the way.
It was a memorable night this one
of which I am chronicling a trivial
recollection — trivial in itself, but
weighty in its consequences.
It was the 14th of January,
1858.
We went to bed, and slept, no
doubt, soundly. None the less
soundly for the thundering crash
that, before we lay down, had shaken
the Rne Lepelletier from end to end,
making the houses rock to their
foundations, shattering to pieces
every window from garret to cellar,
and reverberating along the bou-
levards like the roar of a hundred
cannon. The noise shook half Paris
awake for that long night. The peo-
ple, first merely terrified, then lashed
to a frenzy of horror and of enthusi-
asm, rushed from their houses, and
thronged the boulevards and the
streets in the vicinity of the Opera.
In the pitch darkness that followed
simultaneously with the bursting of
Orsini's bombs, it was impossible to
know how many were murdered or
how many wounded. There had
been a great crowd of curietix and
strangers as usual waiting to see their
majesties alight — the street was lined
with them. Were they all murdered,
blown to the four winds of heaven, in
that explosion that was loud enough
to have blown up half Paris ? Of
course, popular fear and fury exagge-
rated the number of the victims enor-
mously, and the night resounded
with the shrieks and lamentations of
women, the plunging and moaning
of horses, wounded or only frantic
with terror, and the passionate cries
of Vive VEinperair.f intermingled
with curses on the fiends who, to
secure the murder of one man,
had sacrificed the lives of hun-
dreds.
While this ghastly tumult was
scaring sleep and silence from the
city close to us, we slept on, all un-
conscious of the cup of trembling to
which we had stretched out our
hand, and which had been so merci-
fully snatched away from us.
It was only next morning, on go-
ing out to Mass, that the concierge
stopped us to tell the news of the at-
tempt on the Emperor's life.
And we had been vexed and felt
aggrieved with the rain that drove
us home, and prevented our going
to stand amongst those curieux in the
Rue Lepelletier!
Mary did not hear of it till we
met at breakfast. I never shall for-
get the look of blank horror on her
face as she listened to the account of
what had happened on the very spot
where we had been so bent on
going.
Although this attack of Orsini's
comes into my narrative simply as a
datum, I cannot resist making a short
digression toward it.
Most of my readers will remember
the singular stoicism displayed by
the Emperor at the moment of the
explosion. One of the horses was
killed under his carriage, which was
violently shaken by the plunging of
the terrified animals, and a splinter
from one of the bombs, flashing
through the window, grazed him on
the temple. In the midst of the
general panic and confusion of the
scene, the equerry rushed forward,
.
and, taking the Emperor by the arm,
cried hurriedly;
"Come oui, sire ! Corae out !"
** Let down the stci>s," obscr^'cd
his master wiih unriitHcil sang /rouf^
and quietly waited till it was donn
before he ino\cd.
lie entered the Opera .tmidst deaf-
etiing cheers, and sat out lite repre-
sentation OS CQuUy, and to all ap-
pearances with as much alteniion, ax
if nothing had orcurrett lo disturb
liim, now and then quietly drawing
his handkerchief across the splinter-
mark on his forehead, from which
the blood was oozing slightly.
Next day a solemn Tc Deum was
rclcbrated at the Tuileries. The
KinpreiiS wished the litlic pnnee,
Uit-n a baby in arms, to be present at
the ihankKgiving for her own and his
father's miraculous preservation. The
diild was carrieil into the Satle des
Marcchaux, where the court and the
Corj)s Diplomatique were assembled,
and immediately put out his hand.s,
clamoring for his father to take him.
The Emperor took him in his arms,
and the child, looking u]> at his face,
noticed the red mark on tlic tem-
ple.
" Papfl AV«»."'* he lisjied, and
put up his little hand lo touch it.
The hard, sphynx-likc face strug-
gled for a moment; but the child's
touch had melted die strong ni.in.
He clAS[K:d him to his heart, and
literally shook with sobs.
These details, which were proKi-
bly never wntten before, were told
to me by one who was present at
the attempt the previous night,
and at the Te Deum Mass next
day.
That night, when we were alone,
Mary and I Ldkerl over the diaboli-
cal crime that had within four and
twenty hours shaken the whole couii-
* A freacli cfclld'a word (or hurt.
merciful interposition that tiad arrest-
ed us on our way to what might
have l>een for us, .is it was for many,
a certain and hamt>]e death. Mary,
though she said litUe on this latter
iwint, was evidently very deeply im-
pressed, and what she did say carried
in it a depth of religious emotion
that revealed her to me in quite a
new light.
It was agreed that she would gu
to confession next day, and that wc
were lo begin a noveua together in
lhanksgi\-ing for our preservation.
" Mar)-," 1 said impulsively, afler
we had been silent a litde while,
" why have you such a dislike lo go
to the sacraments? I can't undet^
stand how, believing in them at aljj
you ran be satisfied to approach tliem
so seldom."
■* It bn't dislike; it is/car" shcatl-
swcred. " It's precisely because I
reali/e so awfully the power and
s.inf-tiiy of ihe lilessed Sacrament that
I kcej) away. 1 believe so intensely
ill it that, if I went often to boly
communion, I should have to divorce
from evcr)-thing, to give up my whole
life to preparation and thanksgiving.
1 know I should. And I don't want
to do it. Not yet, at any rate," she
added, h.ilf-tuiconscjously, as if speak-
ing to herself.
1 shall never forget the effect hcr
words had on me, nor her lace as
she uttered litem. 'I'he night was for
spent. The emotions of the day, the
long waich, and perhaps thv flitker-
tng of our bedroom caudle that i\^is
burning low, all conspired to give an
unwonted pallor to her features that
imbued them with an almost ethereal
licauty. J always think of her now
as she sal there, in her girlish white
dressing-gown, her hands locked
resting on her knees, her head thrown
back, and her eyes looking up, so
stillj as if some far beyond were
onu were |
Mary Benedicta.
213
breaking on her gaze and holding it
I transfixed.
N'oiliing broke on mine. In my
tdull blindness I did not see that 1
asjiisting at tlie beginning of a
mystery, a spectacle on which
gaze of angels was riveted— the
iwrestling of a soul with God: the
soul resisting ; the Creator pleading
and pursuing.
She left us at the end of Januar)'
to return home. We parted with
many icais, and a promise to corre-
tspond otlen and pray for each other
laily.
For a time we did correspond very
tgularly — for nearly a year. I>ur-
ig this pi^riod her life was an un-
lU-iing whirl of dissipation. Balls,
Bits, operas, and concerts during
ic season in town were succeeded
the country by more balls, and
mniing, and skating, and the usu.il
)und of amusements that make up
gsy country Ufc. Mary was cvcry-
fhcrc the beauty of the place, the
^Adntircd of all admirers. Strange to
say, in spite of her acknowledged
Ixuprcmniy, she made no enemies.
[Ferhaps it would have been stranger
ill if sl)c had. Her sweet, artless
lanner and (perfect unconsciousness
)f self went for at least as much in
le admiration she cxcitcil as her
lUly. If she danced every dance
U every ball, it was never nncc for
te pleasure of saj-ing she did it, of
riuni|>hing over olJicr girls, but for
[the g«ilhnc pleasure uf Ihc dance
itself.
Her success wa.s so gratuitous, so
^liole the result of coquetry on her
^side, that, however much it might he
ivic»l. It w.is imiKKsible to resent it.
I am not trying to make out a ca.se
Cor Mory, or to excuse, still less justi-
fy, the levity of tlic bfe she was Icid-
ig at this time. My only aim is to
:ouvcy a true idea of the spirit in
fhich she wai leading ii^mere exu-
berance of spirits, the iiesl of youlb
in the gay opportunities that were
showered upon hcT path. She was
revelling hkc a butterfly in flowers
and sunshine. 'Ihe spirit of worldh-
ncss in its true and worst sense did
not possess her; did not even touch
her. its cankerous breath had not
blown upon her soul and blightctl it ;
the worm Iiad not eaten into her
heart and hardened 'it. Iloth were
slill sound — only drunk ; intoxicatetl
with t)ie wine of life. She went
waltzing through flames, like a moth
round a r.andU: ; like a rhtld letting
off rockets, and clapping h.mds with
delight at the pretty blue blaze, with-
out fear or thought of danger. There
was no such thing as premeditated
infidelity in her mind, ijhe was not
playing a dtrhbcnte game with God ;
bidding him wail till she was ready,
till shf W3-S tired of the w«jdd and
the world of her. No, she w.ns utterly
incapable fSi such a base and guilty
calculation. Sic had simply forgot-
ten that she had a soul 10 save. The
still, small vukc that h.id spoken to
her in earlier days, especially on that
night of the 15th of January, stirring
the sleeping depths, and calling out
momentary yearnings toward ihc high-
er Ufc, had altogether ce.ised its plead-
ingi. How could tlial mysterious
whif-per make itself heard in surh a
din and clangor of unholy nuisic?
There v.as no silent spot in her sou!
where it could enter and find a listen-
er. But Mar)- did not think about it.
She was inebriated with youth and
joy, .md had flung herself mto the
vitrlex, and raced round with it till
her head reeled. On die surface, all
was ripple and foam, rings running
round and round ; but the depths
below were sleeping. The one, the
visible hold that she rctaincil on God
at this time was her love for his poor.
Her heart was always lemler to sitf-
fering in every form, but lo the poor
214
Mary Benedicia.
especially. As sn instance of this, I
may mention her taking off her flan-
nel [leuicoai, on a biuer winter's ilay,
to give it lo a poor creature whum
&he met sUivering at (he road-bide,
and then running nearly a mile home
in the f^old herself.
After about a ye.ar our correspon-
dcnre xlacktmed, and gradually broke
down aUagethcr. I heard from her
once in six mbiuh-s i>er]ia[js. 'llie
tone of her letters struck mc as
altered. I could not exactly say
how, except that it had gn>wn more
serious. She said nothing of triumphs
at archery meetings or of brushes
carried off " at the death ;" there
seemed to be no such feats to chro-
nicle. Slie talke<l of her family and
of mine, very little of herself. Once
only, in answer to a direct question
as tu vb;!! books slic read, she told
roe that she was reading I'aiher I-'a-
ber, and that she read very little else.
This was the only ctuc I gained to
ihc nature of the change that had
come over her.
At the expiration of at)Oiit two
years, a clergyman, who was an old
Uriead of her family, and a frequent
visitor at tlic house, came to Paris,
and gave me a detailed account
of the character and extent of tlic
change.
The excitement into which slie
had launched on reiumuig home, and
which she had kept up with untlag*
ging spirit, had. as might have licen
expected, told on her health, never
very strong. A cough set in at the
be;iinniiig of the winter which caus-
ed her family some alarm. She grew
thm to ernaciaiton, to^t her ajipetite,
and fell into a slate of general ill-
healtb. Change of air and complete
rest were prescribed by the medical
men. She was accordingly taken
from one sea-side place to another,
and condemned to a regime of dul-
Dcss and quiet In a few montlis
the system told favorably, and she
was sufficiently recovered to retura
home.
But the moniMony of an inactive
life whicli was still enforced, alter the
mid-cap career she had been used
to, wearied her imspeakably. For,
want of something belter to do, she
took to reading. Novels, of course.
Fortunately for her, ten years ago
young ladies had not taken to writ-
ing novels that houcsi men blu>h to
review, and that too many youn,
ladies do not blush to read. Mar
did no worse' than waste her tira«:
without active detriment to her mind.
She read the new novels of the day,
and, if she was not much tlic bc-ttcr,
she was j)rol>ahly none the worse foe,
it. But one day — a date to be writt
in gold — a friend, the same who gave
me these particulars, made her a
present of l*ather l-aber's AUfar ye-
sus. The tide promised very httle
enteriaitimenl ; reluclantly enough,
Mary turned over tlic pages and be-
gan to read. How long she read, I
cannot tell, it might be true to say;
that she never left off. Others fol
lowed, all from the same pen, tlirougH
uninterrupted days, and wcck.s, an
months. She told me afterward th.
the burning worils of those boo
the first especially, and TAe Cna
and the CretUure — pursued her even
her dreams. She seemed lo hear
voice crying after her unceasingly
" Arise, and follow !"
Suddenly, but irrevocably, th
whole aspect of life was changed tflf'
her. She began to look back upon the
near past, and wonder whether i
was she herself who had so enjoyet
those balls and gaieties, or whether
she had not been mad, and imagine
it, and was only now in her ri,
mind. The most insu])crable disgu
succeedetl to her love of worldl
anmsement. Slie cireti for nothing
but prayer and meditation, and ihe
Mary Benedkta,
215
ser
service of the poor and suffcriDg, An
[anient longing look possession of her
suftcr for and wiih our Divine
laster. Yielding to the impulse of
ler new-born fcnor, she began to
practise tlic most rigoroua austerities,
fasting much, blcvping llttk*, and
prayinjj almost incessantly. This was
dooc without the counsel or cogni-
zance of any spiritual guide. She
knew of no one to consult. Her
life had been spirittially so neglect-
ed during the last two years that di-
rection had had no part to play in it.
There was nothing to direct. 'Ilic
current was setting in an opposite di-
Icclion. The supernatural was out
If sight.
' Under coixr of her health, which,
bough it was fairly recovered, still
endered quiet and great prudence
Icsirablc, Mary contrived to avoid
all going out, and secretly laid down
» herself a rule of life that she ad-
red 10 scrupulously.
But this could not go on long. As
le grew in the ways of prayer, the
)irit of 1 lod led her imperceptibly
kut inevitably into the sure and safe
{h-roadof all ]iilgrims travelling to-
the bourn of sanctity and aim-
at a hfe of perfection.
The necessity of a spiritual dircc*
tor was gradually borne in upon her,
^^k she said to mc, while at the same
^^Bne the di^culty of meeting with
^^ks treasure, whom St. Teresa bids
^^fe seek amongst ten thousand, grew
more and more apparent and dis-
cartening.
Her uiher, a man of the world
id very little versed in the myslc-
of the interior life, but a good
racttcal Catholic nevertheless, saw
transformation that had taken
lace in his daughter, and knew not
exatUy whether to be gl.id or sorry.
Jic flcl:no\vlcd(;ed to her long after
the first recognition of it struck
}on his heart like a deach-knell.
He felt it was the signal for a great
sacrifice.
Mary opened her heart to him un-
reservedly, seeking more at his hands
perhaps than any mere father in
flesh and blood could give, asking
him to point out to her the turning-
point of the new road on which she
had entered, and to Iielp her to tread
it. That it was to be a path of
thorns in which she would need all
the help that human love could gath-
er to divine grace, she felt already
convinced.
Her father, with the honesty of an
upright heart, confessed himself in-
adequate to t!:e solnng of such a
problem, and bravely proposed tak-
ing her to London to consult I-athcr
Faber.
Mar)-, in an ecstasy of gratitude,
threw her anus round his netk, and
declared it was what she had been
longing for for months. Father l-a-
ber had been her guide so far; his
written word had spoken to her like
a voice from the holy mount, mak-
ing all the dumb chorxls of her soul
to vibrate. What would he not do
for her if she could speak to him
heart to heart, and hear the words
of prayer- inspired wisdom from his
own lips !
They set out in a fevr days for
London ; but they were not to get
there. The promise tliai looked so
near and so precious in its aecom*
plishment was never to be fulfUh
They had no sooner reached Unl
lin than Mar)' fell ill. For some'
days she was in high fever; the nac-
dical men assured the panic-stricken
father that thcTC was no immetliate
cause for alarm; no remote cause
even, as the rase then stood; the pa-
tieni was delicate, but her consutu-
tion was good, the nervous Kvstenti
sound, although shaken by the pres^
ent .attack, and apparently hyprevioua
mental anxiety. The attack itself
2t6
Mary BentdUla.
they attribultid to a chill which had
fallen on the chest.
The event justified the opinion of
the physicians. Mary recovered
Kpcetlil)'. It was not judged advi:>a-
blc, however, to let her i>n>cee<l to
London. She relinquished ihc plan
hcnelf with a facility that siirprisod
her father. He knew how artienily
she had longcfl to sec the spiritual
guide whu hart already done io much
for her, and he could not forbear
asking why she took the disappoint-
ment -so c:oolly.
" It's not a disappointment, father.
God never disappoints. 1 don't know
why, only I feci as if the longing
were already satisfied ; as if I were
not t'j go so far to lincl what I'm
looking for," she answered ; and quiet-
ly set about preparing to go back
home.
But they were still on the road of
Damascus. On the way home, they
rested at the house of a friend near
die Mona.slery of Mount Mcllcray.
I cannot be quite sure whether the
monk$ were giving a retreat for se-
culars in the monastery, or whcdier
it was being preached in the neigh-
boring town. As well as I remem-
ber, it was the latter. I ndeed, I doubt
irhcther women would be admitted
asust at a nireat within the tno-
^flasiery, and, if not^ this would be con-
clusive. Hut of one thing I .tm sure,
the preacher was lather Paul, llie
superior of La Trappe. 1 don'l know
whctlter his eloquence, judgctl by the
standard of human rhetorir, was any-
thing very remarkable, but many wit-
nesses go lo prove on exhaustive
evidence that it was uf that kind
whose properly it is to save souU.
To Mary it came like a summons
straight from heaven. She felt an
imperative desire to speak to him at
ouce in the confessional,
** I can give you no idea of the
exquisite sense of peace and security
tliat came over mc the moment
knelt down at his feet," slic said,
relating to me this stage of her voca-
tion. " 1 felt tcttaiu that Iliad found
the man who was to be my l-'ath
l-'aber."
And so she had.
AH that posses between a director<
and his spiritLal child is of so solcm
and sacred a nature ihat, althoug
many things which Mary confided la
me concerning her intereuunic with
the sainUy abbot of La Trappe mig'
prove instructive and would certain]
prove edifying to matiy interior so
I tlo not feci justified in repeatin
them. If I were even not held back
by this fear of indiscretion, I should
shrink from relating these confiden
res, lest I should mar the beauty o
convey a false interpretation of their
meaning. While she was speaking,
"I understood her perfectly. While
listening to the wondctful experien-
ces of divine grace with what she
had been favored, and which she re-
counted tome with the confiding sim-
plicity of a child, her words were lis
clear and reflected her tlioughts as
luminously as a lake reflects the stai
looking down into its crys>tal depdiK,,
making the mirror below a faithful
repetition of the sky above. But
when I tried to wHlu down what shtj
had said while it was quite frc^h upon
my mind, the effort batfledrae. There
was so little to write, and that little
was so delicate, so niystcriouily in-
tangible, I seemed never to find
the right word diat had come so na-
turally, so expressively, to her. When
she spoke of prayer especially, there
was an eloquence, rising ahnost to
sublimity, in her language that alio*
gcther defied my coarse tr.insUttion,
ami seemed to dissolve like a rain-
bow under the process of dissection.
The most elevated subjects she vu
at home with as if they had been
her natural theme, the highest
4
Mary Bouduta.
217
luality her natural clement Tlie writ-
ings of St. Teresa and St Bernard had
grown fimiliar to licr as her cate-
chism, and she seemed to have caught
Uic note of Uicir inspired teaching
with the mxslery of sainthood. This
was the more extraordinary to rae
that her intellect was by no means
of a hiyh order. Quite the contrary,
licr tasto, the whole bent of her na-
ture, was the reverse of intellectual,
aiid what intelligence she had was,
as lar a» real culture went, almost
unreclaimed. Her reading had been
always of the most superficia], non-
metaphysical kind ; indeed, the aver-
sion to what slie called " hard read-
ing" made her turn with perverse
dtiJike from any book whose title
threatened to be at nil instructive.
Slie had never taken a prize at school,
partly because she was too Xziy to
tiy for it, but also because she had
not brain enough to cope with the
clever girls of her class. Mary was
quite alive to her shortcomings in
this line, indeed she exaggerated
them, as she was prone to do most
of berdcluuiuencies, and always spoke
of bencif tis "stupid." Tliis she de-
cidedly was not : but her intellectual
ponxis were suHkicntly below siipe-
xiocity lo make her sudden awaken-
ing 10 the sublime language of mys-
tical theology anil her intuitive per-
ception of its subtlest doctrines mat-
ter of great wonder to iIkjsc who
only measure man's progress in the
science nf the saints by the shallow
gauge of human inicUect.
'^ How do you contrive to under-
aUnd those books, Mar>?'* I asked
her once, after listening to her quot-
ing St. Ilernard j I'affmi of .some re-
marks on the I'rayer of Union thai
carried me miles out of my depth.
" 1 don't know," she replied with
her sweet simplicity, quite uucon.scious
of revealing any secrets of infu:ied
bciencc to my wondering cars. " I
used not to understand them the
least ; but by degrees the meaning
oi the words began to dawn on mc,
and the more I read, the better I un-
derstood. When I coinc to anything
very ditVicult, I stop, and pray, and
meditate till the meaning comes to
me. It is oflen a surprise to mysdf,
considering how stupid I am in every-
thing else," she continue<l, laughing,
" that I should understand spiritual
books even as well as X do."
Those who have studied the ways
of God with his sainU will not share
her surprise. In our own day, the
venerable Cur6 d'Ars is among the
most marvellous proofs of the manner
in which he pours out his wisdom on
those who are accounteil and who
account themselves fools, not wor-
thy to puss muster amongst men.
But I am anticipating.
Her meeting with Father Paul was
ilie tirst goal in her new career, and
from tlie moment Marj- had reached
it sl^e felt secure of bemg led safely to
the end.
Those intervening stages were none
the less agitated by many interior
trials; doubts as to the sincerity of
her vocation ; hcart-binkings as to
her courage in bearing on under the
cross that she had taken up; misgiv-
ings, above all, ajs to the direction in
which that cross by. While her
life-boat was getting ready, filling
its sails, and making out of port for
the shoreless sea of detachment and
universal sacriticc, she sat shivering;
her hand on the helm; the deep
waters heaving beneath her ; the
wind blowing bleak and cold; the
near waves dashing up their spray
into her face, and the breakers fur-
ther out ro.'vring and howling like
angry floods. lliere were rocks
ahead, and all round under tliose
foaming billows; sad havoc had
they made of many a brave little
boat that had put out to sea from
2l8
Mary Beptcdicta.
that same port where she was still
tossing — home, wiih its sheltering love
and tare; ijlciy enough to save any
well-iaieiUioncd soul; good example
to give and to take; good works to
do in plenty, and the body not ovcr-
ridilen by austerities against nactuc;
i]t>t starved to despondency; not ex-
asperated by hunger, and cold, and
endless vigils, and prayer as endless.
It was a goodly port and safe, this
home of lieni. Sec how the dee[)
thrun-s up its prey on every side I
Wrecks and spars, the shatleretl
remnants of bold vessels, and the
lifeless bodies of the rash crew are
everywhere strewn over the waters.
" Take heed 1" they cry lo her as she
counts the records one by one. '* This
is an awful sea, and bold mixst be
the heart, and stout and iron-clad
the boat thai lempls the stormy
bosom. We came, and peribhed.
Would that we had never left the
port !"
Mary never argued with the stgrm.
She would fall at the feet of Him
who was " sleeping below," and wake
him with the loud cr^- of trembhng
faith, " Help me, Master,orI perish !"
and the storui subsided.
Hut wht-n the wind and the waves
were hushed, there rose up in the
calm a voice sweet and low, but
more ruthlessly terrible to her cour-
age than the threatening fury of ten
thousand storms. She was her
(iither's oldest and darling child ; she
had n brotlicr, too, and sisters, all
tenderly loved, and cousins and
friends only less deJir ; she was a joy
and a comfort to many. Must she
gofturathcui? Must she leave all
this love and all the loveliness of hfe
for ever ?
Mary's vocation, notwithstanding
its strongly marked supernatural cha-
racter, was not proof against these
cruel alternations of cnthusi.istic
courage, and desolate heart sin kings.
and bewildering doubts. Nay, they
were no doubt a necessar)' part of
its perfection. It was needful that
she should pass through the dark
watch of Gettiseniani before setting
out to climb the rugged hill of Cal*
var>'.
All this history of her interior life
she told mcrrtwtwf when wc met. In
her letters, which were at this period
very rare and alw.iys very uncom-
municative, she said nothing what-
ever of these strifes and victories.
But her adversaries were not all
within. A hard battle remained to
be fought with her father. His op-
position was active and relentless.
He had at first tacitly acijuiesced in
her consecration to God in a religious
life of some sort ; but he believed, as
every one else did, that to let her
enter La Trappe would be to consign
her to .speedy and certain death ; and
when she announced to hun that this
was the onlcr siie had selected, and
the one which drew her with the
power of attraction, that she had
struggled in vain to resist, he declared
that nothing short of a written man-
date from God would induce him lo
consent to such aji act of suicide In
vain Mary pleaded that when God
called a soul he provided all thai
was necessary to enable her to an-
swer the call ; that her health, for-
mcrly so delicate when .she was
leading a life of self-indulgence, was
now completely restored ; that she
had never been so strong as siuee she
had lived in almost continual absti-
nence {she did not cat meat on
Wednesday, Friday, or Saturday) ;tltal
the weakness of nature was no ob-
stacle to the power of grace, and
there are graces in the conventual hfe
that seculars did not dream ofi nor
receive because they did not need
them.
In answer to tlicse plausible argu-
ments, the incredulous father brought
Mary Bcnedkta^
219
out the laws of nature, and rcAson and
common sense, and the opinion of
the medical men who h.id attended
her in Dublin, and under whose care
she ha<l bt-'cn more or less ever since.
These men of natural science and
human sympathies declared positive-
ly that it was neither more nor less
than suicide to condemn herself to
die rule of St. Ilcrnanl in the
dot^sier, where wnni of animal food
and warmU) lA'ould infallibly kill her
before the novitiate was out. They
were prepared to risk their reputa-
tion on the issue o( this certificate.
Mary'ft exhaustive acswer to all
»is was thai (iracc was always itronger
»an nature ; that the supcmalural elc-
)ent would oveinitc and sustain the
iman one. Uut she pleaded in vain,
ler father was resolute. He even went
Ikr as to insist on her returning to
:icty and seeing more of the world
efore she was divorced from it irrcvo-
ly. 'Iliis check was as severe as it
ras unexpected. Though her dis-
jst to llic vanities of her former life
>otinucd as strong as ever, while
longing for the perfect life grew
rcry day more intense and more
lergizing, her humility made bee
£mble for her own weakness,
light not the strength that had
>mc her bravely so far break down
idei the attack uf all her old tempt-
lei loose on her at once ? Her
»vc of pka-siire, that fatal enemy
kat now seemed dead, might it not
rise up again with overmaslering
iwcr, and, aideil by the reaction
jp-arcti by lier new life, seize her
id hold her more successfully than
rcr? Ves, all diis was only too
possible. There w-is nodiing for it
but to brave her father, to defy his
authority, and to save her soul in
ipite of him. She must run away
from home.
Before, however, pulling this wise
dete rminauon into practice, it wah
necessary to consult Father Paul.
His answer was -H'hat most of our
readers will suspect:
" Obedience is your first duty. No
blessing could come from such a vio-
lation of filial piety. Your father is a
Christian. I>o as he bids you ; appeal
to bis love for your soul not to tax
its strength unwisely ; then trust your
soul to Ciod as a liiite child trusts to
its mother. He sought you, and
pursued you, and brought you home
when you were flnng from him. Is
it likely he will forsake you now,
when you are seeking after him wiiii
all your heart and making his will
the one object of your life? Mis-
trust yourself, my child. Never mis-
trust God." Mary felt the wisdom
of the advice, and submitted to it in
a spirit of docility, of humble mis-
trust and brave trust, and made up
her mind to go through the trial as
an earnest of the sincerity of her de-
sire to seek God's will, and .iccom-
plish it in whatever way he appointed.
Slic had so completely taken leave
of the gay world for more than a
year that her reappearance at a coun-
ty ball caused quite a sensation.
Rumor and romance had put tiiclr
heads together, and explained after
their own fashion the motive of the
change in her life and her total se-
clusion from society. Uf course, it
could only be some sentimental rea-
son, disappointed affection, pcrliaps
inadequate fortune or position on
one side, and a hard-hearted fiilbcr
on the other, etc Whispers of this
idle gossip came to Mary's cars and
amused her exceedingly. She could
aftbrd to laugh at it as there was not
the stnallcst shadow of reality under
the nction.
Her father, whose parental weak-
ness sheltered itself Iwhind the doc-
tors and common sense, did not ex-
act undue sacrifices from her. Ho
allowed her to continue her ascetic
I
A
rule of life unmolesteO, to abstain*
from meat as usual, bi go assiduous-
ly amongst the poor, and to devote
as much lime as she hkcd lo prayer.
There were ivto Masses daily in the
village church, one at half-past six,
another at half-pnst seven. He made
a difficulty at first about her assisting
at thera. The church was nearly
half an hour's walk from tlic house,
and the cold morning or night air,
as it really was, was likely to try her
severely. But after a certain amount
of arguing and coaxing Mary car-
ried bor point, and every morning
long bt-forc daybreak sallied forth
to the village. Her nurse, who was
very pious and passionately attached
to her, went with lier. Not without
hoicaiing, though. Every day as re-
gularly as the)' set out Malone enter-
ed a protest.
*' It's not natural. Miss Mary, to
be gadding out by candle-light in this
fashion^ walking about the lields like
a pan- of ghosts. Indeed, darlin', it
isn't."
The uursc was right. It certainly
was not natural, and, if Mary had
been so minded, slie might have re-
plied that it was not meant to be ;
it was supernatural. She contented
herself, however, by deprecating the
good soul's reproof and proposing to
say the rosary, a proposal to which
Malone invariably af^senled. So,
waking up the larks with their matin
prayer, the two would walk on brisk-
ly to church.
Once set an Irish nurse to pray, and
she'll keep pace witli any saint in the
calendar. Malone was not behind
with the best. The devout old soul,
never loath to begin, when once on
her knees and fairly wound up in de-
votion, would go on for ever, and,
when the two Masses were o\'er and
it was rime to go, Mary had general-
ly to break her off in the full tide of a
htaiiy that Malone went on multer-
ing all the way out of church and
sometimes fini:ihcd on tlie road home.
Hut if she was ready to help Mary
in her praymg feats, she highly dis-
approved of the fasting ones, a^ well
as of the short rest lliat her young
mistress imposed on herself. .Marr
confessed to me that sleep was at this
period her greatest difficulty. She
was by nature a great sleeper, and
there was a time when early n«ng,
even comjjaratively early, seemed to
her the very climax of heroic mortili-
cation. Uy degrees she brought her-
self to rise at a given hour, which gra-
dually, with the help of her angel
guardian and a strong resolve, slic
advanced to five o'clock.
During this time of pn^bation, her
father took her constantly into so-
ciety, to archery meetings, and regat-
tas, and concerts, and balls, as the
season went on. Mary did her part
bravely and cheerfully. Sometimes
a panic seized her dial her old spirit
of worlttlincss was coming back —
coming back with seven devils lo
take his citadel by storm and hold it
more llnnly than ever. But she had
only to fix her eyes stcatlily on the
faithful beacon of the l.ight-houseout
at sen, and t>cnd her ear to the IJfc-
bcU chiming its Sunum Omfa ior
above the moaning of the wnve* and
winds, and her foolish fears gave
way.
No one who saw her so bHfjhl and
gracious, so gracefully pleased with
everything and everybody, suspected
the war that was Agit.^ting her spirit
within. Her father wished her to
take ])art in the dancing, oihervcisc
he said her presence in the midst of
it would be considered conipalsoiy
and her abstention be construed into
censure or gloom. Mary acquiesced
with regard to the square dances,
but resolutely declined to waltz. Her
father, satisfied with the concession,
did not coerec her further.
Mary Bencificta.
22X
So tilings went on for about a
year. Father Paul meantime had
had his share in the probationary ac-
tion. He k[iew that his patient's
heaUh was not strong, and taking in-
to due account her father's vehement
and up to a certain point just repre-
sentations on the physical impossi-
bihty or her bearing the rule of St.
Bcniatd, he endeavored to attract her
toward an active order, and used ail
)iii> intliicocc to induce her tu try at
any rate a less auMere one l>efore en-
tering La Trappe. Animated by the
purcbt and moM ardent love for the
soul whose precious desliriics were
placed under his guidance, he left no-
thing undone to prevent the possi-
bility of mistake or ultimate regret
in her choice. He urged her to go
and see various other conveuts and
make acquaintance with their mode
of life. Seeing her great reluctance
to do this, he had recourse to strata-
in onlcr to compel her uncon-
ioudy to examine into the spirit
and rule of several moitastic houses
that he ht;Id in high esteem. One
in particular, a community of Bene-
dictines, I think it wxs, he thought
likely to prove attractive to her as
uniting a great denl of prayer with ac-
tive duties toward the poor, teaching,
etc., and at the same time of less cru-
cifying disc ipline than lh.it of Citeaux.
He gave her a commission for the
fcuperioress, with many excuses for
troutiling her, ami begging that she
would not undertake it if it interfer-
ed with any arrangement of her own
or her father's just then.
Mary, never suspecting the trap
that was bid for her, made a point
of setting out to the convent a: once.
The superioress, previously enlight-
ened by Father I'aul, received her
with more than kindness, and. after
discussing the imaginary subject of
the visit, invited her to visit the cha-
pel, then the house, and finally, draw-
ee di
ing her into conAdonlial discourse,
explained all about its spirit and man-
ner of life.
Mary, in relating this circumstance
to me, said that, tliough the superior-
ess was one d the most attractive
persons she ever met, and the con-
vent beautiful in its appointments;
rather than enter it she would have
preferred spending the rest of her
days in the dangers ofthe most worldly
life Everylliing but La Trappe was
unutterably antagonistic lo her. Yet,
witli the exception of Mount Melleray
she had never seen even ibc outside
walls of a Cistercian convent, and
the fact of there not being one for
women in Ireland added one obsta-
cle more in the way of her entering
La Trappe.
When Father Paul heard the re-
sult of this last ruse, he confessed the
truth to her. Noways discouraged,
nevertheless he persisted in saying
that ^he was much better titled for a
life of mixed activity' and contempla-
tion than for a purely contemplative
one, and he forbade her for a ymc
to let her mind dwell on llie latter as
her ultimate vocation, to read any
b<TOks that treated of it,, even to prny
specially that she might he led to it.
To all thesedespoiic commands Ma-
ry yielded a prompt, untjuestioning
obedience. She was with Go<l like
a child witli a schoolmaster. What-
ever lesson he set her, she set about
learning it. Easy or diliicult. pleas-
ant or unpleasant, it was alt one to
her cheerful good-will. Why do we
not all do like her ? We are all
children at school, but, instead of put-
ting our minds to getting our lesson
by heart, we spend the study-hour
chafing at the hard words, dog-ear.
ing our book, and irreverently grum-
bliog at the master who has set us the
task. Sometimes we think in our
conceit that it is too easy, that we
should do better something dilHcult
Tary Ben f dicta.
i>eco
When llic bell rings, we go up with- so severe an order as Ihal of the
out knowing a word of it, and stand
sulky and disrc^ectful before the
desk. Wearechided.and turn back,
and warned to do better to-morrow.
And so we go on from year to year,
from chil<Jhood to youth, from youth
to age. never learning our lesson pro-
perly, but dodging, and missing, and
beginning over and over again at
Ihe same pomt. Some of us go on
being dunces to the end of our lives,
when 5t liool breaks up, and we are
called for and taken home — to the
home where there are many man-
sions, hill none assuredly for the
drones who have spent ihctr school-
days in iilleness and mutiny.
To Father Paul, tlie chihltike sub-
missiun ami humility with which Ma-
ry met every effort to ihw.arl her vo-
cation were no doubt more conclu-
sive prouf of its hulidity than the
most marked supernatural favors
would have been.
At last her gentle perseverance was
rewardeiJ, grace triumphed over her
father's heart, and he expressed his
willingness to give her up to
God.
In the sutomer of iS6i,we went
to stay at Versailles, and it was there
that I receivcfl from Mary the first
definite announcement of her voca-
tion. She wrote to mc saying that,
after long deliberation and much
prayer and wise direction, she had
decided on entering a convent of
the Cistercian order. As there was
no branch of it in Ireland, she was
to come to France, and she begged
mc to make inquiries as to where the
novitiate was, and lo let her know
with as little delay as possible. I
will not dwell upon my own feelings
on reading ihis letter. I h.id expect-
ed some such result, though, knowing
the state of lier health, it had not oc-
curred to mc she could have juincil,
however »he might have wished it,
founder of Cilcaux.
I had not the least idea where the
novitiate in France was; .nnd, as the
few persons whom I was able lo
question at once on die subject seem-
ed to know no more atK>ul it than I
did myself, the hope flashed Across
my mind that there might not be a
convent of Trappisdnes at all in
France Hut this was not of long
duration.
We had on our arrival at Versailles
made the acquaintance of a young
girl whom I shall call Agnes. My
mother was already acquainted with
her parents and other members of
the family ; but .\gnes had either been
at sthool or absent visiting relations,
so from one cause or another
had never niet till now. She
seventeen years of age, a fair, fra
looking girl, who reminded most
pie of Schacffcr's Marguerite.
Agnes had a yoimger sister r»t the
Convent of La Sainte Eufance. not
far from her father's residence, and
she asked me one day to come and
see this sister and a nun that she was
very fond of. I went, and, being full
of the thought of my sweet friend in
Ireiami, I immediately opened the
subject of Ciieaux with tlic pretty
talkative little nun wlio came to the
parlor with Agnes's sister.
'* What a singular chance
exclaimed, when I had told
much of my stor)' as was nee
" Why, we liave at this moment
community of Crislertian nuns in
house here I Their monastery is
ing repaired, and in the meantime
have permission from the bishop to
harbor them. See," she went on,
pointing to a row of windows whose
closed JWiifistifs were visible at an
angle from where we sal, "that tt
where our mother has lodged thtsn.
You can speak to the prioress, if you
like, but of course you cannot sec her."
Mary BtncdUta.
223
I was more smick by the sirangc
coiiicidcuce Oian overjoyed at being
so near thu soiulion of my difTicuUy.
X could not, however, but take ad-
vaniage of the opporlunitjr. Sister
Maddeinc, which was the little nun's
name, ran off to ask " our mother's "
pennission for me to speak with tlieir
Cisterci.-in sister, and in a few mi-
nutes returned with an affirmative.
1 was led to the door of the com-
munity-room, and, through a little
extempore grating cut through tlic
panel and veiled on the inside, I
hdd converse with the mother abbess.
A few words assured me thai Sis-
ter Madeleine had been mislaken in
supposing her gut;sts to be the daugh-
ters of St. Bernard. They were Poor
Claxes — an order more rigorous,
even, than the Trappisiines; bare feet,
except when standing on a stone
pavement or In the open air, when
the rule U to slip the feet into wooden
sandob, are added to the fasting and
perpetual silence of Citeaux. Of
til - ' -'le abbess could tell nic
no - — . diing, at le-ist, of its ac-
lUiU existence and branches m Krance,
though she broke out into impulsive
audi loving praise of its sjiirit and its
saintly fomidcr, and the rich harvest
of souls he and his children had
reaped for our Lord.
Here, then, was another respite.
It really scirmcd probable that, if, in
a quaner so likely to be well inform-
ed on (he point, there was no account
to be had of a Trappistinc convent,
tlicfc (.ould not be one in existence,
and Mary, frum sbcer inability to en-
ter I.a TrapiK,', might be driven to
choose some less terrible rule.
Mary nicanliuie had set other in-
quirers OD the track of St Bernard,
and soon teamed that llic novitiate
was at Lyons, The name of the
monastery is Notre £>ame tU touti
After some preliminary corrcsiwn-
dence with the ablicss, the day was
fixed for her to leave Ireland and set
out to her laud of proniisc.
She came, of course, through Pa-
ris. It was three years since we had
met. I found her greatly altered;
her beauty not gone, but changed.
She looked, however, in much better
health than 1 had ever seen her.
Her spirits were gone, but there had
come in their place a serenity that
radiated from her like sunshine. We
went out together to do some com-
missions of hers and the belter to
escape interruption, for this was in
all human probability to be our last
meeting on earth, and we had much
to .say to each other.
We drove first to Notre Dajnc dcs
Victoires, where, at her constantly re-
curring desire, I had been in the ha-
bit of putting her name down for the
prayers ot the confralernily, and wc
kndt once again side by side before
the altar of our Blessed l^dy.
From this wc went to the Sacr6
Occur, where Mary was anxious to
see some of her uld mjiitrcsses and
ask their prayers. Perseverance in
her vocation, and the accomplish-
ment of God's will in her and by her,
were the graces she was never weary
asking for herself, and impkiring oUi-
ers to ask for her. Her grccdijicss
fur prayers was only equaned by her
intense faith in their efScacy. She
could not resist catering for them,
and used to laugh herself at her own
im|iortunity on tins |K)int,
The sister who tended the gale
gave us a tordi.d greeting ; but, when
she heard tliat Mary wxs on her way
to La Trappc, her surprise was al-
most ludicrous. If her former puptl
had said she was going to be a Mo-
hammedan, it could not have called
up more blank amazement than was
depicted in the good sister's face on
hearing her say that she was going
to be a Trappisiiuc
234
fary Benedkta.
Tlic miblress of schools and anoth-
er nun, who liad been very kind to
her during her short stay at the Sa-
cred Heart, came to the parlor. I
was not present at the interview, but
Wary told me they were quite as
much amazed as the sa:ur portiiri:.
" It only shows what a character I
left behind me," she said, laughing
heartily as we walked arm in arm.
" My turning out good for anything
but mischief is a fact so miraculous
that my best friends can hardly be-
lieve in it !"
It was during this long aftentuun
that she told me :ill the details of
her vocation which I have already
narrated. She seemed transcendent-
ly happy, and so lifted by grace above
all the falicrings of nature as to be
quite unconscious that she was al)out
to make any sacriKc:. She was ten-
derly attached to her family, but the
pangs of separation from them were
momentarily suspcmled. Her soul
had grown strung in detachment. It
had grown to the hunger of divine
love. Like the Israelites, she had
gone out into the desert where the
manna fell, and she had fed upon it
till all utticr bread was tasteless to
her.
\Mien I expressed sur]}rise at see-
ing her so completely lifted above
human aifeciions, and observed that
it would save her so much anguish,
she answered quickly, with a sudden
look of pain:
" Oh I no it wQl save me none
of the sufl'cring. That will all come
later, when the sacrifice is made.
But I always seem to have superna-
tural strength given me as long as it
remains to be done. I took leave
of Father Paul and my dear old
nurse, and all the friends that flocked
to say goud-by, almost without a tear.
I felt it so bttlc that I was disgusted
with myself for being so heartless
while they were all so tender and
distressed ; but when it was all over,
and tlic carriage had driven out on
the road, I thought my heart u-ould
burst. I didn't dare look back at
the house, lest 1 should cry out to
them to lake me home. An<l I know
this is how it will be to-morrow."
*' And have you thought of the
possibility of having to come home
after all ?" I asked.
" Yes, I have a great deal of it.
It is possible my health may fail, or
that 1 may have mistaken the will
of God altogether in entering La
Trappe," she answered, with a cool-
ness that astPitishei) me.
"What a tri.-il that would bel"*
exclaimed. " U'iiat a humiliation t^
come out, after making such a stood
about entering I"
She laughed quite merrily.
"Humiliation! And what if it
were I I don't care a straw if I go
into ten convents, and come out of
them one after another, so long as I
find out the right one in the cmL
Wliat does anything signify but find-
ing out God's will ["
There was no mistaking the perfect
sincerity of her words. It was as
clear as sunlight— the one thing ne-
cessary, the one thing she cared one
straw about, was finding out the will
of God. Human respect or any
petty human motive had simply gone
beyond the range of her apprehen-
sion.
" And the silence, Mary ?" X
smiling, as tlie memory of her old'
school-day troubles came back OQ
me. '* How will you ever keep it ?
To me it would be the most appall-
ing part of tlie discipline of La
Trappe."
" \Vell, is it not odd ?" she replied.
*' It is so little appalling to mc Uiat I
quite long for it. Sometimes I keep
repeating the words, ' Perpetual si-
lence 1' over and over to myself, as if
they were a melody. It was it, I
I
think, that decided me for I.a irappe
instead of CanncI, where tlie rule al-
lours thcin to speak during recreation,
it seems to mc the hush of tongues
roust be such a help to union with
God. Our tongues are so apt to
scare away his presence from our
soub,"
We came home to dinner. While
wc were alone in llie drawing-room,
she asked me to play something to
her. She had been passionatdy fond
of the harp, and stood by me listen-
ing with evident ptcisufc, and when
I was done began to dratt out the
chords with her finger.
" Does it not cost you the least lit-
lic pang to give it up for ever — never
to hear a note of music for the rest
of your hfe, Mary ?" I said.
*' No, not now. I felt it in Uie
beginning; but the only music that
has a charm for me now is silence."
We parted, never to meet again,
till we meet at the judj;ment-seat.
On her arrival at Lyons, the fa-
itigue and emotions of the jouniey told
<m her. An agonizing pain in the
apmc to which she was subject after
any undue exertion obliged her to re-
main at the hotel, lying down ou tlic
sofa nearly all day.
The following morning, her father
took her to tlie monastery. Like
Abraham, he conducted his child to
the mount of sacrifice, and with his
onu hand laid the victim on the al-
tar; but no angel came to snatch
away the sacrificial knife and substi-
tute a meaner offering for the holo-
catisL He left her at the inner
gate of La Trappe.
She wrote to me some weeks after
her entrance.
'' I was less brave at parting with
my beloved ones than 1 ought to
have been," she said ; " but, on ac-
count of the pain that kqil me lying
down in the midst of them nearly all
tlie previous day, I had not been
vot- xui.— 15
able to pray as much as usual, and
so I had not got up strength enough
for the trial-time. I seemed to have
let go my hold on our Lord a httle
and to be leaning on them for cour-
age; but, when I had been a few
hours before the Blessed Sacrament,
the pain calmed down, and I began
to realize how happy I was. 1 am
in great hopes that I have found the
will of God."
One trifling incident which gave
innocent delight to Mary I must not
omit to mention.
She was asked on entering what
name she wished to bear in religion,
and on her replying that she had not
thought of one and would rather the
prioress chose for her, " Then we
shall call you Mary Bcnrdicta," said
tJie mother. " The saint has no name-
sake amongst us at present."
The only thing that disappointed
her in the new life was tlie mildness
of the rule and the short time it al-
JoLted for prayer !
It may interest my readers and
help them to estimate the spirit of
the novice to hear some details of
the rule that struck her as too mild.
Tiie Trappistines rise at 2 a.m.
winter and sumnxrr, and proceed to
choir, chanting tlie Little Oftlce of the
Blessed Virgin. Mass. meditation, the
recital of the divine olTice. and house-
hold work, distributed to each ac-
cording lo hcrslrengUi and aptitude
and to the wants of tlie community,
fill up the time till breakfast, which
is at S. Tlie rule relents in favor
of those who are unable to bear the
long early fast, and ihey are allowed
a small portion of dry bread some
hours sooner. 1 think the novices as
a rule are included in this dispensa-
tion. The second meal is at 2. The
food is frugal but wholesome, good
bread, vegetables, fuih occasionally,
and good, pure wine. Fire is an un-
known luxury, except in the kitcheiL
226
J^ry BiHidida.
The silence is peipelual, but the nov-
ices are allowed] perfect freedom of
converse with their mistress, and the
professed nuns with ihe abbess. They
converse occasionally during the day
amongst each other by signs. They
take open-air exercise, and perform
manual labor out-of-doors, digging,
etc. In-<loors, they arc constantly
employed in etabroidcring and mount-
ing vestments. Some of the most
elaborately wrought benediction-
veils, copes, chasubles, etc, used in
the large churches throughout France,
are worked by the Trappblincs of
Lyons.
They retire to rest at 8. Their
clothing is of coarse wool, inside and
outside.
Mary described the material life
of La Trappe as in ovcry sense de-
lightful; the digging, pealing pota-
toes, and so forth, as most recreative
and not at all fatiguing. After her
first Lent, she wrote uic that it had
passed so quickly, she " hardly knew
it had begun when Kaster carae."
Her only complaint was that it had
been too easy, that the austerities,
'* which were at all limes very mild,"
had not been more increased during
(he penitential season.
My third letter was on her receiv-
ing the holy habit.
" I wish you coiJd sec me in it,"
she said. *' I felt rather odd at first,
but I soon grew accustomed to it,
and now it is so light and pleasant.
I am so happy in my vocation I can-
not help being almost sure that I
have found tlie will of God."
This was the burden of her song
for evermore : to find the mil of God I
And so in prayer and expectation
she kept her watch upon the tower,
her hands uplifted, her ears and her
eycsstraining night and day for every
»ign and symbol of that blessed ma-
nifestation. She kept her watch,
tiithful, ardent, never weary of watch-
ing, rising higher and higher in lovCr
sinking lower and lower in humility.
She had set her soul hke a ladder
against the sky, and the angeU were
for ever passing up and down the
rungs, carrying up the incense of the
]>rayer, which, as soon as it reached
the throne of the Lamb, dissolved i
graces, and sent the angels flyin,
down earthward again.
The world went on ; the wheel
went round; pleasure and folly and
sin kept up their whirl witli unabat-
ing force. All things were t)ie same
as when Mar)* Bcncdicta, hearkening
to the bell from Ihe sanctuar)*, turned
her back upon the vain delusion, and
gave up the gauds of time for the
imperishable treasures of eternity.
Nothing was changed. Was it so
indeed ? To our eyes it was. We
could not sec what changes were to
come of it. We could not see the
work her sacrifice wa^i doing, nor
measure the magnitude of the glory
it was bringing to God. Poor foob!
it is always so with us. We see with
the blind eyes of cur body the things
that are of the body. Whatdo wesee
of the travail of humanity in God's
creation? The darkness and the pain.
Little else. We see a wicked man
or a miserable man, and we are fill-
ed with horror or with pity. Wc think
the world irretrievably darkened and
saddened by the sin and the mi
th.-tt wc -see, forgetting the counter'
part that we do not sec— the sancti
and the beauly born of repentance
and compassion. Wc sec the bad
publican flaunting his evil ways
the face of heaven, lirawling in the
streets and the market place; we do
not sec the good publican who goes
up to the temple striking his breast,
and standing afar off, and sobbing
out the prayer that justifies. We for-
get that fifty such climbing up tO
heaven make less noise than one sin*
ner tearing down to hell. So with
e
t
Mary Bcnedicta.
pain. When sorrow crushes a man,
turning his henrt biiicr and his wine
sour, wc find it h.ird to believe that
80 much gall can yield any honey,
so much dark let in any light. ^V'e
cannot sec — oh ! how it would startle
us if we did — how many acts of kind-
ness, how many thoughts and deeds
of love, are evoked by the sight of his
distress. 'Iliey may not be address-
ed to him. and he may never know
of them, though he has called them
into hfc ; they may all be spent U[X)n
other men, strangers perhaps, to
whom he has brought comfort be-
cause of the kiudhnexs his sorrow had
stirrefi in many hearts. Some miser
has been touched in hearing the tale
of his dislress, and straightway ojjcn-
ed his purse to he]p the Lazarus at
his own door. A selfish woman of
the world has foregone some bauble
of vanity and given the price to a
charity to silence the twinge that pur-
sued her after witnessing his patient
couiage *n adversity. 'l"here is no
end to the small change that one
jjpolden coin of love, one act of hero-
ic faith, one chat>tened attitude of
Christian sorrow, will send current
through the world. It would be
easier to number the stars tlian to
count it all up. But the bright Ut-
ile silver pieces pass through our fin-
gers nnnoticed. We do not watch
for them, neither do we hear them
chime and ring as they drop all round
us. We do not listen for them. We
Iblcn rather to the wailing and the
hissing, hearkening not at all to the
rustle of angels' wings lloating above
the din, nor to the sound of their trj-s-
tal tears falling thrnuj^h the brine of
human woe and lamentation.
One more virgin heart is given up
to the Crucil'ied— one more victory
won over nature and the kingdom of
this world. One more life i.s being
lived away to (rod in the silence of
the sanctuary. Who heeds it ? Who
sees tlie great things that are com-
ing of it ? — the graces ohtainol, the
blessings granted, the temptations
conf(uere<l, the miracle of compas-
sion won for some life-long sinner, at
whose dealli-bc<!, cut off from priest
or sacrament, the midnight watcher
before the tabernacle has been wres-
tling in spirit, miles away, with
mountains and seas between them.
Only when the .levcn seals are brok-
en of the Book in which the secrets
of many hearts are written shall these
things be made manifest, and the
wonders of sacrifice revealed.
Mary Benedicta was drawing to
the close of her novitiate. So far her
health had stood the test bravely.
She had passed the winters without a
cough, a thing that had not happen-
ed to her for years. The pain in her
spine that had constantly annoyed
her at home liad entirelv disappear-
ed.
Every clay convinced hcT more
thoroughly Uiat she had found her
true vocation, and that she was "do-
ing the willof God."* Her profession
was fijced for the month of December.
She WTOte to me a few lines, telling
me of her approaching happiiiess,
and begging me to get all the pray-
ers I could for her. Her joy seemed
too great for words. It was. indeed,
the joy that passes human understand-
ing. 1 did not hear from her again,
nor of her, till one evening 1 received
a leiter from Ireland announcing to
me her death.
Till within a few days of the date
fixed for her vows, she had been to
all appearance in perfect Iieatth. She
followed the rule in its unmitigated
rigor, never asking nor seemingly
needing any disjicnsation. She at-
tended choir during the seven hours'
prayer, mental and ^ocal, every day.
There wctc no premonitory symp-
toms of .any kind to herald in the
messenger tliat was at hand. Quito
228
The Lord Chanccthrs of Ireland.
snJdenly, one morning, at the first
iitatins, she fainteil away at her place
in the choir. They carried her to
the infirmary, ami lakl her on a bed.
She recovered consciousness after a
short tune, but on aitcmpiing to rise
fell back exhausted, 'Ihe hifinnarian,
in great alarm, aiikeil if she was
sufTering much. Mary smiled and
shook her head. Presently she whis-
pered a few words lo ilie abbess,
who had accompanied her from the
rhoir, and never left her side for a
tnoment. It was to ask that she
Diight be allowed to pronounce her
vows at once.
Was thiii, then, the summons? Yes.
ijhe was called for lo go home. The
joy-bells of heaven rang out a merry
peal. The golden gates turned slow-
ly on their hinge;*. Tlie Bridegroom
stood knocking at the door
A messenger was dispatched m
haste to the archbi&liop for penni
sion to solemnize her piofeb»ion
once. Munscigneur Bonald grant
it, and sent at the same time a sf
cial apostolic benediction to the dyin
child of St. Hemard.
That afternoon Mary pronounc*
cd her vows in the presence of
the Ble^ed Sacrament, and surround-
ed by the sisterhood, weeping a:
rejoicing.
An hour later, summoning her
mnining strength lor a last act
filial tenderness, she dictated a few
lines of loving farewell to her father.
Then she was silent, calm,, and
rapt in prayer. Her eyes never
left the cruciiix. The day past and
the night. She was stilt waiting.
At daybreak the Bridegroom cntcrci
and she went home with him.
Id-
%
THE LORD CHANCELLORS OF IRELAND."
The most indefatigable student of
the history of Ireland is, at some
tune or another, sure to become
wearied of, if not positively disgusted
at. the interminable series of foreign
and domestic wars, base treachery,
and wholesale mas:>acrc which un-
fortunately stain the annals of that
unhappy country for nearly one thou-
sand years; and were it not that the
study of profane history is a duty
imposed upon us nut only as an es-
Kt*/*ri t/tk* C'rAt S*Ji! n/ IrrUnJ, from tha
EiillE^t TliDcalo the ReiKTi nr Ouccn Vttlorl^
lly ;. K'jdcdck O'l'Ufldcan. M.R I A. Two
vol*, pp. tss>^*- L.on<1on; Li>ncm«n<. Ureen
A Cn NewVorti^Thc C'«llM>lic PublioUou
senttal \mt\. of our education, but as
a source rich in the philosophy of
human nature, there are few, we bo^
lieve, even among the most enthost
astic lovers of their race or the most
industrious of book-worms, who would
patiently peruse the long and dicary
record of persistent oppression an"
unfaltering but unavailing resisian
The few centuries of pagan grca
ness preceding the arrival of
Patrick, seen through the iliui m
of antiquity, appear to have be
periods of comparative national p
perity; and the earlier ages of Ch
tianity in the island were not only i^
themselves resplendent with the cf''
fulgcncc of piety and learning which
n
The Lord ChaHCfUors of hthnd.
enshrouded the land and illumined
far and near the then eclipsed nations
of Kurofve, but were doubly brilliant
by coninist with the darkness that
subsequently I'ollowcd the repeated
incursions of the merciless northern
Vikings, to whom war was a trade,
and murder and rapine the highest
of human pursuits.
The ultimate defeat of those bar-
hnrians in the early part of the
eleventh ceniur\' broiii^hi liiile or no
cess-niioii oi misery to the afflicted
people; for, with the death of the Con-
(piemr. the ilhiBirious King Hrian, in
the moment of victory, no man of
suflicienl statesmanship or military
ability appeared who was ca[>abic
of uniting the disorganized people
under a general system of govern-
ment, or of compelling the obedience
of the disaffected and scini-indepcn-
b4lent chiefs. The evils of the pre-
Pceding wars were numerous and
! grievou<i. The husbandman was
r impoverished, commerce had fled
the »ea-ports before the dreaded
^standard Ki^ the carrion Kaven^ leani-
ig had forsaken her wonted aliodes
>r other ctimes and more peaceful
;nes, and even the religious eslab-
shments which had escaped the de-
)yer no longer harbored lliose
iDgs of holy men and women
formerly the glory and benefactors of
(he islanrl. k was in this tlisinic-
I grated and dcmor.ili;^ed condition
that the enterprising Anglo-Normans
of the following eenlury found the
once warlike and learned Celtic
people ; and as the new-comers were
hungry for land and not overscru-
pulous as to how it was to be ob-
tained, die possession of the soil on
one side, and its desperate but unor-
ganized defence on the other, g-ive
rise to those desultory conflicts, cruel
reprisals, and horrible butcheries
which only ended, after ne.irly five
htwdred years of strife, in the almost
utter extirp.ilion of the original
owners.
Had the Korman invasion ended
with Sirongbow and Henry II., or
had it been more general and suc-
cessful, as in England, the evil would
h.ive been limited ; but as every de-
cade poured into la-land its hordes
of ambitious, subtle, and landless a<l-
venturers, who looked upon Ireland
as the most fitting place to carve
their way to fame and fortune, new
wars of extermination were foment-
ed, and the wounds that afflicted the
country were kept constantly open.
To facilitate the designs of the new-
comers, the mass of the people were
outlawed, and the punishment for
killing a native, when inflicted, which
was seldom, was a small pecuniary
fine. The efforts of the *' Reform-
ers" to convert by force or fraud
the ancient race and the bulk of the
descendants of the original Anglo-
Normans, who ^-icil with each other
in their attachment to the church, per-
petuated even in a worse form the ci-
vil strife which had so long existed be •
tween the races, and terminated, at the
surrender of Limerick, in the complete
prostration of the nation. Riil it was
only for a while. *I"he extraordin.?ry
revival of the faith in Ireland, and
its substantial triumphs in recent
years, almost make us forget and
forgive the persecutions of " the ]icnal
days," ;ind not the least of these aus-
picious resulw is the appearance of
the noble IkjoJc before us, written
by a distinguished gentleman of the
legal profession of the ancient race
and religion.
In his voluminous work, Mr.
O'FIansgnn, avoiding all matter for-
eign to his subject, and touching as
tighdy on wars and confiscations as
possible, while relating succinctly and
carefully the lives of the numerous
lord chancellors of Ireland, neces-
sarily gives us a history of English
230
The Lord ChanceUors of Ireland.
policy and legislation in that rountry
i;] an cnlircly new fon», and tills up
in its bistoriiial aud legal records
a hiatus long recognized on both
sides of the AUantic. In ordinary
histories, we see broadly dcpitteil the
efltcts of foreign invasion and du-
niOktic broils: in the Z/tw, we are per-
mitted to have a view of ihc most
secret worljings of the viceregal gov-
ernmenc and of tlie managers of ihc
so-called Irish Parliament; of the
causes which governed liriiish states-
men in their treatment of the sister
kingdom, and (he motive of every
slep taken by the dominant faction
of the Pale, supported by the wealth
and power of a great nation, to sub-
due n weak neighboring people, who,
tliough few in numbers, isolated and
dUorganizcd, possessed a high degree
of civilization and a vitality that
rose superior to all defeat. The
book lias alM) this advaniage, that,
while it siip[jlics the links that bind
cau-sus with cHccls and develops in
a critical s|>iril the true philosophy
of history, it neither shocks our sen-
sibilities uselessly with the perpetual
narration of mental an<l physical suf-
fering, nor tires us with vain specula-
tions on what might have been had
circumstances been ditTercni. The
author is content to accept the inev-
itable, and deals exclusively with the
subject in hand.
'i'he partial success of Slrongt>aw
in conjunction with the Leiiister
troops induced Henry IJ. to project
a visit to Ireland, partly from a fear
that his ambitious subject miglit be
induced by the allurements of his
newly acquired greatness to forget
his pledge of fealty and allegiance,
and partly in the hope that his pres-
ence with an armed retinue would so
ovemwc the native princes that their
entire submission wouUi follow as a
matter of course. He therefore
landed at Waterford, in 11721 and
after visiting Lismore, where a pro-
vincial synod was being held, entered
Dublin on the nth of November of
that year. But though he remained
in thai city during the greater part of
the winter, surrounded by all the
pomp of mediaeval royally, his blaa-
dishmcuts were only partly success-
ful in winning any of the prominenl
chieftains to acknowledge his as>
sumed title of Lord of Ireland. He
rested long enough, however, to es-
tablish a form of provincial govem-
mcr.t for the guidance and protection
of the Anglo-Normans, and such of
the Irish of iJublin, Kildarc, Meath,
Wexford, and of the surrounding
counties as acknowledged his ju-
risdiction, and these became what
was long aficrwardi known as the
English Pale. The head of this s;
tcni was the personal rcprcsentativ
of die monarch, ap[)ointed and re-
moved at his plcasi-.re, and called at
various limes lord <lepuiy, viceroy^
chief governor, and lord- lieutenant,
and in ca^e of his absence or death
a temporary successor was to be
chosen by the principal noblrs af
Pale, until his return or the appoint
mcnt of his successor by the king.
In the year 1219, during the reign of
Henry III., the laws of KngUnd
were extended lo the Anglo-Norman
colony, and a chancellor in the person
of John dc- Worchely was appointed
to assist the viceroy in the adminis-
tration of the taws and public attain.
The office of ch.incellor, or, as he
was afterwards styled, lord high
chancellor, was known to the Ro-
mans, and many of its peculiar duties
and |>owers are directly derived from
the civil law. In l^ngland, its estab-
lishment may be considered as con-
temporary with the Norman coii<iucs(,
and from the first it assumed the
highest imporuncc in the state. *' l*hi
oftjce of chancellor or lord kccpcfr
says lilackstone, " is created by the
Tkt Lord Cfuxncelhrs of Ireland,
231
mere delivery of the great seal into his
cusiody, whereby he becomes ihe
tlrst officer in the kiiigdoni and uUccs
pretcdeiK-e of every letiipoml peer.
Hu is a privy cuuniiellur by vittuc of
his olTicc, and, according to Lord
KlUsmorc, prolocutor of the Ilouie
of Lonts by prcbcription. To him
belongs ihe appointment of all the
justices of the peace ihroiighout the
kingdom. Ucing formerly, usual-
ly, an ecclesiaslic prciiding over tlic
king's cl'.apcl, he txxamc keeper of
his consdcnte, visitor in his right of
all hospitals and colleges of royat
foundation, and patron of all hts liv-
ings under the annual value of twenty
pounds, etc All this exclusive of his
judicial capacity in tlie Court of
Chanccn.-, wherein, as in the lixche-
querp \> a common law court and a
court of equity," * In Ireland, while
the chancellor exercised the same
functions within a more contracted
sphere, his political power and duties
were more directly and frequently felt.
ITic viceroys, particularly those of
the early periods, were generally
Mildiers expressly deputed to hold
llie conquests already gained, and to
enlarge hy force of arms the posscs-
Mons of the Anglo-Xorman adven-
turers. They were iiiUc skilled in
the arts of government, and, from
their short terms and frequent remov-
als, knew little of and cared less for
the people they were temporarily
sent to govern.* Tiic thanccllors,
on the contrary, were the reverse,
being from the first up to the reign
of Henry VIII., with a few cxcep-
lions, ecclesiastics, generally men
wcU versed in law and letlei:;, and
• Ctm. nil Ikt Lntvi */ Eagiitiiii, p. fif) tt tiq.
T Dciwccn III! ftnil noo, Irebuitl b«ii no l«wer
Umit irofirt^ra cWiei BOirernors. In the ihit-
MCflth centufy, ihcy niimberpil /.'rtf~ti.r ;
lalkc foutUcnlb. niafly-thrtr : in Ihe Gdacnth,
tifhuJir*: \i\ Ihe siHMnih,*n<"i//-i(V; In the
•cventeenih, irvfityitim* ; Rfld in ttie cIk^KcekIi,
MinHy/^mr.—O'FtMnJts*", vol. L p. »9j.
having been usually at na early age
selected from Uie inferior ranks of
the English clergy and prumolud ta
the highest positions in the church in
Ireland, ;is a preliminary step to their
appointment to ilie most important
judicial and legislative otiice in. the
colony, they had every inducement to
become familiar with its aflfiiini and
with tiie dispositions and inHuencc
of the people among whom ihcir lot
in life was cast. " Learned men
were these chancellors," says O'Flan-
agan, *■ for the most part prelates of
highly cultivated minds, attached to
the land of their birth, while exercis-
ing important sway over the destinies
of Ireland."
For the first two hundred years
after the creation of the ofljce of
chancellor, vcr)- little can be gleaned
by [he author of the Lhcs, except
the mere names, date of patents, and
a few dry facts usually connected
with well-known historical events.
The destruction by fire of St. Mary's
Abbey in Dublin, at the beginning of
the fourteenth century, and of the
Castle of Trim, in both of which val-
uable public records were kept, ac-
counts to some extent for this pauci-
ty of materials, while, as he says,
'• others were c:\rricd out of the coun-
try, and are met with in the State
Paper Oflice, the Rolls Cliaptil, Re-
curd Office, and Ilrilish Museum, in
Londo^i ; others are at Oxford. Se-
veral cities on the Continent prwsess
valuable Irish documents, while many
are stored in private hou.ses, which
the recent commission will no doubt
render available" — a sad commentary
upon the way in which cvcrj'thing
relating to the history of the country-
has been neglected by that govern-
ment which so frequently parades its
paternal inclinalioni;.
The want of judicial business dur
ing this period was amply compentat-
ed for by rcocated but vain cHbrts
4
4
I
232
Tki Lord ChauaUors of Ire/and.
10 reconcile Iho different factions into
which the colonists of the Tale were
divided, and to prevent the followers
of (he rival houses of Onnoml and
tCildare from open w.irfarc whcncvirr
the slightest provocation ivas offercil
by cither side. Wliile the power of
Kngland M'as oqicnded in foreign
wars or jn the inicmecinc struggles
of the Roses, lier grasp on the do
tainion of Ireland was becoming
ever)' day more relaxed, and il was
only by the judicious pitting of one
[wirly ag.iinst another, by alternate
threats and bribes, that even the sem-
blance of authority could be maintain-
ed at all limes. Thus, In 1355. E'l-
ward III., writing to the Earl of KiU
darc, uses the following empliatic
words :
" AUIiouRhyou knoworthcM invasions,
dcsiruciione, or dangcis, and have been
often urged to tlcIciiJ ihfsc marches
jointly Willi others, you have neither sped
ibiiher nor sent that force of men which
you w«to stronfilr bound to have done
for the honor of an carl, and for the safe-
ly of llio&c lardsliips, c^silcs, lands, and
leitamcm^, which, given and granted to
your gr.indfjihcr hy ourgrandfathor, have
ibuH descended to you. Since you neither
endeavor to prevent the jieiiU, ruin, and
de^lruction ihrcalenin^ these jintis, in
COnsctiuencc of your neKlct.'t, nor ancnd
W llie orders of ouiwives or our council.
ue shall no lunger be tiifled with," etc.
This was strong language, but fully
justified by the unsettled condition
of affairs in and outside the Pale.
Chancellor de Wickford, Archbishop
of Dublin, who was apiK>intcd in
tj75, found that his sacred calling
and official dignity were no protec-
tion to him even in the vicinity of
the capita), and was therefore allow-
ed a guard of six inen-at-arins and
twelve archers, while the lord treas-
urer had the same number. Nor
was this preraulion lalcen against the
Irish enemy alone, for we find that
Thomas dc Burcl, Prior of Kilmain-
ham, when chancellor, while holding
a parley wiih De Benningbara at
Kildote, was, with his attendant lords,
taken pruioner. The lay noblemen
were ransomed, but the prior was kept
a prisoner only to be exchanged for
one of the De Uemiinghams then
confined in Dublin Casde. This fa-
mily seem to have held the judicial
othcers somewhat in contempt, for
we read at another time that Adam
VeMom, Chief Chancery Clerk, was
captured by them and tlic O'Connors,
and obligetl to pay ten pounds in sil-
ver for his release. When John Cot-
Ion, Dean of St. Patrick's, was appoint-
ed chancellor in 1379. and com-
menced his lour, accompanied by the
viceroy, from Dublin to Cork, he
was allowed fur his personal retinue,
independent oi his servants and
clerks, uot very formidable oppo-
nerds, it is to be presumed, " four
men-at-arms armed at all poinL^ and
eight mounted archers," a circuna-
stance which shows that tlie Irish
and many of the Anglo-Iri.sh of the
country had verj- little reverence for
the person of even an English chan-
eel lor.
In 1398, Dr. Thomas Cranley was
sent over to Dublin bs its archbi-
shop and chancellor of the colony,
and from his high position and known
ability it was expcctetl that he would
not only remedy the disorders of the
pale, but bring back the jireat lonis to
a sense of their duly to the king, and
devise measures for the collection of
his revenues, which ihcsc noblemen
did not seem inclined to pay with
the alacrity befitting obedient sub-
jects. After several years of fruit-
less endeavors to effect these objects,
he was obliged to write to King Hen-
ry IV. for funds to support his son,
who was then acting as viceroy.
*' With heavy hearts," says the chan-
cellor, speaking for the privy council,
" we testify anew to your highness that
Th€ Lord Chanceliors of Trtland.
our lord, your &on, \% so destitute of
money tluthe has not a penny m the
world, nor can l>f>now a single pen-
ny, because all his jewels and his
plate Ihac he can spare of those that
he must of necessity have, are pledg-
ed and be in pawn. AU his soldiers
have dqiartefl from him, and the peo-
ple of his household are on the point
of Iciviiifi him." And he further signi-
ficantly adds, " For the more full de-
claring of these m.itters to your high-
ness, three or two of us should have
come 10 your high presence, but such
is the danger on this side that not
one of us <lare depart from the person
of our lord," This was indeed a sad
condition for the son of the reigning
monarch and his council lo find
themselves in, while the 'I'albois,
Butlers, and Fitzgeralds were feasting
on the fat of the land surrounded by
thousands of their well-paid followers.
Again, in 14,35, ^'^^*" Archbishop
r^bot was chancellor, the council
itough that prelate addressed a
lemorial to the king, in which the
>Uowii)g remarkable passage occurs:
"Pint, \\\M. it please our sovereign
Icrd graciously 10 consider how tliis laud
of Ireland is wcll-iiigl> dcslroycct and in-
habited with liis rncmtcs and icbcis, in-
somucli that (licrc isnot left in llic nonh-
ern patlK of ihc counties of Dublin,
Mealh, Louth, and Kildarc, ihat join to-
gether out of sub)cctioaaf lite said ene-
mies and rebels, scntccly thirty miles in
length anil twenty miles in btcadth.as a
man may surely ride or go. in Itie said
counties, to answer 10 fhe king's writs
and lo bis commandments."
This extraordinary admission, made
two hundred and sixty-six years after
the lamhng of the Normans, would
be almost Increddtle did it rest on
less weighty authority. This was the
time for the Irish people to have re-
gained their freedom, and, had they
had half as much of the spirit of na-
tionality and organization as ihey
possessed of valor and endurance,
a decisive blow might easily have
been struck that would have for ever
ended the English power in their
island. But the propitious moment
was allowed to pass, and dearly did
they pay in aftertimcs for their su-
pineness and folly.
The tiissensions were not confinerl
to the natives. The quarrels and
bickerings of the nobles and officials
of the Pale seemed to invite destruc-
tion. Rival parliaments were held;
viceroys who were attached by poli-
cy or affection to the houses of Vork
and Lancaster contended in the Cas-
tle of Dublin for the legitimacy of
their respective factions ; and even the
Lord Chancellor Siierwood, Bishop
of Mealh, and the members of the pri-
vy council, whose oflice and duty it
was to preserve the peace between all
parties, were found the most turbu-
lent; " the chancellor and chief-
justice of the king's bench reijuiring
the interposition of the king to keep
them quiet, while the Irish so press-
ed upon the narrow limits of the
Englisli settlements tiiat the statute re-
quiring cities and boroughs lo be re-
prescntc^i by inhabitant of the same
was obliged to be repealed upon the
express ground that representatives
could not be expected to encounter, on
thi;ir journeys to p.uliament, the great
perils incident from the king's Irish
enemies and English rebels, for it is
openly known how great and fre-
quent mischiefs have been done on
the ways botli in the south, north,
cast, and west parts, by reason where-
of they may not send proctors,
knights, nor burgesses.'* • Such was
the condition of Ireland in a.d. 1480,
just three centuries after the advent
of Henry II. to her shores.
One of the principal duties of the
Irish lord chancellors, even to the
* OTUnagmD, t oL i. p. ijok
234
The Lord Chancelhrs of frehnd.
very moment of its exlinction, was
the tnanagcmcnt of the Irish parha-
menL Tlje body thai for so mauy
centuries bore that pretentious tide,
but which never spoke the voice of
even a rcsperuble minority of the
people, is said to have owed its ori-
gin 10 the second Hcnrj*, though ac-
cording to Whiteside, who follows
Ihe authority of Sir John Davies, no
parliament was held in the couniry
for one hundred and forty years after
that king's visit.* Except in an
antiquarian'point of view, the matter
is of liiOc importance, as such gath-
erings in Ireland, even more so than
those of F.nglam], coitld not at that
time be tailed either Tcprcsrntative
or deliberative bodies, for their mem-
bers were not chosen by even a
moiety of the people, and they were
mere instrtmients in the hands of
the governing powers, who moulded
them at will wlien ihcy desired to
impose new taxes or unjust laws on
the people, ostensibly with their own
sanction. From the days of Simon
de Monlfort to those of George IV.,
the English parliamentary system
has been an ingeniously devised en-
gine of general oppression under the
garb of popular government.
Of the ancient jiarliaments, the
most famous was that held at Kil-
kenny during the chancellorship of
John Trowyk, Prior of St. John, in
1367, at which was passed the statute
bearing the name of that beautiful
city. Though the name only of the
chancellor, who doubtless was the
author ex offim, has come down to
us, that delectable specimen of Eng-
lish legislation is doubtless destined
to survive lite changes of time, and
expire only with the language itself.
It prohibited marriage, gossiprcd.and
fostering betvccn the natives and
• Lift am.1 PtaiS r/ tke tHii, FafH*mtnl. By
Ulc Kicht Him. Jaowf WLila«M«, C.J.
the Anglo-Irish under penalty of
treason, also selling to the former
upon any cundidon horses, armor,
or victuals, under a tike petulty- AU
persons of either nationality living
in the i'ale were to use the English
language, names, customs, dress, and
manner of riding. No Irishraaii was
to be admitted to holy orders, nor
was any minstrel, story-leUcr, or
rhymer to be harbored. English on
tlie borders should hold no parley
with their Irish neighbors, except by
special permission, nor employ them
in their domestic wars. Irish games
were not to be indulged in, but should
give place to those of the English,
as being more " gentlemanhkc
sports." Any inlVaction of lliesc pro-
viiions was to be puiiisltc<l with ri-
gor, for, says the preamble to the
act, "many of the ICnglisli of Ire-
land, discarding the English tongue,
manners, style of riding, laws, atid
usages, lived and governed them-
selves according to the mode, fash-
ion, and language of the Irish ene-
mies," etc., whereby the said *' Irish
enemies were exalted and raised up
contrary to reason." 'i'his enactment
is perhaps without a parallel in the
history of scini- civilized legislation,
if wc except that passed at a parlia-
ment held at Trim in 1447, ^"^ lor
which wc are indebted to no less a
person than the Archbishop of iJub-
liii, lord chancellor at that period.
It enacts " that those who would be
taken for Knglishmeii (that is, within
the protection of law) should not
wear a beard on the upper lip; that
the said lip should be shaved once at
least in every two weeks, and tliat
offenders thercm should be treated
as Irish enemies." As no jirovision
was inserted in the statute providing
for the supply of razors, or mention
made of the appointment of state
barbers, we presume it soon became
inoperative.
Thi Lord Chancett^s of Trefaud.
235
By such penal Icgi&btiuu it was
weakly supposed liic evils of the
country could be cured most eflcc-
tudlly, but, unfortunately for the law-
makerSi it was caster lo pass sUtuies
tbaii tu cnfuri:e Uicin. On llie mass of
the people they had uo effect what-
ever, except, perhaps, 10 bind them
faster to tlicir andent lan-s and cus-
toms, and he would liave hcen a bold
ofticer indeetl who would have at*
tempted to carry them out, even among
the Anglo-Irish Taniilics outside of
the Pale ; for we iind tiiai, at a parlia-
ment held in Uubhn in r44r, under
ihc supervision of Archbishop Talbot,
a slront; re^juest was made to the
king lo furnish troops for the defence
of the colony, the privy council
having some time previously repre-
sented "'that the king sltould ordain
that the Admiral of England iihould,
in summer season, visit the coasts of
Ireland to protect the merchants
from the Scots, Kretons, and Spa-
nianjs, who come thither widi tiieir
sJiips stuSl-d with men of war in
great number^ seizing t!ie merchants
of Ireland, Wales, and England, and
holding them to ransom." •
The seliish but sagacious policy
of Henry VH. had done so much
to remedy the evils inflicted on Eng-
land by Uie wars of the Roses that
when bis son, Henry VHJ., ascend-
c<l die throne in 1509, he found a
united and contented i>eople, a wcll-
fiJIcd treasury, and a Kubservicn: par-
liament The character of this no-
torious ruler is too well known to
need comment, and the eflccts of hia
crimes are still pcrce]>til)ly felt by
the country that hnd the misfortune
to have given him biriii. His iiillu-
ence on Irish afuiirs, tliou^^U more
disastrous in its immediate results,
has happily long since been oblite-
rated. Dr. Rokeby, Bishop of Meath,
and afterward Archbishop of Dublin,
hrst appointed chancellor in 1498,
was retained in his office by the new
king. He is represented as a man
of marked piety and learning, but
he would have been unfitted to ^11
an oHlce under the English crowa
had he allowed any scruples of con-
science to stand between him and
the behests of his royal master.
What these were m.iy be judged from
a passage in a private letter from
Henry to his viceroy. ** Xow,* he
writes, *' at the beginning, pohtical
practices may do more good tlian
exploits of war, till sucli time as the
strength of Uie Irish enemy shall be
enfeeble! and diminislicd; as well by
getting their captains from them, as
by putting division among them, so
that they join not together " • — an
advice eminently suggestive, but by
no means new, for tlie policy of ar-
raying the Irish-against each other
had been practised long before with
fatal etTcct. Rokeby held the great
seal for twenty-one years, and his
long term was marketl by his suc-
cessful efforts to reconcile the hostile
Anglo-Irish factions, his negotiations
with the native chiefs, for the purpose
of inducing them to acknowledge the
sovereignty of Henry, and tlie con-
sequent extension of the functions
of the courts over the greater part
of the island. The success of the
hrst and last of these nit-asurcs was
mamly due to the personal efforts of
the lord chancellor, and the sub-
mission of the Irish party resulted
from the loss of the battle of Knock-
tough, in 1504, and the fcvorable
promises held out by the chancellor
and viceroy, inducements, it is need-
less to say, \\\\v:\\. were never fulfilled.
Hewas succeeded by the twoSt. Law-
rences, father and son, of whom no-
thing notable is recorded, but that
• Gilbert's Vhtr^tm/irOamt.
• StaU fm^rt, tttftf. Htmrf K//A
236
Tke Lord Ckanctttors of Tretand.
they were laymen and natives oi the
soil; and by Archbishop Ingle, who,
however, held office for but one
year.
The next ecclesiastical chancellor
was Dr. Alan. conimJiisioncd in 1528.
This distinguished orticial w^ re-
markable not only for bis great men-
tal capacity, but as a not unfavorable
sample of the Knglish political church-
men of the era immediately preced-
ing the so-called " Reformation " —
men mho, by their laxity of faith
and tvorlilly ambition, paved the way
for the sulwequent grand march of
heresy and immorality. Bom in
r.ngland In 1476, he studied with
credit both ai Oxford and Cambridge,
and at an early age entered the
priesihood. His varied acquiremencs
and experience of mankind gained
him, in 1515, the degree of doctor
of laws and the contidencc of the
Archbishop of Canterbury, then Lord
Chancellor of b^ngland, by whom he
was sent to Rome on a special mis-
sion. On his return, he was appoint-
ed chaplain to Cardinal U'olsey, and
judge of his legantine court. In
both capacities he ap])ears to have
given satisfaction, particularly in the
latter, tn which he materially assisted
the ambitious cirdinal in suppressing
certain monasteries, and appropriat-
ing the revenues, it is more than sus-
pected, to his own and his patron's
use. For these services he was re-
warded with the archbishopric of
Dublin and the Irish chancellor-
ship. His two great vices, avarice
and the love of intrigue, became
now fully developed. When not
begging for increase of salary or
emoluments, he w.ts writing scanda-
lous letters to hts friends at the Eng-
lish court, complaining of the con-
duct of the viceroy, (he unfortunate
Earl of Kildarc, and it was mainly
through hi:> instrumentality, supported
by Wulscy, that that nobleman was
called to F.ngtand and . committt
to the Tower of London. His nexlj
step was to circulate a false report]
that the carl had been executed. This ■
led, as he anticipated, to the rebel-,
lion of Kiidare's son and depuiv,
better known as Silken Thomas, and
a number of Irish chiefs with whom
the FibEgerolds were allied, and. upon
its suppression, to the confiscation of
vast estates in- Leinster and Munslcr.
But Alan did not live long enough
to behold the result of his sanguinary
policy. Alarmed at the .wonn he
had raise<), he endeavored to esca|>e
from the countrj-, but the elements
seem to have consjjired against him,
for he was cast ashore near Clontorf,
and. on being discovered by some of
Thomas's followers, he was put t<
death. He was succeeded as chan^
cellor by Cromer, Archbishop qX\
Armagh, who was, however, short)]
after deprived of his oftice for hill
unflinching apposition to Henry's nb-|
surd pretensions of being con:iidcrcdil
" Head of the Church." It w.is of j
this prelate that Browne, the king'i
Archbishop of Dublin, wrote to l.ord)
Henry Cromwell, in 1635, *■ that h«
had endeavored, almost to the haz-J
zard and danger of his lemporal lifevj
to procure the nobility and gentry of
this nation to due obedience in onu-'
ing his highness their supreme head,
as well spiritual as temporal ; and do
find much oppugning therein, e!;pe-|
cially by his brother .^rlnagh, wh
hath beene the main oppugner, and
so hath withdrawn most of his suf-
ragans and clergy within his sec and
diocese." •
Unable to coerce or cajole the
Pope, Henry at length llirew down
the gauntlet to the Holy Fathtr, and,
emboldened doubtless by the ready
submission of the Knglish, re&olved
to enforce his new ideas of religion
■ Ware'i Hft t/Br m mt.
The lu>rd ChanaUors of Ireland.
237
on ihc people of Ireland. The par-
liament of ibac country, pliant as
ever, voted him king of Ireliind and
head of the church, and would as
wtllingly have conferred on him any
other tide, no matter how far-fetched
or absurd, had he desired it. Arch-
btshop Browne, of Dublin, w,ts a
Christian after the king's own heart,
and, jn liis way, as consistent and as
zealous a refurnicr ; and with the
chancellor, Lord Trimhlestown, at
the laboring-oar, the ixsk of convert-
ing the Irish to the new faith was
consulcred quite easy. Here and
there a stubborn nxusant wa.s an-
ticipated, but were there not monas-
teries an<l nunnerie<i enough to ))e
confiscated, and lantli and revenues
lo lie given away, to satisfy those be-
oighted adherents to ilic old faith ?
A grand tour of prosclylisin through-
out the country was therefore pro-
jected, and the lord chancellor, the
archbishop, and the other members
of the privy council sallied out, ac-
compa nied by their mcn-at arms,
procurants, clerks, and retainers, to
expound the Gospel according to
King Henry, and to enforce their
doctrines, if all else failed, by the
caEDat wea[K>iis of the lash and
baiter. They visited in succession
Carlow, Kilkenny, Ross, Weji/ord,
and Waterford, where they are mind-
ful to acknowledge " they were well
entertained." J'hc archbishop on
Sundays *' preached the word of God,
having very good audience, and pub-
lished the king's injunctions and the
king's translation of the I\iUr NoiUr,
Ave Afaria, the Articles of Faith, and
ifae Ten Commandments in English,"
while on wcck-<]ays the chancellor
took his share of the good work ; for,
continues the report, " the day fol-
lowing we kept the sessions there
(Waterford) both for the city and the
■hire, Hhcre was put to execution
four felons, accompanied by another.
a friar, whom, among the residue, we
commanded to be hanged in his
habit, and so to remain upon the
galluws for a mirror to alt his breth-
ren to hve truly."* 'I'his judicious
mixture of preaching and hanging,
the Lord's Prayer and the statute of
Kilkenny, it was thought, would
have a salutarj- effect on the souls
and bodies of unbelievers, and was a
filiini? furm of iiUroducing the Refor-
mation lo the consideration of the
Irish people.
'I"he war on the faith of the nation
having been thus openly and auspi-
ciously inaugurated, we must hence-
forth look upon the chancellors of
Ireland not only as the persistent
defenders of the English interest in
that country, but as the most danger-
ous becauM: tlie most insidious and
influential enemies of Catholicit)'.
Sir John Alan was appointed chan-
cellor in 1539. and in the following
ye;ir we find him at the head of a
royal commission for tlie suppression
of religious houses. The authority
to the commissioners sets forth, with
a mendacity never surpassed in a
state paper, and rarely paralleled,
even in the won.1 days of anli-Calho-
lic persecution, the following pre-
texts for striking a deadly blow at
the bulwarks of charity, veligion, and
learning :
"That frorn inforiralion of Trustworthy
persons, it being ninnire<il)y at>[>arcnt
lh:it tlie inoiiaftleries, abbics, \tt\auci, anc]
other places of religious of Fi^gLiLirs in
Irvl-ttid .irc, at piescni, in such a iilale
Ihni in them ihe pr.aisc of tiotl and the
wRlfare of man arc ncxi To nothir^ re-
g.AiiJed, (lie icgul.irA and others dwelling
thc'ic l)ein|{ ailUtcleJ, partly lo iheii own
hiipcrsiliioiis ceremonies, partly to Ihc
pernicious worship of idols, and to the
pestiferous doctrines of the Roman Pon.
litT. that unlets an etTeclual remedy be
promplly provided, not only the wealc
• SUU P»Mr*y VOL UL fi. »>«.
238
The Lard Chancellors of Ireland,
tower order, hut th« whole Irish people.
maj* b« specdiljr infected to thcJr total
dcftiruccion by Ilie example of these pcr-
suns. To prevent, therefore, the longer
continunnce of such religious men anil
nun* in fto damnnhlc a stale, the kitijr.
hiving resolved to rcsame into his ovrn
huids all the motvas (cries and religious
house*!, for their better rcformaUon, lu re-
move fium llietn the religious men and
women, and cauKe them lo return to some
honc5i mode of living, and to true
reli|;ion. directs the commissioners to
signify this his iniciiiion to Uic heads of
religious houses," etc.*
It is unnccessnry to say thit this
measure of wholesale spoliation was
[)roinj)tI)' and thoroughly carried out.
The thousand ruins that dot the
island attest it, and the tiilc-decds of
many a nol)lt;man's broad acres bear
dale no carHcr than this edict of the
greatest monster that ever disgraced
the British throne.
From this lime fonh. the lord
chancellors found their best [jossport
to royal favor In devising measures
for the destruction of the popular
faith. Being generally needy adven-
turers, wiih nothing but ihcir legal
knowledge and facile consciences to
begin the world with, they neither
loved the country nor respected the
people, and their titles and wealth
depended simply on their zeal for
Protestantism. Of the hundreds of
penal laws which disgrace the sta-
tute-book of the sixteenth and seven-
teenth centuries, every one of thcin
owes its inception and enactment to
one or another of those subtle-mind-
ed offici.ils who, as the head of the
lords, president of the privy council,
and the tlispenscr of vast Judicial
and executive patronage, had a po-
tent influence in all public affairs,
'I'hey continued industriously to car-
ry out the designs of Henry during
• Uanin't CW. val. L p. 35.
the succ^vc reigns of his worthy
daughter liliMbeih, the Siuarts, Wil-
liam, Anne, and the House of Bruns-
wick. Even when the fears of foreign
invasion in 1760, and the noble re-
sistance of the fathers of our repub-
lic some years later, had awakened
the fears of the British authinitics
and induced them to relax somewhat
the chains of the Carholics, the voice
of the lord chancellors was still lor
war. Apart, however, from tliis spi-
rit of intolerance which seemed to
be naturally attached to the office, it
must be confcsseti that from the days
of Henry the great seal was held by
many able lawyers and distinguished
statesmen, some of whom were not
unknown in the world of letters as
authors and literal |)atrons of learn-
ing and science. The names of
C!urwan, I.oftus [who founded Tri-
nity t'ollcge University), Boyle, Por-
ter, Iliitler, t'ox, Urorierick, Howies,
and many others, orcupy honored
positions in the legal annals of Great
Britain and Irclaml, and their lives,
full of incident and variety, are fully
and fairly ])lafed before us by Mr.
O'Flanagan.
The treaty of union in 1800, by
which Ircl.md lost her parliament,
and legislatively bei\tme a province,
deprived the Irish chnncellora of
much of their original political pow-
er; though, strange as it may appear,
this object was effected mainly through
the exertions of Lord Clare, who at
that time held the office. In this
man's character, distinguished as it
was for many private virtues, and
for ever)' public vice that it is possi-
ble lo conceive, were unitcti the good
and bnd qualities of all his ]>reileces*
sors, joineil lo a wonderful mental
capacity which far surpassed ihcra
all. Bom in Ireland, he was of Eng-
lish extraction and more than Eng-
lish ill feeling, and, though of an ex-
emplary Catholic stuck, he was the
Thu Ijtrd Chancelhrs of Ireland.
259
son of &n apostate clerical student, a
raosl violent Protestant and a rancor,
ous prostriplionist. A profound ju-
rist and an upright judge in putc-
ly legal nKirters, his anti-Catholic pre-
judices seeraed totally to have warp-
ctl his judgment whenever tlie ques-
tion of religion pre«cnte<] itself, and,
though a steadrist friend in private
of those who agreed with or did not
care to diOtr fruin Itlin, he never fail-
ed to cany into oHiual life the ha-
treds and animosities engendered \\\
political struggles or domestic intcr-
couree. A powerful orator, full of
strong legal points, lo^^ical proposi-
tioni, and keen, and sometimes coane,
sarcun, he ruled his party \vith a
rod of iron, and, when persuasion
and threats failed, he iiesitatcd not
to ase bribes aiiU cajolery. His men-
tal energy was equal to any amount
of lat)or, and his physical courage
was beyond question, even in a
country and age where bravery was
ranVcd among the highest of virtues.
Such was John Fitzgibbon. first Earl
of Clare, born near Dublin in 1749,
a man pre-eminently fitted by Provi-
dence to adunj his couiilr)' and bene-
fit roankinil, but who perverted his
great gifts and employed them with
too much success in destroying that
country's remnant of independence,
and in devising new methods of per-
secution for his Catholic relatives
and countrymen. He died tn the
plcniturlc of his power in 1802 ; his
name when mcntionetl is reprobated
by all gooil men in the nation he be-
trayed; his title, so ingloriously won,
is extinct ; and his bench in Chancery
and his scat in the Hnuw of Lords
are filWI by one of that race and
creed which he so cordially detested
and so ruthlessly persecuted.* Sk
transit ghria mundi.
Mr. O'Flanagan brings down his
Livts to the time of George IV'., but
this latter portion of his valuable col-
lection of biographies belongs more
to the domain of law than of history.
Indeed, the entire work is full of cu-
rious and interesting information
which will be highly prized by the
legal profession. What the late Lord
Campbell has clone so well for the
English chancellora, the author has
endeavored to do for those of Ire-
land, and with equal success, not-
withstanding the scarcity of tnatcrials
and the loose manner in which the
Irish records have been kept. One
of the most attractive features of this
book is the total absence of passion
or prejudice in the narrative of events
and estimation of character ; but every
necessary circumsiaiKc is detailed in
a plain, lucid, and intelligible style,
and with something of judicial gravi-
ty and impartiality bcfitiing so impor-
tant a subject. As far as the au-
thor's own political predilections are
concerned — and we suspect that they
arc by no means intensely national—
the lone of the book may be said to
be colorless, a peculiarity in modem
biography which, while it may de-
tract from its vivacity, will certain.
ly add much weight to its value
as an authority. We are promised
a sequel to the chancellors, contain-
ing the lives of the lord chief-justices,
which we hope will sonn appear, for
the more light that is shed on those
darkened pages of Ireland's history,
the letter for the caus-j of truth, jus-
tice, and humanity.
■John (VirBcan. iho present Ixrd Iligb Chuw
cellor of IrduML
340 Gottfried von Strassbur^s Great Hymn to the Virgin^
GOTTFRIED VON STRASSBURG'S GREAT HYMN TO
THE VIRGIN.
The period of the Gcnnan Minne-
singer, dating from about the middle
of the thirteenth to the middle of
the fourlccnili century, wiinesscd
probably the intenscsi and sin-
cerest devotion to tlic worship of
the Vir^gin Mar>- in the whole history
of the Cathotic Church. Intense
and sincere pre-eminently, because
so expressed iii the vast number of
paintings and poems in her gloriftca-
lion whereof we have record. That
whole period, indeed, was one of fer-
vent religious feeling, stimulated by
ihc Crusades, and naturally choosing
the Virgin for the chief object of
worship, as the whole knifrhtly spir-
it of that age was one of devotion
to woman. The pure love — for
Minnc is f>utr love — of woman has
never, in the histor>' of literature,
been so exclusively made the topic
of poetrj' as it was during that cen-
tury of the Minnesinger; it is the
absorbing theme of the almost two
hundred poets of that Hmc, of whom
we have poems handed down to us,
and its highest expression was at-
tained in those poems that were ad-
dressed to the woman of all women,
Mary, the mother of Jesus,
Ihe German language in the thir-
teenth ccntur)' had attained a devel-
opment which fitted it pre-eminent-
ly for lyric poclr>- in all its branches.
What it has since gained in other
respects it has lost in sweet music of
sound. Furthermore, the true hws
of rhythm, metre, and verse lor
modem languages, as distinguished
from the rules that governed classic
poetry, had been discovered and
fixed ; rules and laws the knowledge
whereof subsequently was lost, and
which it gave Goethe so much trou-
ble, as he tells us in his autobiogra-
phy, to find again. The purity of
rhyme has never since in German
poetT)' attained the same degree of
periection, not even under the skil-
ful hand of Rucckert and I'latco,
which the Minnesinger gave to '\\.\
and tlius altogether those matters,
which consliluic the mechanism of
poetr)-, were in fullest bloom.
Now this mechanism and the won-
derful language which it operated
upon being in the possession and
under the full control of such men as
were the poets of that day, the re-
sult could be only poems of perfect
form, and yet at the same time naive,
earnest, intense, a.:d enthusiastic in
their character. tor those poets
were not — hke those of our modern
poets who have completcst control of
the mechanism of poetry, as Tenny-
son, Swinburne, etc. — poets of a cold,
reflective bent of mind, but they
were simple knights, with great en-
thusiasm in the cause of the Crusades
and of ladies ; at the same time gifted
with a wondrous power of ver&tftca-
tion. A considerable number of
them, some of the best, as Wolfram
von Eschenbach, Ulrich von Lich-
tenstuin, etc., could not even write
and read, and had to dictate their
poems to their Singerleiii, or sing it
to him — for these poets invented a
melody for each of vheir poems —
which Singerlcin again transmitted
it in the same manner until, in
the course of time, these unwritten
Minnelieder were, as much as possi-
ble, gathered together by the noble
Cetifrkd von Strasshurgs Great Hymn to the Virgin.
knight, Ruedigcr von Manasse, hia
son, and the Minnesinger, Johann
Ilaijinub, put into tnanusrript, and
Uiu& happily pres«ned for future gen-
erations.
The songs that these Minnesingers
sang are of a threefold character:
cither in praise of the ladies, usually
couple*! with references to ihc sea-
sons of the year ; or of a didactic
character; or, finally, in praise of the
Virgin.
Their form is only twofold : either
they are lays or songs proper. The
song or Minnelied proper has inva-
riably a triplicity of form in each sian-
3C3. that is, each stanza has three parts,
whereof ihe first two correspond with
each other exactly, wliereas ihe third
has an independent, though of course
rfaythtnically csnuected, flotv of its
own. The lay, on the contrary,
is of irregular construction, and pcr-
tniLi the \ndest rhythmical liberties.
Of the many .Minneliedcr a<idress-
cd to the Virgin we have presented
to us examples of both kinds, lays
and songs. Chief among them are
a lay by W'alther von dcr Vogclweide,
and the Gre^l J/ymn by Gottfried
von Strassburg.
The latter is probably the finest
of aiU the Mimieiicdcr— worldly and
satrml — of that period. Ranking
next to these two there is, however,
another poetn lo the Virgin, not to
he classified strictly under the gene-
ral title of Minneliedcr, but still the
production of a famous Minnesinger,
and withal a poem of wondrous beau-
ty, which for two centuries kept its
hold upon the pcoi)lc. This is Kon-
rarJ von Wuerzbnrg's Golden Smithy—
a poem that is written in the metre
of the narrative poem of thai age,
namely, in lines wherein every line
ending in a masculine rhyme has
four accentuations and every line
ending in a female rhyme has three
accentuations, the syllables not being
VOL. XIII. — 1 6
counted — a metre that Coleridge has
adopted in his poem Chrhtabet.
In this Golden Smilhy the poet re-
presents himself as a goldsmith, work-
ing all manner of jjretious stones and
gold into a glorious ornament for the
Queen of Heaven, by gathering into
his poem all possible itnagi-s and si-
miles from the world of nature, from
sacred and profane history and fable,
and from all the virtues and graces
of mankind. It is a poem of won-
derful tplcudor, and has a great
smoothness of diction. "If," says
the jjoei in the opening of the poem,
"in the depth of the smithy of my
heart I could melt a poem out of
gold .-nd could enamel the gold with
the giowing ruby of pure devotion, I
would forge a transparent, shining,
and sparkling praise of thy worth,
thou glorious empress of heaven.
Vet, though my speech should fly
upward like a noble eagle, the wings
of my words could not carry me be-
yond thy praise ; marble and ada-
mant shall be sooner penetrated by a
straw, and the diamond by molten
lead, tlian I attain the height of the
prabie lliat belongs to thee. Not un-
til all the stars have been counted
and tlie dust of the sun and the sand
of the sea and the leaves of the trees,
can thy, praise be properly sung."
iJut even this poem is far surpasii-
ed in beauty every way by Gottfried
von Strassburg's Great Hymi. In-
deed, Konrad himself modestly con-
fesses this in his Golden Smithy^ when
he regrets that he does not " sit upon
the green clover bedewed with .sweet
speech, on which sat worthily Gott-
fried von Siras&burg, who, as a most
artistic smith, worked a golden poem,
and praised an<l glorified the Holy
Virgin in much better strain."
'riierc is, indeed, a wondrous beau
ty in this hymn of Gottfried von
St7.i.*isburg, a beauty much akin lo
that of his own Strassburg Cathedral,
242 Gottfried von Strassburgs Grtat Hymn to the Virgin.
which was begun about the same
time.
" U is," sa>*s Van der Hagen, ** the
Tcry glorific;ition of love (Mhine)
and of Minncsong; ii is the heaven-
ly bridal song, the mysterious Solo-
mon's Song, which mirrors its miracu-
lous object in a stream of deep and
lovely images, linking them all to-
gether into an imperishable wreath ;
yet even here in its profundity and
signi6cancc of nn artistic and numer-
ously-rhymed construction; always
clear as crystal, smooth and gracc-
fuL"
'Hie poem separates into three
ports ; in ihc first whereof the poet
exhorts all those who desire to listen
to his song of God's great love to
endeavor to gain it by unremitting
exertion ; and furthennurc to pruy
for him, the poet, ivho has so little
striven to attain it for himself, tn
the second part, the poet calls upon
tlie heavens and Christ to bend down
uid listen to his truthful lays in praise
of Christ's sweet mother. Then in
the third part begins the praise of
the Virgin, followed by that of her
Son, and tlic poem reaches its su-
pTcme fcr^'or when it breaks out final-
ly in praise of God himself Thence
it gradually lowcts its tone, and fmal-
ly expires in a sigh
I suppose it is impossible to give
an adequate idea by translation of
the melodious sound of words, the
perfect rhythm, and the artistic gra-
dation of effect which this poem has
parts of the poem, and so selecte<l
as to give a general idea of both the
manner and tlic matter of the poem.
The selection opens with the first
and ends with the last verses of
the whole poera ; but the whole
itself being composed of ninety-four
stanzas, it was necessary to take from
in the original. I can say only that
] have done my best in the following
stanzas, selected from tlie various
the intermediate ones only speci-
mens. The imagery may often seem
far-fetched, but it must be remember-
ed tliat the men of that period liken-
ed God and the God-begotten unto
everything on earth and in heaven,
for the simple reason that they deem-
ed it irreverent and impossible to
characterize lliem by any single pre-
dicate or word.
Of the poet himself we know very
little. His name indicates him to
have been a citizen of Strassburg.
His title Meister (master) shows that
his station in life was that of a citi-
zen and not of a noble or knight,
their title being Hcrr, He was un-
doubtedly the foremost poet of hb
age, and — together with Wolfram
von Eschcnbach — was then and is
still so considered. His greatest
work is the narrative poem, 'Jhstan
tttid Isoliii : but that he left unfinish-
ed. We have no other work of his
handed down to us except three or
four small Minncsongs.
UVMX TO THE VIRCl.N,
Ye, who your life would glorify
And Aoat in bliss with Gjd un high,
There to dwell nigh
His peace and love's salvation ;
Who fain would learn how to enroll
AH evils under your control,
And rid your soul
Of many a sore temptation :
I
I
Gottfried von Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin. 243
Give heed unto this song of love
And follow its sweet story ;
Then will its passing sweetness prove
Unto your hearts a peaceful dove,
And upward move
Your souls to realms of glorv.
Ye, who would hear what you have ne'er
Heard spoken, now incline your ear
And listen here
To what my tongue unfoldeth.
Yea, list to the sweet praise and worth
Of her who to God's child gave birth ;
Wherefore on earth
God as in heaven her holdeth.
E'en as the air when fresh bedewed
Bears fruitful growth, so to man
She bears an ever-fruitful mood :
Never so chaste and sweet heart's blood,
So true and good,
Was bom by mortal woman.
I speak of thee in my best strain :
No mother e'er such child may gain,
Or child attain
So pure a mother ever.
He chose what his own nature was ;
His glorious Godhead chose as case
The purest vase
Of flesh and bone's endeavor
That woman ever to her heart
'Tween earth and heaven gave pressure.
Jn thee lay hidden every part,
That ever did from virtue start;
Of bliss thou art
The sweetest, chosen treasure.
Thou gem, thou gold, thou diamond-glow,
Thou creamy milk, white ivory, oh !
Thou honey-flow
In heart and mouth dissolving;
Of fruitful virtue a noble grove.
The lovely bride of God above —
Thou sweet, sweet love.
Thou hour with bliss revolving !
Of chastity thou whitest snow,
A grape of chaste and sure love,
A clovcr-ficld of true love's glow,
Z44 Gett fried von Strassburg*s Great Hymn to the Virgin,
Of gr^ce a bottomless ocean's flow :
Vea luorc, I trow :
A turtle-dove of pure love.
God thee hath ckthcd with raiments seven,
On thy pure body, brought from heaven,
Hath put ihcm even
■When thou wast first created.
The first dress Chastity is named,
The second is as Virtue famed.
The third is claimed
And as sweet Courtesy rated.
The fourth dress is Humility,
The fifth is Mercy's beauty.
The sixth one, Kalth, clings close to thee^
The seventh, humble Modesty,
Kccpcth thee free
To follow simple duty.
To worship. Lady, ihec doth teach
Pray'r to drenched courage and numbed speech.
Yea, and fires each
Cold heart with heavenly rapture.
To worship thcc, O Lady ! can
1'each many an erring, sinful roan.
How from sin's ban
His soul he still may capture.
To worship thcc is e'en a branch
On which the soul's Hfe bloometh ;
To worship thee makes bold and stanch
The weakest soul on sin's hard bench;
God it doth wrench
From hell and in heaven rooroetti.
Then let both men and women proclaim.
And wh.it of mother's womb e'er came,
Both wild and tame,
Tlie grace of thy devotion.
Then praise thee now what living lives,
Whatever heaven's dew receives.
Runs, flo.nts, or cleaves
Tlirough forest or through ocean.
Then i)raise tlice now the fair star-shine,
The sun and the moon gold-glowing,
Then praise ihec the four elements thine;
Yea, blessedness around ihec twine,
Thou cheering wine,
Thou stream with grace o'crflowing.
Gottfried V0H Strassburg^s Great Hymn to thi Virgin, 24%
Rejoice, then, Lady of the skies,
Rejoice, thou God-love's paradise,
Rejoice, thou prize
Of sweetest roses growing !
Rejoice, thou blessed maiden, then,
Rejoice, that every race and clan.
Woman and man,
Pray to thy love o'erflowing.
Rejoice, that thou with God dost show
So many things in common :
His yea thy yea, his no thy no ;
Endless ye mingle In one flow ;
Small and great, lo 1
He shares with thee, sweet woman.
Now have I praised the mother thine,
O sweet, fair Christ and Lord of mine 1
That honor's shrine
Wherein thou wast created.
And loud I'll now praise thee, O Lord I
Yea, did I not, 'twould check my word ;
Thy praise has soared.
And with all things been mated.
Seven hours each day thy praise shall now
By me in pray'r be chanted ;
TTiis well belongs to thee, I trow.
For with all virtues thou dost glow ;
From all grief thou
Relief to us hast granted.
Thou of so many pure hearts the hold.
So many a pure maid's sweetheart bold,
All thee enfold
With love bright, loud, and yearning.
Thou art caressed by many a mood,
Caressed by many a heart's warm blood ;
Thou art so good.
So truthful and love-burning.
Caressed by all the stars that soar,
By moon and sun, thou blessing I
Caressed by the great elements four;
Oh ! ne'er caressed so was afore,
Nor will be more.
Sweetheart by love's caressing !
Yea, thou art named the God of grace,
Without whose special power, no phase
Of life in space
Had ever gained existence.
'iott fried von Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin,
What ninncih, climbeth, sncakcth, or striveth,
What crawleUi, twincth, flielh, or divcth»
Yea, all that thrivcth
Jn earth and heaven's subsistence:
Of all, the life to thee is known,
Thou art tliclr food and banner,
The lives of aU arc htld alone
By thee, O Lord I and on thy tlirone;
llius is well known
Thy grace in ever>' manner,
God of thee speaking, God of thee saying,
Tearclh the heart its passions flaying,
And slay waylaying
The ever-watchful devil.
God of thee speaking, God of thee saying,
Much strength and comfort keeps displaying;
And hearts thus staying,
Are saved from every evil.
God of thee speaking, God of thee saying.
Is pleasure beyond all pleasure.
It moves our hearts, thy grace surveying,
To keep with love thy love repaying ;
O'er aU things swaying
Thus shines thy love's great treasure.
God of thee speaking repentance raises
When they, who chant thy wondrous praises.
Use lying phrases:
So purely thy word gloweth.
It suffers less a lying mood
Than suffers waves the ocean's flood.
So pure and good
Its changeless current flowcth.
God of thee speaking doth attest
Pure heart and chaste endeavor,
It drivelh the devil from our breast.
Oh I well I know its soothing rest,
It is the zest
Of thy vast mercy's flavor.
Ah virtue pure, ah purest vase I
Ah of chaste eyes thou mirror-glassl
Ah diamond-case.
With fruitful virtues glowing !
Ah festive day to pleasure lent 1
Ah rapture without discontent !
Ah sweet musk-scent I
Ah flower gayly blooming !
Ah heavenly kingdom where thou art!
On earth, in hell, or heaven !
A Word to the Independent.
247
Ah cunning o'er alt cunning's art I
Ah thou, that knoweth every part !
Ah sweet Christ's heart !
Ah sweetness without leaven \'
Ah virtue there, ah virtue here I
Ah virtue on many a dark and drear
Path, far and near 1
Ah virtue e'er befriending 1
Ah thou self-conscious purity !
Ah goodness, those that cling to thee
So many be
Their number has no ending.
Ah father, mother thou, and son !
Ah brother both and sister !
Ah strong of faith as Jacob's son !
Ah king of earth's and heaven's throne !
Ah thou alone
Our friend to-day as yester I
A WORD TO THE INDEPENDENT.
"A WORD TO FATIIES. IIECKER.
" We address you. Reverend Dr. Ileclc-
er, in this public way because we recog-
nize in you not only the ablest defender
of the Roman Catholic Church in the
United States, but also the most progres-
live and enlightened leader of thought in
that church. In the woids we have to
speak, we wish to speak not to Dr. Heck
er, the antagonist of Protestantism, but to
Father Heckcr, a leader of Catholicism.
Wc write in no polemical spirit. We have
many things against the Church of Rome,
and have spoken severely of Catholicism
as you have of Protestantism. Dul wc have
also much veneration for many things in
that church, and a very great admiration
for some passages in its history. Enthu-
siastic as you are, sir, you cannot revere
more sincerely than we the self-sacrificing
benevolence of St. Francis of Assisi, (he
zeal of St. Francis Xavicr, the piety of
Finelon and of Lacordaire, the eloquence
of Bossuet and Massillon, or the courage
of Pascal and Hyacinthe.
** We come to you for help. In all our
great cities there are sections inhabited
almost wholly by Roman Catholic peo-
ple. It is a fact, as well known to you
as it is to us, that Catholic sections of the
cities abound in destitution, in ignorance,
in vice, in crime. Children are here
trained by all their surroundings to a life
of wickedness. In many homes they
learn profanity from the lips of their
mothers, and they are familiar with
drunkenness from their cradle, if they are
so fortunate as to have one left not pawn-
ed to buy the means of drunkenness. We
know how many honest and hard-work,
ing Catholics there are in these sections,
and we know how many villanous non-
Catholics there are. But you know as
well as any one knows that the Catholic
population furnishes vastly more than its
proportion of paupers r.nd criminals. The
reform schools, the prisons, the almtt-
houses, are nearly full of Catholics. In
the Catholic sections of the cities there
arc drinking-saloons, dog-pits, and broth-
els in abundance. The men who keep
these places are, in undue proporiioo.
Catholics. They receive extreme unction
on their death-beds, and are buried in
consecrated cemctciies with the rites of
r<r liriir ttttnpif I* ttiir
I Id Ulk H|>|>lt>t lillt'HI
iilnllMit ltd* iif ftULli
i>i>il •■! I'hih'altiitli. 'Mirif
iilila tiiiiii ivlili'h l*Miltil'
iiiilv>l. Vm lh«
|>Hil|l|* NtK, lltw
tt»H !■: _
JTCM dm ta 9$md*f'idbma t «nk Catbo-
liffe art not tnt!titi>notf PreCCsiintL Wa
M.C fatuofy at Suwlajr-
.c« Boirmneo.
" liy hblytnti lo improve ihc moral. )n-
IrltKliial, and icUginus duncler of the
li/wpt cl3«« of Amcncan Caihotict, jroti
cdii dr> more lUan by all your eloquent ai
Kumenlii I') inukc Ptoicsiams Ibiok wi-l] ol
tlia niolticr cluicli. Americans aio very
lirdcilcnl, and a guod cliapier of present
rliiirrli tiUlory enacted before tlicir tjm
will tiavv more wcIkIk with them than ail
tlm old cliiiit'li liUioiy your ie.irniiig can
illK frum (he (olioa of eighteen centuries.'*
i •
1"
Ill Ml
14 »(
>l itltd Akk
- ■ ■ ntuck
^ uot tin
W'c depart frviin our ii<tual course
to rcpnni the above ralhcr long ar-
ticle, which «|4>catcd some c'uik ago
in the Jndr/tmiifU, one oT the leuS-
iug ("rutcsUnt papers of ihc cotii>-
tty, not Ueviuse o4 its iatnask: Bcnia
vv >)xciAl uatnahfikhMB, doc yti feic
ife» n w w mJ laKmled^ of tlKnevs
MM <Ntitt W ike letuf-ud y***>-
1*1* ^^
'ord to the Independent.
249
fhile sometimes, like the one before
they assume the thtn disguise of
rrsonal counesy and generiil charity
' all men. Tlic former .iru perhaps
the more manly, the latter have the
merit of permitting us, without loss of
self-respect, to reply to them, llie ob-
ject iu either case is the same : a vain
endeavor to stem the tide of Catho-
licity which, in a succession of great
waves, as it n-erc, is fast spreading
over the land, and an alterapi to make
our faith an olyect of aversion to those
of our country-men not yet in the
church, by associating it with all tiiat
is impoverished, illiterate, and im-
moral.
it is true, as the writer says, that
the Americans are a practical people;
but wc arc not by any means a very
reflective people, and arc vcr)' apt to
Judge hastily of others without suHi-
deQtly considering the various caus-
es which underlie the surface of
society, or the effects which may be
produced on a ]>cop)e less fortunate
tlian ourselves by ages of misrule and
persecution. Knowing this national
failing very well, the writer in the
Jiitirpemient adroitly seek? to hold the
embolic Church responsible for tlie
faults and \-icc5 of a certain class of
nominal Catholics in our midst, when
he is fully aware that these very
vices, so far from being the Krowili
of Catholic leaching, arc not only in
absolute contradiction to it, but are
the direct and logical results of an
claljoratc 3)"stcm of penal legislation,
designed to produce the very dcgra-
dauon of which he complains, and
persistently carried out to its furthest
lim't by the leading Protestant povv-
cr of Europe.
Take New York, for instance.
Here the church is practically the
growth of but half a century. There
are some among us whose Catholic
ancestors came to this country in the
Ust or even in the seventeenth cen-
tury ; others who have sought refuge
from the doubts anil uncertainties of
Protestantism in the peaceful bosom
of mother church ; but by far the great-
er number are immigrants of this cen-
tury, and their children, who, glad to
flee from famine and persecution with
nothing but their lives and faith, have
sought refuge on our shores from the
tyranny of a hostile government,
which the world h."is long recognized
as both insincere, oppressive. And illib-
eral, but which, by virtue of its as-
sumed leadership in the Protestant
revolt called the Reformation, wanton-
ly and tenaciously continued to per-
secute its subjects who dared to pro-
fess their devotion to the faith uf their
fathers. Any one, be he lawyer or
laymen, who reads the penal acts of
the parliamentsof England, Scotland^
and Ireland from the reign of Henry
VIII. downward, must be satisfied
that a more complete network of laws
for the jjurpose of beggaring, degrad-
ing, and corrupting human nature
has never been devised. Some of
them, in fact, are almost preternatural
in their ingenuity ; and the wonder is
how any class of people coming un-
der their operation could, for any
length of lime, retain even the sem-
blance of civilization. Everything
that it was possible to take by Icf^tsla-
tion from the Catholics of Great Bri-
tain and Ireland was taken, every ad-
vantage arising from the possession
of land or the acquisition of commer-
cial wealth w.Ts denied them, and the
avenues to honor and distiociton
were, and are partially so to this day,
closed against them, generation after
generation. 'I'hat many of the de-
scendants of these persecuted people
who have come among us arc unedu-
catcil is true, that they arc generally
poor is a fact patent to everyone;
but it ill liccom-s the JmUpditlent to
taunt them with their ignorance and
their ;K>verty, knowing, as it docs, that
A Word tff
tfm
It was Prolestanlism, of which it is
the cxpuuuder and the eulogist, that
has robbed them uf ihcir birthright,
and striven, with some success, it
seems, 10 plunge their souls in dark-
ness. Is it fair or generous to hold
these people up to public cuntumcl)'
because of the scan they have re-
ceived in their unequalled struggle
for the freedom of conscience and
nationality ; is it just or American to
try to stenl from those who seek an
asylum ou our soil that for whLcli tlicy
have imperilled and lost all else —
their faith, wliich is to them dearer
than life itself? Or ts it more in
keeping iviih all our ideas of true
manhood and republican liberty that
while we extend one arm to shield
the victim of oppression, the other
fihouTd be stretched forth in reproba-
tion of his plunderer and persecu-
tor? if they have vices — and what
people have not ? — let a share of the
blame at least be bid at (he doors
of those who designedly and contin-
ually dc!);irrcd them from all means
of L-nlii;htenmcnt and every incen-
tive to virtue, instead oi being attri-
buted to tlie influence of the church.
And yet, in view of the gloomy his-
tory of these i>cople — a chapter in the
annals of Isngland which the best of
her I'roie&tant statesmen are endeav-
oring to efiace from tlic popular mem-
ory — the writer in the Intiependent
appears to be surprised at what he
calls Catholic prejudice against Prot-
estant missions. No man, we are
safe in saying, has less prejudice
against his fellow-man than the
American Catholic, in all the usual
intercourse of Hfe ; but when a per-
son under the garb of charity in-
vades the sanctity of his home simply
to abuse his religion, or waylays his
children in the streets and inveigles
thrminto mission-houses and Sunday-
GrJiools by the proffer of a loaf or a
jacket, for ilie purpose of telling them
that their fathers' faith is rank idola-
try, is it not too much to expect that
he wilt remain unmoved and uncom-
plaining ? The writer should recollect
that the class of so-called missionaries
who infest the quarters of our poorer
fellow-Calliolicsarc not new to those
people. They have seen their coun-
terparts long ago in Bantry and Con-
nemaru, in the fertile valleys of
Munstcr and on the bleak hills of
Connatight, in the dark days of the
great famine, when the tract dis-
tributer followed hard on the heels
oi the tithc-proctor and tlie bailiff,
tendering a meal or a sliilting as
the price of apostasy. If heails
are occasionally broken, ihcy arc
not the heads of those who attend
to their own alTairs and let their
neighbors attend to theirs, but of some
intermeddling tract -scattcrcr, whose
salary depends upon the number of
copies he can force into the hands
of Catholics without regard to their
wishes or feelings. Tlie provocation
emanates from them, and they must
take the consequences. If the law
permits us to inflict summary chastise-
ment on the burglar who enters our
house to take our goods, shall wc
have no remedy against him who
prowls about our doors to steal our
children and abuse our failh ?
If Protestant missions were prop-
erly conducted, they would have none
of these difficulties to contend with.
But are thfy propcriy conducted ?
The writer in the /wrfV/c/r^^-w/ seems
to have some doubts on this poiat.
We have none. Wljocvcr will lake
the trouble to attend the Bible-class-
es, prayer- meetings, day-schools, and
Sunday-schools of the Hovv:iird Mis-
sion and its adjuncts, will Ik* satisfied
that they arc nothing but ingeniously
contrived machines for the purpose of
proselytizing Catholicchildren. Abuse
of Catholicity of the most unqualified
and vulgar kind forms tlie staple of die
A Word to the Indcptndent.
251
^
instnicb'ons there from beginning to
end. Kvcn the material relief is di-
verted to this purpose. The poor
naif-starved lad, as he cats his food,
swallows it down with a draught of
no-popery cant, and the ragged Uttic
girl, as she dons some c;i5toff gar-
ment, has her young mind polluted by
a^pcr^ons on the name of her whom
Holy \Vrit declared should be called
blessed by all nations. We have
before us a periodical issued from the
Howard Mission, under the superin-
tendence of a Rev. W. C. Van Me-
ter, which is as full of that canting,
snivelling, anti-Catholic spirit as ever
characterized the days of God-savc-
Batcboncs or of John Wesley's un-
IcUcied disciples. As a specimen of
ihe veracity of this modem apostle to
the Fourth W^ard, and for the benefit
Lof" the Indcptndent, which has some
fdoubts as to whether Protestant mts-
■vons arc properly conducted, we cx-
:t the following prominent article
>m its pages :
pROTESTANTWil W. ROMANISSI.— In
[ftbe ProtGStAQt countries of Gicat Driiain
id Prussia, where ao cm read and wiite,
ktfaeie are but 13 in tli« Roman Caitiolic
Icounlries of France and Austria. In
rEuropean countries, I in every 10 arc in
]iSCliools ia ihe Protestant countries, and
kut I in 134 in Utc Roninn Caihulic. In
Eifix leading Piotosunt countries in Eu-
[.TOpe, I newspaper or iragaiinc is pub-
lished to every 315 inhabitants; while in
six Roman Catholic there is l>ut i lo
every 2,715. 1^* value of what is pro-
[lluced a year by industry in Spain is (6
1 each inhabitant; in France. J; J^ ; Ptus-
, $iS ; and in Great Britain, $3r. Tlicrc
'•re about a third more paupers in i)ie
Roman Catholic countries of Europe
t)ian in the Protestant, owing mainly to
ifbeir numerous holidays and ptcvailing
jnotancc. idleness, and vice. Three
times as many crimes arc committed in
Ireland as In Great Uriiain. though the
>putaiion is but a third. There are six
Intes as many homicides, (out times as
niany a&ussinations, and (torn three lo
four tiroes as many ihchs in Ireland as
in Scotland. In Catholic Austria, there
arc four limes as many crimes committed
as in the adjoining Protestant kingdom
of Prussia."*
Now, wc ask, is the man or men
who penned and circulated this atro-
cious calumny Ukcly to command
the respect of any class of Catholics,
learned or ignorant? lie or they
knew, or ought to have known, that
it contains several deliberate false-
hoods. Take, for example, the por-
tion of the extract relating to Great
Britain and Ireland. IJy referring
to the report of " Her Majesty's In-
spector of Schools, August 31, 1868,"
we fmd tliat in England and Wulcs
the average attendance at all the
schools in the kingdom was 1,050,120,
in Scotland 191,860, and in Ireland,
at the model sdiools alone, 354,853,
or nearly twice as many as in Scot-
Und, and, in proportion to the popu-
lation, onc-scvcnih more than in
England. Erom the ofticial report
of Die statistics of crime in the same
year (the latest published reports tliat
have reached us), there were convict-
ed of critne in England 15,003, in
Scotland 3,490, and in Ireland 2,394.
Of those sentenced in England, 21
were condemned to death, iS to pe-
nal servitude for Hfe, and 1,921 for a
term of years. In Scotland, one was
condemned to. death, and z \^ to pe-
nal .servitude, while in Ireland twtit
were condemned to death, and but
238 to penal servitude. We find
also that in LngLind alone 118,390
persons are reported as belonging to the
criminal classes known lo the autho-
rities, and but 23,041 in Ireland; and
while the former country has 30,000
houses of bad character, the latter
has 5,876. The number of paupers
in each of tlje three countries shows
even a greater disparity, England
■ Tkt Litlit Wmnimr'i Fritndy Jaauary,
.171.
252
A Word to the Independent,
in i8C3 had, exclusive of vagrants,
1,039,549, or one in every twenty
of the population; Scolland, 158,372,
or one in every 19; and Ireland,
74,354, or one in every 80 ! *
If it were not foreign to our pre-
sent purpose, we could prove that llic
managers of the Protestant missions
arc equally untruthful in their invidi-
ous comparisons instituted between
other countries,! hut we have shown
enough to convince any impartial
person that they are not fit to be en-
trusted with ihc care of youth of
any class, much less of Catholic chil-
dren. If the supporters of the In-
dependent are sincere in their desire
to benefit the desiitule, the needy,
and the vicious, let ihem first remove
all suspicion of prosclytism from their
charities by appointing proper per-
sons to administer them. If they
have conscientious scruples against
cooperating with the various Ca-
tholic charitable societies, svho know
the poor and arc trusted by them,
there arc other ways of dispensing
their bounty judiciously than by
tampering with the poor people's
fciilli, and their charity will then be-
come a bk'ibing to the giver as well
as to Uie receiver. 'Jlien let them,
above all things, advocate a fair and
impartial distribution of the public
school funds. It is well known that
the Catholics as a body arc far from
;ing rich, and that while they are
Hlfling hard to sustain their own
schools, they are heavily taxed for
the supixjrt of those to which they
cannot consistently send their chil-
dren, and from which, in many instan-
ces, the oftspring of the rich alone
receive any benefit. Can we not
in this free democracy have laws re-
gulating cducarion at least as equita-
• Tk»ml Dirtelcry */ lit Unlltd Kimgdam a/
tSce Caiiiou<: Wurlu lot April. !Mi>teinbtr,
Aiul (Xtober, 1S69, And .\t)rU. 187a,
ble as those of Austria and Prussia —
countries which we are pleased to
call despotic ? Help us to the means
to educate our children in our own
way, as we have a right to do, and
you will see how the stigma of igno-
rance and its consequences will be
removed from the fair forehead of
this great metropolis. Wc ask not
charity, wc simply want our fair share
of that public money which is con-
tributed by Catholic and Protestant
alike for educational purjioscs, and
the liberty to apply it with as much
freedom from state interference as is
enjoyed in the monarchies of Kurope.
The writer in the ludepcmient as-
sumes, with fl coolness apftroathing im-
pertinence, that the clergyman whom
he addresses knows that the Catholic
population *' furnishes more, vastly
more, than its proportion of paupers
and criminals." He knows no such
thing, nor does any right-minded man
in the community know it. That
there are many and grave crimes com-
mitted by nominal Catholics is, alas !
too true, but that many such arc
perpetrated, to any appreciable ex-
tent, by the hundreds of thousands of
practical Catholics in this city, no
sane man believes. Poor and ignor-
ant, if you will, without capital, bus-
iness training, or mechanical skill,
many thousands of our immigrants
are from necessity obliged to make
their homes in the puriieus of our
great cities. Disappointed in their too
sanguine expectation of fortune in
the New World, some seek solace in
intoxication, and in that condition
commit acts of lawlessness which their
belter nature abhoi?. But much as
the commission of crime in any shape
is to be regretted and reprehended,
it must be admitted that most of the
oSences are comparatively trivial in
their nature and consequences, and-
few, even of the darkest, arc the re-
sult of premediuted villany. la
Word to the Indcptndeid,
253
searching over the criminal records
of oursutc and country, we seldom
find a contrived infraction 01 the law
by the class to which the writer so
ungraciously alludes. A gigantic
findle, .1 scientific burgliry, a nicely
mned larceny, an adroit forgery, a
tbolical seduction, or a ddil>crate
Ion g-cont cm plated niiirtlcr by
m or the knife, is seldom commit-
by that class, but by those who
re reared in as much hostility to Ca-
)Ucity as the writer of the Indepaid-
himselt This higher grade of
:, this " bad prc-cminenccj" we
ight with some show of justice as-
ae to the cflects of the laxity of Pro-
ttant morals, but we have no desire
do so here ; and with even much
jre truthfulness might we charge
sects who teach that marriage is
a civil contract with the
fusibility of those other vices
kich, striking at the veiy fouuda-
^oos of society and the sanctity of
family, are more lasting in their
!quenccs and more demoralizing
jklhcir immediate eflccts,than all tlie
put together. The columns
this .same \-irtuous Indtpendmt
Fc obtained an unenviable notor-
by spreading the most shameful
corrupting doctrines on this vital
>iect But we have no wish to
Uie records of our divorce
will prove that this class of
criminals is made up almost exclusive-
ly of non-Catholics.
II1C writer in the ImiepcnJent,
throughout his appeal, assumes a
tone of superior knowledge and a
toft)' contempt for details that might
mislead some into the belief that the
iholic boily of this city was an
and helpless moss. lie a^ks,
^ill you not hft up your powerful
to plenit wiiit the church to use
her almcit unlimited influence for the
regeneration of her people ?" Does
the ¥nritcr know, or has he attempted
lo ascertain, all that the church has
done and is doing in this city, as in
every other, for the *■ regeneraliou of
her people"? If he docs not, by
what right docs he assume th.it the
voice of any one man or any number
of men is required to pUad with the
church lo do her duly ? If he be
ignorant of hts subject, then by what
authority docs he take upon himself
the office of mediator between the
churdi and the people? If he be
not in ignorance, then his carefully
worded sentences and smoothly turn-
ed compliments merely cover, without
concealing, a tissue of base insinua*
lions, beside which downright false*
hood were rank flatter)'.
i.ct him look at what the church
has done in Kew York in Uie past
generation ! Forty churches and
chapels have been built, with a capa-
city, it is said, to seat Bfiy-six thousand
persons, but really equal to the ac-
commodation of five times that num-
ber, as in every church the divine
ser\'ice is offered up at least three times
each Sunday, and nil arc attcndc
beyond the greatest capacity of the
building. To many of our churches
is attached a free day-school for boys
and giris, and invariably a Sunday-
school — thronged weekly by the
youth of both sexes, to listen to the
instruction and counsel of competent
teachers. Every parish has its St. Vin-
cent dc Paul society, counting hun-
dreds and in some cases thousands of
members, whose aim it is to visit the
sick, the afflicted, and the needy ; and
its temperance society, the strength
of which may be judged by the long
line of stalworlh men wc sec parad-
ing our streets on festal occasions.
Colleges, schools, and convents there
are in great numbers for the leaching
of the higher branches of cilucation.
Hospitals fur the sick and aHlicted,
x<>yliims for the blind, the oqihon,
the foundling, and the repeniant sin-
ner, a reformatory for erring youth,
and a shelter for old age. Almost
a54
A Word to the IndepeKdent.
every conceivable want of weak hu-
manity has its appropriate place of
supply among our charitable inslitu-
cions.
All this grand system of charities
U, however, lost on the writer in the
Jndtpftttlent. His special arteiulon is
directed to the " dense Catholic sec-
tions." Well, we will take the Fourth
Ward, which is blessed with the
Howard Mission and the beneficent
supervision of Mr. Van Meter. St.
James's Church is situated in this ward,
and its parish embraces all the I'ro-
teslant missions so<a1Ied, and most
of their oflTshools. Upon personal
inquiry, wc find that there is erect-
ed in this parish a magnificent and
spacious school-house, at a cost of
otie huntind atij iwenly ihcusand dol-
lars, attended daily during week-days
by upwards oi fourtfen hundred boys
and, girb, taught by twenty-two
teachers of both sexes. The tuition
is entirely free, the expenses amount-
ing to about twelve thousand dollars
annually, being sustained by the volun-
tary coiilribulions of the parishioners.
'IIk Sunday- schools of this church
are attended by hventy-fivc humlrai
children, about one-half of whom, be-
ing employed during the week, arc
unable to attend the day-schools.
Then there is an industrial school,
attended by between one and two
bimdred poor children, mostly half-
orphans, who are provided with
dinner every day, and to whom are
given two entire suits of new cloth-
ing every year, on July 4th and
Christmas Day. In addition to these
there is a branch of the St. Vincent de
Paul Society, numbering several hun-
dred members, forty of whom arc con-
stantly on duty, \'isiting the sick,
counselling the erring, helping the
needy, and performing other works of
charity. This society alone expends
annually at lca.st five thousand dol-
lars. IJesides, there are two temper-
ance societies, numbering nearly mm
hundred men ^ who not only discoi
age intemperance by their cxampl
but seek by weekly meetings, lectures,
and other popular attractions to win
others to follow in their footsteps.
Now, these are facts easily verified by
any one who may wish to do so, and
may be taken as a fair specimen of the
gigantic efforts which the church is
making in every parish in this city
for the conservation of the murals
and the education of her people. St.
James's Parish may be said to contain
the largest proportionate number of
our poorer brethren, who, though
heavily taxed as tenement holders
and retail purchasers of all the neces-
saries of life, contributing of course
their quota to the public school fund,
can yet afibrd, out of llicir scanty and
often precarious means, to educate
and partly feed and dothe over _/»/•
teen hundred (hiUirai. Can the
Independent sh ow any si m i lar ef-
fort on the part of any of the
sects?
The writer in the Independent says,
*' Wc come to you for help." Wliat
sort of help ? If it is assistance to
prop up the decaying Protectant mis-
sions which have so long been soun:cs
of discord and bad feeling among
our Catholic fellow-citizens, pro5l-
ablc only to their employees, M*e re-
spectfully decline : if he is in truth and
all sincerity desirous lo dc\'0te a pan
of his leisure time and means lo im-
l>rovc the condition of his less for-
tunate fellow-beings in the daiscr
populated portions of llie city, we
cannot advise him to do better than
to consult the pastor of St. James's
or of any of the churches in the
lower wards, who will give him all
the help required for the proper
disposal of both. And, in conclu-
sion, let us suggest to iiim that no
amount of politeness will justify the
violation of the commandment which
says, " Thou shalt not bear false wit-
ness against thy neighbor."
Our Lady of Lourdes.
255
OUR LADY OF LOURDES.
FKOH TKK rHEKCII Of HKNItI LASSBRRB,
VI.
The press of Paris and of the
provinces was beginning to discuss
the events at Lourdes ; and public
attention far outside the region of the
Pyrenees was gradually being attract-
ed to the Grotto of Massabielle.
The measures of the prefect were
loudly applauded by the infidel papers
and as vehemently condemned by the
Catholic ones. The latter, while
maintaining a due reserve on the sub-
ject of the reality of the apparitions
and miracles, held that a question of
this nature should be decided by the
ecclesiastical authorities, and not
summarily settled according to the
will of the prefect.
The innumerable cures which
were taking place at the grotto, or
even at distant places, continitally
drew an immense number of inva-
lids and pilgrims to r.ourdos. The
Latour de Trie analysis, and the min-
eral properties claimed for the new
spring by the oflicial representative of
science, added yet more to the repu-
tation of the grotto, end made it at-
tractive even to those who depended
for their cure only on the unaided
powers of nature. Also, the discus-
sion, by exciting men's minds, added
to the throng of the faithful there as-
sembled another of the curious. All
the means adopted by the unbeliev-
ers turned directly against the end
which they had proposed to them-
selves.
By the irresistible course of events,
then — a course fatal in the eyes of
some, but providential in those of
others — the crowd which tlie authori-
ties had been tr}'ing to disperse was
continually assuming larger and larg-
er proportions. And it increased the
more, because, as ill luck would have
it, the material obstacles which the
frosts of winter had produced had
gradually disappeared. The month
of May had returned; and the beau-
tiful spring weather seemed to invite
pilgrims to come to the grotto by all
the flowery roads which traverse the
woods, meadows, and vineyards in
this region of lofty mountains, green
hills, and shady valleys.
The provoked but powerless pre-
fect watched the growth and spread
of this peaceable and wonderful
movement, which was bringing the
Christian multitudes to kneel and
drink at the foot of a desolate
rock.
The measures already taken had,
it is true, prevented the grotto from
looking like an oratory, but, substan-
tially, the state of things remained
the same. From all sides people
were coming to the scene of a mira-
cle. Contrary to the hope of the
free-thinkers, the fear of the faithful,
and the expectations of all, absolute-
ly no disturbance or breach of the
peace occurred in this extraordi-
nary concourse of men and women,
old and young, believers and infidels,
the curious and the indifferent. An
invisible hand seemed to protect
these crowds from mutual collision as
they daily thrcftiged by thousands to
the miraculous fountain.
The magistracy, represented by
M. Dutour, and the police, personi-
fied in M. Jacomet, looked at this
strange ohenomenon with astonish-
I
mcDt. Was their irnlation all Uie
greater on h!s account ? \Vc cannot
say ; but far some dispositions ex-
tremely fond of authority, the spec-
tacle uf a multitude so wonderfully
orderly and peaceable, is certainly
anomalous and revolutionary, if not
even insulling. When order preserves
itself, all those functionaries whose
only business is to preserve it feel a
vague uneasiness. Being accustomed
to have a hand in everything in the
name of the law, to regulate, to
command, to punish, to pardon, to
sec everything and everybody depend
on their person and office, they feel
out of place in the presence of a
crowd which docs not need their ser-
vices, and which gives thcin no pre-
text for interfering, showing their im-
portance, and reiitraining its move-
ments. Au order which excludes
Ihcui is the worst of all disorders.
If such a fatal example should be
gcner.illy followed, the procurairs
imp^niitix would no longer have a
sutficient reason for their existence,
the commissaries of police would
disappear, and even the prefectoral
splendor would begin to wane.
Baron Massy had indeed been
able to order the seizure of every
object deposited at the grotto; but
there was wo law recognizing such
de|>osils as criminal, and i: was im-
possible (o forbid or puni<;h them.
Hence, in spUc of the spoliations of
the prefect, the grotto was often bril-
liantly lighieil by candles, and fill-
ed with flowers and votive offerings,
and even with silver and gold coins
contributed for the building of the
chapel which the Blcsied Virgin had
required. The pious faithful wished
in tljis way — tliough it were an inef-
fectual one — to show the Queen of
Heaven their good-will, zeal, and
love. *• What matter is it if they do
lake the money ? U will have been
offered all tlic some. The candle
wiJJ have given its light for a time in
honor of our Mother, and the bou-
quet will for an instant have perfum-
ed the sacred spot where her feet
rested." Such were Uic thoughts
of those Christian souls.
Jacomct and his agents continued
to come and tarry everything off.
The commissary, much encouraged
after having escajted the dangers of
the 4th of May, had become very
scornful and brutal in his proceedings,
sometimes throwing the object seized
into the Gave before the scandalized
eyes of the faithful. Sometimes, how-
ever, he was obliged in spite of him-
self to leave a festal appearance a:
the holy place. This was when the
ingenious piety of its visitors had
strewn the Grotto with innumerahlQ
lose-leavcs, and it was impossible for
him to pick up the thousand remains
of flowers which formed its brilliant
and perfumed carpet.
The kneeling crowds continued
meanwhile to pray, without making
any reply to this provoking conduct^
and let matters take their coune ;
showing an extraordinary patience,
such as God alone can give to on in-
dignant multitude.
One evening, tlic report was spread
that the emperor or l:is minister had
asked for the prayers of Bemadette.
M. Dutour rAised a shout of tri-
umph, and prepared to save the state.
Three good women, who, as it
seems, had made such a statement,
were brought before the court, and
the pr^Kttreur demanded that ihcy
should be treated according to all the
rigor of the French law. Notwith-
standing his indignant eloquence.
the judges aciiuitied two and con-
demned tlie other only to a fine of 6vc
francs.. The procureur, dissatisfied
with this small amount, insisted upon
his suit, and made a desperate apf>cal
to the imperial court at Pan, uhich,
smiling at his anger, not only confirm-
Oatr Lady of Lourdes.
257
cd the acquittal of the two, but also
refused to sustain the very small
judgment pronounced against the
third culprit, and dismissed the charge
> altogether,
We nxntion this Jiulc occurrence,
though an insignihcant one in itself,
''*o show how keenly the judges were
upon the watch, and how carefully
they searched for some offence, for
isomc opportunity to be severe, since
Ithcy employed their time in prosccu-
fting poor pimple women whose inno-
cence was soon after declared by the
irapcrial court.
The people still continued quiet,
I and afforded no pretext to the autho-
rities formaking an attack upon them
in the name of the law.
One niiiht, under cover of the
darkness, unknown hands tore u]) the
Mtduits of the miraculous spring,
lod covered its waters with heaps of
.stone, earth, and sand. Who had
'raised this vile monument against the
work of God, what impious and
cowar^lly liands had secretly com-
mitted such profanation, were not
known. But when the day broke,
:and the sacrilege became known, a
jflullen indignation, as might have been
Mbrcsccn. pervaded the multitudes who
i«rere collected at the place, and liiat
[day the people tilled the streets and
roads in agitation like that of the
sea when it foams and roars under a
vkileot wind. The police, magistra-
cy, and ser^cnts-Hc-viUe were on the
vatch, spying and listening, but (hey
could not report a single lawless ac-
tion or seditious word. The divine
influence which maintained order
Among these enraged multitudes was
evidently invincible.
But wl(o, tlien. was the author of
thisoutr.igc? The judges and police,
in spite of their active am) zealous
endeavors, did not succeed in detect-
ing him. Hence it happened that
some evil minded persons dared to
VOL. Xill. — 17
suspect the police and judidary them-
selves (lliough evidently with great in-
justice) of having tried by this means
to produce some disorders, in order to
have an occasion to proceed with
rigor.
The municipal authority most ear-
nestly exculpated itself from all
connivance in the affair. That very
evening, or the next day, the mayor
gave orders to replace the conduits,
and to clear the floor of the grotto
of all the rubbish with which the
fountain had been obstructed. The
mayor's policy was to not assume
[Krrsonally any decided position, but
to keep things as they were. He
was ready to art, but always as a
subordinate, upon the prefect's or-
ders and resi>onsibility.
Sometimes the people, fearing that
they would not be able to control
iheir feelings, took precautions against
themselves. I1ic association of stone-
cutters, numbering some four or five
hundred, had planned to make a
great but peaceful demonstration at
the grotto, and to go there in pro-
cession singing canticles in honor of
Uicir patron fiMst of thi: .\sccnsion,
whicfi came that year on the 15th of
May. But, feeling their hearts indig-
nant and their hands unsteady under
these procce<Iings of the authorities,
they distrusted themselves, and gave
up the idea. Tliey contented them-
selves with relinquishing on that day
in honor of our Lady of Lotirdes the
ball they were accustomed to give
every year to conclude their festival.
" H'c intend." said they, " that no
disturbance, even though unintention-
al, and no entertainment not approv-
ed by the church, shall occur to offend
the eyes of the Holy Virgin who has
deigned to visit us."
VII.
The prefect perceived all the lime.
more and more, that coercion of any
258
Our Lady of Lourd^.
:
ordinary kind was impossible for him
on account of this surpming quiet-
ness, this peace as irritating as it was
wonderful, which mainiained itself
without exterior force in these great
collections of people. There was
not even an accident to disturb it.
He was therefore obliged either to re-
trace his steps in ihc course which he
had thus far pursued, and to leave
the people quite alone, or to come
to open violence and persecution by
finding some pretext for the imposi-
tion of arbitr.ir)'restniints upon them.
It was necessary cither to recede or
(o advance.
On the other hand, the variety and
suddenness of the cures which had
Iwen worked seemed to many gooil
people rather poorly explained by the
therapeutic and mineral properties
ascribed to the new spring. Doubts
were raised as to the strict accuracy
of the scieQli6c decision which had
been given by M. l^tour de Trie.
A chemist of ihc vicinity, M. Thomas
Pugo, claimed that Wvs water was in
no way extraordinary, and had not of
itself any healing properties whatso-
ever ; and in this he was sustained by
several other very capable professors
in the province. Science was begin-
ning to assert the entire incorrectness
of the De Trie analysis ; and the ru-
mors to this effect had l>ecome so
strong lliat the municipal council of
I^iirdes took cognizance o( them.
The mayor could not refuse to grati-
fy the general desire to have a second
analysis made of tlic water from the
grotto. He, therefore, wntliout con-
sulting the prefect (which seemed to
him useless on account of ihc convHc-
lion entertained by the latter of the
accuracy of the results of M. I.atour).
procured from the municipal council
a vote authorizing him to obtain a
new and definitive analyas from Prof.
Filhul, one of tlie principal chemists
uf OUT day. Tlie council at the same
time voted the funds required for the
due compensation of the cclebrat»l
savant.
M. Filhol was a man of authority
in modern science, and his decision
would evidently not be open to ap-
[]eal.
What would be the result of his
analysis? The prefect was not
chemist enough to tell ; but we think
we cannot be much mistaken in
thinking that he must have been
somewhat uneasy. The verdict of
the eminent professor of chcmistiy
of the faculty of Toulouse might, in
fact, disturb the combinations and
plans of M. Massy. Il.istcwas be-
coming imperative, and on
ground especially it was neccs
to fall back or press forwanl.
In the midst of such various
sions and complicated calculationi
people had not failed to subject
nadi;ttc to some new trials as useless
as the preceding ones.
She had been prei>anng to mak
her first communion, and made it
Corims Chrisii, the 3d of June. Thir
was the very day on which the muni-
cipal council of I>3urdcs requested
M. I'tlhol to analyze the mysterio
water. Almighty God, entering into
the heart of this child, made also
the analysis of a pure fount, and we
may well believe that he must have
admired and blessed, in thb virgi:
soul, a most pure spring and a meet
transparent crystal.
Notwithstanding the retirement in
wliich she preferred to hide hetseU^
people continued to visit her. Sie
was always the innocent and simple
child wlio.sc portrait we have endea-
vored to present. She charmed all
those who conversed with her by her
candor and manifest good faith.
One day, a lady, after an interview
with her, wished. In a moment of en-
thusiastic veneration easily conceiv-
able by those who have seen Bema-
~4
Our Lady of Lourdfs.
259
t, to exchange her chaplet of
pncious stone.'t for that of the child.
" Keep your own, ma^kti}," said
she, showing her mtxlcst implement
of prayer. " You see what mine is,
and I had rather not change. Jt is
poor, hke myself, and agrees belter
with my poverty."
An ecclesiastic tried to make her
accept 'some raouey; slie refused.
He insisted, only to he met by a
refusal so formal (hat a longer re-
sistance seemed useless. The priest,
however, did not yet consider his
case as lost.
"Take it," said he; "not for your-
self, but for the poor, and then you
will have the pleasure of giving an
alnu."
•* Do you, then, make it yourself
for my intcntton, M. I'AbW, and that
will do better than if I should make
it myself," answered the child.
Poor BefDadetie inteadeJ to serve
God gratuitously, and to fulfil the
mission with whicJi ^he had been en-
trusted without leaving her honora-
ble poverty. And yet she and the
family were sometimes in want of
bread.
At this time the sakry of the pre-
fect, Baron Massy, was raised to
35,000 Irancs. Jacomct also received
a gratuity. The Minister of l^ublic
Worship, in a letter which was com-
municated to several functionaries,
assured the prefect of his perfect sat-
isfaction, and, while commending all
that he had so lar done, be urged
him to take energetic measures, add-
ing that, at all costs, the grotto and
miiacles of Lourdcs must be put an
end XQ.*
On this ground, as well as on all
"ThblcllKCOrM. Kuuiviij.tliclnlurvrhiih. 10
spile of all our etforu, wo hnvc imt t>ceii able lo
ptocurv, wiv c«)mmtinlcated to scvcnl pcrwat.
•qd all ibc carmpnndence befare us mciillvtuit,
(Iviog it Id llic uuus UiniA wlik'li we bare (fitt
the odtcrs, it was necessary either to
retreat or to advance.
iJut what could lie done ?
VIM.
The plan of the divine work was
gradually being developed with its ad-
mirable and convincing logic But at
that rime no one fully recognized the
invisible hand of God directing all
the events, manifest as it was, and
M. Massy least of nil. I'he midst
of the meUt is not the best position
from which to judge the order of bat-
tle. The unfortunate prefect, who
had set out ujxjn the wrong track,
saw in what occurred only a provok-
ing scries of unpleasant incidents and
an inexplicable fat.iliiy. 1 f we remove
God from certain questions, we are
very likely to fimi in them something
inexplicable.
The progress of events, slow but
irresistilile, was overthrowing succes-
sively all the theses of unbelief, and
forcing thiji miserable human philoso-
phy to beat a retreat and to abandon
one by one all its intrench men ts.
First, the api^nritious had occurred.
Free thought had at the outset de-
nied them out-and-out, accusing the
seer of being only a tool, and of hav-
ing lent herself to carry out a deccp
tion. This thesis had not stood be-
fore the examination of the diild,
whose veracity was evident.
Unbelief, dislodged from this first
position, fell back on the theory of
hallucination or catalepsy. " She
thinks slic sees something ; but she
does not. It is all a mistake."
Providence meanwhile had brought
together from the four winds its
thousands and thousands of witness-
es to the ecstatic states of the child,
and in due time had given a solemn
confinuatLon to tlie truth of Bema-
dettc's story by producing a miracu-
lous fountain l>erorc the astonislicd
eyes of the assembled multitudes.
I
26o
Our Lady of Lourdcs.
" There is no fountain," was then
the word of unbelief. " It is an inhl-
iratiun, a pool, a puddie; anything
thai you please, except a fountain."
But tlic more they publicly and
solemnly denied it, the more did the
stream increase, as if it had been
a Hving being, until it acquired pro-
digioux ]>roponion5. More than a
hundred thousand litres (twenty-two
thousand gallons) issued daily from
this strange rock.
" It is an accident ; it is a frcalc of
chance," stammered the infidels, con-
founded and recoiling.
Next, evfnis following their inev-
itable course, the most remarkable
cures had immediately attested the
miraculous nature of the fountain,
and given a new and decisive proof
of the divine reality of the all-power-
ful apjiarition whose mere gesture
had brought forth this fountain of life
■nder a mortal liand.
The first move of the philosophers
was to deny the cures, as they had
before denied Bcmadettc's sincerity
and the existence of the fountain.
Hut suddenly these had become so
miincrous and indubitable ihal their
opponents were obliged to take yet
another step in retreat, and adniic
them.
" Well, granted ; there are some
cures certainly, but they arc natural ;
the spring has some therapeutic in-
gredicnis." cried the unbelievers, hold-
ing in their hands some sort of a
semblance of chemical analysis. Anrl
then instantaneous cures, absolutely
unaccountable ui»on such a hypothe-
sis, were multiplied ; and at the same
lime, in various places, conscientious
and skilful chemists declared dis-
tinctly that the M.issabielle water had
not any mineral properties, that it
was common water, and that ihc
of6cial ojialviiis of M. I-atour tie Trie
was meant simply to please the pre-
fect.
Driven in this way from all the in-
trcnchmcnts in which, after their 5u&
ccssive defeats, they had taken re-
fuge; pursued by the dazzling evi-
dence of the fact ; crushed by the
weight of their own avowals ; and
not being able to take back diese
successive and compulsory avowals,
publicly rcgisterctl in their own news-
papers, what remained for the phi
losophcrs and free-thinkers to do r
Only to surrender humbly to truth.
Only to bow the head, bend the knee,
and believe ; only to do that which
the ripe grain does when its cells be-
gin to fill.
** 'J he same change has taken
place," says Montaigne, " in the truly
wise, as in the stalks of wheat, which
rise up and hoUl up their heads erect
and proud as long as tlicy arc cmp-
ty, but, when they aie full and dis-
tended with the npc grain, begin to
humble themselves, to bend toward
the ground. So men, when they
have tried and sounded ail things,
. . . renounce their presumption
and recognize their natural con-
dition."
I'erhajMthcphilosjphereof Lourdi-s
had not an intdlecl open or strong
enough to receive and hold the good
grain. Perhaps pride made them in-
flexible and rebellious to manifest evi-
dence. At any rate, with the happy ct-
ception of some who were converted,
thai change did not come to thera
which has come lo those who are truly
wise, and they continued to keep the
lofty and proud attitude of the empty
stalks.
Not only did their attitude remain
thus, but their iinpicty. after being
disgracefully pureued (rom one quib-
ble, sophism, or falsehood to anoth-
er, and finally driven against the
wall, suddenly unmasked itself and
showcil its real face. It passed, as
we may say, from the domain cf
discussion and reasoning, which it
Oar Lady of Lourdes.
361
had been trying to usurp, to that of
intolerance and violence, which was
its proper home.
Baron Massy, who was perfectly
inronned as to the state of public
icding, umlei^tood with his rare sa-
gacity that, if he luuk arbitrary mea-
Mires and resorted 10 persecution, he
would have a considerable moral
support in the exasperation of the
unl»eiicvers, who were defeated, hu-
miliated, and furious.
He also had Ixrcn defeated as yet in
the contest sinnlar to, if not exactly
the same as, theirs, which he had been
carr\'ing on agiainst the sutrcmatural.
All his efforts had cotne to tiothing.
"I'he su|ieniaturat, beginning at the
base of a dci^olale rock and announc-
ed only by the voice of a diild, had
entered opon its course, overthrowing
all obstacles, draiving the people with
it, and gaining to itself on the way
enthusiastic acclamations, prayers,
and the cries of gratitude from the
popular faith.
Once more, what remained to be
done?
One course yet retioained : to re-
w'sl evidence, and to inalcc an attack
upon the multitude.
IX.
In the midst of all these turns of
fortune, die question of the prefcclo-
ral stabics had bcrcoinc more and
more exciting, and greaUy increased
the prefect's cx.isperalion. Ilie
month of June had come. The sea-
son at the watering-pbces was be-
ginning, and would soon bring to
the Pyrenees bathers and tourists
from all parts of Europe, and show
litem ihe dislurbance which the su-
pernatural was making in the depart-
ment governed by Baron Massy. The
instructions of M. Kouland were be-
coming most urgent, and pointed to
summary proceedings. On the 6th
of June, M. Fould, the Minister of
finance, stop|K:d at Tariies on his
way to his summer residence, and
had a long interview with M. Massy.
It was rumored that Uiis conlcretKC
related to the events at the grotto.
The act of drinking at a spring
upon the common land of the town
could not be considered as in itself
an offence against die laxv. The hrst
thing 10 be done by the opponents
of superstition was therefore to find
a pretext for so regarding it. Arbi-
trary proceedings have not in France
the ol^cial right which they enjoy in
Russia or Turkey,, but need a cover
of law.
The able prefect had an idea on
this subject as ingenious as it was
simple. The site of the Mas-sabielle
Cliffs belonging to tlie town of
Kourdes, the mayor, as its adminis-
trator, could prohibit any one from
visiting them, for or even without any
reason whatever, ui the same way as
any private owner of land forbids at
his pleasure the trespass of others
upon it. Such a prohibition, public-
ly announced, would turn each visit
lo the grotto into a formal crime.
The plan of the baron hinged upon
this idea ; and, having hit upon it, he
decided to act it out and play the
despot.
Accordingly, on the following day,
the mayor of Lourdes was instruct-
ed to issue the following order ;
" The mayor of tint town of Lourdca,
actitt;^ under Ihe ins/n/ifiom aJdress-
ed to him t'y Ihe iupcrior aufhorittet^
and under the taws of the 14th and
23d of I)eccml>cr, lySc), of Ihe i6th
and 24th of August, 1790, of the
19th and iid of July, 1791, and of
the iSth of July, 1837, on Municipal
.\<!mmistration ;
" And considering that it is very
desirable, in Ihe intereit of religion, to
put an end to the dephrabU .scenes
now presented at the Grotto of Mas-
:
Our Lady of Lourdfs.
labielle, at Lourdes, od the left boiik
of the (jdve;
" Also, that t/tc care 0/ the local pub-
Bi health dn-ohti upon the maypr, anil
that a great number, both of citizens
and strangers, come to draw water
from a spring in the aforesaid grotto,
th« water of whuh ix stu/fiteJ an good
grvunt/s to contain miuenU ingredUnti,
making it pruJciu, before ijcrmilling
its use, to wait for a scientific analy-
sis to determine the application whicrh
mjy be made of it in medicine ; and,
" Also, that the laws subjat the
working of mineml springs to a prelimi-
nary authonziftion by t^nrmment .•
** I&sues the following
DECREE.
*• I. It is rorbidden to draw water
at the aforesaid spring.
'* 3. Il is also forbidden to }>a&s
through the common land known as
die bank of MassabicUc.
" J. A barrier will be put up at the
entrance to the grotto to prevent ac-
ceai; and
'■ i'osts will l>e set bearing these
words: * It is forbidden to enter this
|iroi>eny.'
"4. AH transgressions of this decree
will be prosecuted according to biw.
"5. The Commissary of Police,
" The Gendarmerie,
" The Gardes Chsmpftres,
** And the authorities of the com-
mune,
'* Aic entrusted with the execution
of this decree.
" Signed in the mayor's office at
Ix}urdcs, on the 8lh of June, 1S53.
"'ITie Mayor, A- Lacade.
•* Appro veil :
" The Prefect. O. Massy "
It vas not without some hcsitatioa
Uun M. I^cad^ consented to sign
and undertake to execute this decree.
His character, somewhat wanting
decision and titclined to compromise,-
nccessarily disinclined him to such a
manifest act of hostihty against tli4^H
mysterious power which hovered iO^H
visibly over the events whicli had
centred round the grotto at Lourdea^^
On the other hand, the mayor, ^^^
was very proper, enjoyed the cacr^i
cise of his office, aiul pcrhajis had
even a little undue fondness for it
and hbt altcmative was cither to
come the instrument of the prcfi
toral violetce or to resign the honoi
of the mayoralty. Aldiough
haps not really trying, the sit
tion was certainly emtxtrrasstng fi
the chicf-magisiratc of Lourdes,
Locad^ hoped, however, to concilia
all parties by reiguiring M. Massy,
a condition of his signature, to insv
at the head of the decree, at the ve
outset, the words, " Acting umler t
instructions addressed to him by
superior audiorities," as above.
" In this May," said the mayor
himself, " I assume no responsibility
before the public or in my own eyes.
I have not taken the initiative, but
remain neutral. I do not command,
but only obey. I do not give this
order, but receive it. I am not the
author of this decree, I only execute
it. All the blame rests upon my im-
mediate superior^ the prefect."
Coming from a soldier in a rc^-
ment drawn up for battle, such rea-
soning would tiavc been irrcproftch-
able.
Having reassunsi himself on tfaa
principle. M. Lacade took measures
for the execution of iJie prdcctora]
edict, having it published and put on
the walls m all parts oi ihe town. .\t
the same lime, under the protection
of an armed force and the directwa
of Jacomet. barriers were pat up
around tlie MassabicUe rocks, so that
no one, except by breaking through
or climbinj} over them, coiUd reach
Our Lady of Lourdn.
2&3
the grotto and the niiracutous foun-
tain. Posts with notices, as pre-
scribed by ihc decree, were also set up
here and there at all points of en-
trance to the coiniiioii land which
surrounded the venerable .si>ot. They
prohibited trespass under pain of
prosecution. Some scrT/^aiH-di-vUU
nml jptrtUs kept watch day and night,
being rcUcvcd hourly, to prcp:irc//w-
th'Vcrbaux against all who should
{las these posts to koeel in the Wcin-
i^ of the grotto.
XI.
TucRC was at Lourdes a judge of
the name of Duprat, who was as
%-iolentiy opposed to the .supernatur-
al as Jacomet, Massy, Dutour, and
others of the constituted authorities.
This judge, not being able tinder the
circumstances to sentence rhc delin-
quents lo anything more than a very
aiiiall I'me, contrived an indirect
method to make the fine enormous
and truly formidable for the poor
people who came to pray before the
grotto, and to beg froiu the Blessed
Virgin, one the restoration of health,
another the cure of a darling child,
a third .some spiritual favur or con-
solation under some great affliction.
M. Duprat then imposed upon
each offender a fine of five francs.
Kut, by a conception worthy of hLs
genius, he united under a slngTc sen-
tence all who disregarded the prefec-
toral prohibition, eitlicr by farming a
•^asx^ togellicr, or even, as it would
seem, by visiting the grotto in the
course of the same day; and he
made each liable to the whole
amount of the line. Thus, if one or
two hundred persons came in this
way to the rocks uf Massabielle, each
one of them was responsible nut only
for himself, but aUo for the others,
that is, to the extent of five hundred
or a thousand francs. And as the
individual and original fine was only
five francs, the decision of this ma-
gistrate was without appeal, and
there was no way to correct it.
Judge Duprat was all-powerful, and
it WHS thus lliat he used his power.
xu.
Such an outrageous intcrfL-rcncc in
the important question wlilih had
for some months l)cen pending on
the baiiks of the Gave impUed on
the jiart of the authoriiics not only
tile denial of the supernatural in this
])articu].Tx case, but also that of its
possibility. If this had been admit-
ted for an instant, tlie measures of
the administration would have been
entirely different; they would have
had for their object the examination,
not the suppression, of the contro-
versy.
One thing had been absolutely cer-
tain, namely, the cures; whether they
Iiad been brought about by the min-
eral qu.iliues of the water, by the
imagination of the patients, or by
miraculous intervention, these cures
were indubitable, and officially re-
cognized by the infidels themselves,
who, not being able lo deny them,
merely tried to explain them on some
natural principle.
The faithful and perfectly trustwor-
thy witnesses to the cfHcacy of the
water in their own cases could be
counted by hundreds, 'i'here was
not a single one who reported that
its efTecu had been prejudicial. Why,
then, all these prohibitory measures,
these barriers put up, tliis menacing
armed force, these persecutions?
And why, if such measures were
]}ro[)er, should not the principle be
cirried out further? Why not close
every place of pilgrimage where a
sick person has been restored to
health, every churdi where any one
has received an answer to prayer?
This question was in every mouth.
" If Eemadclte," said one, '* with-
out saying anything about \isions and
apjiarittons, had simply found a min*
eral spring possessing powerful heal-
ing virtues, what government would
ever have forbidden sick people to
drink of it ? Nero himself would not
have gone so far; in ail countries, a
reward would have been given to the
child. But here the sick people
kneel and pray, and these liveried
Kubaltcms. who crouch before their
masters, do not like to have any one
prostrate himself before God. This
is the real reason. It is prayer which
is persecuted."
" But shall we allow ftuperslilion ?'*
said the free-thinkers.
" Is not the church able to take
care of thai and to guard the faithful
against error ? Let her act in her
own province, and do not make an
cecumcnical council out of the pre-
fecture, and an infallible pope out of
a prefect or a minister. What dis-
order has been causc<l by these
events ? None whatever. What
evil has occurred to justify your pre-
cautionary measures ? Absolutely
none. The mysterious fountain has
only done good. Let the believing
people go and drink of i(, if they
please. Leave them their liberty xo
believe, lo pray, to be healed ; the
liberty to turn to Ood ;«id lo ask
from heaven consolation in their
grief. You who demand free thought,
let prayer also be free."
Uul neither the antichrislian phi-
losophy nor ihc pious prefect of
Hautes Pyrenees would consent to
notice this unanimous protest, and
the severe measures were continucti.
Tlie intolerance of which the ene-
mies of Christianity so unjusUy accuse
the Catholic Church is their own
ruling i>assion. llicy are essentially
tyrants and persecutors.
TO »■ CONTlNtltP.
THE SHAMROCK GONE WEST.
BY THE AUTHOR OF " ROMANCE OF TUB CHARTER OAK.
f^CROT a generation ago, there
might have been seen moving across
the Wabash Valley, Indiana, one of
those hcavy«buiU wagons, with broad
canvas tops, known in the West as
prairie schooners. The wheels, which
had not been greased since they hd
New Hampshire, were creaking dole-
fully, and the youth who urged on
the jaded team declared that the
sound reminded him of the frogs in
his lather's mill-pond. AtLiched lo
Ibc rear of the wagon was a coop,
containing a rooster and half a dozen
hens, evidently suffering from their
long confinement ; while underneath
the coop, swinging to and fro. as if
keeping time to the music of the
wheels, was a bucket
Nat Putnam held the reins with a.
tight grip, his eyes were fixed straight
in front of him, and his steeple crown-
ed hat, which looked as if it might
have been a legacy from one of his
Puritan forefailiers, was placed as br
on the back of his head as possible,
The Shamrock Gone West.
26$
u not to obstruct the view. He
was perhiijjs twcnty-onc or two years
of age ; but it would bave been raali
to gauge his wi&dom by the date of
his binh. If ever there was a Ynnkcc
hnrd to oiitwit, it was our friend, and
his inoilier had often declared that
her boy could sec through a stone
wall The very shape of his nose,
which was not unlike an eagle's beak,
S~ warocd you to be ou your guard
when you were making a trade with
him; while his face, spotted all over
with freckles, rould readily assume
every expression from highest glee
to dcqicst melancholy ; thus enabling
him to iiU whatever post in life might
be most congenial, were it circus
clown or mling elder.
"Mr. Putnam, when are we going
;lo halt ?" inquired a female voice,
vliich seemed to come from the in-
terior of the wagon. Before the
youth answered, the ^caker had
placed herself at his side and was
gazing at him with u woeful look.
I'oor thing I well might she ask the
question. Ever since he had picked
her up in the State of New York, he
had kept travelling on and on, until
Mary O'Brien thought he was never
going to stop. Ilcr father, who had
been with them the first week of the
journey, had died, ::ncl Nat liad only
tarried long enough to bury the old
man, and let the daughtf^r say a few
prayers over his grave.
** Dont find fault," he replied.
" The spirit moves me to keep push-
ing West; the further I go, the better
I feci. This everlasting woods must
come to an end by-and-by, and when
wc reach the open country you'll not
grumble."
** Bui I'm quite woni out," pursu-
ed Mary ; " and my shamrock is tired
too. If you'd only rest and make a
homeland let me plant it ! The jolting
of the wagon and the want of sunlight
is killing iL Poor shamrock !" Here
she left the scat, but presently re-
turned, carrying a box filled with
earth, in which was a little three-leaf-
ed clover.
" Sec," she exclaimed, •* how differ-
ent it looks from a month ago. Tis
drooping fast." As she spoke she
gave the plant a kiss. Her compa-
nion glanced at her a moment, then
with a smile of pity, *' How old are
you ?" he asked
" Eighteen."
" Humph 1 I guess you're out of
your reckoning. If you were that
old, yo\rd chuck iliai piece of grass
away and take to something serious.
'Ihcre's my Bible, why don't you read
a chapter now and (hen ? 'Twould
instruct you, and keep nic from get-
ting rusty — a thing I'd deeply regret,
for 1 may lake to exhorting if farm-
ing don't pay."
" Throw my shamrock out of the
wagon! Why, Mr. riitram, 'twas fa-
ther's, and he brought il all the way
from Tipperary. I'm going to keep
it — as long as 1 live, I am. It may
wither, but I'll never throw it away"
"Well, well, as you like. But I
repeat — why can't you read the Bible
once in a while, instead of wasting
your time playing with a lot of dried
jieas ? Do they come from Tipj>e-
rary, loo ?"
"Oh ! these are my beads," she re-
plied, taking her Rosary from her
pocket ; " and it's praying 1 am, wlicn
you see me slipping these little round
things through my fingers."
" Praying ! Then you must have
prayed a heap. Arc you in earnest ?"
"I am."
" Well, can't your spirit be moved
without using them i)eas, or beads
as you call tliem ? It seems to me
they must bother you."
" I use 'em, sir, to keep count, or
I mightn't say all the Hail Marys and
Our Fathers." Here Nat started, and
lifting his sandy eyebrows, " Aha I"
he exclaimed. "So! Indeed! Then
*iw;is keeping a tally of your prayers ?
Weil, now, there's something in that.
I really didn't believe you were so
'cute. 'Jhe devil couldn't say that
you hadn't been square on your de-
votions when you'd kept a strict tal-
The girl smiled, then, bowing her
head, seemed to be whisijcring some-
thing to the shamrock.
" Different from other gals I''
thought Fulnam, as he glanced at
the [)alc face and long, raven hair,
which without braid or ribbon Sowed
down until it rested on the bottom of
the w.ngon. " Yes, different from
other gals ! Can't quite make her
out. She ain't a child, yet seems like
one. Keeping a tally of her prayers
is the first sign of lier being 'cute.
But that's a beginning anyhow. I'll
cdurate her liltJe by little. Oh! if
she'd only lake to the iJible." Here
he gave the reins a jerk, then asked
Mary to read him a chapter from the
Book of Proverbs.
" 1 can't read," she frankly replied.
*' Can't read I i',At\'l read I That
I won't believe. Why, there's Jemi-
ma Hopkins, in Conway, where I
come from, that not only reads, but
has started on a lecturing tour; and
she ain't — let me see; she was born
the year of the comet— no slic nin'l a
day over fourteen."
" Well, I'm not Jemima Hopkins."
"No, that you ain't; Jemima is a
prodigy."
",\nd I'm a goose."
" But don't own it," said the youtli.
'• Talk as little as posMble, and then
the world may not find it out. Why,
1 know a chap in Conway thai passes
for ' larned,' and all 'cause he has the
toothache every time he's asked to
make a speech. You see. he puts
on a wise look, holds his tongue, and
has so humbugged the folks that they
call him Uncle Solomon."
•' Well, I don't want to be taken
for what I'ra not," rejoined Mary,
tear trickling down her cheek.
'* What ails you now ?" exclaimed
Nat. *' Oh ! how different you are from
Jemima Hopkins!" The girl made
no response, but sighed, " lather, fas.
thcr."
"The old man's underground,'
pursued the youth, in as soft a voice
as he could assume. " Crying won't
bring him bark. Dry your eyes, and
vow to smash to atoms every whis-
key-bottle that ever comes within
your reach. I sus)>ect his constitution
was undermined by habits of intem-
perance.
'* Father 'didn't drink in Ireland
sobbed the girl. " Twasat (hat h
rid grog'shop in New York he got the
habit."
** I*ure fountain water," murmured
Nat, rolling his eyes toward the hea-
vens, " what a blessed thing thou art !
Those who give thee up for alcnhol
make a poor swap." Then suddciil
fixing his gaze on the young
man, " Marj-," said he, *' I never
once tasted liquor. 'Twas at a cattle
show year afore last ; and do you
know what happened? I paid two
hundred and fifty dollars for a horse
that was foundered and kicked so bad
1 couldn't drive hini home. Now
that's something I'd nc\"er have done
if my head had been clear; Iiut 'tivas
a lesson — a good lesson, and I toM
Jemima Hopkins (who got wind of
it — women find out cverydiing) to
make her fust lecture ou tem
ance."'
The young wom.an, who secni
not to have been listening to this ei>i-
bodc in his history, was now moaning
piteously for her father, nor did she
cease untd her companion in an agi-
tated tone bade her keep quiet.
" Your lamcntaliuns." he said, " are
horrible to listen to."
" Don't you love your fathe^ ?"
n
Jc
m
The Shamjock Gonr Wtst.
267
■poke Mary, pazuig at htm through
her ttars. " Wouldn't you cry if he
were dead ?*'
" Cry if he were dead 1" repealed
the yuuth with a shudder. " Oh I
why did you ask me that question ?
You're astmnge being. Who gave you
power to look into my heart 7 Do
yoa know that I quarrelled with the
old man. and left without saying good-
by, and every mile I've travelled his
last look has haunted mc ? * 1 am
near the grave,' he said, 'don't aban-
don me. Attend the mill, 'twill soon
bclone to you.' Hut I laughed in
bis face. * The mill,' said 1, 'is out
of repair, and only fit to shelter rats
aitd swallows; while the soil won't
yvn\A more than fourteen UusheU of
com to the acre." And iJicn I lum-
my back on him."
•* When he's dead, you'll be sorry
^t thai," said the girl. " Write home
and ask his furgivcness. Do^ before
loo late.'*
Home r murmured the youth as
he drove along. '* Home!" Oh ! what
oritii were awakened at thesoum!
that word which spoke in a thou-
sand magic whispers! He was again
t little boy seatcil on his father's
ec, in the old house at the foot of
ounl Kcarsargc, listening to stories
the Revolution. The wind was
'wling — thesnowcomingin through
the key-hole and under the door — a
fearful night to be out. Hut what
^Jid he care about tlie tempest ? He
^^■tas safe on his father's knee.
^™ " Mar)-." said Putnam, just as ihey
reached the foot ol a hill, " I'll take
your advice, and write hnnie tlic first
chance I get. And I'll tell the old
man that I'm sorr)- fnr tlic hanl
Hords I med. I'll ask him, too, to
Itow me — for I'm going to halt by-
td-by; and I'll make him .is com-
fortable as if he were in New Hamp-
shire."
** Do," said the young woman ;
and
W-
hc(
■^■em<
B^th:
'• 'twill bring God's blessing on
you."
Here he placed the reins in her
hands, ilien, telling her that he was
going to reconnoitre and find wliich
was the best way to get over the hill»
he left the wagon with a lighter heart
than he had known in many a day.
A little climbing brought him to a
spot where the ground wxs again
level, but where the timber was thick-
er and ihc wagon would have hard
work to get along ; and he was won-'
dering if the everlasting forest was
never coming to an end, when he
was startled by a rustling noise, and,
looking round, saw a wild turkey dart
off her nest, while at the same
instant ever so many young ones,
which appeared as if only just hatch-
ed, began scattering in every direc-
tion. *• I'll catch this fellow," said
Nat, running after the nearest bird,
" and make him a present to Ma-
ry." But, young as it was, the little
thing manageil to reach a clump of
haxel-bushcs about thirty yards dis-
tant, into which its pursuer dashed
only a step behind, and in his excite-
ment Nat kept straight on, nor did
he stop unul he found himself clear
of the thicket, liut there he came
to a sudden halt, and for alniasi a
minute stood as if rooted to the
earth. Was the scene which had
burst upon him a vision of paradise ?
The forest had ended, the hill sloped
gently to the west, and before him
like a boundless sea, fired by the rays
of the setting sun, lay the prairie of
Illinois. Then he shouted for Mary,
who with impatient step h.istcned up
the hill, wondering what was the
matter, and who arrived just as he
was beginning to sing Old Jlundrtd.
The glorious view brought tears of
jay to her eyes, for she felt sure Nat
had at length found a spot where he
would be willing lo scille down and
make a home, and, clasping her hands,
268
Thi Shamrock Gone Wtst,
I
she likewise offered up a prayer of
thanksgiving.
" Isn't this ahead of an>th)ng you
c\*er dreamed of ?" exclaimed the
youth, when he had finished the
jiymn. " I've lieerd Parson Job
at camp-meeting trying to picture
hea\'en ; but, although I'd not have
dared say tt aloud, yet really I never
fch as if I'd core a straw about such
a place as he described — fellows with
wings and harps skippmgarotnid.and
singing hallelujahs for all eternity
without ever gelling out of breatli.
But here is a country I can imagine
like the home of the blest."
" fleaven 1.1 more beautiful than
this," rejoined his companion. '* Yet
'tis a glorious countrj-. Oh ! settle
here, do, and give my shamrock
rest."
" As you say," continued Nat, pat-
ting her cheek, and at the same time
piercing her through with his bhaq;
gray eyes. " You're ray ' lilcssing.'
I owe you more than I ever tan pay.
When you made me promise to write
home and ask the old man's forgive-
ness*, a load heavier than a millstone
was taken off my heart. You ain't
as lamed as jemima Hopkins, and
you ain't 'cute— though keeping a tal-
ly of your prayers is something, and
shows what you may become by pro-
per cducation^but, ignorant as you
are, there's still a great deal in you."
Here he left her, and went back for
the wagon, which, after not a little
difliculiy. he managed to bring across
the hill ; then, having chosen a spot
near a spring of water, be unhitched
the horses, while Mary let out the
fowls, who clapped their wings as if
they were mad ; nor did the rooster
stop crowing until the hens — anxious
to make their nests — gathered round
him, and forced hitn to hold his tongue
and be seriouis.
As it was sunset, Putnam could do
lillie more Uian reconnoitre the vici-
nity of the camping-ground, so, shoul-
dering his rifle, he walked oB^ leaving
tlie girl to preiKire the evening meal.
Hut Mar)' had scarcely lit the fire
when lie came runnuig back, and
pointed out to her a figure on horse-
back, advancing along the prairie.
" It may be an Indian," said he. " Jf
he's peaceful, I'll read him a chapter
in the Ilible ; if he's ugly, I'll
shoot."
In about a quarter of an hour the
slranger had approached near enough
for them to discover that he was a
person of their own race, with long,
white hair, and a cross hanging at
his side ; so, throwing down the gun,
Nat shouted welcome. The travel-
ler, alUiough astonitihed to hear a
human voice, did not draw rein, but
kept on up the hill, and in another
moment the youUi had grasped his
hand and was giving it a hearty
shake.
** So soon !" exclaimcil the Jesuit
mis3ionar>' — for such was the charac-
ter of the new-comer. "Already ! Oh I
you Americans are a great people;
In a few years you will be across the
continent."
" Well. I've fetched up here," »id
Putnam, grinning. *' Not that the
spirit didn't move me to push further
West ; but yonder gal— my ' Bless-
ing,' as I call her — urged rac 10
stop."
Here the priest glanced at Mary,
then remarked:
'* Your sister, I suppose, or
wife ?"
" I haven't any sister," replied the
youth, " and ain't ' spliced ' yet Shc*a
a gal 1 i}icked up as I was coming
ihrouyh York State. Her father was
with her, and 1 took him along too;
but he died in a few days, and I bu*
ricd hmi on the roadside, and as she
had no home I told her she'd better
stick to me. She's awful green, but
for all that she has her good poiDts,
The S^aiiirixk Gone JVesf,
269
has nude mc happier iban I've
in a long time."
With this Nat beckoned to Mary.
,who, as soon as she discovered in
whose presence she was standing,
' fell on her knees, while the raissiona-
\xy K^vc her his blessing.
That evening the youth, true to
[his promise, wrote an affectionate let-
hler to hi3 father, which the Jesuit as-
Ittircd him he would <iclivcr with his
[own hand. " And I will bring you
(•n answer," said the laltcff " for I
[Shall pass this way on my return to
ie mission, which f hope to reach
[before winter sets in."
'ITic next morning, when Putnam
tt he found tliat the priest had
ly depaned.
"That," said the youth, -is a point
his favor. The early bird catches
Je worms. So, Mary, he was one of
)ur preachers ? First I ever saw."
•' I ho|H; you liked him," rejoined
\e girl.
" Well, his coming so handy to
take my letter did bend me toward
him ; yet I don't think t ever could
sit still under his preaching.''
" And why not ?"
" 'Cause he's a papist. I've heerd
iQugh about 'cm."
To this the young woman made
no response, but gazed sorrowfully
at her comiKinion a moment, then
turned her eyes toward the West.
The scene was enchanting. The breeze.
which had risen with the dawn, was
coming joyously over the prairie,
brushing aside the mist, gathering up
the perfume of ten thousand flowers,
and touched Mary's lips like a breath
from the Garden of Eden. And as
playeii with her raven hair, and
irought the roses to her cheeks, Nat
couUl not help thinking she was as
fair a.s any la.ss he had ever met in
New Hampshire.
*' Vet she don't seem to know it,"
be saitl. *' She's very green about
her beauty." A herd of deer were
feeding only a short distance away —
in ever)' direction the grouse dotted
the plain — while circling round and
round, in bold relief against the azure
sky, was an eagle.
'i'lie whole of this day and the
next. Putnam kept hard at work fell-
ing urces to build a log-house, while
the girl remained near the wagon,
plying her needle, watching her
.shamrock, which already showed
signs of renewed life, and gathering
the eggs, which the hens insisted on
laying every hour, so as to make up
for lost lime.
At length, when he had cut down
trees enough, he bade Mary follow
him out on the plain, having first
filled her apron with stakes — for what
purpose she could not imagine.
♦' What on earth are you doing ?"
she exclaimed, after having walked
by his side almost au hour.
" Can't you guess?" he said, halt-
ing abniptlv. " Are you so green a.s
all that ?" '
" Upon my word," replied the girl,
"your conduct is distressing ; yes, it
frightens mc to sec you turning and
twisting in every direction, driving
these pieces of woo<i into the ground,
and counting on your fingers. Oh !
what'U become of me if you've gone
mad ?"
" Mad ! Ha ! Jemima Hopkins
wouldn't have said that. Jemima — "
" \V3s bom tlic year of the comet,"
interrupter! his companion, laughing,
"and I'm only a goose."
" Well, don't own it if you arc; 1*11
educate you. And now here goes the
first lesson," With this he lifted hi.s
forefinger, then shutting one eye,
'* You must know we won't be long in
such ubeaulifu! spot without company.
My wagon-lracks will lead many to
Illinois who wouhin't have stirred
from the shadow of Mount Kearsarge
if I hadn't set the example. Mc-
thinks even now I hear 'cm cracking
their whips and bidding good-by to
the old folks in Conway. They'll
conic, too, from other ports of New
Hampshire; ay, by the score and
hundred Uicy'll come. Now, such
being the case, why not have a town
laid out by the tim- they arrive ?
And right here where wc stand shall
be our mansion : 'cause, you perceive,
it's a comer-lot. While yonder, on
t'other corner — so as to be handy in
case of rain — I'll get 'em to build the
raecling-housc ; and oh ! won't I be
proud when it's finished! And what
a fine rooster I'll put on the steeple I"
" No, put a cross," said the young
woman, "or 1*11 not go inside of it."
" What ! a cross, emblem of popery,
on (his virgin soil, nhere there's
never been one seen, unless 'twas
that which your preacher carried
yesterday ? No. indeed I I've heerd
enough about popery."
" I'll pray God to enlighten you,*'
said the giii, at the same time heav-
ing a sigli.
•' Well, the more light I get, the
less I'll want a popish cinblera on
lop of the meeting-house." Here
Nat struck his forehead, then
ga/ing at M.iry with an expression
of nnncr, " Have you come so far
with mc," he said, " to quarrel at
last? Bah! you are a goose." With
tliis he turned on his heel and walked
off, nitittering to himself and evident-
ly very much excited.
Poor Mary did not open her lips
again that day, but helped Uuild the
log-house with the greatest good*will.
Nor did Putnam address her a single
word. In fact, it was not until a week
had none by and the dwelling was
almost fmished thai he so far recov-
ered from his ill humor ss to speak to
her in a friendly uay,
" Mar>V' said he, looking proudly
up at the mud-plastered chimney,
•• this is a good In-ginning. 'I'hc first
house is always the hardest to erect;
and you've worked like a beaver.
Tell me, now, arc you still of the same
mind about (he cross ? Will you
stay away from meeting uiUc&s I give
up my [joint ?"
"1 will," replied the girl firmly. "1
want a Catholic Church, or none at
all."
" Is my ' Blessing ' in earnest ?"
*' Yes, and praying hard that God
may open your eyes to the truth."
"Open my eyes! Well, you're
the first mortal ever insinuated that
Nat Putnam wasn't wide-awake.
But enough ; there's a split between
us nothing can mend. Alas I" Here
he walked off to the hill muttering^
'■ What a pity : what a pity ! ignor-
ant as she is, there's yet something
about her which goes to my heart
I love Mary O'Brien. I might even
ask her to become my wife, if she
hadn't such foolish notions about re-
ligion. Cut not content wiUi making
the sign of tlie cross afore every
meal, she actually wants one put on
top of th^ meeting- house. >Vhal an
idea ! A cross ! A tiring never seen
on this virgin soil till that old preach-
er came along."
For more than an hour tlic youth
wandered about the hillside, lament*
ing Mary's obstinacy and supersti-
tion, until at length he heard ber
blowing the horn for dinner.
" Let her blow," he said, " I'm in
no humor to cit anything. I'll just
lay down and take a nap." With
tliis he threw himself on the ground*
and was about setUing his head on a
comfortable spot, which seemed as if
intended by nature for a pillow, when
he gave a start and rose to his feet.
"As I hvc," he cried, "tins is a
grave 1 And if there isn't a cross
at one end of it!— and something
carved upon the wood — what can
it be ?" Here he stooped, and, after
brushing away a little moss which
The Shamrock Gone West,
ityt
partly covered the knife-cuts, spelt
out the words,
" Uaj Ua soul rest in peace ! "
" Well, now, this does beat all," he
continued. " Who'd 'ave believed a
cross had got to this place ahead of
me? And there's something about
the epitaph which makes me feel
solemn. I wonder how long since
these words were cut. Perhaps for
years and }'ear^ only the deer and
eagles have gazed upon them. Per-
haps since the day the corpse was
buried, no lips but.mine have spoken
over this lonely grave, ' May his soul
rest in peace !' "
For a few minutes the youth lin-
gered by the mound, wrestling with
himself — for he was conscious that a
change was coming over him — then
wended his way back to the cabin,
resolved to be frank with Mar>', and
confess that a cross had got here bc-
forcf Nat Putnam.
He had arrived within a couple of
paces of the door, which was half-
open, when, hearing her speaking,
he stopped. " She is praying," he
said. "What a fine voice she has!
Better than Jemima's." Then, softly
advancing, he discovered her kneel-
ing on the fioor, her hands clasped,
and her cheek wet with tears. In
an earnest tone she was asking God
to pardon her father his many sins of
intemperance; then \vith equal fervor,
she began to pray for the speedy re-
turn of the missionary, bringing Put-
nam a blessing and forgiveness from
his aged parent.
At these words the youth trembled
with emotion, and bursting into the
room, " Mary, Mary," he cried, " 1
take back all I said. X laughed
when you made the sign of the cross,
and I called you ignorant. But
you're more lamed than Nat Put-
nam. Your prayer, a moment ago,
stirred me up as 1 never was stirred
at camp-meeting. It made me feel
as when through the dark clouds I
see blue sky peeping out. Praying
for the dead! O God! if your
preacher comes back and tells me
father is dead, I can do one act of
reparation — pray for his soul. And
but for you, I'd not have written
home ; but for you, black remorse
would have gone on eating deeper
and deeper into my soul — and re-
morse is hell."
'* Mr. Putnam," said the young
woman, who, startled by his wild
look, had risen to her feet, ** my
prayers have been heard."
" Yes, they have. I am a Catho-
lic, and vow that our first meeting-
house shall have a cross upon it. O
my ' Blessing!' never can I be grate-
ful enough to the Almighty for throw-
ing you in my path !"
" It seemed an accident," pursued
the girl, "yet it may indeed have been
God's work. If it has proved for the
good of your soul, it, perhaps, has
saved mine. I cannot tell you how
I was tempted when I lived in the
city of New York. Why, one night,
when I was out looking for father,
somebody whispered in my ear that
I might live in splendor if I chose.
The tenement-house where wc lodged
seemed to hold as many people as
there are in the whole of Tippcrary.
Father and I, with a score of others,
slept in a damp room underground.
Oh! when I think of those days, it is
like a horrid dream."
" Well, why don't them people fol-
low my tracks ? There's land enough
here, dear knows. Yes, let 'em all
come; only they must leave whiskey
behind. 1 want this to be a tempe-
rance settlement." Then, after a
pause, " But, Mary, I wonder if
amongst them I'd find another like
you, my * Blessing ' ?" With this, he
rose, and was about to throw his arms
round her neck, when he checked
372
The Shamrock Gone West.
himself; then, after fumbling a mo-
ment in his ]K>ckett went out tu
where her shamrock was blooming,
and, close by it, he put in the ground
a pumpkin-seed. Happy were the
June days which followed. With
what a light heart did Mary watcli
the youth at nork!
" He's a strange being." she would
say; "different from any 1 ever met
in the Old Country-. Bui, for all that,
he is good; and when Father Ue
Smct returns I'll have him baptized,
and then there'll be no firmer Catho-
lic than Nat Putnam."
And the young man — h6w shall
we descril>e his feelings as, hour after
hour, he follows the plough ?
" I'm making a home," he would
say, "for my 'Blessing.' How she
leans upon mc! If 1 were to die,
what would become of her ? She
don't know enough to give lectures,
like Miss Hopkins. Ohl if I could
only mix her and Jcniinm together.
Yet she's prctly handy at the needle,
and since she's ovcHi.-iidcd my things
r ain't lost a bulion. And yet my
suspenders, dani 'cm, do give awful
jerks once in a while."
One morning, while he was thus
silently praising Mary's skill in the
art of sewing, he stopjicd, gave a
groan, then, letting go the handle of
the plough, " Wrong!" he cxclaimcfl.
"There goes one! Rip! whowl"
an<l, as he spoke, he grabbed a
button out of the furrow, l-'or more
than a minute the youth examined it
thoughtfully, turned it o^rr and over,
put it to his eye J then, with a grin,
" No," he said, " Mary didn't sew
this on ; the thread slicking to it ain't
the kind she uses. Ah! Jemima Hop-
kins! Jemima Hopkins! 'tis some of
ynurwork. Yes, I rcmemlwr; 'twas
just afore you started off lecturing,
and when your head was full of big
words. O Jemima Hopkins I"
And so the summer passal away.
The corn came up magnificenti
and when it was in all its glory, with
the west wind shaking the tassels,
Putnam would call Mary out to ad-
mire it. "It looks," be would say,
'■ like a regiment of militia on parade."
The pumpkin-seed which he had
planted was now well above ground,
and creeping ilowly but steadily
round and round the shamrock.
Once the girl was tempted to pull
the vine up, but, on reflection, it oc-
curred to her that she had better not.
And she was right; for under its
broad leaves her little plant found
shelter from the scorching rays of the
sun ; and when the thunder-storms
burst over the prairie, the shamrock
would have been crushed liy the
great rain-drops, which fell thicker
and faster than ever she had known
them fall in Ireland, but for the same
kindly protector.
One evening, toward the tniddlc
of September, Nat came home fro:
work at an earlier hoiur than usuaL'
He appeared troubled ; there was
evidently something on his mind ;
and, when the girl asked what was
the matter, he scratchetl bis head,
devoured her a moment with his
sharp, gray eyes, then, turning on his
Jiecl, walked off to a log near the
door. There he seated himself, and,
after musing awhile, beckoned her
to ajiproach.
*J he young woman obeyed, not,
howevt-r. without some misgiving.
"Mr. I'liUiam," she lliought, "has
got lircd of living so long in one
place, and is anxious to move fur-
tiler west. Alas I"
In another moment she was seated
near him and gajiing anxiously in his
face. He returned her look only for
an iii&iani, then coughed, and, roll-
ing lip his eyes. " "J'is a solemn thing
to do," he mumnired. " Itut I can't
help it, and wouldn't if I could. I've
felt it coming over me ever since the
lie
The Skomrock Gone West.
an
ly she persuaded me (o wnte home
father. Jemima Hopkins would
at inc likeasunfuJiala worm in
\\m\ \i I gave her a chance ; but Uiis
girl is so innoceni-like tliat really 1
don't know how to begin. Aiui then
her very dependeiite on me, the soll-
(ude of this spot, makes her kind of
sacred, and 1 dread lest even words
ol purest love nHt{ht give her of-
fence."
" Well, Mr. Putnam," said Mary,
interrupting liis soliloquy, " you're not
going to move away ? Don't make
n^f shamrock travel any further.
Speak! Oh! 1 feel so anxious."
At ihe&e words, Nat cleared his
ttiioatr cracked his knuckles, then,
in a v(Hce singularly agitated for
one of his tcmi>cr3ment, " Mary,"
he began. ** I am never going to
wove from this spot. Vou arc fond
of it, and that's enough." At this
unexpected announcement the girl
clapped her hands, *' But," he went
oiif "I aii) not contented; there is
yet something wanting to make me
perfectly happy."
"And, pray, what is it, sir? I
know I am vt-ry green, but tell me
if the fault be mine : tell mc, and I
proratsc to do all I can to please
you."
•* Well," he pursued, raising liis
hand and pointing at the pumpkin-
vine which circled round the sham-
rock, "do you see yonder plant al-
most hiding, and at the same time
protecting, the smaller one?"
■■ I do."
" Well, now. Mary, suppose you be
the shamrock, and let mc be the
vine ?"
As he spoke, he gazed earnestly
at her. A faint bliisli crimsoned the
I's chevk. She seeme*! a Httlc
irtlcd ; and when she replied, " Ves,
I will be your shamrock !" it was in
a voice low and scarce above a whis-
per.
vol. xiii.— 'iS
"Well done!" cried Nat, tossing
his hat in the air. "Well done!
lis soon as the priest comes, we'll
have the knot tied."
'J hat very evening, the missionary
arrive*!, bringing Putnam news from
home, which, although sad indeed,
was yet not unmingled with consola-
tion. His (ather was dead, but the
last words he had spoken were
words of forgiveness to the youth
who had abandoned lum in his old
age. The Jesuit remained at the log-
house almost a fortnight, instructing
the convert in the faith, and, before
he departed, the latter had the hap-
piness of serving a >[ass olTered for
the repose of his father's soul.
'• This never would have happened
but for you, my ' Blessing,'" said Nat,
pressing Mary's hand. ''Those who
will follow me to this enchanting spot
may laugh at my becoming a (.'aiho-
lic, but 'twill be because tliey are ig-
norant. Your religion has in it some-
thing sublime: it reaches across the
grave, and, by our prayers, gives
us a hold upon those who have
gone before us. Father! father I"
Here his voice failed, and for a min-
ute or two lie wept. At length, nias-
lerlng his grief, he turned lo the priest
and signified that he wiis ready for
tlic marriage ceremony to begin. It
w.'Ls short ; but while it lasted, n song-
sparrow (ihc first the youth had heartl
since he arrived in Illinois) alighted
upon the window sill and piped a joy-
ous carol. Often had he heard tlie
bird at his home near the fool of Mouul
Kcarsarge, and now its sweet notes
fell on his ear like the voice of a spirit
come all the way from the Saco Val-
ley to wish him happiness on hts
wedding-day.
That evening, he look his wife and
the priest to visit the moun<! on the
htlt^de, and around it they knelt and
offered a prayer fjr the unknown
whose dust lay beneath.
274
Sayings of Ihe Fathers of the Desert,
As they sauntered hacic to the
cabin, Putnam expressed a lively
hope that all his friends in New
Hampshire would emigrate to the
West. "And when Jemima arrive-.,"
he snid, closing one eye and looking
at his w;fe with the other, "you'll sec
sonicthtng worth seeing; for she's
awful smart, and when wc get argu-
ing together it's diamond cut dia-
mond. But I'll convert her; oh! I
will."
" No douht," rejoined Mr?. Put-
nam, '* the discuBWon will l>e ani-
mated and interesting, for you have
a clear head and a ready tongue,
while Miss Hopkins was born the
year of the comet ; but believe me,
husband dear, it '\% praying, not argu-
ing, brings into ihe fold those who-
arc out of it."
" That must be so," he continued,
" for you never argued with me, and
yet now I'm a Catholic. O happy
tlay when Nat Putnam met Maryi
O'Brien ! And while 1 will strive hj
every honest means to improve mj
worldly condition, I will remain true]
to the faith. Illinois is a wildemes
now, but they're coming, Mary,^
they're coming; and, before youi
raven hair turns gray, a city wilt^
stand on this prairie; and opposite
our comer-lot shall be a church with!
a cross upon it — a Catholic church.|
And 'twill be thanks to you, mi
' Rlesjing;' yes, thanks to the shar
rock gone West."
SAYINGS OF THE FATHERS OF THE DF„SKRT.
An aged monk said to a brother
who was tempted by evil spirits :
When the evil spirits begin to talk to
thee in thy heart, do not reply to
them ; but arise, pray, and do
penance, saying : Son of God, have
mercy on me. Iltit the brother said
to him : Behold, O father. I do
meditate, and there is no compunc-
tion in my heart, because I do not
understand the meaning of my words.
And he replied : Yet do thou medi-
tate; for I have heard that Abbot
Pastor and oilier fathers have spoken
this proverb : The charmer knows
not the meaning of the words which
he says, but the serpent hears, and
knows the vntue of the charm, and
is humbled and subjected to llie cn-
clianter. So also with us, even
Though we he ignorant of the meaL
ing of what we say, yet the evil s)>iril%i
hearing, tremble and depart.
Abbot Pastor said : The beginning
of evils is to distract the mind.
'4
Abbot Elias said: I fear three
things. One, when my soul shall de-
part from the body ; the sccjsnd,
when I shall come before God ; the
third, when sentence shall be pro-
nounced upon me.
Arrhbi<.hop 'I'henphilus. of holy
memory, when he was about to die,
said : Blessed art thou, Abbot Arse-
nius, 1)ec:ausc thou hast ever had tins
hour before thy eyca.
Vespers, 275
VESPERS.
fTrntcm Ve>|Mn is derived from Vesper, the star ttwtKppeantomrd luniet, the tliae appoloted
by ancient unce for the recitAl of the EveaiDg Sang,— //icrw/i.^.]
Evening quiet overspreads the sky :
Vesper rises clear and liquidly.
Star of prayer ! whose ray
Brings spirit-whispers,
Brings the saintly hour
Of holy vespers.
Not a bell, perchance, of prayerful cry,
Yet the pious foot comes mindfully !
O'er the flinty street,
Or daisied meadow,
Glides, from near or far,
The Christian shadow !
Evening quiet overspreads the soul :
Restful rites the restless pulse control.
Now the tuneful waves
Of organ tremble ;
Now the tuneful prayers
God's choir resemble I
Words of ancient plaint, flung long ago
From a kingly harp's melodious throe ;
Words to her, who oped
^ Of Christ the vision,
Gabriel words — still serve
Their music-mission !
Now the censer's aromatic breath
Wreathes th' abode of One who smiles on death I
Now the portals ope —
Ah ! dread appearing !
Christian, veil thy glance,
A God revering 1
—Changed to flesh and blood my daily food:
. Changed th^ bread and wine to flesh and blood I
Yet, my God, forgive
If reason falter:
Faith, alone, sustaips me
At thine altar!
Richard Storrs Wilus.
THE LEGEND OF SANTA RESTITUTA.
IscHiA is one of the gems of the
Bay of Naples, and fonuiialcly one
uf the IcaM known and least visited
of the tourist- haunted island group.
The Monte Epomeo rises in its
midst, a mass of tufa rock, perforat-
ed here and there by Jumaroky that
is, openings through which volca-
nic exhalations are constantly send-
ing forth their iliin tilue threads of
hazy smoke to mingle with the blue
and ha/y atmosphere that veils the
whole i^bnd in a fairy and go:»samcr
robe. Two or three ullages are
built upon the low girdle of sand
that lies at the foot of the mountain;
on one side of the iiland are Icilges
of rock where the vine grows, on the
other is a projection, or rather a se-
parate rock, un which is built a state-
prison. Only one road passes through
I*cliia,and no wheels ever leave their
murks there, save when a royal visi-
lor brings a modem carriage with
him. The inhabitants walk barefoot,
and the strangers ride donkeys, or
are carried in open sedan-chairs, ciU-
tfd " portantinc." The women lounge
about at their cottage- doors, spindle
in hand, their heads curiously bound
up in silken handkerchiefs, and Ihcir
cars weighed down by huge ear-rings.
There is a wonderful and unspeakable
fharm hanging over the place; the
beauties that elsewhere in Italy
hardly surprise you. seem to hold
you spell-bound here. The sea is
now blue, now green, now purple, al-
ways of an intense color, and seem-
ingly an inverted fimtament, where
the white fishing-smack satis stand
for clouds, and the iitde silver-crest-
ed wavelets for stars. The air is very
pure, yet warm and balmy, and, when
the storm visits die island, even the
lightning must make itself more
softly beautiful than elsewhere, for it
is often seen in rose and violet color-
ed flashes, making the heavens like
to a vault of opal. The myrtle
grows on the mountain-side, and the
oleander blooms lower down, the
vines climb from the water's edge tu
the roofs of (he few rustic hotels the
island boasts, end among all these
beauties are hidden springs of medi-
cinal water and hut sea-sands, all of
them much used liy Italians chiefiy
in the shaiKr of baths. The sand-
bath is a hole wiiiiin four shanty-like
plank walls, and tlie patient has him-
.setf buried in it up to his neck for
the time prescribed.
Of course, much is said to stran-
gers concerning the beauty of the
sunrise from llie top of E[>omeo.
Itut, as usual, when you go to sec
the sun, you find him l>ehind sulky
curtains of gray-white clouds that
roll like another sea between the blue
unseen Mcdilcrrancan and the bright
puri>le heaven above. Still, this, too,
is beautiful, though coldly so, and
very unlike the lovely western sun-
rise over the Atlantic. But (he glor>'
of Italy is in her sunsets, and toward
evening sea and mountain, tufa rock
and yellow sand, put on a marvellous
robe, a veritable " coat of divers co-
lors," and life seems to breathe and
sigh in things that before seemed
lifeless.
Ischia, like all Italian localities,
has its patron saint; they call her
Santa RestiuUa.
When persecution was raging i.i
Egypt, in the third century, says the
simple legend, the body of a young
Tkt Legend of Santa RestUuta,
ifl
maiden, with a inillstane tietl round
her neck, floated across the sea and
rested in a creek on ihe south side of
the island. The creek is called after
the martyr to this day, and .ihove it
are rocks whose black mass literally
overhangs and roofs in iwrl of the
bay. Just where her body rested, in
a sandy, biirren place, Hlies grew up
and continued to bloom ; they arc
there now, and are very jwculiar as
well as very lovely, a sort of cross
between the lily and die iris, with de-
licate pointed petals, five in number,
and a tall smooih stem with very
lilile verdure. Not only do these
floKCTi grow nowhere else in the is-
land or out of it, but they will not
even grow in a land of their own
sandy soil if transplanted with a
quantity of it elsewliere. The mill-
stone that was round the saint's
neck is said to be embedded in a
wall in the neigiiborhood of her
church : there h such a stone, wheth-
er the same or not no one can tell.
I^ateron, a church was erected over
Ibe remains of the martyr, and she
was chwien patroness of tlie island.
A very curious Byzantine figure, gilt
all over and nearly life-size, was made
in wood and placed over the altar.
1 n one hand, she was pictured as hold-
ing a book of the Gospels, and, in
the other, a full -rigged vessel. VViien
the south of It:i!y was invested by
Saracen hordes, Ischia did not escape
pillage, and of course, judging the
moiit precious things to be in the
church, as they always were in Ca-
tholic times, the marauders rushed
to Santa Rcstiiuta's shrine, and at-
tempted to carry off the golden sta-
tue, as they believed it to be. The
statue, naturally, was a movable
one, and used to be carried in pro-
cession on certain staled occasions.
But now it remained rooted to the
spot, and no efibit of the stalwart in-
fidels could move it a hair's-breadih
from its pedestal. In rage and dis-
appointment, one of them struck at
it savagely witli his scimctar, and a
mark upon its knee still attests this
outrage. The sacrilege was prompt-
ly punished, for the men themselves
now found they were unable to move,
and remained invisibly chained a(
the foot of tiie miraculous image.
If ihcy were released, the legend
docs not say ; let us hope that they
were freed by faith, and that conver-
sion followed this strange sign, llie
statue remained immovable ever
since, and another image was made
to be carried in procession, with the
addition of the miraculously riveted
Saracens, in a small painted group
on the same stand as tlic figure itself.
Whether the legend be absolutely
true or only partly so, whether fact
and figure be mixed logellier, and
tilings spiritual ty|ii1ied under tangi-
ble funm, it is nut fur us to decide,
but the simple faith of the happy
islanders is certainly to be admired,
and even to be envied. Tliey have
yearly rejoicings, fireworks, proces-
sions, songs, and scr\'ices, and a mili-
t-ary parade of wlut national guards
lliey can muster, to celebrate their
saint's anniversary ; they are proud
of her, and puint out her statue and
tell her history to strangers with the
same cnthasiasni with which soldiers
speak of a favorite general.
And, if my surmise be true, they
have had her celebrated in art by no
less a [Winter than Paul dc la
Koclie, whose *' Martyre " is well
known all over Europe as one of the
chastest, truest, and most reverent
as well as most beautiful represenl,i-
tions of martyrdom. He has paint-
ed a fair maiden in a white robe, and
her hands tied with a cruel rope in
front. The long, golden hair is
gently moved, like a strange and new
sea-weed, by the rippling water that
fiowsoverit;thecord cuts into the flesh
373
Ttte Legend of Santa RestUuta.
of the white, delicate hand« and the
water seems reverently eager to pour
its' coolness into the wounds and to
stay the cruel fever in them ; the face
is that of an angel that is looking on
the father's countenance in highest
heaven ; a coronal of light rests, like
» sun-touche<) cloud, just above her
headt and in the dark background a
'large mass of overhanging rock, just
like the rocks of Iscliia, frown down
upon the sea green bay, and shadows
of muffled, lurking figures are seen
watching llic floating wonder from
above.
If the painter ha<l not Santa
Kestituta in his mind, the coinci-
dence, at Ica^t, is curious. Yet it is
true that so many blessed saints died
thU death that he may have meant
to portray a typical rather than an in-
dividual representation in this pic-
ture, which is one of his master-
pieces.
There is another floating figure,
with golden hair and folded hands,
which is more familiar to most peo-
ple than this one, and, though the
comparison is strange, I cannot help
introducing it here. I mean the figure
of Tennyson's A/rf///^, whom (lUStavc
Dor6 has made his own in his unap-
proachable illustration of the Idyls
ef the King, but whose history and
specially whose death has been the
[source of many a painter's inspira-
tion. I lurdly know one more touch-
ing object in all modern poetry, save
that more solemn and more dignified
one that closes the idyl of Guine-
vere, and whose calm sublimity al-
most touches the divine. But though
the analogy of the '' LUy Maid of
Astolat" borne down the river to the
oriel - windowed palace of Arthur's
Queen to that other lily maid, the vir-
gin-martyr of Egypt, be brought to
mind by the likeness in both cases
of the floating waters and llic unbound
hair ; yet here the analogy cnd^i, fur
we see that as far as heaven is fri
earth, so far aic these two beautifi
figures removed one from the other.
Both died for love, both died pure ;
but the love of the one was s-uch as,
once quenched in death, would never
live again, for she would be •' even as
the augcls;" while the love of the
other not only did death not quench,
but would make tenfold more ardent,
as she would " follow the Lamb
whithersoever he goeth," and sing
*' the new canticle " uo man could sing
but those ** who were purclixsed fi
the earth."
rottt^
Tennyson's ELiinf is a figure of
earth in eartli's most suilcis form
and most innocent meaning, yet still
earthly, still imj>crfec:t, still embody-,
ing the idea of man's natural wi
ncss and inherent decay. Paul de
Roche's '' Martyrc," or Ischia's S
ta Restituta, is a figure of heaven,
already glorified soul, who, havi
conquered the flesh, the world, and
the devil, having offered her body
to God *' a living sacrifice," and hav-
ing •' put on immortality," has passed
beyond our understanding and be-
yond our criticism into that region
of bliss whose very dimmest ray would
be unbearable glare to our eyes, and
the full vision of which would bring
a blessed and a painless death in its
inevitible train.
It has been the fashion of our days
to tliink lightly of legends and tradi-
tions of saints, to ridicule their so-
called UwentorSf and pity their sup-
posed viithm. On the other hand,
we see families clinging to certain ver-
sions of certain facts relative to their
Jong descent and the doughty dced»
of their worid-fanied forefathers ; we
sec nations dwelling comjiljceritly
on marvellous explanations concern-
ing their origin, and proudly point-
ing to distant feats of knightly prow-
ess performed by northern Viking
and Frank or Vandal cluuf) wc tea
.egend of Santa Restituta.
279
tradition already growing up like
irrepressible vines around the memo-
ry of great men buried perchance
Uit yolcrday. and even around the
persons of living men to whom the
wheel of fortune or the rarer gift of
genius hsa, given a temporary pro-
minence ; aud is it strange ihai Ca-
tholics should love to repeat similar
legends concerning tJinr forefathers,
ihe founders of tfinr spiritual nation,
tAeir forerunners in the kingdom of
heaven ? We, too, have in our faith
ji family pnde, a national pride, and
a pride bom of pcr^nal &icnd!>hip and
attachment for some of God's living
Mints, his yet uncrowned champions.
We are all one family, we all call to
Cod " Abba," that is, Father; we are
" the sons of Cod " and the " joint
heirs wiih Christ." Wc cannot help
ejoicing over the glor^- of one of
>ur brethren or sisters; we cannot
Ip being proud of their virtues and
eking to perpetuate and honor their
jcmory. We are all one nation,
loo, for there is but one Head, one
Lord, one Oirist; and in the history
of the saints we learn the history of
i^lhe church, our state, our country,
inr kingdom. And among t^uz-grcat
icn, whom no wheel of fortune but
ic divine dcca-c of Providence lias
ftcd to pre-eminence among us, and
rith whom, for the most part, lioH-
less and humility lake the place of
^genius— is it strange we should single
out tonic of whom, having known
icm, wc willingly speak and hear
tttle details told, and treasure them
op, and weave them into heart-
poems for our children's children ?
So grows tradition, and a mind that
has no ]}lace in it for tradition's ever-
green vines to spread tlicir beautiful
network is but a misshapen likeness
of the mind that Cod created in
Adiun, and endowed with sympa-
thetic tenderness and appreciative
cUscrimination.
Some among us have had the
happiness to be broughi into contact
with men greatly favored by Cod.
And ivho that hod daily seen his hum-
ble, hidden convent-life, that sweet
soul-poet and chitd-likc |>riest, Fred-
erick Fabcr, could fail to accumu-
late concerning him loving tradi-
tions, and what our descendants may
hereafter call fond and vain legends?
And who that had once heard the
voice of Henry Newman, the leader
of the school of lliought of our days
in the simple convene he loves l)est,
or in the plain instructions to his
school -children at catechism, could
help treasuring up such a recollec-
tion as more precious by far than a
token of royal fricndsliip, or the me-
mory of some uncx.impled inter-
course with state minister or jiowcr-
ful diplomat ? There are others who
have lived or are Uving in the same
cold, bclicfless days as ourselves, and
whose presence, either tangible
through persona! acquaintance or re-
flected through tlicir sermons or their
books, is a perpetual frigrancc, which
we seek ever to keep ahve in the gar-
den of our hearts by heaping up and
stowing away in our minds all man-
ner of details belonging to their
useful and everyday lives.
Pius lA. and Montalembcrt, and
the Cur6 d'.\rs, and Father Ignatius
Spencer, and the P6re de Kavignan;
Lacordairc and the convert Jew,
Hermann, the musician and Carmel-
ite who has but lately passed away,
and will be remembered, let us trust,
even as the Fra AngcHco of the nine-
teenth century ; Mother Sctou and
the Sccur Rosalie ; 'ITiomas Grant, the
saintly Bishop of Southwark, who
meekly laid down his burden in the
City of the Catacombs when his Lord
called him from the Council of the
Vatican to the foot of the throne :
and Henry Manning, and John
Hughes, and others yet whose names
280
Thi Lt'gfiid 0/ Santa Restitii/a.
are known only to a few friends on
earth, but widely known among the
hosts of heaven, sonr. of Ucncrlict and
daughters of Schobslic-a, all these
arc among the chosen ones whose
names caiiunt hul be speedily wreath-
ed in legendary and traditional his-
iwy. And even ifiihapjiens that some
detail lovingly told comes to be ex-
aggcratc<I, and have accessories link-
ed to it by earnest — if indisereet —
xeal, shall that be accounted as a
crime and a malicious distortion of
truth ? An error of love can be
surely forgiven by mothers who arc
proud of their batUe-stained sons ;
i)y children who worshi]) the mother
that t.iiighi them, and the father who
guided and corrected them ; by sol-
diers who tell round the camp-fire
of the iron men who led them to
victory, or who bore with them and
for tlieni an equally glorious cap-
tivity and defeat ; by sick men who
do not furget tlie " Sister's " care ; by
all, in a word, who have a heart
wherewith to be grateful, a mind
wherewith to admire, a memory
wherewith to give honor.
What is true of the saints of to-
day is so. and was so from tlic be-
ginning, of the saints of long ages
ago. And if their hibtory has come
down to us woven of fact and le-
gend both. It is thus only the more
historical to us, for it tells us the his-
tory of the church's love for her glo-
rified children, as well as the record
of die real life of tltose children
themselves. Santa Kesiitutahas thu
led us far from Ischia's seared*
kiioxvn beauties and simple iiilaud
shrine, but she now leads us back 10
her own sanctuary by tiie thought
here suggested, that, even as many
hidden saints walk among us now^
so there are many hidden nooks of
the earth, like her sca-gtri home,
wlierc faith h still the <bily bread of
the people, and where an almost
primeval innocence reigns under th
protection of that h.ippy, childlike
ignoraocc which, according to mod
era civilization, is the root of all
evil.
Hidden saints arc like to thesi
little inclosed gardens of faith ; thei
hearts are valleys sequestered from the
glare of the world's unbelief and th&
world's selfishness ; their sovils are
rock-bound creeks where lilies gro'
and wavelets ripple over gol
sands ; with them, too, the sunset of
life is ever the most glorious hour, as
it is with Ischia's myrtle-clad rocks
and vine-crowned cottages.
Santa Rcstituta, pray for us, and,
if we arc not worthy to be of the
number of the saints ourselves, suffer
us to be the historians, the biograph-
ers, the poets of such saints ns those
wlio arc known only by name in one
remote comer of God's univerwr, or
of such other saints of whom gli
scs arc now and then revealed to
by the very simplicity and utter nn-
guardediiei^sof their sweet and uude-
filed nature.
4
A iMtcr from tJu President of a CoUrgf.
A LETTER FROM THE PRESIDENT OF A COLLEGE.
[We have received and publish ihe
following lelicr with great pleasure,
ttnd it is to be hoped that others will
take up ihcsame subject, and express
their views upon it. Pcrha|>5 we
may even venture to suggest tlie pro-
ject of a convention or congress of
heacls of colleges under the auspices
of Uic prelates, in order to discuss
and resolve on useful measures con-
ncctwl with Citholic cdiication.]
Dear Mf. World:
"i'ou have a talent for evoking
thoughL The excellent paper on
higher education, which you publish-
ed in your issue for March, has set
me a-thinking ; and as I hold you to
a wise counsellor, I hope you
allow me to cuniniunicaic my
poor thoughts to you. I want to
calk to you about some of the diffi-
cnlties of Catholic education in the
United States.
Uy the way, the subject of your
article was working at the same time
in several minds. I read in the Ca-
laxy for March a long dissertation,
fuH of idolatry for Germany, on high-
er education ; and the students of St.
John's College, I-'ordhani, New York,
celebrated Washingion's birthday by
a series of splendid speeches on the
s.imc theme. Wouliiyou, Mr. WoRiJ),
feel tomplinienied if I should ex-
claim, *• Les beaux esprlls sc rcncon-
trent "?
Well, then, in the matter of col-
lege education — for that is what I
have been thinking on — as in a mul-
titude of other matters, Catholi<-s in
this rountry owe eternal gratitude
to their clorgy. If we have any col-
leges at all, to whom do we owe
them ? To the zeal and self-sac
rificc of our Christian Brothers, of
our priests and our bishops. I think
that all our colleges were established
by churchmen, whether secular or
regular. It were, perhaps, inndious
to mention names — but we ought not
to withhold fl deserved and willing
tribute of praise from the heroic men
who gave us our colleges. Wc say
heroic, for these men were truly such.
Lengthy reflection is not necessary in
brder to justify the epithet. What a
mountain of obstacles had to be
cleared away to purchase the site of
these colleges, to build them, to man
them, to govern and carry them on !
Education is a noble and ferlile sub-
ject to speak about. It is an immense
blessing to be really educatetl. Hut
what an amount of toil and anxiety
does not tins delicious fruit cost those
who seek to bestow it on our chil-
dren I How many harassing days
and nights have not the faithful su-
perior, professors, and prefects of a
college to spend in the exercise of
their several functions \ All the
world knows that boys are not a very
inviting material to M-ork on. They
are unreasoning, ungrateful, thought-
less, inconstant ; often weak, lazy,
perverse, and incorrigible. Many of
them act in college as though they
went there to torment everybody^
or, at most, for the benefit of the ofH-
cers, and not at all for their own good,
or course, if boys were merely to be
taught lessons, much of the trouble
connected witli their education could
be avoided. But Catholic colleges
must make moral men and Christians
— and that, as we all know, is a difli-
cuU task, for the young heart is very
383
iMtfT froitt the Frtjideni of a
wayward. Then, loo, what heart-
burns with fi:\thers and mothers and
guardiaitii ! How litUe pecuntar>- com-
pensation for the educator! Vet
our cicrijy. be it said to their undy-
ing honor, have nobly braved, oui-
fitccd, all these privations and humilia-
tions. They arc doing so even at
this day. Let them refuse to sacri-
fice Uieir lime, talents, health, and
temporal weal, and wc ask whether
there is in the United Stales a single
Catholic college which would not
have to suspend operation to-mor-
row ? Wc must remember lliat our
colleges are not endowed. In a finan'
ciai point of view, they depend almost
entirely on the fees oi their students.
Commonly, too, they have more or
less cf standing debts, for wliitih year-
ly interest must be paid. AVerc llic
presidenui, jirofessors, and prefects of
such houses to exact fat salaries in
return fur their sublime abnegation,
what. Catholic Americans, would be
the fate of all your colleges ? Do
you often think of this when, amid
the ease and luxury of your drawing-
rooms and dinner- tables, you lun
down this college, sneer at that oth-
er, ai»d wonder why a third docs not
do this that, and the other thing in
the iiha|>c of improvement ? You
have colleges because your clergy
arc willing to sacrilice their time
and tastes, to submit to drudgery, to
wear out Iheir vcr)* lives, and live
and die in poverty. All praise to
you. Catholic jiriests and bishops, to
you relii^ious orders of these United
Stales.
'Ihcsc remarks go to prove that
our first difficulty in the walks of
higher education is the slender mcins
of our colleges.
I n the next place, it appears to your
unworthy correspondent that very
little U done to put an end to this
prccari'jus and from-hand-to- mouth
existence. What generosity does the
laity show to our colleges ? Pe(^(
contribute mumlicently to conveno^j
asylums, churches, etc.; but how ma-J
ny make donations to colleges ; how]
many found prizes, medals, or scho>
larships in ihcm ? Very few, at Icist'
so far as my knowledge goes. Cul-,
leges, like poor bears in winter, ar*j
supposed to live on their own faui
No one asks them whctJicr thcyj
are in debt, in need of money^j
would not accept of a cqllection of j
books, minerals, philosophical appa-
ratus, or anything of that kind. Nol
one says : Wouldn't you allow me tol
build you a good gymnasium, an ex-j
hibition halU give you an organ fotj
your chapel, or transfer to you some]
of my shares in this or thai lucratii
business? No, dear colleges, be com-
forted. Live on as best you can. ITm
result is that these institutions cai
never fully shake off their debt, thej
can make but little materi.il improve
ment, or, if ihey attempt improve
raents, it must be at a snail's pac&j
Even gratluatcs will forget the want
of Alma Mater, and despise her
her blameless penury, just as
gToss-natiired upstarts scorn thcit
poor parents and friends. AVhat a
different spectacle wc should soon
witness in our colleges were gentle-
men of means to show ilicir zeal for
education, and follow the wholesome
example of iVolestants by bestowing
upon our seats of learning a porttoo^^
of iheir wealth! Trogress would thev^H
be possible, college bills couUI be '
liglitencd entirely or at least partial-
ly, gratuitous education might be
granted to deserving young men.
.As things now stand, charity is out
of the c|uestion for most of our col-
leges. \\'c must endeavor to beget
and promote in our people this cn-
lighienetl and patriotic spirit toward
our colleges.
Difliculty nurabcT three: Many
persons take a narrow view of cdu-
A LttUr from tki Prtsidmi of a Coilege.
383
cation. Some act upon what may
be called the system of the three
R% that is readin', 'rilin', and 'rith-
mctjc. They fancy their sons edu-
cated when they can read, write, and
cast up accounts. Others may raise
their eyes a little hi{{her, but in the
end, like the old Romans laughcil
at by Horace, they value education
oiily in so far forth as it is a money-
makini^ machine. Few are broad-
minded enough to see in education
a development of the entire man,
and, as a necessary inference, a slow
U)d gradual process. In consequence
of the errors afloat on this head, pa-
rents will nut allow time sufltcicnt
for the education of their children.
They force colleges to crowd an ini-
mejise circle of studies into a short
space. The consequences are not
flotten'ng. The mind cannot be tho-
»hly developed, and education de-
rates into ill-digested instruction.
I>epth is lost. Your paper, which
led mc to think upon aJl these to-
pics, spcak-s very sensibly about [>hi-
losophy. Uut how, I ask, can any-
thing like a deep, serious, thorough
course of philosophy be taught in
one year? Still, that is all our young
men get, and that is all the generali-
ty of parents will concede. Look at
our colleges— how many graduates
of the flrst year return to study a
second ? Were it not better to give
no degree until the close 'of the se-
cond year ? Ilie diploma once ob-
tained, diougli it is only a cowardly
sheepskin, fdls our young graduates
Willi valor, and makes them fancy
that ihcy are fit to play roaring lion
alt the countr)- over. Every college
should devote at least two ycari of
its course to the study of pliilosophy.
Education without a sound philoso-
phy must always be a mere broken
shaft, a truncate cone, an abortion.
Wc ought to organize a crusade for
the welfare of philosophy in our col-
leges. I was right glad, Mr. World,
tn hear you advocating the study of
this crowning branch of education,
and insisting, I think, upon sound
scholasticism. Scholastic philosophy,
that is the philosophy-
My next difhculty shall be propos-
ed in the form of a question : Could
not our Catholic colleges conic to
an understanding, so as to have in all
of them about the same programme
and the same text-books ? At pre-
sent, there is a very great divergence
on these points. For instance, what
a multitude of grammars we have, and
what wretched things fur boys some
of these grammars arc I They hck
method and logic, tliey dive too' deep
into philosophy, and are too learned
and philosophical. Banish philoso-
phy and philology to their proper
spherus. When gnimmars of the
dead languages were much more
modest and unpretending, Latin and
tlreck were better known, better writ-
ten, if not also better spoken. What
I say of grammars applies witli equal
force to many other books now used
in our colleges. A convention of
our college authorities for the discus-
sion of these topics might do as
much goo*l as m.-my other conven-
tions, if not far more.
Parents and guardians have a great
share in the troubles expericncci by
colleges. Nowadays, boys decide
almost cvcrjihing with respect to
(heir cflucition. It is they who make
choice of their college, iletenuinc
whether they shall study, how long
and what they shall study. All that
parents seem to have to say or do in
the matter is to obey their whimsical
ofibpring. I can uiiderstan<l that
there is no use in forcing a lad to
study what he reasonably cannot
leam; but I cajmot see why the
management of his education should
be given over to him in fec-simpIc.
This violation of die fourth com
mandmcnt throws honest colleges
into !x dtlemma. On the one hand,
they would like to keep their students,
ami, on the other, ihcy feci bound
to make ihow students work. But
the young lord of his destinies ofien
does not wish lo study, and, if he is
urged to do so, he grows dissatisfied,
says the officers arc too cross, and
leaves the institution. Should he
not be urged, he will idle nway his
time, annoy cvcr^'body, Icam nolliing,
and Anally, hy his ignorance and bad
conduct, injure the rcpntaiion of his
college. Parents, when they send
llicir suns to college^ should not for-
get that these sons arc not immacu-
lately perfect. They need a strong
dose of discipline. They must be
taught by word and deed that ihey
have to study and to obey. The
word of college authorities should
weigh more m the balance than tliat
of weak, lary, and roystcring young
lads. If these ide.is prevailed some-
what more than they do, and were
acted up to, colleges would have an
caitier task to |>erfonn, their task
would he iKtter performed, and the
education given to boys would be
more vigorous. There is too much
womanish fondness, too much indul-
gencj, shown to boj-s in these days.
We live in an age of feeling, of likes
ami dislikes. Energetic, self-con-
trolling, strong manhood is on the
wane. Magnificent men could be
made out of our American \yoys. 1
love them dearly. Their character
is full of fine traits. They are cle-
ver, generous, open, and manly.
Why should they be emasculated
by false kindness and compli-
ance?
Once in college, let us subject
these boys to solid and siifl* examina-
tions. Those who fail, if they arc
in the graduating class, should not
graduate that year, no matter what
great man or great woman may in-
tercede, scold, or shed tears m their
behalf. No pratietermiuaiid physka
should settle on the gentlemen of the
graduating class. Because they hap-
jicn to be in that class, their gradua-
tion must not become a fated necessi-
ty. No doubt, it is a very nice sight
at the close of the year, on the an-
nual commencement fXt^y^ lo beholft
a large number of young gentlemen
receiving their diplomas. The heart
of Alma Mater throbs with gladness
at the bcjuliftil .<(pectaclc. Uut it is
a much nircr thing for Alma Mater
to have to say that her diploma is
deserved, and thai she tells no lie to
the public when she asserts that her
graduate is bona: spei et rite proba-
tus. Then the diploma is ,t testimo-
ny to worth : it is an honor to possess
it. If undergraduates miss their ex-
amination, put them down meiti-
lessly into the class below that in
which they fail. By this process you
will lose a few boys, but you need
not regret them. For, first, they were
either tdlers or stupid fellows. In
the next place, you can raise the
standard of your classes, you will
nvike your pupils work seriously, get
a good name for your college, and
end by having more students. Sen-
sible people will always send their
children to institutions that insist
upon hard study and rid tlicmsvlves
of idlers.
Another difficnliy wliich I must
notice regards the action, or rather
inaction, of the slate. It is a pity
that our government, with all its fuss
about education, docs so little real
honor tn higher cilucation. What is
the necessity or emolument of a di-
ploma from a college ? I think
that, without a diploma, I can occu-
jjy any position in the gift of the
country, save perhaps that of officer
in the regular army or navy. In
one way. the state is too much of A
bus)'body; in another, it docs not
New Publications.
28S
fulfil its office in regard to education.
But I do not wish to open the ques-
tion, to-day, on the office of the
state in education.
One of the gravest obstacles in the
way of higher education anses, I think,
from our colleges ■ themselves. It is
this : our colleges are too numerous.
With the exception of some boys from
Spanish America, wc receive no pu-
pils from other countries. At home,
the number of Catholics who can af-
ford a college education for their chil-
dren is limited. Supposing, then, all
our colleges patronized, it is impos-
sible that any of them should reach a
respectable figure in the number of
its attending pupils. Besides, it must
be no easy task to find competent
professors and directors for so many
colleges. If we had fewer colleges,
each one would have a larger num-
ber of pupils, and be more fully pro-
vided with all that is necessary for ed-
ucation. Yet there appears to be a
stmnger desire to open new colleges
than to perfect those actually in ex-
istence. Why do we thus weaken
and scatter our forces ? Why do we
render success and large, grand cen-
tres of learning next to impossible ?
Grammar-schools, or schools in which
bojs are prepared for college, should
be multiplied, but not colleges. Then
our colleges would resemble a uni-
versity more than they do to-day.
It is a great plague for them to be
obliged to do at once the work of
the grammar-school and of the col-
lege properly so-called. They are
burdened widi a crowd of children,
who are no companions for young
men, and lessen the dignity of a
college. And now, Mr. World, let
me end these remarks by asking :
When shall we see each diocese in
the Union possessing a petit s^mi-
na'ire ? When shall we see arise in our
midst a noble Catholic university ?
Yours, etc.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Rome and Genf.va. Translated from the
French. With an introduction by M.
J. Spalding, D.D., Archbishop of Bal-
timore 8vo. Pamphlet. Baltimore :
John Murphy & Co.
We always knew that the Archbi-
shop of B:vitiniore is an able writer
of the more solid kind of essays,
but were not before aware how
gracefully he can use his pen in de-
scription. In his preface to the pam-
phlet whose title is given above, he
draws a very pretty and graphic pic-
ture of Geneva, tiic ancient head-
quarters of Calvin, and in right,
though not in possession, the See
of St. Francis of S.ilcs. Sume inte-
resting, curious, and gratifying facts
in connection with that city are
mentioned by the archbishop. He
tells us that half the population of
the city and canton is Catholic, and
of the other half only one-tenth is
Calvinistic. John Calvin's house is
a convent of Sisters of Charity.
The glocniy heretiarch and his com-
panions are unhonored and almost
unknown in the city which was once
called the Rome of Protestantism,
but which is now a sort of tempo-
rary centre of Catholic activity in
Europe, while the Holy City is dese-
crated by the rule of the Lombard
usurper. The pamphlet itself is a
letter addressed by a young law-
student of Geneva to our old friend
the eminent romance-writer, Merle
3&6
Nno PuhlKations.
d'Aubignt: and one of hi* confrins,
both of wlioin, it appears, seized
ihc occasion of the absence of the
bishop at the Council to make a fee-
ble assault on (he church. It is a
manly, sensible Idler, more inter-
esting as a specimen of what n young
student can achieve in a polemical
cotnbnt with veteran ztit:\gonists
thiin from aiiylhiiig new or peculiar
in its arguments. The youthful
champion uses his sling and pcbhic
with skill and dextctity. ulthou^h
he had not so hard a skull as that
of Go1i:ith of Galh to crack. Our
youn]^ }{cntlemen who arc training
for profcpsinnal life ought to be in-
terested to see how lie does it, and
the noble, chivalrous spirit of faith
and honor which is manifest in the
letter is one wc desire to sec ex-
tended as much as possible .itnonf^
these frcncrous youth who are able
to do :is much for the cause of truth.
ThR SVMrATHV OF RFJ.IGION3. An ati-
dicss delivered at Horiiculiural H.iH,
BoHon, February 6, 1S70. By Thomas
Wentwortli Miggiason.
" Our true religious life begins
when we discover that there is an
inner light, not infallible, but inva-
luable, which lighlelh every man
that Cometh into the world. Then
wc have sumL-iliing to steer by, and
it is chiefly this, and not any anchor,
that wc need." These are the two
opening sentences of the above lec-
ture. If an "inner light, not infalli-
ble" is all tliat uur author has " to
steer by," wc beg. lor our part, not to
enter on board the ship of which ho
'\& the captain. In this case, it Is not
the "inner liglil, not infnllihlc" that
is invaluable, but tlic anchor, un-
less one would fnoUshlycxposc him-
self to certain shipwreck.
If this be man's plight, then let
him keep silence until he finds
something that will give him certi-
tude. For what else can an erring
guide lead to than crrcir? It is the
blind leading the blind into the
ditch.
Think, too. of the absurdity of the
author's pretensions, with such %
guide, to criticise all icligions In or-
der to give to the world "/A^ reli-
gion " ! — " the religion of all ages!"
These frce-rcligionists who talk
so much about the value of reason
have yet to learn its true value and
the great dignityof the human soul.
If the author's premise be true, it \%
an insult to our common sense to
read his lecture.
TnF. IlArnsF.w or IIea\x.k. Dy a F»-,J
■her of the Society of Jesus. 1 vol^
i6mo. pp. 372. BalUnioro : Jc^in Miir-]
phy & Co. 1S71.
We might perhaps nppropriate-i
ly designate this work as "The^
Popular Theology of Heaven :' Mj»-i
oh^y. because it is strictly nccurate
in its dogmatic teaching: /.>/jv/(rr,
because the whole subject, wilhouft
being lowered, is brought within
the sphere of the popnl.ir iiiind. Wi
might call it also the '*Spirituali
Geography of Heaven," since ik
gives us such a knowledge as we
can have .it this distance of the'
projnised land which wc must hope
one day to inhabit Wo are told
what is that beatific or happy-mak-
ing vision of God which is the es-
sential bliss of the elect ; what is the
light of glory by means of which
the soul sees God : what arc the oc-
cupations of heaven, the social joys
of the blessed ; the qualities and en-
joyments of the glorified bndy and
senses : the degrees of beatitude, yet
the complete and satiating happi-
ness of each individual, without envy
or jealousy, without regret of the
past or fear for the future. The book
presents an elegant appearance, and
is brought out in Messrs. Murphy ft
Co.'s best style.
Db Domini Nosmi Jesu Cnxr^i Divim-
TATK. 3 vols. Turin ; Maiiciil. Balti-
more : John Murphy & Co. tS70.
To the many excellent volumes
which Falhcr Perronc has cunlri-
buted during his long career lu the
theological librarj'. he has oonr
made in the work before us nn ad-
*
New Puhlicathni.
2S7
dition in no ivay inferior to his prc-
viouswritii>K3. It is» work address-
ed to the learned nlone. nnd in the
language of the learned ; but it is
one which they will prize very high-
ly, not only for its depth of thcolo-
eicat lore, but also for its peculiar
fitness to the present time. Its sub-
ject is the fundamental dogm:i of
Christiiinity— nowso much attacked
and. we may add, outside of the Ca-
tholic Church so little believed — the
Divinity of Jesus Christ, which it
proves and defends against the infi-
dels, the rationalists, and the mythtcs
of our day.
In the first volume, wc have the
proofs drawn from the p-igcs of the
Old Testament ; in Ihc second, those
furnished by the New Testament.
The third volume establishes the
Djvinily of Christon evidence dmwn
from the institution of the church,
nnd, in particular, from the institu-
tion of the Roman Pontificate. The
author demnnslr-itci how the pro-
mises made by the Redeemer to his
church, the characteristic marks by
which he distinguished her, the
gifts with which he enriched her.
give evidence of a Divine Author
and Founder. A most convincing
argument springs from the Primacy
conferred on St. Petitr and his suc-
cessors ia the See of Rome, since
God alone could have cslablished
and maintained throughout the ages
and the nations of the earth so ex-
alted a dignity, together with the
prerogatives which belle its pos-
flcssor.
Of all the works produced in our
day on this important subject. Fr.
Perronc's is without doubt the most
satisfactory, because the most forci-
ble, learned, and exhaustive.
The SrimrDAL Doctrine of F. Louis
L*l LKMAST. SJ. Preceded by some
Account of his Ufe. TranilaicJ from
Ihc Frcneh. Ediicd by F. W. K.ibcr,
D D. NcwKdiiion. London; Burns.
Oatcs ii Co. For sale by tlio Catholic
Pubiiciiion Society, 9 Warren Siceci,
New Yvrlt.
F. Lallcmant was one of the bright-
est lights of the Society of Jesus, and
occupies in French spiritual litera-
ture a place analogous to that of F.
Alvarez in the Spanish. This book,
of which a new edition has been
lately published, is now well known
in England and the United States
through the translation which was
brought out under the auspices of F.
Faber. It ranks among the best of
mr>dcrn times, and even deserves to
be classed with the works of the
celebrated authors of past ages.
The pietistic mystics among the
Protestants, and even some Catho-
lics, prepossessed by certain un-
founded prejudices, have accused
the Jesuits as the enemies of inte-
rior spiritual piety. There was
never a more unfoundctl charge.
The present work is "ne signal
proof, among many others, that
strict orthodoxy in doctrine, un-
swerving fidelity to the te.iching of
the Roman Church, and accurate
theological science, so far from
having quenched spirituality in the
Society of Jesus, liavc only given it
purity and illumination. Tiie writ-
ings of the thoroughly orthodox
masters of the spiritual life .ire, be-
yond all comparison, superior, in
respect to their insight into the
mysteries of faith and their know-
ledge of the higher paths of the
ascent toward union with God, to
any of those who have fancied them-
selves illuminated with a private and
personal light of the tfoly Spirit.
which they have thought should
supersede the infallible teaching of
the church. F. Laitcmant is speci-
ally remarkable for his skill and ac-
curacy in pointing out the perfect
harmony which must always exist
between the genuine interior guid-
ance of the Holy Spirit in the s<>ul
and the exterior, divincly-appuioted,
infallible guidance of authority to
v;hich it must always be subordinate.
The Spirifnai Doefrine is orthodox
:itjd precise in its teaching with-
out being dull or dry: fervent and
spiritual without any tinge nf vague
or visionary enthusiasm : clear, judi-
cious, and practical in its treatment
JVSw Piihlicaiwm.
of every topic; void of all wordy
declamation and ^-apid scntiniental-
istn : nddrcssiiiR the n-ill and the
heart Ihrou^h the intellect.: cloth-
ing tlic thoughts and fecWiij; of n
saint in the style and langu:igc of a
scholar. It i3 just the book for tiic
more hiLcllcctual and educated class
of readers, provided they have wmc
desire for solid Chrisliau virtue and
piety.
Tiir. KoMANcR OF TUE CirAKTr.R Oak.
Uy William Scioo. 3 vols. 13mo New
York: K OSlica. 1871.
To weave into a story interesting^
incidents of colunial life in the
stale oT Connecticut, during the
rcif;n of James 1 1, of linRlaiid, is the
intenCion of these two vohnnes. The
deline-ition of t}iat remarkable inci-
dent in Connecticut history, the
seizing of the state charter from
under the very eyes of the British
auth'jritics. and its secretion fur
many years in the famous Charter
Oak, and the picture of the rcfti-
cidc ((ofTc livinj;; in porpctnal fear
of detection arc well drawn.
The story in some respects shows
a pen not yet perfectly at home in
this kind of writing ; but no one
who takci nn interest in our early
colonial history cau fail to lind in
rending these volumes both pleasure
and much useful historical informa*
tion.
Faiciuar Discourses to tub Young.
Preceded by an Address to Tarcnts.
% a Caiholic Priest. 1 vol. iSmo. New
York I The Catholic Publication Socie-
ty. Warren Street. 1871.
The reproduction, in .Aniciica. of
this work, originally written in Ire-
land, will prove to !>c a benefaction
in many a homestead. This is the
work of a man who Ihorougtily
knows hit subject. It is a book
for the time, free alike from the
doubtful sioiics of loo many writ-
ings of the same kind and the tedi-
ous dryness that meets the youtiiful
eye in most books of instruction.
Wc wish a hearty God-speed to this
valuable accession to our English
Catholic literature. No Catholic
family in the land should be without
a copy of this book. It will be worth
more thin its weight in gold in those
who read it: and to those who prac-
tise the lessons of wisdom itcont;iins
it will be Iheir glory on earth and
their crown in heaven.
Il is a book that ought to be en-
couraged on missions and by all
priests having charge of congn^»»'
lions.
The Countess or Gl.osswoon. A Tale,
Tianslaicd from ihc French. 1 %-qL
i6mo. Baltimore: KcHy, Pice & Co.
1871.
Wc have here a touching but
'owcr sad 'tale of the life of a Scotch
Covenanter who, being found ia
arms against his king Charles U., is
condemned to death, but has Itis
sentence changed by the interposi-
tion of a friend lo a lift: of hard l.i-
bor in theCornish mines. His wife,
the Countess of Glosswood, will not
Ic.TVc her husband, but with lier in-
fant duugliter follows his hard for-
tune, all communication with the
world outside of mining life being
forbidden by his sentence. But lb«
good Cod. in compensation for their
desolate lives, sends them the price-
less gift of faith, through the instru-
mentality of a Catholic priest, dis-
gui5«-d ns a miner that he may win
souls for (Christ, in times when to
be known as a priest was lo give
one's self up to certain death. The
countess had been taught to regard
tlie Catholic Church with hatred
and terror, and the agony of niind
throtigh which she must pass in
learning to love what she had be-
fore hated is forcibly described ; and
the gentle way in which she is led
step by step toward the tight by
the devoted priest cannot fail to
give salisfaction to the earnest rea-
der. The doctrine of indulgences
was. of course, a terrible stumbling-
block in her tvay, and Father Dcy-
mand's explanation is specialty clenr
and convincing. The bonk conies
to us in an attractive dress, with
tinted paper and good type.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. XIU., No. 75.— JUNE, 1871.
SARDINIA AND THE HOLY FATHER.*
The volume giving the cill and
proceedings of the meeting held last
jfliiu.iry at the Academy of Music,
in this city, in celebration of Italian
unity, especially the occupation of
Konic and the su|}}}re:i^!on of the
Papal government, is handsomely
printed, and does credit to die taste
and skill of our New York book-
makers ; but it is a sad book, and
almost maktzs one despair of civil
society and natural morality. No-
thing can be more sad and dls*
couraging to all right-minded men
than to see a large number of the
most distinguished and influential
wen of a great nation— statesmen,
politician^r, juJgcs, lawyers, ofticere
of the anny, ministers of religion,
journalists, poets, philosophers, scho-
lars, professors and presidents of col-
leges and universities — assisting, by
their presence, addresses, letters, or
* 1. TAr Vntty t/ Itaiy. The Ameticaii Cele-
bntion of the Unity ot luly. tt tlie Acailanir of
UubIc. New York. Jan. m, i&7» ; wllb ihc Atl-
driMCh, L^tleri, ami Catnmemti (iT tbo Prrn.
Ncvr Voik: futiuiui & Sou&. Uii. Iwp. Svo,
pp. t«.
■7, l'r,'g7-ammM Atitflmiate dtl t.ihrl Ptmtat^ri
f» A'^nnt. /^ Cutnmiuifmr. Kouu, Kcbbralo,
iSjt. I'ly-sticet.
comments, to applaud events notori-
ously brought about by fraud, craft,
lying, calumny, and armed force, in
contravention of every principle of
international law and of public and
private right. It is a sad tiling for
our republic when so many of its re-
presentative men, whose names ar^
recorded in this volume, can endorse
the fraud and violence by which Uie
Said king has eflected what he calls
the unity of Italy, and congratulate
him on his successful sacrilege and
spoliation in die Roman state; and
the only consolation left us is that,
ivith a solitary* exception, no Citholic
name appears on the list, and all the
sympathizers are ProtcstanLs, and all,
or ncaHy all, prominent adherents of
the same dominant political party.
To the unity of Italy, under some
circumstances, we might not seriously
object. It is inie, we hold small
slates are more favorable to the
growth of intelligence, the develop-
ment of elevated and strong personal
character, to individual liberty, to
social well-being, to ihc moral pro-
gress of the people, than huge cen-
tralized states or empires, which can
Soured, Kcnrriloff 19 Act of Crmtgitn, In lh« jrear )8;r. hy R«v. I. T. Hkku. la tlic OtBco of
(ba Ubnriui of Coockm, tt WAshlafton, O. C
2Cfl
Sardinia and the Holy Failicr.
I
be governed only despotically, and in
which there is so great a distance be-
tween power and the people th.it
personal and affectionaie relations
between the governors and the
governed, and which do so much
to soften the asperities of authority
and to render obeilience willing and
cheerful, are, for the most part, ini-
practiratile. IJut if the several inde-
pendent Italian states that have been
absorbed by Sardinia lo form the new
kingdom of Italy had freely and of
their own accord given their consent
to the aksnqitlon, and no cnift, fraud,
violence, or disregard of public or pri-
vate right }iad been resorted lo in
order to ciTect it, wc luiglil doubt its
wisdom, but we could not abject to it
on the ground of inteniational law or
of natural justice. Wc, of course, de-
fend the temporal sovereignty of the
Pope ; bur if the Pope had. i/iotufro-
pho, without coercion, the show or the
threat of coercion, given his consent
to the absorption of the Roman htatc
*ln a united Italy, wc should have no-
thing to say against it, for it would
have I>een the act of the Roman state,
no public or private right of justice or
morality would have been violatwl,
and no blow struck at the equal rights
of independent states or nations, at the
authority of the sovereign power of a
state to govern it, or to the duty of
obedience to it.
IJut it is well known that such is
not die case either with the Holy
Father or the several other Italian
sovereigns that have been dispos-
sessed and their states absorbed by
Sardinia in order to effect Italian
unity. In every case, the absoip-
tion was effected by violence ami
force, without and against the con-
sent of the sovereign auihorit)'. The
Pope refused his assent lo the ab-
sorption of the ecclesiastical slate,
and said, to the demand to surren-
der it, "iVcrt poisumtis" 'Hie Ro-
man people, without the Pope, gave
no assent — had no assent to give or
to withhold ; for, without the Pope,
they were not a state or a sovereign
people. It matters not whether ple-
bisciluins can or cannot be alleged,
for a plebiscitum, where there is a le-
gitimate governmenl, cannot be taken
without its authority, especially not
against its authority; for without its
authority it would be a legnl nullity,
and against it it would be revolu-
tionary and criminal. Nor would it
help the matter for the absorbing
state to invade with its armies the
state to be absorbed, ovcnhrow the
legitimate government, take forcible
possession of the territory, aad then
call upon llie jiopulatiun to decide
their future condition by a plebisci-
turn, so long as a legitimate cl.iiniant
to the government remains living.
This was the case in the Roman
state and in the other independent
Italian .states that have been ab-
sorlxrti. As a plebiscitum before the
conquest is treasonable and not per-
nii>.siblc, after the conquest it is a
mocker)-, for the fate of the state is
dLH:ided, howex'er the population
may vote.
I^t us look the facts in the face,
and sec by what deeds and on what
principles the unity of Italy has been
effected. Sardinia, aidetl by France
and l^ssia, made an unprovoked
war on Austria, and wrested from her
the Lombardo-Venciian kingdom, and
appropriated it to herself. Neither
she nor her allies bad any just cause
of war against Austria, or even of
offence, cccept that she wanted to
get possession of all Italy, [''ranee
wanted the left branch of the Rhine
for her boundary, and Prussia wanted
to absorb the rest of Gcnnanjr. There
was no other reason for the war. The
several independent Ducal states fell
with Austria, with whom they were
closely allied^ and were ini
they were I
ivaded ai>d I
taken possession of by the Sard king.
The Kiiigiloin of the Two Sicilies was
invaded by Garibaldi and his fili-
busiers. backed — covertly at first,
openly at last — by the Sard govern-
iiient, conquered, because the Ne-
apolitan Wiui; listened to the in-
sidious advice and deceitful promises
of Imperial France, said (o have been
given not to olTer any serious resist-
ance, taken possession of and ap-
priflied as the high«-a\-man appro-
|iriatcs the traveller's purse. The
^■Emilian provinces of the Roman
state, prepared for insurrection by
the secret societies and Sardinian
emissaries, were invadct] by the Sar-
dinian forces and appropriated by
the House of Savoy. Finally, the
Roman stale vas invaded by the
same V'tctor Kmmanuel, with too
strong a force for the Papal govern-
ment to resist, its sovereign declared
deposed, its goveniraenl suppressed,
and its territory and people annexed
to the so-called 4ting(loni of Italy,
nii.s simple recital of facts tells the
whole stor)'. S;irdinia, aided by the
arms and diplomacy of France and
Prussia, by the foreign policy of the
Whigs and Radicals of Great Britain,
tlie intrigues^ of the secR-t societies,
the money and co-0|)cration of the
Protestant propaganda, the malcon-
tents and malefactors of all the states
of Italy, and adventurers and miscre-
ants from all nations of the earth, has
succec<Icd, without any right, without
having received any offence or pro-
vocation, in the viol.ition of ever)-
principle of international law and
every precept of mor.dily or natural
justice, in absorbing every Italian
state, and effecting the unification of
the whole peninsula under her own
royal house. These are the facts,
stated in their simplest form, without
passion and without exaggeration.
'ITiese facts, being public and noto-
rious, must be as well known to those
distinguished American sympatlii/ere
who addres.sed the meeting or wrote
letters of approval to the committee
that called it as they are to us. \Vc
dare not so insult the intelligence of
such eminent men as to su]}posc, for
a moment, tliat ihey <!id not know
what they syinpalhized with, or that,
in applauding the unity of Italy, they
were ignorant of llic craft, violence,
and rubbery that had been resorted
to in order to effect it. What, then,
must we and all right-minded men
think of their own principles, of their
religion, their politics, or their sense
of justice? Does their Protesi.Tntism
or their hatred of the Papacy justify,
approve the violation of international
law, the equal rights of sovereign
states, the sacred rights of property,
public and private, the principles of
natural justice the basis of the state
and of all legitimate authority, with-
out which not even natural society
itself can subsist? Does it authorize
ihem to applaud unprovoked war and
conquest, and public and private rob-
bery? If so, how can they justify
their Protesianlisin or their hatred of
the Papacy? If they cannot assert
either without denying all public nnrl
private right and trampling on all
la^-s, human and divine, hoiv an they
regard either as defensible ?
There is no mistaking the real cha-
racter of the acts by which the sove-
reign stales of Italy have been sup-
pressed by Sardinia and her allies,
and the present unification of Italy
effected ; and it only adds to their
atrocity that it was done in part by
exciting the populations, or a portion
of them, to insurrection and rebellion
against their respective sovereigns.
iTiere is nothing meaner or more un-
justifiable than for one .wvereign to
tamper with the fidelity of the sub-
jec.t.s of another, especially in lime of
profound peace between the two
states. If persisted in, i: is a justi-
I
rtablc dusc of war. Intcm:itional
law, or ihc law of nations, makes all
suvcrctgii btatcs equal in llieir rights,
without regard lo the form of govcru-
meni, size, rac^r, language, or gco-
gr.i|ihicjl position; ami the law of
ethics, at least, rc*juircs each aove-
rvigii Uate to respect, and to cau!>e
tlit subjects to respect, the authority
of every oUter sovereign sutc over
its own subjects, as it requires every
other to respect its authority over its
subjects. The rule is, no doubt, often
vioiitcil, but it is none ttic less sacred
and binding on that account. It is
cttuatly wrong for the citizens of one
sute to atteuipt to seduce the citizens
of anollK-r stale from their allegiance.
Intcrn.itional Uw, national law, niu-
nil ipal biw, as well as the moral law,
kJiow nothing of the doctrine, so elo-
quently preached by the cx-Governor
of Uungarj-, of " tlie solidarity of
peoples."
lion. Rich.-iul II. Dana, Jr., an
able lawyer, reputed to be well
versed iu the law of nations, and
who alTects, in his cLiboratc letter to
the comininee, to argue the i|ucstion
jis It aflVris Catholics with fairness
iim) candor, .ippcirs to have some
doubts Mhcihcr the inv.ision of the
Roman suite by the Sariiinian troops,
tbe deposition and virtual impri-
sonment of its sovereign in his own
palace, and the annexation of its terri-
tury and inhabiunts to the dorr.inion
of the Mouse of S-ivoy, is really a
\iobtion of international law ; but
he evidently, besides arguing the
L|Uesskia on a collateral issue, takes
. - ' ' :.adof an ethical view
i law, and considers :t
V I - it enters into ihc na-
ii ■ , .i,-_ r;; .once, and is enfv»rcildc
by the natioJ) through its own courts
cm its own citireni^ Yet he cannot
be ij^noraiU ihil tlicrc arc violations
ot' intefftuiiooal lav v-hich cannot Ik-
Hlxa cofuoacc of by the lutvonal
jurisprudence, and -which may be, and
often are, justifiable causes of war.
The baiiis of iniernationol law is the
law of justice, ot (/m/ nature!^ as it
i^ tlic ba^is of all natural cthi<-s.
There may be treaty or conventional
agreements between nations, which
must be considered whenever the
case comes up juridically, or the law
is to be juridically enforced, but these
cannot abrogate or moilify the law of
justice, )Xvi jus gf:niium of the Roman
jurists, which is the princjpleand foun-
dation of all law. Acts in contraven-
tion of justice, St. Augustine aiid St.
Thomas after hira tell us, arv vio-
lences rather llian laws, and arc nul-
lities. International law applied jus-
tice to the mutual relations ol'sovcreign
states, precisely as ethics does to the
relations of individuals. It declares
all so\Trcign slates equal in their
rights, the territory of each lo be
sacred and inviolable, ami that no one
is pennitted to do to another wliat
it would not have another lu do lo
it. The rule is plain and practica-
ble, and under it Mr. Dana's doubts
ought to vanish. For one sovereign
Slate to inv.ide with its armies an-
otlicr, suppress its govcnmient, and
absorb its territor)' an»l popubtion,
without any provocation or any of-
fence given, but merely because it
wonts it to complete and round off its
own territory, as Sardinia has done
to the Roman or ecclcsi.'urical state,
is too manifestly a violation of in-
ternational Uw to leavx any doubl
on any mind that does not hold the
principle of alt Uw to be that might
makes righL*
* TW qttcatlon. Mr DMit t«*Mr u>«*>> i^
lteCt>TTlnM«flMr«NWfaaK erwiMtlfecUw
tiOTte at Om— yn r sib. thrr iiktll comMm
tw W vfMvl tk tt* HNljr Sm > Hm ummm
mm*, to lliiilil M tha KkM«tod|«d ptt»-
(Vtt «rtii«. thki aMcUisirfitoMn mm
W to n Mi il aarf ■[lypayhirJ kceartlRf w
iki win W iW *Mon: BOi la tW lolciwt
iA kU CMlb^kA U tke Kair Sm, ■■ Ika ■!»
Sardinia atid the Holy Father.
293
No doubt certain untenable theo-
ries of popular sovereignty and cer-
tain alleged plebiscitums have had
something to do with blinding the
eyes of our American sympathizers
to the atrocity of the acts they ap-
plaud. But plebiscitums cannot be
pleaded when taken without the or-
der or assent of the sovereign au-
thority, if there is a sovereign au-
thority, as we have already said. In
the case of every Italian state ab-
sorbed, there was a sovereign au-
thority, and the plebiscitum taken was
not by its order or assent, but against
its positive prohibition. It is idle
to say that the people of these seve-
ral states gave their consent to be ab-
sorbed, for except as the stale, repre-
sented by its sovereign authority,
there is no people with a consent
cither to give or to withhold. The
people, no doubt, are sovereign in
the constitution and government, but
not otherwise, for otherwise they
have no existence. A people or po-
pulation of a given territory wholly
disorganized, without constitution or
laws, and deprived of all government,
tress and mother of all the churches, Catho-
lics throughout the world have an ethical right
that their e,\iis shall be invested and appropriat-
ed to the purposes for which they are given ; but
we doubt if their ripfht can be juridically asaert-
cd under international law, in the courts of the
usurping state, or of any other state, since the
state of tbe church Is suppressed. But there can
be no doubt, from tbe relation of all Catholics to
the Holy Sec, the Invasion of her rights and de-
spoiling her of possessious, whether absolute or
only fiduciary, gives to all Catholic powers the
right of war against the invader and despoiler.
At the order of the Holy Father, Catholics
throughout the world would have the right, even
without the license of their temporal sovereigns,
to arm for the recovery and restoration to the
Holy See of tbe possessions or trusts of which
she may be despoiled, because these possessions
and trusts belong to the spirituality, and the Ho-
ly P'atber has plenary authority In spirituals, and
is the spiritual sovereign, not the temporal sove-
reign, ol all Catholics. If Italian Catholics had
understood that the Roman state belonged to
the Holy See, and therefore to the spirituality,
they would have understood that no order of
their king could bind them to obey him In de-
spoiling tbe Roman state, orln entering it against
the order of the Pope, for in spirituals the spiritu-
al wvereiga overrides tb« temporal sovereign.
must necessarily, for simple preserva-
tion, reorganize and reconstitute gov-
ernment by conventions or plebisci-
tums as best they can ; but when
they have reconstituted government
or the state, their sovereignty merges
in it. The people of the United
States and of the several states can
amend the constitution, but only
constitutionally, through the govern-
ment. The notion which has latter-
ly gained some vogue, that there per-
sists always a sovereign people back
of the government and constitution,
or organic people, competent to al-
ter, change, modify, or overturn the
existing government at will, is purely
revolutionary, fatal to all stable gov-
ernment, to all political authority, to
the peace and order of society, and
to all security for liberty, either pub-
lic or private. We see the effects of
it in the present deplorable condi-
tion of France.
The resolutions reported by the
committee and adopted by the meet-
ing, and which Dr. Thompson in his
address tells us " are constructed on a
philosophical order of thought," at-
tempt to place " the temporal power
of the Pope within the category of
all earthly human governments, and
bound by the same conditions and
subject to the same fortunes." This
may be successfully disputed. The
Roman or ecclesiastical state was a
donation to the Holy See or the
Church of Rome. Gifts to the church
are gifts to God, and when made arc
the property, under him, of the spirit-
uality, which by no laws, heathen,
Jewish, or Christian, can be de-
prived of their possession or use
without sacrilege.' They arc sacred
to religious uses, and can no longer,
without the consent of the spirituali-
ty, be diverted to temporal uses,
without adding sacrilege to robbery.
Whoso attacks the spirituality attacks
God. The property or sovereignty
294
Sardinia and Hit Holy Father.
of the Koman stale vests, then, in the
Huly See — heuce it is always called
aitd ofticiolly recognized a:* the sUile
of ihe church— and not in the Pope
ptrr&onalty; but in him only ex offido
8s ii& incumbent, as trustee, or ad-
ministrator. Hence the Pope tle-
nicd his right to surrcnilcr it, and an-
swered the Alirnster of Sardinia, Nim
poisunius, Tlie temporal power of
the Pope is therefore not within the
category of all eanldy human govern-
ments, but is the property of the spirit-
uality. Victor Emmanuel, in despoil-
ing the Pope, has desjjoilcd the Holy
Sec, die spirituality, usurped church
projierty, property given to God, and
sacred to the religious uses. The
deed which our eminent jurists and
Pratcstiuil divines sympathize with
and applaud, strikes a blow at the
spirituality, at the sacredness of all
church property, uf Protestant church-
es as well as of Catholic churches— at
the sacredness of all eleemosynary
gifts, and asserts the right of power
when strong enough to divert thcni
from the puiposes of the donors.
The>e Protestant nitnislers assert in
principle that their own churches
may be desiMjiled of- their revenues
and funds wiihuut sacrilege, without
injustice, by any power that is able
to do it. They defend the right of
any one who chooses to divert from
the purpose of the donors all do-
nations and investments to found
and support hospitals, or|)han a.sy<
lums, retreats for the aged and des-
titute, asylums for idiots, deaf-mutes,
the blind, tlie insane, public libraries.
schools, colleges, seminaries, and
academies, peace «ocieties, tract so-
cieties, home and foreign missionarj'
societies, and Bible societies; they
not only defend llic right of the state
lu which they are placed to cont'is-
cate at its pleasure all funds, reve-
nues, and invc$tment.s of ilie sort, but
the rijjht of any foreign state to in-
vade the territory iu time of peace,
take possession of them by armed
force, as public property, and to divert
them to any purpose it sees pro|»cr.
Did the learned divines, the eminent
jurists, wlio approve the resolutions
ever hear of the speech of Daniel
W'ebster and the detision of the Su-
preme Court of tho United States in
the famous Dartmouth College case ?
Or are they so intent on crushing
the Papacy that they are quite will-
ing to cut their own throats ?
liut the fact of the donation to
the Holy See is denied. He it so.
Certain it is that the Human state
never belonged to the Sard king-
dom ; that tlic church has always
claimed it, had her datm allowed
by every state in the world, has pos-
sessL-d the sovereignty, nut always
without disturbance, for a thous;ind
years without an adverse claimant;
and that is sufHcienl to give her a
valid title by prescrijition against all
the world, even if she have no other,
which we do not a<lmit — an older antl
better title tlian that of any secular
sovereign in Europe to his estates.
Every sovereign or sovereign state
in Europe is estopped by prcvit
acknowledgment, and the abset _
of any adverse claimant with the
shadow of a right, from pleaduig ll
invalidity of the tiilt; of the H(
See. The Roman slate is thercfa
ecclesiastical, not secular.
Whether Pea- Lacordaire ever ;
as Dr. 'Ihompson asserts, that "i
no event could the people be dot
ed," or not, »ve are not aulhentii
informed ; but if he did, be slid
very foolish and a very uni
thing. The people cannot be dot
eri as slaves, nor could any uf lh<
rights of property or any of
private or public rights be donali
ICvcry feudal lawyer knows that,
donation, grant, or cession cotild
and was only the right of gov«
incnt nnd eminent domain, or the
right the grantor possessed ; but that
tould be ceded as Louisiana was
ceded by France, Florida by Spain,
and California by Mexico, to the
United Suites. In the ce<»ions made
to the Holy See, no right of the peo-
ple to govern themselves or to choose
their own sovereign was ceded, for
tlie people ceded had had no such
right, and never had had it. The
sovereign who hatl the right of gov-
eniing them ceded his own right to
the church, but no right possessed or
ever possessed by the ficople or ia-
liabitants of the icnitory. Interna-
lional law knou's no people apart
from the sovereign or government.
'Hie right of self government is the
right of each nation or political peu-
jile to govern itself without the dic-
wiion or inierfcrenre of any foreign
power, and is only another terra for
national independence. What was Pe-
pin's or Charl era sync's, cither could
cede without ce<ling any right or
lK>s$es:sion of the people. So of the
donations or cessions of that noble
woman, the protectress of St. Grego-
ry VII., the Countess Matilda. If
I'ire Lacordaire ever said what he
is reported to have said, he must
have forgotten the law to which he
was originally bred, and spoken rather
a.s a red republican than as a Catho-
lic theologi.-tn, statc.sra.an, or jurist.
But waiving the fact th.nt the so-
vereignty of the Roman state has a
spiritual character by being vested in
the Holy See, and granting, not con-
ceding, that it is in " the category of
all earthly sovereignucs," its right h
no less perfect and inviolable, and
the invasion and spoliation of the
Roman state by Sardinia, a.* of the
other Italian states, are no less in-
defensiltle and unjustifiable on any
prinnplo of international law or of
Christian or even of heathen ethics;
for one independent sute has no
right to invade, despoil, and appro-
priate or absorb another that gives
it no just cause of war. Nor is the
act any more defensible, as we have
already shown, if done in re:>(Hjnsc
to the invitation of a portion, even a
majority, of tlie inhabiUnts, if in op-
position to the will of the legitimate
authority. Such invitation would
partake of the nature <j( rebellion,
be treasonable, and no people has
the right to rebel against their sove-
reign, or to commit treason. Men
who talk of " the sacred right of
insLirrcction," either know not what
ihcy say, or arc the enemies alike of
order and liberty. The people have.
we <!eny not. the right to willidraw
their allegiance from the tyrant who
tramples on the rights of God and
of man, but never till a competent
authority has decided that he is a
tyrant and has forfeited his right lo
reign, which a Pari.sian or a Roman
mob certainly is not. How long is
it since these same gentlemen who
are congratulating Victor Enunanuel
were urging the government, leading
its armies, or fighting in the ranks, to
put down what they termed a rebel-
lion in their own country, and con-
demning treason as a crime ?
But the Romans and other Italians
are of the same race, and s|;eak the
same language, wc are told. That ihcy
are of the same race is questionable;
but, .suppo.se it, and that they speak
the same language. They are no more
of the same race and speak no more
the same language, than the people
of the United States and the people
of Great Britain ; have we, on that
ground, the right to invade Great Bri-
tain, dethrone Queen Victoria. sui>-
press the Imperial Parliament, to an-
nex politically the Hniish Empire lo
the United States, and to bring the
llritish people under Congress and
President Grant ?
liut as Italy is geographically one,
SarJtHta and the Holy Fat fur „
it ought, we are lold again, to be poU-
ticallyone. The United Statt-s, Cana-
da, and Mexico, including Central
America and Uritish Columbia, are
geographically one ; but will any of
the honorable or reverend gentlemen
who addressed the meeting, or wrote
letters to the comiuitlec that called
it, contend that we have, therefore,
the right unprovoked, and simply Ik:-
cause it would be convenient to have
them politically a part of our re-
public, to invade them with our
jrmies, suppress their present gov-
ernments, and annex them to the
Union ?
<* Rome is the ancient capital of
Italy, and the Italian government
wishes to recover ii, and needs its
prestige for the present kingdom of
Italy." liut in no known perio<l of
history has Rome ever Mongod to
Italy; Italy for ages belonged lo
Rome, and was governed from and
by it. Never in its whole history
was Rome the capital of an Italian
state, or the seal of an Italian gov-
ernment She was not tlic capital
of any state ; she was herself the
state as long as the Roman Empire
Listed, and a': such governed Italy
and tlie world. The empire was not
Roman because Rome was it3 capi-
tal city, but because Rome was the
sovereign state itself, and alt political
power or political rights emanated,
or were held lo emanate, from her;
and hence the empire was Roman,
and the people were called Romans,
not Italians, If you talk of restora-
tion, let it be complete — recognize
Rome as the sovereign state, and the
rest of the world be held as subject
provinces. Italy was never the state
while Rome governwl, nor has the
name Italy at all times had the same
geographical sense. Sometimes it
meant Sicily, sometimes the southern,
other times the northern, part of the
peninsula— sometimes the heel or the
foot, and somettioes the Teg, of the
boot.
U might or it might not be desira-
ble for the preientied kingdom of
Italy to have Rome for its capital,
or the seat of its government, tJiough
we think Florence ia this mercantile
age would be far more suitable. But
suppose it. Vet these Protestant min-
isters must know that (here is a di
vine command that forbids one to
covet what is one's neighbor's.
Achab, king of Israd, wanted Na-
both's vineyard, and was much trou-
bled in spirit tliat Naboth wouh) not
consent to part with it cither for love
or money. His queen, the liberal-
minded Jezebel, rebuked him for his
dejection, and, fearing tu use his
power as king of Israel, took mea-
sures in his name that Nalioih should
be stoned to death, and llie vineyard
delivered to Achab. It was all very
simple and easily done ; but we read
that vengeance overtook the king^
fell heavily on him, his household,
and his false prophets j that Jezebd^
fled from the Avenger, was overtaken
and slain, and " the dogs came ami
licke<l up her blood." There is snch
a re.-Uity as justice, though our Ame-
rican symiKiihiicrs with tlic liberal
and cnhghtencd Jezebel seem to
have forgotten it.
Dr. Stevens, the Protestant Epis-
copal Uishop of Pennsylvania, rejoices
at the spoliation of the Pope, the ab-
sorption of the Roman state, and tlie
uniticalion of Italy, because " Italy is
thus opened to liberal ideas, and
Rome itself unlocked lo the advanc-
ing civilization and intelligence of
the nineteenth century." Which ad-
vancing civilization and intelligence
are aptly illustrated, we presume, by
the recent Franco- Prussian war, the
communistic insurrection in Paris, the
prostration of France, the nation
that has advanced fardicst in liberal
ideas and uuietcc nth -century civiU-
Sardinm and the Holy Father.
297
zation. Wt have here on a fly-sheet
a specimen of the liberal ideas to
which July is opened, and of the
sort of civiUiation and inieUigence
to which Rome is unloclced. We ex-
tract it for the benefit of Bishop Ste-
vens and his brethren :
" Religions said to bt revealed," these
frcc-tliinkets letls us, " have always been
the worse enemy of mankind, because by
making truth, which is the patrimony of
all, the piirllege of the few, thc>' resist
Uie progrcsftivc dcTelopmcni of science
nnd llbeily, which can alunc tralve ihc
gravest social pioblenis that have tor-
nienicd entire generations for ages.
" I'riesis have invcnicd supernatural
beings, made tliemsclvcs mediators be-
tween iticR] and men, and go preaching
always .1 lni(h ilutt substituted auiiiorlty
for reason, slavcr>' for Ubcny. ibc braic
for (he roan.
" But the daiknets is radiated, and pro-
gress beats down the idols and breaks
the chains wkth which the priesthood h:\s
bound liie human conscience. Futiousty
has raged the war between dogma .ind the
postulates of science, liberty aad tyranny,
science and error.
■■ The T»>icc o( justice, so long silenced
in blood by kings and priests conspiring
together, comes forth oronipoicnl from the
Secret cells of the Inquisiiion, from the
ashes of the funeral pile, from every slonc
sanctified by the blood of the apostles of
truth. People believed the reign of evil
would \ixs\ for ever, but the day is white,
a spark has kiudled a contlagraiion.
Rome of the piicxis becomes Rome of die
people, (he fli>ly City a human city Sim
no lunger lcn(3s heixvlf to a hypocritical
faith, which, by substituting the form fur
the siibsUince, cxcitcn the haired of peo-
ple ag.iitiM pcDpIc !>otely \)ecauM! the one
worships a God in the synagogue and
the other in the pagoda.
"The association of free-thinkers is es-
lablishcd here most oppoiiuncly to give
the tinishing ttroke to the crumbling edi-
fice of the priesthood, founded in the ig-
norance of the many by the astuteness of
the few. Truth proved by science is our
creed ; respect (or our own rights in re-
specting the rights of others, our morali-
ty-
" It is nccessaty to look boldly in the
6ice the tnonslei which for ag^cs has
made the earth a baitlc-licid, to defy him
openly .-ind ii| the light of day. Wo
shall thercfoic be true to the programme
of civilization, iti the name of which the
vi'to'/f/ Aaj afplatiJfd Ikr HlnratioH s>f Romt
from the Pope, and we call upon all who
love the moial independence of the fami-
ly, prostituted and (--nsLived by the priest,
upon all who wi^li a country great and
Tcspecied. upon all who behcrc in human
perfcciibiliiy. to unite wJtll us under the
banner of science and justice.
"To Rome is reserved a great glory —
that of initialing the third and most
ftplendid epoch of human civilization.
" Frcv Rome ought to repair the dam-
age done to the world by sacerdotal Rome.
Slie c^in du it. and she must du It. Let
the due frirnds of liberty be associated,
and drsccnd to no compromise, no bar-
gain with the tnosi terrible enemy the
human race has ever hnd."*
• I,e leliRioni deUe rirelaic vonastnu icinpre il
piii cunilc ncinico ilctia iiinKn)t&, polcM focendo
ctcl vciA. piuimonioiii tulti. il pni'ikgia ill pa.
chl, fX v^\m%exD allii *vllu;>|>i.i i>ro[;r*»ivo dellA
ii.jen7Jic ilclta lltMrrU. le iJi- capaci ill liiulvcri;
I piCi gntvi pToblcml koci&Ii, iLttocoo a cui 0.a hc-
I'uli si B[;l!«n(i iittcrc ^exiiwyiSrtrti.
ll»:iceMTnie hn invcriuiu >lr);1i wwrl snpraD*
natural I, e falttrU ineilialuic liu iiucali e rU iiDml-
nl va prcdicauilo ancora u<Ia frde, cha iic>Kiiluls(.c
I'aulurlU nlU ni;i<inc, U KltUvltb alU llbeitl,
il hfuloniruomo.
I*er6 la tcncbia lit dinutUn. od tl prugreMO
Hhhaitc Kl'IJi])! « svlrKoln t'uauua cotcinua
dallo Latcae, ilt rut i laccTitnii I'arcaim dntx.
.'\<:i-jn(U lent la lotu da il ilucmii erf I pPStU-
\ax\ ilellu tricnu. trn la tibctli 1; la timmiilc, ira
la Kteiixa a I'eirure.
La voce rtclU (;iiibllzla, IaIUi tsceie nel unKue
da re e prttl nnicme cnn£ia[n:t. fr il<iort.t oiinl-
|>Dleiile dai pcncliili <k-ilii Iruiuisi^kiiic, 'lallo
ccncri Je> roghi.iU oriii |iii-li« nuE-iifitaia dat
Mncue ileuli B[>o^lvU Jclla vetlU. Si crcitc-r*
(Iurav\e clcrn't II tcgnu itcl male, \-eth I'alb* &
itivonCala gluiiw. U Uvilln m k laUa incaiLil^u.
Cra Roma del pr«te dlvivii(^ Koma del popolo. la
ciUAsinlA ciiij. uiDana. N>>nr''i^' prv^U fcUe
a CToiknic ipocritc. lIic !M?i,iiLucii<i>j lu luintaalU
•-.■.Uii/n (iiM Huron-- t,A\ iia yini-^li i- ()O|i0li. tol
petklit gli t^ul adiiravano uii iliu uclla iiii»|;'>i^ o
gll al[(i nclU pagoda.
Lauociatlotif dd lib«fl ^naatori ai itabilian
qui (ipportiinamrnic prr ttare I'liltinnA c«lf>o al
ciolbuteediltniuaatMilLiialc, loiidatn Delta i|>nar-
aiiia dci molli e per I'aMutin dci |inchl. Le veri-
tl pf<)\'aic dalU scienza tosiituikcoiio la n«*m
nnla f<-ilr, il titpctin al dirilin pcnprin dcI rispct-
tare II iliiilto alliul. la itmliu mijiik.
K il'uopi) Kiutdate urdilainente in (accU quel
mo&tra icoolarc. chc delta i»rra ha /atw un cjhu-
po dt baiiajtlU, sftdailn airafU-'tin ed alia lure del
glofao. SaioiDo cosl ledsli al ptoj-iamiuu UvIIm
clvilbl. Id nomfl delta qualu 11 moii-iu tn apjjLtuil-
itialUlibffraiioncdi Rotnadal I'apa.
Nol (accianio appeJIn ■ i]uanti ainann da vveia
I'ludlpcndetua inoml« della tainigUa, pfoalllulta
I
298
Sardinia and the Holy FathtT,
This progranmie of ihe Association
of Free-thiukcni In Rome is not an
inapt cuniinunt^in' 011 the letter ol'
t)ie Bishop of Pennsylvania, and is a
heany response to the sympathy and
encouragement given ihein in tlteir
work of destruction by the great and
respectable New York meeting. It
at least telis our American sympathi-
zers how tlicir friends in Rome un-
derstand their applause of the depo-
sition of the I'opc from his temporal
sovereignty and the unity of Italy.
Are they pleased with the response
given them ?
There may be a difference between
the free-thinkers and their American
frienfJs; but the chief difference ap-
parently is, dial the freethinkers are
logical and have the courage of their
principles, know what they mean
and say it frankly, without reticence
or circumlocution, while their .Vnier-
ican sympathizers liave a hazy per-
ception of their ovm principles, do
not sec ver>' Clearly whither they lead,
and are afraid to push them to their
last lugical coiisc-iuences. They
have not fully mastered the princi-
ples on which they act ; only half-
know their own meaning; and the
half they do know they would express
and not express. Yet they are great
men and learned men, but ham-
pered by their Protestantism, which .
admits no clear or logical statement,
cxce[>t so far as it cnincidcs with the
free-thinkers in regarding the Papacy
as a monster, which must, in the in-
terests of civilization and liberty, he
e bltnvhiivi dal prrte— a quKnll TOfiiono unt
piitiia eiande e r lapcttBia — a ((uanti crc Juno alU
^■HUrw petfMUbitiU-uabm'Ki tiiUl MHto U Imh-
lent delta Kkiira c d<-lla BtuUida.
A Room t tiu^ivaia unn );iBn glona— quelU
d'Luliiarc la tcdn c i>lb ipleadUU ci>oca dcH'in-
civitiinento umano.
Rntn* libera iit\e ri|tarafr m\ itKnnl amcail a]
eaonilo dalU Koina kaccnloule. Km pu& far
)0. CMA dei-c farlo. I Tcrl omiri delta llbcrii ri
UMHllno. < nriri iitcitilann a {lalU Bi>litetiiko plb
lottthile cliE alibm a% utii I'limana fainif lla.
iA. Kct>l>tBi'i, 1871. La Coiuuoiom.
got rid of. Yet we can discover no
substantial difference in principle be-
tween them. 'Ihe deeds and events
they applaud have no justification or
excuse, save in the atrocious princi-
ples set forth by the free-thinkers.
We are willing to believe these dis-
tinguished gentlemen try to persuade
themselves, as they would fain per-
suade us, thai it is passible to w.-«t
against the Papacy without warring
against revealed religion or Christian
morals, as did the reformers in the
sixteenth century; but these Roman
free-thinkers know better, and tell
them that they cannot do it. They
umlerstand perfectly well that Chris-
tianity ns A revelation and an au-
thoritative religion and the Papacy
stand or fall together; and it is
because they would get rid of all
religions that claim to be revealvl
or to have authority in matters of
conscience, that they seek, to over-
throw the Papacy. They attack the
temporal sovereignty of the Pope
only as a means of attacking more
effectually his spiritual sovereignly ;
and they wish to get rid of his spirit-
ual sovereignty only because they
wi&li to rid themselves of the spirit-
ual order, of the law of God, nay, of
God liimsc'lf, and feel themselves free
to live for this worid alone, and
bend all their energies to the pro-
duction, amassing, and enjoying the
goods of time and sense. It is not the
Pope personally, or his temporal gov-
ernment as such, that they call the
worii enemy of mankind, or the
" monster that for ages has made the
earth a field of blood," but reAi:alcd
religion, but faith, but the EU]>erTuit-
ural order, but the law of God, the
spiritual order, which the Pope offi-
cially represents, and alw.i)-s and
everywhere asserts, and which his
temporal power aids him to assert
more freely and independcndy. They
reco^izc no medium between lhc_
Sardinia and the Holy Father,
299
Papacy and no-religion. They dis-
dain all compromise, admit no via
media, neither the Anglican via me-
dia between " Romanism " and dis-
sent, nor the Protestant via media be-
tween the Papacy and infidelity.
They war not against Protestantism,
though they despise it as a miserable
compromise, neither one thing nor
another; they even regard it with
favor as a useful and an efficient ally
in their anti-religious war.
The free-thinkers in Rome and
elsewhere present the real and true
issue between the Papacy and its
enemies, and give the real mean-
ing of the atrocious deeds which
have effected the deposition of the
Pope, the absorption of the state of
the church, and the unity of Italy
under the House of Savoy. They
present it, too, without disguise, in
its utter nakedness, so that the most
stolid cannot mistake it; precisely as
we ourselves have uniformly pre-
sented it. The issue is "the Papacy
or no-religion," and the meaning of
the deeds and events the New York
meeting applauded is, " Down with
the Papacy as the means of putting
down religion and emancipating the
human conscience from the law of
God !" How does the Protestant
Episcopal Bishop of Pennsylvania,
and his brother Protestant Episco-
pal bishops among the sympathizers
with Italian unity, like the meaning
or the issue, when presented truly
and honestly, and they are forced to
look it squarely in the face ? What
does Mr. Justice Strong, of the Su-
preme Court of the U-nited States,
think of it ? He is the president of
an evangelical — perhaps we should
say fanatical — association, whose ob-
ject is to procure an amendment to
the preamble of the Constitution of
the United States, so that the repub-
lic shall be made to profess, officially,
belief in God, in Christ, and the super-
natural inspiration of the Scriptures
of the Old and New Testaments.
What says he- to the assertion that
"religions said to be revealed have
always been the worst enemy of man-
kind " ? Yet his name appears among
the sympathizers with Italian unity.
Do these gentlemen know what
crimes and atrocities they applaud,
and what is the cause with which
they express their sympathy ? Or,
like the old Jews who crucified the
Lord of Life between two thieves,
are they ignorant of what they do ?
These Roman free-thinkers only
give us the programme of the secret
societies, who have their net-work
spread over all Europe, and even
over this country; of the Mazzinis
and Garibaldis, of the Red Repub-
licans and Communists, who have
instituted a new Reign of Terror in
Paris, who are filling the prisons of
that city while we are writing (April
7) with the friends of order, with
priests and religious, plundering the
churches, entering and robbing con-
vents and nunneries, and insulting
and maltreating their peaceful and
holy inmates, banishing religion from
the schools, suppressing the public
worship of God, and drenching the
streets in the blood of the purest
and noblest of the land, all in the
name of the people, of liberty, equal-
ity, and fraternity — the programme,
in fact, of the whole revolutionary,
radical, or so-called liberal party
throughout the world. The realiza-
tion of civil liberty, the advancement
of science, the promotion of society,
truth, and justice, are — unless, per-
haps, with here and there an indi-
vidual — a mere pretext to dupe sim-
ple and confiding people, and gain
their support. The leaders and know-
ing ones are not duped; they under-
stand what they want, and that is the
total abolition of all revealed religion,
of all belief in the spiritual order, or
Sardinia and the Holy Father.
the universal, eternal, and ttnmuiahle
principles of right and justice, and
the complete eiiiancipaiion of the
human intellect from all faith in thc-
Mipcmaiural, an<i of conscience from
all the law not selfimposed.
.'Vre our American sympathizers
with Victor Emmanuel in his war
on the Pope, with the unity of Italy,
and the revolutionary party through-
out Kuropc, and with which the I^o-
testanl missionaries on the Continent
in Cathohc nations are in intimate
alliance, really dupes, and do they
really fancy, if the Papacy were gone,
the movement they applaud could be
arrested before it had reached the
programme of the Association of
Ka*e-tliinkers in Rome? We can
hardly believe it. Kurope was re-
organized, after the fall of the Roman
Empire, by the Papacy, and conse-
quently un a Christian b:isis — the in-
dependence of the spiritual order,
antl the freedom of religion from
secular control or intermeddling, the
rights of conscience, and the supre-
macy of truth and justice in the mu-
tual relations of individuals and oj*
nations. No doubt the Christian
ideal was far from being practically
realized in the conduct of men or na-
tions; there were relics of heathen
barbarism to be subdued, old super-
stitious to be roolc<i out, and fierce
passions to be quelled. 1'hc Philis-
tines .^till dwelt in the land. In re-
organized Kurope there was no lack
of great crimes and great criminals,
followed often by grand penances
and grand expiations; society in
practice was far from perfect, and
the good work that the church was
carrying on was often intcmipled. re-
tarded, or destroyed by barbarian
and heathen invasions of (he Nor-
mans from the Norlli, the Huns from
the Kast, and the Saracens from the
South.
But tlic work was renewed as soon
as the violence ceasetl. Under the
inspiration and direction of the Pa-
pacy and the zealous and persevering
lalwra of the bishops anil their clergy,
and the monastic orders of either sex,
assisted not unfrei^uenily by kings and
emperors, secular princes and nobles,
liie Christian faith became the ac-
knowledged faith of all ranks and
classes, individuals and nations.
Gradually the old heathen supersti-
tions were rooted out, the harbar-
Ums were softened if not wholly sub-
dued, just and humane laws were
enacted, tlie rights uf individuals and
of nations were defined and declared
sacrcil and inviolable, schools were
multiplied, colleges established, uni-
versities founded, intelligence dif-
fuscJ, and society was advancing,
if slowly yet surely, towards the
Cbnsti.m ideal. If men or nations
violated the immutable principleit of
justice and right, they at least recog-
nized them and their iluty to confonn
to diem in their conduct; if the law
was disobeyed, it was not denied or
so altered as to sanction men's vices
or crimes; if marriage was sometime*
violated, its sacredness and indissolu-
bility were held to be the Uw, and
nobody sought to conform it to the
intcR'sts of lust or lawle.'is passion ; If
a feudal baron wrongfully invaded
the territory of his brother baron, or
oppressed his people, it was acknow-
ledged to be wrong; in a word, if
the conduct of men or nations was
bad, it was in violation of the princi-
]>lcs which they held to be right — of
the law which they owned themselves
liound to obey. The conscit^nce was
not per\-ened, nor ethics and legwla-
lion made to conform to a perverted
conscience.
Hut in the sixteenth century, bold,
base, and disorderly men rose not
only in acts of disobedience to the
Pope, which had been no rare thing,
but in princii>le and doctrine against
Sardinia and Ihe Holy Father.
30«
phe Papacy; declared it a usurpation,
lostile to ihc indei»endence of sove-
rigns and the Bible ; denounced the
!*aj>al Cliurch as the mystery of Baby-
ton, and the ro[>c as the man of hin.
'he sovereigns listened to thcin, and
Ihe people of several nations believed
and trusted thcra, cast off the Papacy,
and interrupted tlie progress in man-
ners and morals, in society and civili-
zation, ivhich had been going on from
the sixth century lo the sixlcenih un-
der the auspices of the Popes. The
reformers, as they arc called, no doubt
really believed that they could cast
off the Papacy and retain the church,
Christianity, revealed religion, iu even
greater purity and efficiency. Yet
liie experiment, it must be conceded,
has not succeeded. The church, lu
an authoritative body, lias been lost
with the loss of the Papacy. The
Bible, for the want of a competent
and authorilaiive interpreter, has
ceased to be authority for faith, and
has been made to sanction the most
various and contradictory opinion-;.
Faith itsdf has been resolved into a
variable opinion, and the law of God
explained so as Iu suit each man's
own taste ami mclination. Religion
is no longer the recognition and asser-
tion of the supremacy of the spiritual
order, the rights of God. and the
homage due lo our Maker, Re-
deemer, and Saviour; nothing eter-
nal and immutable is aek now ledge d,
an(i truth .ind justice, it is even con-
tended, should varj" from age to age,
from people to people, and frDm in-
dividual to individual.
The state itself, which in several
anti-Papal nations has undertaken to
supply the place of the Papacy, has
everywliere failed, and must fail, be-
cause, tliere being no spiritual au-
thority above it lo declare fur it the
law of God, or to place bcftirc it a
fixed, irreversible, and infallible ideal,
it Itas no support but in opinion, and
necessarily becomes dependent on
the people; and, however slowly or
reluctantly, it is obliged to conform to
their ever-varying opinions, passions,
prejudices, ignorance, and false con-
science. It may retard by acts of
gross t>Tanny or by the exercise of
despotic power the popular tendency
for a time, but in proportion as it
attempts it, it saps the foundations
of its own authority, and jjrepares its
own overthrow or subversion. If in
the modern non-Catholic worid there
has been a marked progress in scien-
tific inventions as applied to the rac-
chanical and industrial arts, (here ha.s
been an equally markal deteriora-
tion in men's princijiles and charac-
ter. If there is in our times less dis-
tance between men's principles and
practice than in mediarval limes, it is
not because their practice is more
Christian, more just or elevated, for
in fact it Is far less so, but because
they have lowered their ideal, and
brought Uicir principles down to the
level of their practice. Having no
authority for a fixed and determined
creed, Ihey assert as a principle none
is necessary, nay, that any creed im-
posed by authority, and which one
is not free lo inieri'ret according to
one's own private judgments, tastes,
or inclination, is hostile to the growth
of intelligence, the advance of science,
and the progress of civili/alion. The
tendency in all Protestant sects, stron-
ger in some, weaker in others, is to
make light of dogmatic faith, and to
resolve religion and morality into the
sentiments and aftcciions of our emo-
tional nature. Whatever is autliori-
lative or imposes a restraint on our
sc-ntimcnts, affections, passions, in-
clinations, fancies, whims, or capri-
ces, is voted tyrannical and oppres-
sive, an outrage on man's natural free-
dom, hostile to civilization, and nol
in be tolerated by .i free people, who,
knowing, dare maintain their rights.
Sardinia and the Holy Father.
Take as an apt illustration the
question of marriage, the kiiis of
tlic family, as tlie fumily is the basis
of society. In the Papal Church
marriage is a sacrament, holy and
absolutely indissoluble save by death,
and the severest struggles the Popes
engaged in with kings and emperors
were to compel them to maintain its
sanctity. 'i'he so-called reformers
rejected its sacramental character,
and made it a civil contract, and
dissoluble. j\t Grst, divorces were
restricted to a single cause, that of
adulter)', and the guilty party was
forbidden to marry again; but at
the pressure of public opinion other
causes were added, till now, in seve-
ral states, divorce may be ol)taine<l
for almost any cause, or no cause at
all, and both parties be at liberty lo
marry again if they choose. There
are, here and elsewhere, associations
of women that contend that Chris-
tian marriage is a masculine institu-
tion for enslaving women, though it
binds both man and woman in one
and the same bond, and that seek to
abolish the marriage bond altogether,
make marriage provisional for so long
a time as the mutual love of ilie ^jar-
ties may last, and dissoluble at the
will or cajirice of either i>arty. No
rehgious or legal sanction is needed
in its formation or for its dissolution.
Men and women should be under
no restraint either before or after
marriage, but should be free to cou-
ple and uncouple as inclination dic-
tates, and leave the children, if any
are suffered to be bom, to the care
of — we say not whom or what. Say
wc not, tlicu, truly, that witliout the
Papacy we lose the church ; without
the church, we lose revealed religion;
and without revealed religion, we
lose nut only the supernatural order,
but the moral order, even natural
right and justice, and go inevitably
to the conclusions reached by the
free-thinkers in Kome, One of the
greatest logicians of modem times,
the late M. Proudhon, has said :
'* One who admits the existence even
of God is logically bound to admit
the wliole Catholic Church, its Pope,
its bishops and pricbls, its dogmas.
and its entire cultus; and we must
get rid of (Jod before we can get
rid of desi)otism and assert liberty."
Let our American sympathizers
with Victor KmmanucI and the imi-
ly of Italy Uwk at modem society
as it is, and they can hanlly fail to see
that everytliing is unselUed, unmoor-
ed, and floating ; that men's minds are
everywhere shaken, agitate<i by doubt
and uncertainty; that noprinriple, no
institution, is loo venerable or loo sa-
cred to be attacked, no truth is too
well established to be questioned, and
no government or authority too le-
gitimate or too beneficent to be con-
spired against. Order there is none,
liberty there is none; it is sought, but
not yet obtained. ICverj'where re-
volution, tlisorder — disorder in the
state, disorder in society, disorder in
the family, disorder in the individual,
body and soul, thoughts and affec-
tions ; :md just in proportion as the
Papacy is rejected or its influence
ceases to be felt, tlie world intellec-
tually and morally, individually and
socially, lapses into chaos.
We describe tendencies, and rea-
dily ailmit that the whole nonCalho-
lie world has not as yet followed out
these tendencies lo their last term;
in most Protestant sects lliere arc un-
doubtedly those who assort and hon-
estly defend revealed religion, and to
some extent Christian doctrines and
morals; but, from their Calholic rem-
iniscences and from the reflected in-
fluence of the Papacy still in the
worid by their side declaring the
truth, tlie right, the just, for indi-
viduals and nations, and denouncing
whatever is opposed to them, not
Sardinia and the Hoiy Father,
303
from Proicstanl prituiples or by vir-
,lue of ihcir Fiotcstaiil tendencies;
d just in proixjrlion as the exter-
nal inflLiencc of the Papacy has de-
cline*! and men birlicvcd it becom-
ing old and derrepit, has the Protest-
ant world been more tnic to ils innate
tendencies, developed more logically
its principles, cast off more entirely
all dogmatic faith, resolved rehgion
into a scntimcntwr anolion, and rush-
ed into rationalism, free religion,
and the total rejection of Christian
faith or Christian morals, and justi-
fied its dereliction from God on prin-
ciple ajid at Uie command of what
it calls science— as if without God
there could be any science, or any-
body to cultivate it. The Protcst-
t world has no principle of its own
lat opjKKiCs this result, or that when
tcally carried out does not lead sure-
nnd ine\-itably to it. The principles
leld by Protestants that oppose it
and retain many of them from ac-
tually reaching it arc borrawwi from
the Papacy, and if the Papacy should
I they would fall with it.
Now we ask, and we ask Jn all
isnes!>. the learned jurists, the
guished statesmen, the able edi-
, the eminent Protestant divines,
ts, and philosophers, who took
part in or approved the great sympa-
y meeting, where but in the Papa-
are we to look for the nucleus or
principle of European reorgani-
lion, for the spirit that will move
crthc weltering chaos and bid light
ing from the darkness, and onler
the confusion ? \Vc know ihey
k anywhere but to the Papacy ; to
Parisian Commune, to Kaiser
illiam and Prince Uisniarck, to Vic-
tor KmnianucI, to Mazzini, and to
Garibaldi — that is, to the totnl alioli-
ion of the Papacy and die C'atholic
lUrch. But in this arc they not
e the physician who ])rcscribes, as
a cure to the man already drunk,
drinking more and more deeply ?
Are they not like those infatuated
Jews— we arc writing on Good Tri-
day — who demanded of Pilate (lie
release, not of Jesus in whom no fault
was found, but of llaralibas, whoi%as
a robber! Can Harabbas help them ?
Will he help re-establish the reign of
law, and teach men to respect the
rights of property, the rights of sov-
ereigns, and the duties of subjects ?
We say not that the Pope can" re-
oi^anize Kurope, for we know not
the secret designs of Providence.
Nations that have once been enlight-
ened and tasted the good word of
God, and have fallen away, lapsed
into infidelity, and made a mock of
Christ crucified, cannot easily, if at
all, be renewed unto repentance and
recover the faith they have knowingly
and wilfully cast from them. There
is not another Christ to be crucified
for them. We have no assurance
that these apostate European nations
are ever to be reorganized ; to be saved
from the chaos iuLu which they are
now weltering; but if they are, we
know this, that It can be only by tlie
power and grace of God, coramunU
cated to tlicm through the Papacy.
There is no other source of iielp.
Kings and Kaisers cannot do it, for it
is all they can do to keep their own
heads on iheir shoulders ; the mob
cannot do it, for it can only make
"confusion worse confounded;" the
popularly constitute*! stale, like our
own republic, cannot do it. for a poi>-
ular state, a state that rests on the
popular will, can only follow popular
opinions, and reflect the ignorance,
the passions, the fickleness, the self-
ishness, and the basenesses of the
people ; science and i)hilosophy can-
not do it, for they arc themselves dis-
organized, in a chaotic state, un-
certain whether man differs from the
brute, whether he has a soul, or is
only a congeries of matter, and wheth-
■
Sardinia and the Holy Father.
cr he is or is not developed from the
monkey or the tadpole; atheism can-
not do it, for it lias no positive prin-
ciple, is the negation of all principle,
and effective only for clcstruciian ;
Protestantism cannot do it, for it is
itself chaos, the original source of
the evil, and contains as its own no
principle or organite from which a
new organization can be developed.
We repeat, then, if there is any hope,
it is in the l'aj)acy, which rests on a
bausis outside of the world, and speaks
with divine authority; and the first
step to reorganization must be the
re-establish men I of the Holy Father
in the full possession of his rights.
Whether there is faith enough left on
earth to demand and effect his resto-
ration, remains to be seen.
Certain it is, let men say wlmt they
will, the Pope is the only sovereign
power on earth at this moment that
stands as the defender of the rights
of independent govemmcnls, of in-
ternational law, the equality of so*'-
crcign states without regani to size,
race, language, or geographical po-
sition — the sole champion of those
great, eternal, and immutable princi-
ples of justice on which depend
alike public liberty and individual
fa'cdom,thc sanctity and inviolability
of the family, the peace and order
and the ver)' existence of society.
If the kings and rulers of this world
are with him, or dare utter a feeble
whisper to encourage and sustain
him, tlie people are opposed, or cold
or indifferent, and pass him by, wag-
ging their heads, saying in a mock-
ing tone, " He trusted in heaven, and
let heaven save him."
It were little short of profanity to
indicate the contrast between his
sublime attitude and the abject
and servile attitude of tlicse distin-
guished countrymen of ours. They
but prove themselves slaves lo the
spirit of the age, and only reflect
popular ignorance and passion, and
follow the multitude lo worship at
Che shrine of Success, and to trample
on the wronged ami outraged. He
dares arraign the fierce and satanic
spirit of the age, to face the enraged
muhitude, to defy popular opinion
or popular passion, to proclaim the
truth it condemns, to defend the
right it tramples under foot, and up-
hold the scon»ed and rejected rights
of God, and the inviolability of con-
science. It were an insult to truth
and justice, to moral greatness and
nobility, to dwell on the contrast.
Mis attitude is that of his M.isler
when he trod the wine-press alone,
and of the people none were with
him. It is grand, it is sublime, be-
yond the power of mortal man,- un-
less assisted with strength from above.
No man, it seems to us, can contem-
plate his attitude, firm and inflexible,
calm and serene, without being
filled, if he have any nobility or gen-
erosity of soul, or any sense of moral
hcToism or true manhness in him,
with ntlmiration am] awe, or feel-
ing that his very attitude proves that
he is in the right, and that God is
with him. Let our American sym-
pathizers with his Iraduccrs snd per-
secutors behold him whom they cal-
umniate, and, if they are men, blush
and hang their heads. Shnme and
confusion should cover their faces I
To kit on roclc% to miixc o'et IIdqiI mnd fell.
To hloMlf liuce tbe fotcSit's t.l\aiiy scene,
WhcTc ihl»E* that ovm not dmr'i domltiloa dwall.
And tnnrlBl foot hath iicVr or rarely been ;
To (liinb tlie tncklc»> tuountajn all unjwrn
Willi ili« wUd dock Ui«l noTcr ocnli x luW,
Alooe o'er ttecp* u>A (otming bllx to iMn—
Is a pleasure accorded to few only
of !he dwellers upon earth ; seldom
indeed to the few who could best ap-
preciate the privilege. A large por-
tion of the sum total of human exis-
tence is spent in cities. Outside of
these, the wants of life, best supplied
by the co-operation of numbers, gath-
er people together in towns and vil-
lages. Travelling is generally such
only as may be needful in the exer-
cise of trades and professions, with a
view to their ultimate end, the accu-
mulation of wealth ; or such as ex-
hausted energies demand to fit them
for further toil. The invalid, it is
true, seeks to revive his failing pow-
ers in fat-away balmy climutes and
delicious scenes — and there is a love
for his birthplace in the heart of
many a wanderer which leads him
back time after time to the old home-
stead, and invests it M-ith countless
charms, although bleak and barren
its surroundings may be — but to how
few individuals it is given, in the ful-
ness of their health and mental fa-
culties, to rove abroad at will through
the beauties and subliinilies of crea-
tion — to look on her rolling oceans
and broad lakes; her foaming cata-
racts and stupendous mountains ;
OD the luxuriant loveliness of the
vot. xni. — 20
torrid zone, and the icy wonders of
the north !
Yet such things always make part
of the expectancies, the bright anti-
cipations of youth — the day-dreams,
crushed down at last by hard reali-
ties. Kor to generation after gene-
ration the story of life is strangely
the same. Its gentTol events unfold
themselves in a succession marked
for each one with singular iinifonnj-
ly ; a uniformity, indeed, so suscepti-
ble of calculation that on it arc bas-
ed many of its most extended specu-
lations.
Pecuniary interests generally push
their claims first and most boldly,
because least to be evaded. Then
come the petty edicts of an artificial
social existence, which command and
receive submission before Uicir pre-
sence is even suspected, and though
their power be neither recognized nor
acknowledged. Gradually the turn-
ing kaleidoscope of time shows more
sombre colors; the path lo be trod-
den is made visible — llic mind bends
itself to the narrow w.iy — earthly
happiness seeks its realization in a
circumscrilwd sfihere— and so, one
by one, the winged tlioughts lower
their circle of flight, and the dream-
er ceases to dream.
Fttnvtrs.
llut the love of nature ib im|)lant-
ed too deeply in the heart of man
to be ever emirely eradicated ; and
the senlitnent finds for itself an ex-
prcsiiioii cocxlensivc with its exis-
tence in the univt:rsal love of flow-
ers. Ihey have a cliarm for the eye
and soul welling from a deeper source
than those graceful forms and bril-
liant colors, for they are a portion
of ihc Kreal universe. They are a
link, and an important one, and the
one most exquisitely fashioned, in
the mighty chain which holds beside
them not only the everlasting hiils,
but
"PlKBrt*, oan^i ■nd uhmuiLine spbcie*."
Year after year they return to us
with a beauty which never palls, to
malcL* us wiser, and better, and hap-
pier ; and as punctually they meet
from each true heart a greeting fitly
due to their fairy manifesutions of
the same lioundlcss Power which
called forth those mightier, sublimcr
forms of matter so often placed be-
yond our reach.
Flowers, when mention is made
of thcin in the Old Testament, are
consecrated (so to say) by the most
lofty associations ; they typify virtue
— happiness — the Dciiy himself.
When the inspired writer would fain
depict in language level to our hum-
ble capacity pleasures of which we
can have not the most distant idea —
the pleasures of man's first terrestrial
paradise — he calls it a garden ; as
the word best embodying to us hap-
piness sinless and complete ; and the
Deity in the same sacred volume
prompted
"The Aowcr of Uto flchl, wtd Uic Illy of tba vftl-
Ley," (CuL 11.)
as the most appropriate figures of
his own divine holiness. Flowers
with lamps of fine gold made part
of the ilccorations of Solomon's tem-
ple. The Scriptures were originally
written in the land of bold imagery
and under a burning sun, wlicre her-
bage and water constitute wealth ;
consequently, we find throughout its
pages rich pastures and flowing
streams suggested themselves as em-
blems of rewards not only in this
world, but of those beyond the grave.
Again, the brief span of life, and the
unccnainty of all earthly imssessions,
arc imaged by the fading flower and
the withered grass ; and the prophets
in their denunciations of the wicked
constantly comj^are them, in the de-
solation of utter abandonment, to a
garden without water.
Asia has always been the especial
land of flowers ; fiiam the rose-gar-
dens which Semiramis* planted at
the foot of Mount Bajistanos, 800
B.C., to the fragrant gardens now to
be seen in almost every oriental city.
The fame of tliese rose-g.irdens ex-
tended so fiir that Alexander the
Great, on his Eastern expedition, ttira-
cd a long way irom his course to vi-
sit them. The city which Solomon
founded, Tadmor in the wilderness
(I'alm)Ta}, about midway between
the Orontes and Euphrates, was cele-
brated, and indeed derived its name,
from the abundance of a magtuficest
species of palm-tree which grew there.
This tree (the JfimJSS/iso( Lin.) yields
a liquor seducing and pernicious, ami
m taste resembling weak champagne.f
The ruins of this city and its sur-
roundings are described by travel-
lers as exceedingly imposing. The
cttyof Susa (iu Scripture, Susan), in a
district lying on the Persian Gulf,
was in ancient days the residence of
llie Persian kings; their summers be-
t sir W. JMML
Flo
Tvers.
307
ing spent at Ecbauna, in the cool
mountainous district of Media. The
name Susa signiiies a lily, and is
said to have been given on account
of the great quantity and beauty of
these flowers which grew in its vici-
nity. The fertility of the land of
Bashan is mentioned in Scripture,
and its oaks arc coupliifl with the ce-
dars of Lebanon. Media also is
mentioned by old writers; and Car-
mania, north of the Persian Gulf,
boasted of vines bearing clusters
more than two feet long.
China in modem times calls her-
self the flowery kingdom, but she is
not the only one; in many other
parts roses arc extensively cultivated
for the purpose of distilling from
them the ottar {aifah-^/) of com-
merce; and the Landscape is often
converted for a hundred acres into
one great rose-ganlcn. It has been
estimated that one-half of all the
varieties of roses scattered over our
gardens were originally brought from
Asia ; and perhaps, counting the
fields planted there for distillation,
it may be said that one-half of all
in actual bloom adorn that quarter
of the glolK. Yet the simple wild
roses of Asia, like our own wild roses,
arc very inconjpicuous little flowers ;
it is only under the skilful hand of
the florist tliat e^ch one of those
many varieties develops its own
jTeculiar beauties, and we obtain the
cultivated roses of the garden. The
Afghan province of Turkisian is, in
some parts, at the present day fa-
mous for its roses. Balkh, Uic mo-
dem capital, is so excectliagly hot
that each spring the inhabitants in a
body leave it for the little village of
Mezar; and Mezar boasts of the
most beautiful roses in the world — a
fragranl re<l rose which they name
gu/i-suriA. This peculiar variety
grows on the pretended tomb of Ali
(whose teal moutunent is at Ncdjef),
'I'hey say that these roses will flour-
ish in no s'jII but that of Mexar— an
cxpL-rimcnt {thL-y say) which ha* been
repeatedly tried and failcl Mr.
Vamb^ry, who was there in 1864,
says, " They are certainly more love-
ly and fragrant than any I ever
saw."
Mr. Vamb^ry was sent in 1863, by
the Hungarian Acatleiny, on a scien-
tific mission to Central Asia. At
Teheran he assumed the dress of a
dervish and the name of liadji Rech-
id, and in this character he joined a
company of twenty- four pilgrims,
" ragged and dirty," who were on
their return from Mecca to their far-
away home in the north-east. They
never penetrated his disguise — and
with them he traversed an extent of
country never before visited by a
European. They travelled mostly
by night, to avoid the excessive
heat. Of'course much natural land-
scape was lost, but we ore struck
with the abundance of flowers and
gardens along this route. One which
he mentions is not fascinating, but
that was an exception ; before leav-
ing Teheran, he visited two Euro-
pean friends near there, and found
" Count G in a small silk tent in
a garden like a caldron ; the heat
was awful! Mr. AtLson was more
comfortable in his pleasant garden
at Guhalek."
When the pilgrims resumed their
journey at Teheran, such as were rich
enough hired a camel for two, as part-
ners. Mr. Vambiry soon loaned his
animal 10 a '* dirty friend," and join-
ed the pedestrians, who, like true be-
lievers — followers of the Prophet —
buried all care io one word, >(ir-
Htrf.* As they iranipcd on (he says),
'* When their enthusiasm had been
* " It Is a tin u think of Um futuio."
sufiiciently stimulated by reminis-
cences of Hie gardens of Mergolan,
Namengan, and Kholand, all bej^aii
with one accord to sing a ttrlkin
(hymn), in which I joined by scream-
ing as loud as 1 was able Allah ya
Allah J"
The gardens at Tabersi, a place
where ihcy rested, were very beauti-
ful, also ihcrL- were "abundance of
oranges and lemons, tinted yellow
and red wiih their dark-green leaves.
From scenes of luxuriant vegetation
they |>assed into the desert of Tur-
kisian, which extended on all sides,
lar as eye could reach, like a vast
sea of sand, on one side slightly
undulating in little hills, like waves
in a storm, on the other side level
as a calm lake. Not a bird in the
air, nor a crawling thing on the earth ;
♦• tracesof nothing but departed life in
tlie bleaching bones of raan or beast
who had perished there I" But mark
how rapid the transition once more to
beauty and fertility! On emerging
from this desolation and reaching the
frontier of Bokara, they had only
proceeded half an hour through a
country resplendent with gardens
and cultivated fields when the little
village of Kakeniir lay before them.
Bokara (the city) is at ihis day the
Rome of I&iam. There m a small
gartlen not far from it whose fame is
widely extended; for in it stands the
tomb of Baha-cd-din, the national
saint of Turkistan, second in sancti-
ty only to Mahomet. Mlgrim-^ges are
made to this tomb and garden from
the most remote parts of China ; and
the people of Bokara go every week.
About three hundre^l asses i)ly for
hire between the garden and (he
city. It is considered a miraculous
devotion in thcKC animals that, while
they go thither with the greatest
alacniy, only the most determined
cudgelltDg can turn them homeward
— but then, asses may have rural pro-
clivities.
Saniarcand is the most beautiful
city in Turkistan ; niagniticcnt in her
splendid gardens, and in tlie talc of
past glory told in her ruins. Two of
the lofty domes which greet the eye of
the stranger as he approaches are
sociated with Timour — the one
his mosque, the other his torn
M-hcre the warlike Tartar rests amon,
flowers. I f wc can picture the many
lofty edifices with their imposing
domes, and then su|>pose the whole
intermixed with closely planted gar-
dens, we shall have a faint idea of
the loveliness in the first view of
Samarcand. The way from Samar-
cand to K.arshi, south, lies for the
last two miles entirely through g.
dens."
In Karshi is a large garden call
Kalenlerkhane — literally, beggar's
house; but wc would rather tratislatu
it pilgrim's house. The words niv
somewhat synonymous there, where
the most saintly pilgrims to the tomb
of the Prophet subsist on alms. But
this is a lovely garden on the bank
of the river, with walks and beds of
flowers: ; and here the dfju monde
of Karshi are to be seen daily fi-om
about two o'clock until past sunset.
In different parts of the place the
Samovins (gigaiilic Russian tea-ket-
tles) are consUintly occupied in fur-
nishing their customers, gathered
around them in circles two and three
deep, witli the national beverage, tea.
We have a slight glimpse of tropi-
cal tlowers in a green-house, but do*
thing of their native beauty an<
abundance; for what a poor repi
sentative of its class is that dwarf*
and solitary specimen, faded in col-
or and deficient in the perfume of a
hot climate ! Then how can imagi-
■ Mr. VMDbtfry'a Ctntrml Ati*.
Of
lar- I
Ji
i
Flowers.
309
nation 511 out the eniire landscape —
when vines and trees cluster togeth-
er, and Iwist their dark leaves and a
thousand such blossoms into one
sweet mass ? Then the nard grass;
and the spicy chandan, which old
books say once covered the moun-
tains of Malaya; and (he groves of
calalpa — not the t-ataljxi of our la-
titude, but that which opens under an
Indian sky, which the bee seeks be-
fore all other blossoms ! The mom-
ing-glory (Ipomca) here has no fra-
grance, but one which grows wild in
Southern Asia gives out a perfume
iike cloves.
One thing we remark in Asia is
the quantity of flowers cultivated in
cities, even the largest and most
densely populated ; in those of
Cliina especially, flowers are a house-
hold necessity. In roost other lands
— certainly in ours — they are asso-
ciated with life in the country, or, at
least, they are tlic pleasant piivilegc
of the liiile \'ill3ge. Flowers in a
city arc luxuries only within reach
of the wealthy. A boui|uct bought
in llic market-ijlace ts a rare exct-ss
of floral expenditure, and it must
needs be trimmed and watered until
the last leaf withers. The dweller
in a labyriadi of brick walls is happy
if he can, one time in a year, escape
to grass and gardens, and refresh me-
mory that such things exist; but in
Asiatic cities flowers arc a pari of
life. A modem traveller says :
"Alter an {ntercsting paxsagc up the
river ic Canton, the fltangcr enters iho
suburbs of the cily. Here he is surprised
to sec the number of flowers and Ituw-cr-
iug plants which everywhere meet his
eyes . . . every house-window and
court-yard is filled witli ilic-in."
The home of Ponqua-qua, a re-
tired Chinese merchant and mandarin,
was crowded with flowers and sweet
shrubs. Besides a greenhouse of
choice plants, and the customary
garden, his banqutting-ball ojicncd
on a grove of orange-trees and ca-
mellias, all covered with singing-birds.
In years long past, the same tastes
prevailed. Sir John Chardon, who
was in Persia in t686, dwells on
delicious city gardens of *• roses,
hiics, and peach-trees." And fur-
ther back still, in a.d. io86, lived
Atoz, a celebrated Chmesc states-
man and writer. In a description
of his villa and grounds, he enume-
rates hedges of roses and pomegra-
nate-trees — banks of odoriferous flow-
ers — bamboo groves with gravel
walks, willows and cedars, with the
added treasure of a library of 5,000
volumes.*
In almost all pagan countries some
certain flowers, either real or imagi-
nary, receive a sort of veneration
from b«ing associated with superna-
tural aJid invisible things. Often-
times the plant so honored is a tree,
as the Sotna of the Hindoos (the
Persian Homo), which was ** the
first tree planted by Ahura-marda
by the fountain of life. He who
drinks of its juice can never die."
lu the Hindoo Mahabharfl^ the
mountain Mandar, the occasional
abode of the deities, is covered with
a *' twilling creeper ;'* and India
boasts a vine well befitting to deck
the home of the gods! It ts ihe
Bengal hanisteria of Linna:us, the
most gigantic of all climbers. Its
blossoms are pale pink shaded with
red and yellow — so beautiful and so
fragrant that it has gained the na-
tive name "delight of the woods."
Anotlier mountain, Meroo — a spot
" beyond man's comprehension " —
• OtMtr d* Stwt4. loUodudioa to cdlUoB
of lS»4.
Tvcrs.
is adorned with trees and cclcsii^il
plants of rare virtue.
The Jildsa (Butea -fFondosa) is
held ia great veneration; it gave
name to the plain Plassey, or more
properly Pclissey. It is namt-d in the
Vtiiai, in the laws of Menu, and in
Sanscrit poems. Few plants (says
Sir VV. Jones) arc considered more
venerable and holy. There was a
iamous grove of it once at Crishna-
nagar.
'1 he oriental W»iff<r/r«i gives on odor
like wine from its gold-colured blos-
soms, hence it was called Hahpriga,
or beloved of llalin, tlie Bacchus
of India.
The ash-trce b very conspicuous
ra the fables of the EHiUiy and, as
some part of the Scandinavian creed
is said to have been carried thither
from Asia, we may speak of it here.
In the fifth fable of the prose EdJa,
the hrst man was named Aske (ash-
tree), and the first woman Kmla(elm-
Irec). \\'e ask, Why these two es-
pecial trees ? But see furllier — they
were created by the sons of Bore
from two pieces of wood found float-
ing in tlic waves— and, behold, a sen-
sible reason 1
An as/i-trrt is in the palace of the
gods; it typifies the universe. Its
ramifications are countless — penetrat-
ing all things — and under its bran-
ches the gods hold council. But
this .-ish-trcc in various shapes is
almost the only green leaf in Scandi-
navian mytholog)'. Whatever else
Sigge (Odin) carried thither from
Asia, he Icfl behind the countless
(and some beautiful) flower legends.
Or did they die in the icy north —
and in tlicir place spring up that
machiner)* of bloo<l and fierce pas-
sions which made Valhalla not the
flowerdad mountain of oriental
climes, but a battle-ground, where
life was renewed only to be again
pleasurably extinguished, and where
boar's meat and racail was joy sutB-
cient?
Flowers seem literally to per\-ade
almost all oriental literature, ancient
and modem. They inspire kings to
lay aside care and enact the poet.
In the middle of the last century,
one of the Chinese emperors, Kieu-
long, distinguished himself by a lonj;
poem, in which he painted the beau-
ties of nature and his admiration of
them. He was contemporary witK.
Frederick the Great, who also, as his
French friend snccringly informs uSuj
always travelled with a quire of fooU
scap in his pocket. On which of
the monarchs the muses smiled most
kindly, no Chinese critic is here to-
tell. Sec-n.a-kung, a Chinese states
man, wrote a book called the Gar-
den — and very many similar might be
n.imed.*
What can express the softer emo-
tions of the soul as m-cU as llowcis?
The oriental lover can find no sweet-
er name for the object of his passion
than "My rosebud ;" Her form is the
young palm-tree, her brow the white
jasmine, her curling locks sweet
hyacinths; het grace is the cypress;
she is a fawn among aromatic
shrubs!
" Rom* an<1 DliM arc llk« tbe bright cIlMlti otf
benuiifiil naldvfi)^
In vrhcnc cats Uu pcatls haag Uka dropa ot
daw I"
Listen to a song from 'the Schar-
Kamah of Fcdusi, one of the must
ceU-hrated Persian poets. In the
original, the lines rhyme in couplets;
Um is only an extract One can
scarce think nf the mai<len as walk-
ing the earth. Surely she must have
reclined on some rose, or floated
roimd some lily !
' S«e traiisUDoQ bf Sir V. Jonea. LoatfM
ediUoB, 13 vola.
P
The air i« perfumed with musk, and
1 the waters o( the brooks, are Ihey not the
I essence ol roScs ? ThU jaiitiinc bend jiig
under the weight of its ttoweis. this thick-
et of roses shedding its perfume, seem
Jike the ilivinhics of the gatdctt. Wher-
lever Mcnisched. ihc 0:iughter uf Afrnriab,
appca.cs, w-e lind men happy. It is she
JMho makes liic;;ardcn ss bnlliani as the
|<un: ibcdjughtcr'of An august monarch.
[is she not a new star? She is the bril-
liant star that rises over the rose and
jasmine. I'ccrlcss beauty! bcr features
arc veiled, but the clc^nco of bcr figure
rivals tlie cypress. Ilcr breath spreads
the perfume of ainber around her ; upon
her check reposes the rose. How lau-
^ishinf; arc her eyes ! Her lips liavc
stolen their color from the iriitc, but their
odor is like tba essence of roses." —
- Tramiattii jrtm SumauJe de SumonM.
Nor is it only love which levies
lis iribule on flowers. Wc sul)join
extract from Mesilii, another pact
rhosc feme is world-wide : Meslhi
the irresistible!— who paints in many
a lyric, with graphic touch, tlie fasci-
nations of beauty, and in the con-
cluding verse of one of them (with
happy self-complacency) thus solilo-
quize; :
' Thou ktE a nigktingala with a fiwcel vo!c«.
OMc«ilii! when thauwa)k«:it withtbe iluiuels
Wkvwcbecki u« like iom*!"
In the following subject, flowers
would be expectcrl, hut in the long
poem of whirh this is only a part
ihey are truly — the whole:
^^H/EbO
ODR TO SPRING.
^jVbou k«arc>t tbc«QQ|[ of the nitbtinKftlc. tlutt Ibe
" Tsmai »««nn approichcv. The iprlnj; has
flpreatl a (rawer uf jnyin every zruve; vrhoe
Iks KlmoiHl'tree shcdi iu illirtr blouoau.
Be che«cful ; be full of mink ;
thff cpcinic loati ("UMS away,' it will aol
laO.
Tbe cmr» anil hilts aro aeain ailunied with all
wtiiti ul Hiiwct*. A iMviliun of roiES >« a
Mftlof [•l«uur« ii rii*c'l>n Iheiarden; who
know* which of us will llr« wheti ttiB tiair
Bccliecitul; etc.. etc
Jhfaln Ibe dew Gl>>ter< on the Invei of the Ulf
like the water nf a bright xrymlLar. Theilew-
fUojiB Ijtll ihraujth Ui« air on tlw garilen of
roie«; listen to ne \( ihmi weuIdK b« <te-
llshttJ.
Be cheflrfiit ; etc., rtc.
The iitne is pul wh«o the pUnU weie t.ii.'i. acul
t)ie rcisehud hun|[ )t« head or) lu Liosofn.
Tba Mtauin comes tn whl<± mountains aad
Keeps ate covepid wittk luUpi.
Bediccfful; etc.. eic.
Bueh moroin( the cIcMids sbed scnia orer tbo
rox K"dcn«. The lirenlii nf ilic jaUr Is Tar-
tarian Biuik. Be not r.cgULllui uf duty
throuffh too ETcal love oTilic wotlJ.
Be cbr«iftil ; etc., etc,
AUilkit traiu. ty Sir UT. ^mhv.
Flowcis arc beautiful—- but such a
profusion of tliem in print is not con-
genial to our northern tastes, despite
other testimony in the entliusia-sra of
some oriental scholars. Of course,
for those who arc so happy as to
read the originals there is a charm
which Ls lost in translation — but
there is good reason why we fail to
sympathize. Hemmed in by cold
and snow half llie year. .IhoLglit,
passion, and deep feelings seek ex-
pression through channels not made
of things visible ; and iheir tides are
not the less deep and strong because
less deinoiislnitive. 'I'he jjassionatc
and imaginative literature of ilie Kast
is the outpourings of the soul under
circumstances widely different from
those under which similar effusions
here (and some of the most impas-
sioucil and eloquent, too) have been
penned. Each c^ils forth differcnl
tropes and figures — and if it is diffi-
cult for the one side to stir up imag-
ination to untiring flights through
rose-gardens, equally would the poet
of Negaristan find it in)[kOs.sible to
picture Uie charms of his mistress,
and die of love or despair, before a
coal-fire in the lamp-light.
Who can hear of roses without
calling up an image of the nightin-
gale; or, in Eastern phrase, the Uulbul ?
The mutual loves of the two (for
roses can love there) have made the
llicinc of tales and songs mthout
312
pfytm-s.
»
number. Whether the story is fact
or fiction — whether the birJ really
pours forth its most thrilling notes in
the atmosphere of that perfume, may
be a (lisimteil point with " outside
barbarians," but with native writers
the belief is fully accepted. Here,
again, the repetition is wearisome ;
and here, again, it is pleasant to
blame — not our lack of imagination,
but our peculiar surroundings; for,
alas! our viiull empyrean is colorless
or cloudy ; the melodious Bulbul a
thing to dream of; and the song.
generally, only a prosaic translation !
The southwestern part of Asia is
the land of spices, frankincense, and
myrrh. It is also the land of sweet
flowers, although few modem travel-
lers say much about them. *Jne
reason, perhaps, is that the extreme
heal obliges the stranger to rest most
of the day, and night is for stars, not
(lowers.
Bui who ever associates flowers
with Arabia? Is it the prolonged
and baleful influence of tliat little
wood-cut map which monoijolizcd
a whole ])age in infantile geography
— the map which presents Arabia
arrayed in dots, which we were then
and there informc<l meant desert ?
Or is it the omnipresent muffled
figures, camels, and tents which
typify Arabia in all books de-
voted to juveniles ? Wliatever the
cause, Arabia and Arabians always
come to mind sandy and wander-
ing.
.Vol so the Arabia which Nicbuht,
traversed in the last part of die bsl
century, with most ample opportuni-
ties for juformalion.
Arabia, he writes, enjoys almost
constajit verdure. It is true, most
of the trees shed their leaves, and
annual plants wither and are repro-
duced ; but the interval between the
fall of old leaves and the reappear-
ance of others is so short that it ia
scarcely obscr^'ablc.*
Jfcre are found most of the plants^
of two zones. On the high lands,-
those of Europe and Northern ori|
rather Middle Asta; on the plains,!
those of India and Africa, not pre-l
cisely identical with those of Euro[ic»j
but a diflercnt species or variety.]
Delicious and abund.int also are all''
kinds of tropical fruits; and so plen-'
tiful the melons that they serve ;i«l
food for their camels. From Arabiaj
were also first brought m.iny of thos
plants which wc cultivate as curiosi«
tics rather than for beauty — the iitrc/ut]
tribe. One of the most rcmarkabl
has its stem expanded to a globular]
form, about the size of a man's head;]
this rests on the earth, and from it']
proceed branches bearing flowcrs^i
In seeking for the most show7
flowers, wc must turn to their forest
trees. Tlicir forests are not very ex-
tensive, and sudi as they have arc
rarely seen by slrangers, being quite
distant frouj the usual course of
travel. But tlie majestic height of
the Irees, covered with bright-colored
and fragrant blossoms, arc in marked
contrast to our own forest trees,
whose flowers, geiier-iJIy, can scarce-
ly be distinguished fruta the leaves.
One kind, the kt-unj, is so very fra-
grant that a small blossom will per-
fume an entire apartment. Among
small swccl plants is the panicnxtum^
something bkc the sea-daffodil, of
the purest white ; an hibiscus^ of the
most brilliant red ; .nnd the moseAaria,
which gives from leaves and flowers
the peifume of musk. But a cata-
logue of their names alone would ex-
ceed our limits.
"Wlih these glorious blossoms," cars
Mr. Nicbuhr. "ihe peasantry rouia tbe
• Niabubr'a Ar»h\t, liA. IL
Flowers,
%^l
andenl custom of crowning ihcmselves
on ccf lain ilays of joy and fcshvity."
There is poetry in this cusloin.
" It is said that this nation alone has
produced more poets than all others
imittrd" {Sisntendi). Arabia shares
more than flowers with the rest of
Asia; she. too, joins to them poetr)*.
Her |ieople have the same fertile
iniiij^inalion, aversion to the re-
straints of cities, love of freedom
and of nature, quick feelings and
ardent passions, which make the
true poet, 'flie day is past — even
so long past that they have forgotten
it — wlien all Uiis found expression in
compositions, which we read now,
and marvel at their rich inventions
and glowing imagery ; but, neverthe-
less, they are poets still ! A distin-
guished Krench author writes:
"Through the whole cxicat of ihc Mo-
bammedan dominions, in Turkey, I'vrsla,
and even to the extiemiiy of liidi;i, a nu-
merous class of Afjbs, bolh men and
women, find » livelihood in reciting these
talcs to crowds who delight to forget their
annoyances in tbc pleading dreams of im-
■ginaiion. In ihc cofTce-housci of the
L^cvani, one o( these men will gather a
silent crowd around him, whom he will
excite, by his lale, to terror or pily ; Liiil
more frequently he will picltiro ta his au-
dience those biilliani and fanuistic visions
which ate the patrimony of Eastern inta-
^nations. llic public Kqunrcs of cities
aboimd with these story -tetlvrit, wbo till
up. too. Ihc dull hours of ihc sciaglia.
Pliyflicians recommend them oficn to
their patients, to soothe pain or induce
■Icep ; and those accustomed (o the sick
modulate their voices and soften their
tones as slumber steals over the suf-
fcrer."
Seven of the most remarkable old
Arabian poems, written in gold, are
hung in the Caaba, or Temple, at
Mecca ; and the authors show them-
selves not in tlie least degree behind
other orientals in heaping up Sowers
and metaphors.
Flowers were once held, in Arabia,
of Iiigh importance in science. Next
to the sciences of mathematics, ihey
valued that of medicine ; and many
volumes were written on their medi-
cal plants. Somewhere about the
year 941, Abcn-al-lIcTther made a
botanical tour over Europe and .Vsia,
and a part of Africa, and, on his le-
turii, published a volume On the Vir-
tues 0/ Piants. Still earlier than this,
in 775, Al-Mansour, the second prince
of the Ahasstdcs, invited a Greek phy-
sician to his court, and obtained
through liim translations of many
Icanicd Greek works on medicinal
plants. Such arc flowers in Asia.
Jt is no woudcr tlial, \\here naluic
has lavished her choicest j>roductions,
and all classirs delight in cultivating
Ihcm, flowers have increased aii in-
jhulum. No wonder iheir brilliant
hues inspired a native poet to sing:
"A ralobow hu UcKcndcd oa lh« sorden."
Uuikt.
II.
The little colony who passed from
Asia to Egypt and first peopled that
portion of the Mediterranean shore,
in that time so long past — time with-
out a date — must have carried with
them many of their native ].lants;
for several found indigcnotis only in
India are found cultivated there.
Among others is the Nymphx ne-
Itimbo, the Lotus. This bore in In-
dia a sacred character; the Hindoo
fable taught that tlie little god of
love, their Cupid, was first seen
floating down the Ganges on a lotus
leaf In very many ways this flow-
er is interwoven with the Hindoo
creed, or introduced in their litera-
ture — as in the following. It is part
314
Flowers.
of a sublime Hymn to Narayena, ui
which that great Invisible is thus ad-
dressed :
>■ Omniscient spirit! wli»e all-ruling power
Itlils from each wiim hrXnM ematuiioin
bKUtl,
Clows In the ralabow. spiikle* ia tbe sircsm,
SmUn In the biitl, bii<1 sliftcDi in tkc flower
That ciowiib cadi veiaal bovrcr \"
— and the radiant being, dazzling and
beautiful, who springs to life and ty-
pifies the iiiatcriiil universe,
" Hcavcol^ pensiT« on tli« lotus lar.
That btmaoDMsd at his tsucfat wid vhcd a t,iMai
ray." •
In Egji>t, when carried thither, it
naturally retained a sort of sncrcd
character. Jt is represented in their
paintings and sculptures ni<jrc fre-
quently than any other plant ; in
scenes of festivity and processions,
where it is twined with other flowers
into wreaths and chaplets; and al^io
in sacred scenes. Mr. Wiltinsun de-
scriboo a painting found at Tlicbes,
in which is represented the final judg-
ment of a human being :
" Osliis is s«ule(I on » throne, as judge
of Ihtr dcncj. lie is allcndcd by Ists an*J
N«ptli>'s. and before liim arc Ihc (our
Genii o( Amcnii, standing; on a Lettu.
Ilorus inttuduccs llic deceased whose ac-
lioiis have been wcfglicd in ihc scales of
Trutli."
t^tuf buds have been often found
in the old tombs. It was also intro-
duced into tlieir architecture. The
most favorite cjpilal for a column
was a full-blunn watcr-piant, suppos-
ed to be the papyrus, with a bud of
the same, or a lotus bud. A large
variety of it called Lotomelia is culri-
vatcd there still in gardens.
\\ iihin the last few years, some in-
fomtalion has been gaihcreil relating
to the domestic life of the early
* TnnskUoa ot Sir W. Joaaah
Egyptians, which was previously only
conjecture. To ilsc the words of Sir
J. G. Wilkinson : ** It has been drawn
from a comparison of the paintings,
sculptures, and monuments still ex-
isting, with the accounts of ancient
authors."
On fragments of stone in diiferent
degrees of preservation, taken from
the ruinsof temples, tombs, and dead
cities, are found representations of
those who once stood here, surround-
ed by all the wealth and glory, the
luxuries and magnificence of which
this is the wreck. Cut in lineswhich
time has not all effaced, or traced in
colors which centuries have scarcely
(hmmed, we see here master and
slave, kings, priests, and people, in
all the occupations of ordinary life —
a half-obliterated record of the pur-
suits, customs, habits, and tiates of
a nation so remote that iheir place
in the past cannot be even conjectur-
ed. We only know, from unmistaka-
ble evidence, that they came origi-
nally from Asia, and lived thus in
the land of Egypt. Looking at these
iViigiiients of their skilful tturkinan-
ship, thought goes back to uu era al-
most fabulous! For who con coll
up even in fancy that period, wheCL
the Nile ran through its primitive
landscape, and no foot of man had
jiressed its shore 1 When no cities
stood in that fertile valley, and the
first stone of the first pyramid wat
not yet laid ! What a spaec of time
must have elapsed between the fii^
landing and the accomplisliment of
all these mighty labors I I'hcre is a
mist over it all, gathered through.
uncounted centuries; and althougli
science and research have thrown
some light, it is not much more than
the flickering torch with wliich one
walks at midnight; a little \?. reveal-
ed near at hand, but all beyond is
darkness.
A
Fhu
crs.
31,
heless, so much of interest
is Cd^eclcd u'itli Eg>in lliat the
l<:ast added knowledge is of value;
for not only is it mciitiuncd by the
most ancient profane nritcrs as mys-
terious in antiquity even to them,
but it is tlie land of the Old Testa-
ment. Mounds of ruins, great in
licighC and extent, on a branch of
t]ic Nile, yet mark ihc place of Ta-
/tis, * the Zi/an of Scripture, where,
according to the Psalmist, Moses
wrought those miracles which ended
in thcexodusof the Jews. On paint-
ings found at Theb«, the No-Ammon
of Scripture, arc representations of
slaves engaged in making bricks^
with taskmasters superintending them;
and although these may not be Jews,
for brick-making was a universal me-
nial occupation, it canies us back to
the days when " bricks without straw "
were demanded. The departure of
the Israelites from bondage, ».c. 1491,
was in the reign of 'lljoimes III.,
the Pliaiaoh of Scripture, which re-
cords his deiilructicn in that day,
when,
" Pliaiarth wcni in on horscliacli wiih
liU ehnriois and liorscmcn into the sea ;
and tlic Lord brought back upon them
the vriilcts of ilie sea, . . . neither
did so inudi .-ts one of ihem remain, . , .
anJ tliry (ilic Israelites) saw ilie Egy(>-
liAnt <JeAii u]M>n the 5c.i-s1)orc."
It is remarkable that a drawing
found at Thebes re]jresents his son
Amenopli, who succeeded him, as
coming to Uie tlirone a mere child,
under the guidance of his mother.
But we digress too far.
Among oilier things learned by
patient research, we perceive the ad-
miration of the early Kgyptians for
flowers, and the care with which they
cultivated tliera. " Flowers are re-
presented ou llicir dresses, chairs,
• Andioa'l A mv-. » W yteJitrva!, p. 7^5.
boxes, boats, on cver)thing suscepti-
ble of ornamentation ; and flowers
and leaves are painted on the linen
found preserved in the tombs " ( iVii-
h/tson),
PJiny, in enumerating the iloweja
of ancient Egypt, says the rayitic is
the most odoriferous; the reason,
doubtless, for its being so often
placed, as now found, about the
dead. At present it is only cultivat-
ed in gardens. 'J'hc other plants
Pliny names as indigenous are
the violet, rose, myosolis, clematis,
chrysanthemum, and indeed nearly
the whole catalogue of a modern
g.irdcn. Figures on their paintings
are decked witli crovvns and garlands
of anemone, acacia, convolvulus,
and some others. In the old tombs
are found date-trees, sycamores, and
the tamarisk.
Tlierc is a design at Thebes wliich
represents the funeral procession of
one evidently of rank. 'i'here are
cars covered with palm brandies,
then female mourners, other person-
ages, and next a coHin on a sledgft
decked with flowers.
In another very extensive and
elaborate painting a similar proces-
sion is represented as crossing the
hik^ of ike dead, and going from
thence to the tombs. The first boat
contains coflins decked with flowers;
in another ts a high-priest, who offers
incense before a table of offerings ; an-
other boat conlams fem;Ue mourners,
others male mourners, and others
chairs, boxes, etc.
'• Gardens nrc Trcquently represented
in itic tombs of 7*hcbc9 and other pans
of Egypt, m:iny of which arc roniailcable
for their exicni." ( WiiktHten^
To belter understand an ancient
Egyptian garden, we will first look
at their dwellings. In some few
cities where the size and something
3'6
Flowers.
like a plan can be dtstinguIshL-d, the
streets are seen, some of them wide,
but more ver>' narrow. 'ITicir houses,
garden-walls, public places, all but Uie
temples, were of brick. Tlie plan of Uie
houses was similar to wliat now ]>rc-
vajls in warm climates j the principal
apartmciUs were ranged round a
court-yar<l, with chambers above
them. In this court were a few
trees, some boxes of flowering-plants,
and a reser\oir of water. Their
houses were generally ttiree stories in
height.
" Besides Uicsc lown-houscs, ihc
vrcaliliy KgyplUns had exiensivc Til].is,
conuining S]i.icious gardens, waicrci by
can:ils communicating with the Nile.
Tbtry had also tanks of w,-iter In difTcrcnt
pans of this garden, wliich acivcd for
ornament, and also forirrigaiion when ihc
Nile was low. On these the master of
the place amused himself and friends
bjr excursions in a pleasure-boat."
Such a scene is represented in an
old painting. The company are
seated in the boat under a canopy ;
while slaves, or at least menials,
walk along the bank and drag it after
them, in a way similar to our canal
navigation.
"So fond were the Egyptians of trees
and (lowers, and of gracing tbcir gardens
with all the jirofu^iun that could be ob*
laiiictl. ihiit they exacted a trit>ulc of mro
productions from die nations tributary to
them ; furcigriers from distant countries
arc tci>re*i-nted .is beaiUig plants, among
other |jiescnts,to the Egyptian kirtys."*
To ancient Egypt we are doubt-
less indebted for the invention of
artificial flowers, now so prominent
in female attire. They were made
there first from the papyrus, the
plant of which paper was made.
Some old MTiter relates that, when
AgesDaus was in Egypt, he was so
• Sec mm. Loud. ed. of Sir T. C. Ifklkluon's
charmed with a kind of crowns and
chaplcts which he saw in use there,
fonncd to resemble flowers, that he
carried many of them home with
him to Sparta. They were perhaps
imitated iu Greece and became uni-
versal, yet retained the name of the
inventors; for Pliny says:
" Sic coronis c floribus rcccptis paulA
mox fcibieie quro vucanTur .Cgrpli;i;. ac
deinde bibcrnac, quiim terra t)nri:$ negni,
rameiito c comibus tinclo." — J*{iH. xxi. 3,
Everything that pictures the do-
mestic life of this people has such
great interest that it is dtliicult to
avoid digression. Every record of it
expresses wealth and their peculiar
tastes. Walls are profusely covered
wiili various designs, doors arc stuc-
coed to imitate costly wood, and their
carved chairs have furni>ilied symmet-
rical copies to modem art. Interspers-
ed with these things, we have these
traces of their flowers and gardens — a
story of their rural pleasures in that
day of glor)*, when they built the
pyramids — that day which has do
date ! The hieroglyphics carved in
stone, on iviiicli ihey doubdess se-
curely relied for fame and a name to
the end of lime, yet cover the walls
still standing of their superb temples ;
they are traced on tombs — on urns
— on the rocks which surround cities
—on ihe sarcophr.gi of the dead,
even on the very linen which eniTl-
opes them — but they speak in a lost
language ! We comprehend only
ore brief epitaph — that a numerous
and opulent people have entirely dis-
appeared. ^\
In the middle ages, Egypt wu ^H
still noted for flowers and valuable ^^
aromatic shrubs and herbs. Cyrene
in the north part was remarkable
for the beamy of its adjacent coun-
try, which even then, says a writer.
KRW rRIENns
Enough is not only as good as a
r=ast, it is belter ; and a. little less
than enough is better yet. How
dear is that afiection in which we
have somelhing to forgive ! How
channing is that beauty where the
defects serve as indices to point out
how great the beauty is! How
wholesome is that salt of labor which
gives a taste to leisure ! For since
the time of Kve, the point of perfec-
tion, save with God, has been the
point of decay ; and profuse wealth
has often deprived its possessor of
great riches.
■What we arrive at by this pre-
amble is that the Yorkes had been
unconsciously suffering from the apa-
thy of satisfied wants, and were now
delighted to find that comparative
I>overty brings many a plca:iure in
its tr.iin.
"■ Mamma," Clara exclaimed, " I do
believe there is a certain pleasure in
making the best of things."
It was the morning after their ar-
rival, and ihe young woman was
standing in a chair, driving a nail to
hang on a picture. She had l>cgun
by groaning at sight of the wall, a
white stucco painted over with brown
flower-pots, holding blossoming rose-
ticcs. But the cord of the irame
matched those roses, and in some
unexplained way the picture looked
well oil that background.
Mrs. Yorke, looking on, smiled at
ihe remark. " There is a very cer-
tain pleasure in it, my dear," she
said; '* and I am glad that you have
found it out."
Clara considered, gave the nail
another blow, evened the picture,
and contemplated it with her head
on one side. It was an engraving
of Le Brun's picture of Alexander at
the camp of Darius, '* ilamraa," she
began again, •' I think that Alexan-
der the Great ought to have had an-
other name after the adjective."
" What name, child ?"
" Goose 1 Why didn't he, instead
of crying for more worlds to con-
quer, try to get at the inside of the
one he had conquered the husk of?
Why did not he study botany, ge-
ology, and — poverty ?"
" You are right, Clara," the moth-
er rcplic<I. " Excess is always blind-
in^ Why, we might have our whole
house covered with morning-glories,
yet never see the little silver tree that
stands down in a garden of light at
the bottom of eacli."
Clara clipped her hands with de-
light. " But fancy the house cover-
3tS
The House of Yorke.
ed from lop to bottom with morn-
ing-glories ail in bloom I It would
be magical 1"
" Fancy youreclf railing out of that
chair/' suggested Mrs. Yorlcc.
'lite giri stepped down, and walk-
ed thoughtfully toward the door.
" How odd it is," she said, pausing
on the threshold, and looking back ;
•' I ncverseeone irulh.but immediate-
ly 1 iKTceivc another looking over its
shoulder. And the last is greater
than the first."
" It is perhaps an example of tnilh
whi^li you see at first," Mrs. Yorke
said. " And afterward you perceive
the truth itself."
Clara, went slowly toward the
stairs, and her mother listened after
her, expecting to hear some philoso-
phical remark flung down over the
Iwiliistcrs. Instead of that, she heard
a loud call lo Betsey that the hens
and chickens were all in tlie parlor,
screaim of laughter at the scene of
their violent expulsion, then a clear
lark-song as Clara finished her as-
cent.
XJp-staire, Melicent and Hester
were busy and cheerful, quiet, loo.
till Clara came. She soon created
a breeze, and sounds of eager discus-
sion came down to their mother's
ears. They were laying plans for
the summer. They ivould have com-
pany down from Boston, and, when
winter came, would each in turn visit
the city. They would have more
help in the house ; and, in order to
pay for it, would write for pubhca-
lion. Kvery one else wrote ; why
not they ? Indeed, Melicent had
appeared in print, a friendly editor
ha\nng taken with thanks s^me
sketches she had written between
drive and opera, "What is worth
printing Ls worth paying for," she said
now ; " and 1 shall feel no rtluc-
lancc in announcing that in future
my Pegasus runs for a purse."
Clara had never been before the
public ; but she had reams of paper
written over with stories, poems, plays,
and even sermons. She caught fire at
everything, and, in the first excite-
ment, dashed off some crude compo-
sition, but seldom or never went
over it coolly. Melicent, to whom
alone she showed her proihictions,
had di.scouragcd her. " You are H
Nick Bottom, and insist on doin,
everjiliing," she said. " It is a si
of incompetence." •
Miss Yorke was one of those hy-
jjer-fastidious persons who establisli
a reputation for crilicil ability sim-
ply by finding fault with evcrj-thing,
Clara, on tlic contrary, was suppos-
ed to have a defective taste, because
she was always admiring, and search
ing out hidden beauties.
But now at leaiit Melicent conde-
scended to admit that her sist
might be a!)le to accomplish some-
thing in a small way, and it was
agreed that they should broach the
subject to the assembled family that
very evening.
At this encouragement, Clara re-
joiced. " You .see," she exclaimed,
*' I've been afraid that I might gra-
dually grow into one of those lugu-
brious Dorcises who go round laying
everybody out."
Edith, following her aimt and cou-
sins about, rejoiced in everything. To
her, this house, with its rat-holes and
its dingy paint and pla.ster, was su-
perb. The space, the sunshine, the
air of elegance in spite of defects, lljc
gentle voices and ways, all enchaoteU
her. She found herself at home.
Her own room was the last bubble
on her cup of joy. lliey had given
her the middle chamber over the
front door, with a window opening
out on to the portico, and each
of the family had contributed somtf
article of use or adornment. Mn.
Yorke gave an alabaster statuette
;ni.
jm I
%
The Housi of York
of the Blessed Virgin, Mr. Yorke a
Uouay Itibic, Mcliccnt hung an en-
graWng of the Sistine Madonna
where Kdith's first waking glance
would fall upon it, Clara gave an
olive-wood crucifix from Jerusalem,
with a shell for lioly water, Hester
brought an ivory rosary, and Carl a
missal in Latin and French, which
she must learn to read, he said.
'Iliey covered the floor with a soft
Turkey carpet, set up a little iron
bed, and draped it whilely, ami put
a. crimson valance over the lace cur-
tain of her window. The sisters
worked sweetly and harmoniously
in fitting up this bower for their
young cousin, and were pleased
to see her delight in what to them
were common things. When she
gratefully embraced each one, and
kissed her on both cheeks, they felt
more than repaid. Clara blushed
tip willi pleasure at her cousin's caress.
" Tltc little gypsy has taking ways,"
Carl thought ; and he said, " If you
kiss Clara that way many times, she
will have roses grow in her cheeks."
Then Edith went down-stairs to
lier aunt, and Carl went out to assist
bis fathtT.
Mr. Vorke was no exception to
the general cheerfulness. He found
himself more interested, while plan-
ning his summer's work with Patrick,
than he had ever been while engag-
ed in the finest landscape gartlening,
with an artist at his orders. Early
m llie morning he had captured two
boys who were loitering about, and
they willingly engaged themselves
for the day to pick uj) wheelbarrow
loads of small stones, and throw them
into the mud of the avenue.
*' Mr. Yorke has got himself into
business," Patrick remarked to Carl.
"That avenue has*a wonderful appe-
tite of lis own."
Carl repealed this obse^^•ation to
his father. "And I think Pat iff
right," he added. " See how com-
placently that mud takes in all you
throw to it. It seems to smile over
the last load of pcbhies."
Mr. Yorke put up his eye-glasses.
He always did that when he wished
to intensify a remark or a glance.
" 1 intend to make these avenues
solid, if I have to upset the whole
estate into them," he remarked.
Mrs. Yorke sat in a front window
holding an embroidery-frame, and
Edith occupied a stool at her feci.
The child had told all her story;
her recollections of her mother, her
life with the Rowans, of Captain
Cary, and her ring. But of Mr.
Rowan's burial she sniJ nothing.
That was to remain a secret with
those who had as-sisted.
When Mrs, Yorke occasionally
dropped her work, and sat looking
out at her husband and son, Edith
caressed the hand lying idly on that
glowing wool, and held her own slen-
der brown fingers beside those fair
ones, for a contrast. She could not
enough admire her auni'fi snowdrop
delicacy, rich hair, ami soft eyes.
Mr. Vorke was too much engross-
ed to notice his wife ; but Carl look-
ed up now and then for a glance and
smile.
" Do you recollect annhing that
happened when you were a little
girl. Aunt .\my ?" Edilh asked.
The la<Iy smiled and sighed in the
same breaih. " I was this moment
thinking of a tea-parly I had on that
large rock you can just sec at the
right. I had heard my father read
MuUummer'Nx^^hVs Dream, and my
fancy was ciprivatcd by it. So I in-
vited Titania, Obcron, and all the
fairies, and they came. It was an
enchanting banquet. The plates
were acom-cups, the knives and
forks were pine-needles, the cakes
were white pebbles, and we drank
drops of dew out of moss vases,"
320
The House of Yorke.
.
" I've read that play too," Edith
said brightly. " Mr. Kowan had it.
Anil I read about Ariel. But I
didn't like Caliban nor JJotlora, and
I think i{ was a shatnc to i:hcat Tt-
tania so. Do you remember any-
thing else ?"
*' Yes. When I was five or six
years old, my father brought home a
new map of the Stale of Maine, and
hunij; it on that tvali op|tosite. Jt
was bright and shiniiij^, and had
Uic name in grciXt letters across the
whole. My father held me up be-
fore it in his armK, and Siaid I should
have a silver quarter if I would lell
him wh.it the great Idlers spelt.
Hoiv 1 tried I not so ruueh for the
silver, though I wantc<I it, as for the
honor of success, and to please my
father. But I couldn't make less
than two syllables of iL To me
M, A, I, N, E, spelt Maine. Uut
my father gave me the quarter. I sup-
pose he thought that the language,
and not I, was at fault."
" I dou't sec why letters should be
put into words when they arc not
needed! there," Kdith remarked. '* I
would like to have them left out. It
makes a bother, and takes lime."
The child did not know that she
was uttering revolutionary seniiments,
and that the reddest of red republi-
canism huked in her speech.
Mrs. Yorke mused over her em-
broidery, set a golden stitch in a vio-
let, drew it too tightly, and had lo
loosen it.
'* Oh I" Edith exclaimed, her mc-
raor}-catchingonttiatthrc.\d. '* That
makes me recollect that I knit a
tight strip into the heel of Mr. Row-
an's stocking, and I can see just how
it looked. But I didn't know it
then."
There was a sound of wheels, and
Mrs. Yorke looked up lo sec a car-
riage drawn by a pair of greys com-
ing up the avenue. Major Cleave-
land had lost no time in calling on
his neighbors.
Mr. Yorke went down to meet his
vi.silor, the roa<l beiitg too peniten-
tial for Iravcl, and the two walked up
together. 'I'hey had known each
other by sight in Boston, where the
major spent his winters, but had no
farther acquaintance. Now they met
cordially, and stood a while talking
in the i>orrico before going in to see
the ladies. Major Cleavclatid was
fresh-taced, pleasant - looking, and
rather pompous im manner. A deep
crape on his hat proclaimed him a
widower. Indeed, Mrs. Cleaveland
had not long survived young Mrs^
Vorkc, and the two had, ere this, let
us ho|je, amicably settled the ques-
tion of precedence.
The visit was an agreeable one to
all, though it was evident that the
visitor felt more at ease wiUi the ladies
th.in with his host. \\c was slightly
disconcerted by Mr. York's piercing
eyes, aquiline nose, and emphatic
mode of speech, and on the whole
found him rather too dominant in
manner. It appeared that there
were to be two lords in Scalon in-
stead of one.
\?c doubt if the most ami.ible of
Bcng.ll lions would be altogetlier
pleased at seeing his proper jungle
invaded by even the politest of Nu-
bian lions; and wc may be pretty
sure that the lioness would hear in
private more than one remark deiri-
mental to the dignity of that odious
black monster wilh liis dciicrl man-
ners. And in return, it is not unlike-
ly that the African dcscrt-king might
siiccr at his tawny brother as rather
an efieminate creature, li is not the
lionesses alone who have rivalries.
Certain it is that, when Major
Cleaveland had gone, and the ladia
chose to praise him very highly,
Melicent pronouncing him lo be a
superior person, Mr, Yorke saw fit
The House of Yorhe.
32t
to greet the remark with one of his
Diost disagreeable smiles.
" Don't you think so, papa ?" asks
Melicent.
" He Ikus intellectual tastes, but no
intellectual power," answered " pa-
pa " most decidedly. " He has glim-
merings."
But forali thai, the call was a pleas-
ant one, the gentleman lingering half
an hour, and then going with reluc-
tance. Tliepresenceon-ldith hadcau<^
f<l hini a momentary embarrassment,
lie was not sure that it would be
delicate to remember having ever
seen her before, and yet her smiling
eyes scctiied to expect a recognition.
IJut Mrs. Yorkc brought her forward
immediately. '* Edith tells me you
arc an acquaintance," she said, " and
that you have been very kind tu her."
Before going, Major Cleaveland
placed his pews in the meeting-house
at theifdisposal, and offered to send
a carriage for them the next morn-
ing- " 1 have two of the best pews
in Dr. Martin's church," he said, '• ami
Mnce my boys went away to school,
there has been no one but myself to
occupy them. There is room in
eacli for six persons; and I sit in one,
and put my hat in the other. Of
course, we look like two oases in a
red velvet desert. Do come, ladies,
and make a garden of the place."
They tU went out lo the portico
with him when he took leave, and
h*e went away chamietl with their
cordialit)-, and R-ith several new ideas
in his mind. One of the first effects
o( this enlighlcninent was that the
major appeared at mccliug the next
day without a crape on his hat
It was a fatiguing day, thai Satur-
day ; but at sunset their labors were
over, all but arranging the books.
The boxes conLiining these Mr. Vorke
bad brought into the sitling-room
after tea, and the young people as-
sisted him. He classified his library
VOL. XIII. — 21
in a way of his own. Metaphysical
works he placed over science, since
" metaphysics is only physics ether-
ized," he said. One shelf, named the
Beehive, was filled with epigrams and
satires. History and fiction were indis-
criminately mingled. Mr. Yorke
liked to quote Fielding — "pages
which some droll anthors have been
facetiously pleased lo call the Justory
of England."
" There are certain time-honored
lies which every intelligent and well-
informed* person is expected to be
familiar with," he said. '* Not to
know Hume, De I-oe, Fox, Cervantes,
Froude, Lc Sage, etc., argues one's
self unknown."
In a comer of the case was the
Olympus where Mr. Yorke's especial
intellectual favorites were placed- —
among them Boliugbrokc, Carlylc,
Emerson, and Theodore Parker.
" They are fine pagans," he said of
the two last.
Mrs. Y'orke mused in the chimney-
corner, her head resting on her hand,
the smouldering fire throwing a faint
glow up in her face. Edith sat by
a table looking over William Blake's
illustrations of Blair's Grave — a set
of jjlates that had just been sent
them from England. The daughters
took books from the boxes, and call-
ed their names ; Cail, mounted on
steps, placed the upjier ones; and
Mr. Yorke did cvcrj'thing they did,
and more. He scolded, ordered,
commented, and now and then open-
ed a book lo read a passage, or give
an opinion of the author.
" Don't put Robert Browning be-
side Crashaw I" he cried out. " You
mighr as well put Lucifer beside St.
John.
" Uliy, I thought you admired
Browning, papa," Melicent saiil.
"So I do; but half his lustre is
phosphorescent. It is a spiritual de-
cay, aiid the lightnings of a superb
332
The Hotise of Yorhe.
mind. But Crashaw is an angel.
Edith must read him."
Looking al such a libran,-, a Catho-
lic remembers well that the serpent
still coils about the tree of know-
ledge, hisses in the rusthng of it, and
poisons many a blossom with his
bfeatli. .Worse )'ct, though the an-
jtidolc is near, few or none take it.
^Those for whom slanders against the
church are written, never read the
rerutation. How many who read in
Motley's Dutch Republic that absolu-
tions were sold in Germany at so
many ducats for each crime, the
most horrible crimes, either commit-
ted or to be committoJ, having an
easy price — how many of those rea-
ders ask if it be true, or glance at a
lipage which dispro\'es the slander ?
Who on reading Prcscolt looks to
the other side to see exposed his in-
sinuritions, his false dettuctions from
tnie fans ? How many of those
countless thousands who have been
nurtured on the calumnies of Peter
Parley, draM'ing them in from their
earliest childhood, have ever read a
page on which his condemnation is
written ? And later, in the periodi-
cal literature of the day, with a lliou-
sand kindrc<I attacks, how many of
those who, within a few months,
have read in the AUantk Monthly
,Mrs. Child's impertinent article on
^Catholicism and Buddhism, stopped
to see tliat her argument, such as it
'Tvas, was directed less ag.iinst the
church than against Christianity it-
self? or looked in Marshall's Chrii-
tian Miishns to find that the resem-
blance is simply a reflection of the
early labors of the only mwsionaries
who have ever influence*! Asia — the
faint echoes of " the voice of one
crying in the wilderness " ?
But it is vain to multiply names.
*• Tlie trail of the serpent is over
Ihem all."
JThc books in their places, Mr.
Yorkc seated himself to look over a
casket of precious coins and rings.
** Wouldn't you think that papa was
dreaming over some old love-token
of his boyhood ?" whispered Clara
to her brother.
Her father had fallen into a dream
over an old ring with a Latin posy
in it ; and what he saw was tliis: a
blue sky. jewcl-bhie, over Florence,
in whose air, says V'asari, " lies an
immense stimulus to aspire after
fame and honor." He saw a superb
garden, peopled with sculptured
forms, and three men standing before
an antique marble. It is Hertoldo,
Donatello's pupil, young Michael
Angelo, and Lorenzo the Magnifi-
cent, the glory of Florence, whose
face all the people and all the chil-
dren love; and they are walking in
the gardens of San Marco, the art-
treasury of the Medici. Farther off,
moving slowly under the trees, with
his hands behind his back, and his
eagle face bent in thought, is the
learned and elegant Poliziano. Sud-
denly he pauses, a smile flashes
across his face, he brings his hands
forward to clap them together, and
goes to meet the lliree who have re-
spected his seclusion. " How now,
I'olixiaTio," laughs the duke, " do we
not deserve to hear the result of
those musings which we were so
careful not to intrude upon ?" Aiid
the scholar, whose epigrams no less
than his Greek and his translations
are the pride of the court, bows
lowly, and repeats the very posy en-
graved on this ring over which Mr.
Yorke now dreams in the nineteenth
centurj', in the woods of Maine, in
April weather.
The bright Italian picture faded.
Mr. Yorke sighed and put the magi-
cal ring away, and took up a volume
of Vniemain's HisttHn de la Littht^
tttre Franfaiscy turning the leaves
idly.
I nlip
P^'
Melicent made a slight movement^
and beggcil to be heard. " We girls
have beeu talking matters over to-
day," she said, " and would like to
submit our plans to you. ^Vc have
divided the house-work into three
parts, which we take in rotation. One
is to be lady's-maid and companion
for mamma, another is to make the
beds ajjd dus: all the rooms, and the
third will set the table, wash the
china and silver, and trim the
lamps."
Mr. Yorkc looked up quickly as
his daughter began, but immediately
dropped his eyes again, and sat with
a flushed face, frowning Uightly. It
was hid ^t intimation tliat his daugh-
ters had Dot only lost society and
luxury, but tliat their personal ease
was gone. They would have to per-
form menial labors.
" I tliink your arrangement a very
d one, Melicent," Mrs. Yorkc re-
plied tranquilly. She had all the
tunc seen tlie necessity. " But the
post of lady's-maid will be a sinecure.
Howe^'cr, let it stay. It will be a
liine of leisure for each."
" Cannot Betsey do the work ?"
Mr. Yorke asked sharply.
"Why, papa!" Clara cried out,
" Betsey can scarcely sp.irc time out
of the kitchen to do Ihc sweeping.
When wc come to making butter, we
girls will have to help in the fine
iioning,"
**I can chural" Mr. Yorke ex-
imed desijerately.
'• My dear :" cipostulfiled his wife.
" 1 churned once when I was a
boy," he protested; "and the butler
came."
They all laughed, except Hester,
wlio aiFeclionately embraced her fa-
ther's arm. *' \Vhy shouldn't the
butler come when you chum, dear
papa ?" she saked.
"You must have been in very
good humor, sir," said Carl slily.
•• We don't mean to do this sort
of work long," Melicent resumed.
" There is no merit in doing servile
work, if one can do belter, (.lara
and I will write, and so pay for ex-
tra help, i think " — very indulgently
— " that, with practice, Gara may
make something of a writer. I sh.ill
write a volume of European travels.
On the whole, looking at our revers-
es in this light, they seem fortunate.
Living here in cjuict, wc can accom-
plish a literary labor for which we
should never otherwise have found
lime."
"That is Uue," Mr. Yorke said;
but his look was doubtful and trou-
bled. "Still, Melicent, I would not
have you too coufidcnL 1 would
advise you to iry a story. It would
be more likely to sell. Europe r/-
chauffU has become a drug in the
market, and our experiences abroad
were pretty much what those of oth-
ers are. A vagabond advemurer
would have a much better chance of
catching public attention."
Editli gaxed iu awe at her com-
panions. She was in the midst of
people who made books! She saw
them (ace to face. So might pretty
Psyche have gaxed when lirst her
husband's celestial relatives received
her, when she saw Juno among her
peacocks. Miucn,'a laying aside her
helmet, Hebe pouring nectar. Tliis,
then, is Olympus I
" If you write a story, do lake one
suggestion from tne, Melicent," Carl
said. " Pray give your hero and
heroine brushes to dress their hair
witli. Have you observed that even
the 6nest characters in books have
to use a broom ? The hair is always
sw€pt back."
Miss Yorke did not notice this
triviality. She was looking rather
displeased.
" I don't want to discourage you,
d&ughter," her father went on. " Bui
The House of Yorkc.
yon must recollect that it is one
thing to give a sketch to an editor,
who is a friend, and dines wich you,
and another thing to offer him a
book, which he is expected to pay
for. Then he must look to the m:ir-
Itct and his reputation. Some of the
finest writers in the world have dc-
.•;cribeil these very scenes which you
would describe. Can you tell more
of Rome than Madame de Stael has ?
or paint a more enchanting picture
of Capri than that of Hans Ander-
sen ? If not, you run the risk of
reminding your reader of Sidney
Smith's reply to the dull tourist who
held out his walking-stick, boasting
that it had been round the world.
*Yes; and still it is a stick!' says
Sidney."
Miss Yotke held her head very
high, and her color deepened. " I
will then put my Ms. into the fire,"
kIic said in a quiet tone, casting her
eyes clown.
Her father gave an impatient shrug.
*' Not at all !" he replied. " But you
will take advice, and try to think
that you are not above criticism."
" Clara has an idea," Carl inter-
posed. He bad been bending over
some papers with his younger sister.
" She also turns to travels, but very
modestly. She calls ihcm gleanings,
and her motto is from i->e Quinrcy :
* Not the flowers are for the pole,
but the pole is for the fiowers.' Here
is the preface. Shall I read it ?"
" Oh I I am afraid of papa !" Cla-
ra cried, blushing very much. Rut
Mr. Yorfce, who only now learned
that his second daughter was also a
scribbler, laughingly promised to be
lenient; and she suffered herself to
be persuaded, 'lliey all looked kind-
ly on her, even Mclicent, in spite of
her own mortification; and Carl
read:
" I do not presume to write a vol-
ume descriptive of European travel.
osel^l
to a^i
Many, great and small, have been in
that field, some reaping wheat, o
ers binding up tares. These leav
are offered by one who gathered
few nodding things which no o
valued, .seeing tliem thcTC, but whic
some one may, if fortune favor, smil
at, since they grew there. One su
might say : You're but a weed ; bu
you grew in a chink of crumblin
histor}'; I know where, for 1 measui
ed the arch, and sketched the colo
nadc. And I recognize the gre
leaves of you, and the silver thrca
of a root, with a s[>cr.k of rich ol
.soil clinging yet. And, h fro^s, I
S.1W there a child asleep in the shade,
with a group of spotted yellow lilies
standing guard, as if they had sprun
up since, and because she had cl
her eyes, and might change to a
group of tigers if you should go too
near. She had long eyelashes, and
she smiled in her sleep.
" 1 do not claim to be an artist, O
travelled reader! but I stretch a hani
to touch the artist in you."
" That isn't bad," Mr. Yorke sai
immediately. " And your motto
very pretty. I am glad to have yoi
familiarwith De Quincey. He is g
company. He is a man who docs
not overlook delicate hints, and he
resi>ectful and just to children. H
annoys me sometimes by a weak
irony, and by exphnining too much ;
but, 1 repeat, he is good com])any.*'
Immediately Clara passed from
the deeps lo the heights. Her bosom
heaved, her' eyes fiashed. She fell
herself famous.
*' Now let lis hear a chapter of the
gleanings," said her fatlier.
'* >Vliy, 1 haven't written anything
but the preface," Clara was forced
to acknowledge.
Mr. Yorke smiled satirically. Clara
was notable in tlic family for making
great beginnings which came to n
thing.
The House of Yorhe.
•* But I have other things finished,"
she said eagerly, and brought out a
pucui. All her ft-ars were gone.
She was full of cunfidcncc tn her-
Wc spare the reader a transcrip-
tion of this production. Mcphisto-
pheles had a good deal to do n-iUi
it, and it was probably written during
some midnight ecstasy, when the
, young woman had been reading
Faust. It was meant to be very
fearful ;■ and as the authoress read it
herself, all the terrible passages were
rendered with emphasis.
Mrs. Yorkc listened with a doubt-
[.ful face. The reading was quite out
of her gentle mental sphere; and
Cari's hand shaded his eyes, which
j-]tad a habit of laughing when his
[•Jips did not. Mr. Vorkc, with his
l^iuouth very much down at the cor-
[jiers, his eyes very much cast clown,
and his eyebrows very much raised,
glanced over a |>age of the book in
his hand.
" 1 clunced to-night across the
[first touch of humor I have seen in
'Villeniain," he said. "He quotes
ICr^billon: ' CornfilU h pris U <iel,
iarine /a Une ; il ne nu rcsiait plui
\S"' CcJ^r. ye tiCy suis jciU a iarps
Vpcnbi.' * MaiAcureusemenl,' says Vil-
lemain, * maihcui-eusimint ii liesi pas
»ssi infenial gu'U h croit"
Without raising his face. Mr. Yorke
[lilted hb eyes, and shut at the poetess
glance over his glasses.
Instantly her face became suffused
^wiih blushes, and her eyes with
Mrs. Yorkc sjiokc hastily. " I am
sure, [Kipa, the dear girls descr^'c
^<very encouragement for iheir inten-
tions and efforu. I am grateful and
happy to sec how nobly tlicy arc
taking our troubles ; and I cannot
doubt that, with iheir talenLs and
jood-will. ihey will accomplish some-
thing. But it is too late to talk more
about it to-nighL You must be
tired, and my head is as heavy as
a poppy. Shall we have prayers ?"
She rose in speaking, went to the
table, and, standing between her two
elder daughters, with an arm touud
the neck of each, kissed them IkiiIj,
tears standing in her eyes. " If you
never succeed in winning fame, my
dears," she said, " I shall sUIl be
proud and fond of you. Your sweet,
liclpful spirit is better than many
books."
The Yorkcs had never given up,
though they had often interrupted,
the habit of family devotion. Now
it was tacitly unden>tood that the
custom should be a regular one. So
Hester brought the Bible and pray-
er-book, and placed them before her
fattier, and her sisters folded their
hands to listen.
" I think we should have Betsey
in," Mrs. Yorke said; and Melicent
went to ask her.
Betsey and Patrick were seated at
opposite sides of a table drawn up
before the kitchen fireplace, where a
hard-wood knot burned in a spot of
red gold. One of the windows was
open, and through it came a noise
of full brooks hurrying seaward, and
a buzzing, as of many bec!4, that
came from the saw-mills on the river.
Uetsoy was darning stockings, and
Pat reading the P'dot.
" VVc are to have prayers now/'
Melicent said, standing in (he door.
•• Will you come in, Betsey ?"
Betsey slowly rolled up the stock-
ing, and stabbed the darning-needle
into the ball of yam. " Well, I
don't care if I do," she answered
moderately. "It can't do me no
great harm."
Melicent gave her a look of sur-
prise, and returned to the sitting-
room, leaving the doors ajar.
" Come, Pal," said Betsey, " put
away that old Catliolic paper, and
^
come in and hear the Gospel read.
I don't believe you ever heard a
chapter of it in your life."
" No more did St. Peter nor St.
Paul," answered Patrick, without
lifting his eyes from ihe paper. He
had been reading over and over one
little item of news from County Sli-
go, where be was born. The old
priest who had baptized him was
dead ; ami with the news of his
death, and the descriplion of his fu-
neral, how many a scene of the past
came up ! He was in Ireland ag.iin,
poor, but careless and liappy. His
father and mother, now old and lone-
ly in thai far land, were still young,
and all their children were about
Ihem. The priest, a man in his
prime, stood at their cottage door,
with his hand on little Norah's head.
They all smiled, and Norah cast her
bashful eyes down. Now the priest
was white-haired, and dead, and little
Norah had gromi lo be a careworn
mother of many children. The man
was in no mood to henr taunts.
Read the Gospel ? Wiy, it was like
reading a gospel to look back on
that group ; for they were true to
the Ciitli, and poor for the faith's
sake, and the)' had lived pure lives
for Christ's love, and those who had
died had died in the Lord.
" But Peler and Paul wrote," an-
swered Betsey. " And what they
wrote is the law of God. You'll
never be saved unless you read it."
" Many a one will be damned who
does read ill" retorted Patrick wTath-
fully. " What's the use of reading
ft law-book, if you don't keep the
law?"
" Oh 1 if you're going to swear,
111 go," Betsey repHed widi dignity,
and went. But she look care to
leave the doors .ijar behind her.
It was true, Patrirk did not read
the Bible much ; but he knew the
Gospels and Psalms in the prayer-
book, and was as familiar with
truths of Scripture as many a Bible
studcnL Bui he had heard it so be-
quotcd by tliose who were to him
not much better than heathen, and
so made a bone of contention by
snarling theologians, that he did not
much c^rc'to read the book itself.
He could not now avoid hearing it
read without leaving the room ; and
he would not have had them hear
him show ihat disrespect to them.
Mr. YorJce's voice liad a certai
bitter, rasping; quality, which, witl
his fine enunciation, was very effi
tivc in some kinds of reading. I
the sacred Scriptures it gave an i
pression of grandeur and sublimi
Patrick dropped his paper, and lis-
tened to the story of the martyrdom
of St. Stephen. Me knew it well,
but seemed now to hear it for the
first lime. He saw no book, he
heard a voice telling how the martyr
stood before his accusers, with " his
face as the face of an ar.gel,' and
flung back their accusaiion upon
themselves, till " they were t-ut
the heart," and " gnashed with thei
teeth at him."
"Faith!" he muttcre I '.-rut^dl
" but he had them there f
.'Vs Mr. Yorke went t.n with the
story^ and the saint, looking s*ead-
fastly upward, declared that he saw
the heavens open, and the Son of
Man standing at the right hand of
God, Patrick rose imconsciously to
his feet, and blessed himself. To his
pure faith and unhackneyed imagina*,
tion the scene was vividly clear. }
heard the outcry of the muttiiud
saw them nish upon their victimT
drive him out of the city and itont
him, till he fell asleep in the Lord.
'And a young man named Saul
was consenting to his death,' "sa:
the voice.
''Glory be to God!" exclaimed
Patrick, taking breath.
The House of Yorke,
337
The prayer tliat followed grated
on his feelings. The reader lost his
fire, and, merely got through this part
of the exercises. Evidently, Mr.
Yorke did not bcheve that he was
praying. Neillier did Patrick believe
that he was.
The next inoniing Major Cleave-
land's carriaKC c;idic lo take them to
what they called church. McUcent
and Clnra had already set out to
walk. Qtrl stayed at home with
Edith, and only Mr. and Mrs. Yorke
and Hwler drove. They overtook
the others at the steps of the ineet-
ing-house, and found Major Cleave-
land waiting m the porch for them.
Mrs. Yorke was one of those sweet,
unreasoning souls who fancy litem-
selves Protestant because they were
born and trained to be called 50,
but who yicld.as unquestioning an
obedience to their spiritual teachers
as any Catholic in the world. She
unconsciously obeyed the recommen-
dation, " Don't be consistent, but be
simply true." Absurdly illogical in
her theology, she followed unerring-
ly, as far as she knew, her instincts
of worship, md the opinions that
grew naturally from them. It would
be hard to clefine what her husband
thought and believed of Dr. Martin's
sermon. He did not f\x\d it ajfeast
of reason, certainly; but he swal-
lowed It from a grim sense of duty,
though with rather a wry face. 'J'he
young ladies knew about as much of
tlicoiogy as Protestant ladies usually
do, and that is — nothing. They left
it all to the mini.ucr; and, provided
he did not require them to believe
anything disagreeable, were quite sa-
tishcd with him.
Coming home, they entertained
their brother with a laughing account
of their experience. "ITie major had
escorted Mcliteiit lo her seat, to tJie
great nmusemcnt of the two sisters
following. Kor Miss Yorke, sublime-
ly conscious of herself, and that tliey
were tlie obscr\'ed of ail obser^'ers,
had walked with a measured tread,
utterly irrespective of her companion ;
and the major, equally impi-rtant,
and slightly confused by his hospita-
ble cares, had neglected to modify
his usual short, quick steps. The re-
sult was, as Clara said, that *' they
chopped up ttie aisle in different me-
tres," thus oversetting the gravity of
the younger damsels foUovving. 'I'hen
their minds bad bcx'n kept on the
rack by an old gentleman in tlic
pew in front of them, who went to
sleep several times, following the cus-
tomary programme : first u vacant
stare, then a drooping of tlie eyelids,
tben a shutting of them, then seve-
ral low bows, fmally a sharj'. s^hort
nod that threatened to snap his head
ofl", followed by a start, and a man-
ner that resentfully repudiated ever
having been asleep.
" i*oor old gentleman !" Mrs. Yorke
said. " The day was warm, and Dr.
Martin's voice lulling. How could
he help it ?"
" Hut, mamma," Clara answered,
" he could have pinched himself; or
I would have pinched him cheerful-
ly."
. A good many people called on
Uieia that week, and the family were
sur(:rised to find among Oicm persons
of cultivated minds. Beginning by
wondering what they were to talk
.ibout with these people, they fotmd
that they had to talk their best.
They had made the mistake often
made by city people, taking for gratil-
cd that the finest and most cultivated
minds arc to be found in town. They
forgot that city life fritters aw.iy the
time and attention by a ihotisand
varied and trivial distractions, so that
deep thought and study become al-
most impossible. They neglect to
observe that cities would degenerate
if they ivcie not constantly supplied
J
with fresh life from the country ;
that ihe fathers that achieve are fol-
lowed by the sons that dawdlcj that
the artist gives birth to the dilettante.
'Tis the country that nursra the tree
which bears i« fniit in the city. But,
also, tlie country often hides its treas-
ures, and the poet's fancy of " mute,
iDglorious Miltons" is as true as it
is poetical.
In the country painling and sculp-
ture and architecture are, it is true,
only guessed at ; but they have na-
ture, which, as Sir "ITioinas Tlrowne
says, " is the art of God ;" an<I books
arc appreciated there as nowhere
else. The country reader dives like
a bee into the poet's verse, and lin-
gers to suck up all its sweetness ; the
city readerskims it like abuttertly. In
the country the thinker's best thought
is weigher!, and pondered, and nich-
ed; in the city it is glanced at, ajid
dismi<»ed. In those retired nooks are
women who quote Shakespeare over
thdr wash-tubs, and read the English
classics after ihc cows are milked,
while their city sisters ponder the
fashions, or listen to some third-rate
lecturer, whose only good thought is,
perhaps, a borrowed thought.
Still, alt honor to that strong, swift
life which grinds a man as under a
milUtonc, and proves what is in
him ; which sharpens his sluggishness,
breaks the gauie wings of him, and
forces him out of a coterie and into
humanity.
One day Dr. Martin called. Mrs.
Yorke and her daughters, with Carl,
were out searching for May-flowers,
and there was no one at home to re-
ceive him but Mr. Yorke and Edith.
Dr. Martin and the child met with
great coIdncs<!, and instantly separat-
ed ; but the two gentlemen kept up a
convers-ition. though neither wxs quite
at his e.ise. They ncc<lcd a gentler
companionship to bring them togetli-
cr. T)ic minister was a man of good
mind and education, and a kind heart'j
but his prejudices were strong
bitter, and the presence of that little''
" papist " disconcerted him. He
soon took occasion, in answer to
Mr. Yorke's civil inquiries respecting
the churches in Beaton, to give ex-
pression to this feelings.
*• We have, of course, a goofl manyi
papists, but all of the lowest class,"
he said; *' I have tried to do som<
thing for them : but they are so ignt
rant, ami so enslaved by their pricstsy
that it is impossible to induce them
to listen to the Gos^wl."
Mr. Yorke drew himself up.
" Perhaps you are not aware that
my niece. Miss Kdith Yorke, is a
Catholic," he said in his stateliest
manner.
Kdiih, stinding in a window nearr^j
had not matle a sound ; but she look-'
ed at the minister, and fired at him
two shots out of her two eyes. He
in turn raised himself with an offend-
ed air .It Mr. Yorke's reproof.
" I was certainly not aware that
your sympathies were with the pa-
pists, sir." he said.
" Neither are they." was the cold
reply. " But I profess to be a gen-
tleman, and I try to be a Christian.
One of my principles is never to in-
suit the religious beliefs of another."
" liut," objected the minister, stiHing
his anger, "if you never attack their
errors, you lose the chance of enhght-
ening them."
" Doctor," Mr. Yorke said with a
slight laugh, "I don't believe yon
can ever enlighten a m.-m's mind by
pounding a hole in his head."
And so they dropped that part ofthe
subject. But Mr. Vorke thought it
best to define his own position, and
thus prevent future mistakes.
" 1 believe in God." he said. •* A
man is a fool who does not And
I believe that the Bible wa.s writtcra
by men insnired by him. But thers
The House of Yorke.
329
u no one thing in it for the truth of
which I would answer with my life.
It is the old fable of the divinity vis-
iting earth wrapped in a cloud.
SomewhtTc hidden in the Bible is
the truth, but I see it as in a glass
darkly. I think as little about it as
possible. 'I"o study would be to en-
tangle myself in a la^Tinth. It is
natural and necessar>' for man to wor-
ship ; but it is neither natuml nor
reasonable fur him to compre-
hend what he worships. To take
in the divine, your brain must
crack."
The minister perceived that argu-
ment was useless, and shortly after
took leave.
CHAPTER VI.
■OADtCBA.
Within a few weeks came a letter
from Mrs. Rowan to Edith. It Is
not natural for people to write in
their own way — that comes with edu-
cation and practice ; but this letter
brcatlied the writer's very self, It
radiated a timid distress. She had
surprising news lo tell. Instead of
being in a tenement of her own,
among plain i>eople whom she would
feel at ease with, she was installed as
housekeeper in what seemed to her
a very magnificent establishment.
Mr. Williams, her employer, was an
importing merchant, uiul his family
consisted of a daughter, eighteen
years of age, and an, awful sister-in-
law who lived in tlie next street, but
visited his house at all hours of day
or evening, superintending minutely
his domestic arrangements. This
gentleman knew Major Clcavcland
well, and had for many years had
business relations with Captain Cary.
Indeed, it was their sailor friend who
had procured (he situation for her,
and insisted on her taking it. She
had refused as long as she could,
but Dick himself joining against her,
she had finally yielded. Mr. Wil-
liams wus very kind. He had assur-
ed her that he did not want a city
boasekeeper, but some quiet, honest
countrywoman to be in the hou.se
with his daughter, and see that the
servants did not rob him.
At the conclusion of this letter,
Mrs. Rowan added that Dick sent
his respects, at which Edith's heart
.sank with disappointment. Wlicrc
was the hearty affection, tlic eager
remembrance she had looked for ?
The child would have been less
indignant had she known what pains
Dick was really taking for her sake,
lie had searched out, and borrowed
or bought all the j)rinted correspon-
dence of famous letter- writers that
were to be had for love or monej*,
and was studying them as models.
He had also invested extravagantly
in stationer)', and was striving to
bend his clear, clerkly penmanship
to something more elegant and gen-
tlemanlike. Even while she was ac-
cusing him of forget fulness, he was
carefully copying his tcntli letter to
her.
But still, Edith was not lo blame,
though she was mistaken. Affection
has no right to be silent.
After a few days, however, came
his farewell before sailing for the
East. Over this note, Edith shed
bitter tears, as much for the manner
•IS for the matter of it. I-or Dick,
with an eye to Mrs, Yorke as a read-
er, had composed a very dignified
cpisUc alter the manner of Doctor
Johnson. Poor Dick I who could
have written the most eloquent
letter in the world, if he liad
330
The House of Vorie.
^
II
^^ xvo
poured his heart out freely and sim-
ply-
Thi: child had scant time allowed
her for mouniing, for her studies be-
gan immedi.iicly. The family were
all her teachers, and she began at
once with music and languages. The
common branches were taught indi-
rectly. Geography she learned by
looking out on the maps places men-
tioned in their reading or conversa-
tion. History she learned chiefly
through biography. For arithmetic,
some one gave her every day a prob-
lem to solve. She added up house-
hold expenses, measured tnnd, laid out
garden-beds, weighed and measured
for cooking. Her study was all liv-
ing : not a dead fact got into her
mind. She read a great deal besides,
travels, all that she could find relat-
ing to the sea, and poetry. As her
mind became inlcrcstcd, she settled
once more into harmony with her-
self, and her feelings grew quiet.
The impression left by Dick's strange
behavior after their parting faded
away, and she remembered only his
last fervent protestation ; " 1*11 climb,
Kdith, I'll climb!" How it was to
be, and what it really meant, she
knew not ; but the old faith in him
came back. " What Uick said he'd
do. he always did."
She associated him with all she
read or heard of foreign lands and
waters, lie had sailed through phos-
phorescent seas by night, under wide-
eyed stars, while the waves tossed in
fire from his prow, and trailed in fire
in his wake. He had lain in the
warm southern ocean, where the tides
are born, had held his breath during
that pause when all the waters of
the earth hang balanced, and swung
his cap as he felt the first soft pulse
of the infant tidal wave that was to
grow till its rim shouU! cast a wreath
of foam on every shore from the
North I'olc to the South. Palms and
the bauyan-tree, pines almost huge
enough to tip tlie earth over, each in
turn had shaded his head. His ven-
turesome feet had trod tlie desert
and the jungle. Jews and Mosleni^^
had looked after him as he sauntere^H
llirough tlicir crowded bajmars — th^^
bright-eyed, laughing sailor-boy !
Norsemen had smiled as they sai
his hair blown back and his face kii
died by the tempest. It was aiwajs
Dick to the fore of everything.
On one of those spring morniDga,
Carl, wandering through the woodsi,
came out into the road in front of
an old school-house that stood at
the e<lgc of the village. The do( »
was open, and showed a crowd oti^|
children at their studies inside. O*^^
the green in front of ihe door lay a
log, and on the log' sal a deplorable-
looking little man. He was neither
young nor old, but seemed to bo^H
stranded on some bleak age whic^^l
time had forgotten. His clothes
were gentlemen's clothes cut down
and patched. A hat that was loo
large for him reached from his ft
head to his neck. It was not c
cd, but it w-Ts shabby, and droo
sorrowfully in the brim. His h
was tliin and long, and patted dowi
Tears rolled over his miserable fiii
as he sat and looked in at the chii-
dren saying their lessons in a Ion,
class. He did not cover his face i:
weeping, but lifted his eyebrows, wi;
ed the tears occasionally, and o
tinued to gaze.
Carl was one of the last perso
in the world to intrude on anoth
or allow any intrusion on himseH
but after a moment's hefiit.ition he
ventured to approach this pitiful
tittle tigure, and ask what ailed him.
The man showed no surjirise on
being addressed, but potired out hn
grief at once. His name was Jo-
seph Patten, he was jKior and had ft
lai^e family^ and was obliged to »■
1
Tfte House of Yorkc.
^^r
ceive town help. As a condition of
that help, he must give up one of
his cliildrcii to be bound out to
work, or adopted into a family. The
parents were allowed to choose which
child they would part with, and
" Joe," as he was called by ever>'bo-
dy, was now trying to make up his
mind. His siory was told in a
whimpering voice, and with many
tears, and the listener was quite as
mucli provoked to laugh as tu weep.
" It isn't easy to part with your
own flesh and blood, sir," said Joe.
" There's Sally, my oldest girl, nam-
ed for her inann. She hclfw about
tiic house. My wife couldn't get
along without Sally. The next one
lis Joseph. He's named for me ; and
fl don't want to give up tlie child
that's named for myself, sir. Then
'John, he's got the rickets, and is used
10 be fed and taken rare of. You
couldn't expect a man to send away
a child that's got the rickets, and let
him drop all his food before he gets
it 10 his mouth. Then Betsey, she's
named for my mother. How am I
going to send away the chihl that's
named for my own mother, when
'she's dead and gone, and let her live
[ftraang strangers ? Jane, she's home-
sick ; she erics if she is out of her
marm's sight a minute. She'd cry
herself to death if she i\"as to be car-
ried off. Then there's Jackson, nam-
ed for General Jackson. You don't
suppose I could give away a child
that's named for General Jackson !
And George Washington, named for
the father of Ms country. Why, I
CDidd do without any of 'cm sooner
than I could without George Wash-
ington. And Paul, he's named for
the 'postle Paul. It would be a sin
and a shame to give away a boy
that's named for the 'postle Paul.
And Polly, she's the baby. You
can't give a baby awav from Us own
mother."
There had been several other chil-
dren who h.id died, chiefly from un-
wholesome hide fevers, to which they
seemed addicted.
Carl was unable to assist the man
in his choice ; but he comfortetl hira
somewhat by promising to visit his
family soon, and left him weeping,
and gazing through the door at his
children.
That same afternoon Carl and Me-
liccnt went out to vbit Joe Patten's
family. It had ocxurred to the
young woman that she might be able
to train one of the pauper's boys for
a house-servant, and tlius benefit
tliera and her own family ai the same
lime.
'Ihe Pattens lived directly back of
the Yorkes' place, about half a mile
farther into the woods, and their
house had no communication with
the public ways save by a c-art-road.
Joe's sole income was derived from
the sale of Httle snags of wowl that
he hauled into the village, and ex-
changed for groceries. In Seaton
wood was a drug in the market. A
man must cut his beech and maple
into clear split logs, and season it
well, if he expected to get two dol-
lars a cord for it.
The walk through the woods wa.n
a pleasant one, far nature was stir-
ring all alive about them. This na-
ture was no Delilah of the tropics,
and to one who loved a bold and
gorgeous beauty it was poor. But
for those who hke to seek beauty in
her shyer, hidden ways, it had a deli-
cate and subtle chann. The pro-
fuse snowy bloom of wild-cherries
showed in a cloud here and there
against the red or salmon-colored
flowers of maples and oaks. Silver
birches glimmered through their shin-
ing foliage, like subsiding nymphs,
and the lawels of the larch swung
out their brown and gold. Violets
blue and white opened thickly in wet
332
The House of Yorke.
places, sisterhoods of snowdrops
stood witli their drooping heads ten-
derly streaked with pink, Htltc knub-
Idcs of land were covered thickly
wiili old and young checkcrberry —
"ivry-Ieaves" the children called
llicin, drops of gum oozed through
the rough bark of spruce and hem-
lock, brooks rushed irothing past, and
birds were retuniing to their nests
or building new ones.
Soon tliey heard sounds of human
life through tlie forest quiet, the loud
voice of a scolding woman and a con-
fused babel of children's voices.
Carl smiled mockingly, " A troop
of dryads, probably," he remarked.
Suddenly they came out close to a
snial) log-house that stood in an irre-
gular dealing ; and now the scolding
And the babel were plain to be heard.
" I'll lick you like a sack if you
ijon't bring some dr)' sticks to gel
supper with :" cried a woman's voice,
and at the same instant a ragged
little boy bounded tjrom the door,
hel|>ed, apparvnlly, by some outward
oppUcation, and ran fur the wouils, his
barr feet seeming insensible to sticks
and stones. Then, all at once, there
vas silence, and clusters of two-col-
ored heads in the windows, and peep-
ing from the door, 'llie visitors had
been iliscoveted. As they approach-
ed ibe door, a Urge, wild-eyed Boa-
dicea came to meet them, and in-
vited them in with great ceremony
jkod poUteness. She had an unwhole-
some, putty-colored skin and black
hair and eyes. In one comer sat
Joe, with the baby in bis arms, and
hb hat on his head. This he rc-
BiOT«d, half-ruse, and performed a
rthrfin* wbicb was more a courtesy
than a bow. But be uttered not a
wonL "Id this house dearly,
• >!■<»■■ r Acttr M k ptn^' "
dMMghtCatL
Wkh a sweep of the arm «h« ban-
ished the children all into one c
ner of the room (the house contai
ed but one room), brought two stri
bottomed chairs, from one of whici
her husband had meekly tied at h
approach, and, dusting ihcm off wit
* her apron, invited her visitors to
seated.
" You must excuse the confusio
reigning in my poor mansion," she
said with great suavity, and a very
good accciiL "Children are always
disorderly. Sarah !" raising her
voice, " bring the besom and sweep
up the embers."
Meticcni turned a look of disma
on her brother, who was taken wit!
a slight cough. Sarah, otherwise
.Sally, came bashfully out from
hinil her father, where she had bee
crouching on the floor, and swept up
the heanlt wiUi a brush broom.
The poor woman, anxious to do
all honor to her visitors, and, a
to show them that she wxi above h
circumstances, knew no other wa;
than by using the largest words sh
could think of. Her idea of poti
conversation was to make it as litt
as possible like anything she was ac
customed to.
Melicent stated her errand at once,
and the mother, with many thanks,^.
and lamentations on her misfortun
called the little ones forward,
[ilaccd them at the lady's dbpOiaU
She stopped inhcrcompUtucutstodart
a threatening look toward the dooi^
where the boy who hid been ^ na
ed fw the 'postle Paul " stood with
his burden of dr>' sticks. He drop-
ped them instantly, and came fbrwaid,
and his mother as instantly resucoed
her snuling face. She could cbanfc
her expresskui with remarkable £k>
dlMy.
MdiocDt fiucied this bay at ooce^'
and imcapUjr concluded a bargain »
give a.wvck's trial to him and
ddcstsislCT. llieyweretogoto**
4
UD ]
>nce,
onLH
dart '
The House of Yorke.
333
'hall," as Mrs. Fatten politely called
|jl, the next day, and begin their
I tnining. They would work for their
[food and clothing, an-j perhaps, after
[a while, when she should think them
[Tvorthy, they might receive wages.
This settled, Miss Vorke and her
Drother departed, followed by Mrs.
Patten's compliments to the door,
and stared aficr by all the children.
Joe's only movement on their going
was to perform another courtesy like
that with which he had received
them.
"Poor souls! they are delighted
to have their childrcQ with us," said
Melicent, when they were out of
hearing. " But I hope the mother
won't come to see them often. Bet-
sey says she is half-crazy."
" I respect her for it !" Carl ex-
claimed. " You can see that she has
some talent and ambition, and that
she has read some, though she is ab-
surdly ignorant of the ways of the
world. With such a husband, such
a troop of children, and such pover-
ty, I repeat I respect her for being
crazy. She can't have a pereon to
speak to but her own family, immur-
ed in those forest solitudes, as she
says."
Mrs. Patten looked after them as
long as she could see them, her face
glowing with pride. Then she went
into her house, went to the fireplace,
and withdrew a pair of iron longs
that lay with red -hot tips in the coals
there. " Tlierc is no need of tliem
now," she saidexultingly.
Tlicse tongs had been kept red
during the last week for the better
reception of any to\\-n officer who
should venture to come for one of
her children. Mrs. Patten did not
by any means propose to submit
tamely. Then she turned tragically,
and faced her husband with a look
of withering contempt
" I was meant to be such a lady
as that !" she cxdaimcd, with a grand
gesture of the ami in the direction
where Melicent Yorkc had disappear-
ed. " And yet, I sacrificed my
birUiright — fool that I was! — to
marry you, Joe Patten !"
Joe shrank, and hugged the Iwby
up to him. " I know you did, Sal-
ly !" he said deprecatingly — "I
know you did!"
" And you never knew enough to
appreciate me!" she continued in a
tragic tone.
** I know I never did," answered
Joe in a trembling voice — *' I know
it, Sally."
" Learn to respect me, then !" she
said, drawing herself up. " Call me
Mrs. Patten!"
" Yes, I will, I do, I have," whim-
pered Joe. •' I— "
" Hold your tongue !" commanded
his wife. " Paul, bring me those
chips." And she proceeded to get
supper.
Poor Sally Patten was not nearly
so cruel as she appeared. In truth,
she had never laid the weight of her
hand ufmn her husband. But, then,
he was always afraid she would.
TO SB COMTUIVID.
334
Mexican Art and its Michael An^elo.
MEXICAN ART AND ITS MICHAEL ANGELO.
The society of Mexico has become
a ruin in which it is necessary to
search with some labor to discover
monumcnls of literature and art
Sor Juana Inc£ dc la Cniz, Uiough
for her time an extraordinary woman,
is unknown to tlie greater portion of
the continent of whose letters she
sceros to have been the true morning
star. Of Siguenza, mathematician,
philosopher, historian, antiquary, and
of Velasquez Cardenas, the astrono-
mer and geometrician, the world knew
little until Humboldt praised their
remarkable talents. Not without a
shrug of surprise, we imagine, did the
readers of half a centur)- ago accept
his assurance that " M. lolsa, pro-
fessor of sculpture at Mexico, was
even able to cast an equestrian statue
of King Charles the Fourth ; a work
which, with the exception of the Mar-
cus Aurclius at Rome, surpasses in
beauty and purity of style everytliing
which remains in this way in Ku-
ropc." Miguel Cabrera, a greater
artist than Tolsa, and the most vig-
orous imaginative genius which Mexi-
co has produ<:ed, lias yet to be ade-
quately recognized in America. Tlie
ait of our northern republic boasts
the names of Trumbull, Stuart, AU-
ston, Jnman, Vacdcrlyn, Sully, Nea-
gle, Hamilton, Rolhcrmcl, Churcli,
Criwford, Powers, Akers, Greenough.
Hosmer, and others; but we doubt
if among all these can be found an
artist as praiseworthy as was this
Mexican Cabrera. Do we exagge-
rate ? No; we are addressing a
practical public, much in love with
its own works and ways and ideals,
and iu>t too well disposed to imagine
the difficulues of a Mexican art
one hundred and thirty years ago.
But, first, let us describe, so far
we may, the scene and circumstances
of his artistic labors. Mexico, as
compared with our northern citiei|^H
is a wonderfully old-fashioned capi- *^
tal. The walls of its houses have
been built to last till doomsday, and
its doors are like door^ of castles.
Many of its flat fronts lioast stuccoed
ornaments : all are painted with tint$
ranging from yellow to pink an
pale blue — colors of art which,
a})p]ied in particular coses, are sel-
dom at once tolerable to a foreign
eye, but which find their reason in
necessity as well as taste, and parti
in the dull, unlovely character of th
building material. This is often
kind of lava-stone or tezonde, a stone
the volcano itself seems to have sup-
plied for the purpose of resist!
e^irthquake, and which defies the i
sidious action of Mexican dam
The churches are instances of colore<
architecture. La Pwfesa is yellow^
the cathedral's chapel is brownc
San Domingo, San Agustin, and, i
fact, all the Mexican churches are
tinted more or less, the favorite hue
being a mild and not ofTensivc yello
qualified by white plasters. One
members gratefully that neutral t
which makes a long range of Mexi-
can houses, with their balconies and
tasteful awnings, quaint and elegant
letterings of signs, and flags hung out
at shop-doors, so picturesque, so
pleasant, and so characteristic. The
perspective of a Mexican street, espe-
cially toward the close of tlie day,
enjoys a repose of many colors well
Mexican Art and tis Mickad Angela.
335
blended \vith such lines of substantial
houses as cjnnot but impress the eye
of the musing stranger. Their archi-
tecture, so simple and massive, but
so diffLTcnt from a certain wide-awake
fatnitiarity which is written upon the
houses of the North, best assimilates
in his view with some mood of twi-
light. Yet, seen at dawn or at dusk,
or under the moon, the city of Mexi-
co never loses its one decided cliarm of
picluresqueness. It was this exceed-
ing quality which doubtless delighted
the eye of Humboldt when he praised
Mexico as one of the finest of cities.
He had, perhaps, beheld from its
cathedral's steeple a roost unique ca-
pital — a city set not on a hill, but in
I one of the iircamiest of valleys near
one of (he dreamiest and shallowest
['of lakes, with PopocalapctI and Ix-
taccihuad, snow-cromaed and heav-
- seeking, for monuments of its
guardian valley.
In such a scene, Cabrera and his
contemporary artists did their work.
Their school was the church. What
this church was in their day tlie
splendid traditions of art found
''even now in its corridors and near
'its altars bear faithful witnesses.
^Something from their hands has
*gonc into every community of Mexi-
'co, and, if war has spared one-half
ithc relics of her art as it existed one
rhimdied and 6fty or two hundred
Ijears ago, the republic is still for-
■ tunate in one respect. The cathe-
.drals of Puebla and Mexico, and La
'rofcsa, were perhaps the chief homes
\oi that genius of painting which
[was manifested not merely in one,
)ut ill a number of Mexicans. Who
'are tlic artists of the exceedingly fine
)icturcs which may be seen in the
fchureh at Puebla the stranger rarely
:crtain5. The tradition that Vc-
^lasquez, tlic great pupil of Murillo,
["ind Cabrera, the native Mexican,
>wed the religion of the New World
with their pencils some centuries ago,
supplies him with the morsel of
vague knowledge with which he re-
luctanUy leaves a building full of rich
and curious shrines. Mexico is to
all appearances singularly deficient
in a proper memor>- of her noblest
painters. Go into one of the city's
oldest churches, and your friendly
guide, though he be a priest, may not
be able to tell you who painted the
saints on the wails and tlie heaiU of
the apostles on the shrines. 'I'he in-
formation possessed outside of tlie
church respecting its treasures of art
has, under stress of various revolu-
tions, dissipated into vague gtMierali-
ties. Three oj four remark.ible names
are known, and a few famous pic-
twes ; but who can at once jjoint out
to us the masterpieces of any of the
five or six painters whose works are
worth remembering, or tell us near
what slirines, outside of the capital
iKetf, we arc likely to find, rare pic-
tures ? Nevertheless, art is almost
the chief boast of Mexico, aside from
its natural endowments, though, like
so much else in a land subject to all
manner of vicissitudes, the boast is
to some extent shadowy and un-
substantial. In successive revolu-
tions, it is conjectured, those true
homes of fine art, the convents, have
been despoiled, and the saints and
angels of their galleries sent hither
and thither, to be kept by natives or
to be sold to foreigners as Joseph
was sold by his brethren. Another
spoliation, and perhaps a searching
and sweeping one, is said to have
tiken place under the eye of the
French during their mercenary inter-
vention. 1 low or by whom robbed
and mutilated in Uie last half-century
of w;us, Mexican art is but the wreck
of what it was. That so much of it
still survives is a proof of its origi-
nal abundance and vitality.
But, notwithstanding the whirl-
4
336
Mexiion Art and its Michael Angtlo,
winds of revolution, art in the
cDUntTjT of Cabrera has retained a
number of impregnable and inde-
structible asylums. Altar ornamenls
of gold or silver may liavc been stol-
en from the cathedral, but apparent-
ly no sacriiegious criminal has ever
carried away its pictures. These
treasures of the church are set fast in
their places round the Rhrincs, so
closely and plentifully Ihnt, wher-
ever iliey are most congregated, the
altar-placcs seem walled and tiled
with them. Not all of them are
worthy of Cabrera or Xuarcz or Xi-
mcnez, let alone Murillo and Velas-
quez; but all have their value as
portions of a chapter in art the like
of which is not to be seen elsewhere
on the American continent. Con-
fused and perplexed as the real beau-
ties of many of these pamling are by
the endless bedi/enments of altars, it
b impossible to ignore or conceal
the richness, delicacy, and even ten-
derness wiiich belong to their best
specimens. The extrav£/gancc of
gilding, the wilderness of carved
flourishes, which the taste of the six-
teenth century placed at the b'lck
of the altars, do not form the best
repository for the subdued beautj'
which a noble picture acquires with
age. 'ITie great back altar-wall of
tbc cathedral is from floor to roof
one mass of most ingenious carving
and gilding, out of which what seem
to be pious aborigines, associated
with warriors and saints on the same
background, blossom in paint and
gold. Our modem and practical
tastes do not easily give room to an
ornamentation as loud and prodigal
as figures in this great recess; but
it is nevertheless a rare and merito-
rious work in its way. Other shnnes
display the same gilding in on infe-
rior degree ; and wc must divest our-
selves of some prejudice, artistic and
otherwise, before wc appreciate the
merit of extreme elaboration in their
ornaments, and discover, nolwitl
standing this lavish wealtli of st
rounding decoration, the mode
tvorth of the best pictures of
church.
The cathedral is well constitute
to be the ark and refuge of rcligiot
art. It is about 43K feet long ai
300 wide, while its general height
almost joo, that of its towers beir
nearly 300 feel. These dimen»oi
argue an interior vast enough to ci
close tlirce or four such churdics
we may see on Broadway, withoc
taking into accotuit its large adjois
ing chapel. Its exterior is a conj
gation of heavy masses crowned
great bell-shaped towers, but wanlij
a grand unity and exaltation. N(
tlielcss, the charm of picturesquent
which belongs to so many solid m(
uments of the sixteenth century
rested upon this cathedral, in spite 1
its dinginess and heaviness ; and
\'iew of it under the magic of a mooi
light which Italian skies could not
more than rival is one of the finest
of a series of Mexican lithographs.
Gothic height, space, and freedom
the prime qualities of the cathedral'i
interior. Not less than twenty-tv
shrines are there visible in an cxtt
of two aisles and twenty arches,
the columns of which arc each quin-
tupled. The high porphyry coli
the range of the apostles, the burst of
gilded glory, and the outspread an-
gels over the principal altar are ex-
ceedingly impressive, not witiis landing
an exuberance of colors. Tlie choir,
altogether tlie best architectural fea-
ture of the great building, rises rathe
toward the middle of the church, and
up from tbc floor, in a high and lux
urious growth of oaken car\ings andj
embellishments. Inside is the assem-
bly of the saints, finely panelled.
Cherub and seraph are busy appa«|
rently with the superb organ-pij
Mexican Art and -its Michael Angela.
337
snd make merry overhead with all
llie insmimenu of an orchestra, while
impLsti faces bein-'ath them seem to
be out of iciniH-T. Tlie nobleness of
the choir as a wark of art Ls, in great
part, due to its gravity, though it is
as jugenioiis, perhaps, as anjtJiing of
ihe kind need be, without seeking
comparison niih the mightiest fancies
of the Old World.
Even to an ordinar>' observer it is
plain that the old cathedral is well
endowed with pictures. The pure
olive-faced Madonna, over the near-
est and most popular altar, is said to
be Murillo's ; it may be Velastjuez's.
She is a mild, meek lady, with a boy
in her lap, veritably human in feature.
Out of the rich shade of a great old
irtist's mood cherubs seem to swarm
ipon thera. In the fine gloom of
fVcs]>ers, when only the face of
fllie Madonna is seen, the religious
1 mildness of this picture is espe-
cially venerable. Other altars have
; many curiosities, more or less aasoci*
h»led with art. There is at one a
fMan of Sorrow, sitting and leaning
wretched plight ; at another, a sal-
>w and agonized Redeemer on the
ross; and painted statues and cni-
ifixes only less realistic and distrcss-
il than these are common through-
>ut the church. The ghostly figure
[of what may be a dead saint is laid
[out in WA, as upon a bed, at one
irine, and elsewhere what seems to
a ^ead Redeemer is altarcd in a
lassfpase. Tu the chapel the artistic
laracter of the cathedral is repeated,
vtc that its high altar- columns, its
-bearing angel, its splendidly-ray-
ed apotheosis of the lilessed Virgin, its
itucs of Moses and John the Baptist,
'have a more modem workmanship.
The Madonna, in ladylike wax, with
^a crown upon her head, and holding
^daintily a babe in her arms, is the
principiil figure of one of the auxil-
iary shrines, though not the best spe-
VOL. XUI. — 22
cimen of an an in which Mexicans
excel, and which, as represented in a
black-robed figure of ihc Mother of
Sorrows, is sometimes admirable and
religiously effective. These instan-
ces, though but a few of the number-
less curiosities of wood and wax
amid which the painters have found
tlieir abiding home, will serve to illus-
trate the very mixed artistic complex-
ion of the Mexican cathedral. The
statues and paintings arc of all sorts,
colors, and styles. But the shadowy
picture of a sad, nunlike face of Our
Lady of Sorrows ; the quaint-hooded
countenance of the Blessed Virgin,
apparently wrought in tapestry of the
middle ages; or that of our Lord,
after he had been scourged, plainly
apprise us that tlie sincerity of art,
finit consecrated by the church, has
become a part of its own consecra-
tion. These are sacred pictures, truly.
Weary and wretched, his head bound
with thorns, our Lord leans in ago-
nized contemplation, while an apostle
looks lip to him in tears. The ele-
ments of this exquisite painting are
gloom and pathos developed out of
Murillo-likc colors and shadows.
Another painting, equally reverend,
pursues the same theme and mood.
To whose genius do we owe them ?
Perhaps to Velasquez, of whose
works the church, it is said, possesses
a noble numt}cr; perhaps to Cabrera.
Who shall decide ? One of the
fathers orcathedralicos might tell us,
but which father and which profes-
sor? The condition of topsy-turvy
succeeding a revolution is not favor-
able to the pursuit or the memory of
art ; and, as we have hinted, the pro-
per rediscovery of Mexican art must
be a matter of unselfish and labori-
ous search. Mexico docs not, pcf-
ha|>s, even yet know its proper his-
torian.
Vet some thing we do know of
Cabrera. The fine head of St. Peter,
i
335
Mexican Art and its Miihad Angeio.
^
¥
pomled out to the ^rhter by a padre
ofSiin llypolito, is by him. One of
three immense canvases in the sa-
ctibly uf the cathedral is also his
surprising handiwork. It is a picto-
rial homage to the I'opc, wherein the
successor of St. Peter, gray and
grav€, sits on the topmost seat of
a ponderous car of triumph, which is
pushed by giants of the faith led by
licroe:! and saints. What seems tA
be the genius of history has a scat in
the van, and disponing chenibs hover
on flank and rear, while the aged
Pope is being ministered to or coun-
selled by a saint or apostle. This
picture, jierhaps the largest, though
not ncccss.irily the best, painted by
Cabrera, is very remarkable for its
vigor and variety of form. The other
great canvases arc by Xuarez and
Ximenez, both MextcoD painters of
genius. One represents the victor)'
of Micliacl celebrated by the an-
gelic powers; the theme of the other
appcan: to be the reception of the
Holy Lady in heaven. Pictures of
this extensive character arc certainly
calculated to display the energy of
artistSL, but not alwa)-$ to develop the
highest expression of religion, lliere
can be no question of the vigor of
these patntingK, espccblly of Cabre-
ra's ; but probably we shall have to
seek among smaller canvases and
less complicated subjects the true
masterpieces of Cabrera, Xuare^. and
XhncDCK. Some years ago they
might have been found in the Con-
vent of Xa. Prafesa or of St Domi-
nic, or, peHupSt in the Academy of
San Carlos ; but where are they now ?
That academy, once, doubtless, tJie
finest of its kind in America, and
iliB among the best, does cocixtn, it
is true, some master paintings by
XuAKj; Rodrigucc, Joachim, Ludovi-
Cttx, beattng date after tlic dose of
dw nxiccfitk ctntury ; but these do
>ol givB ni Mwmincc of bcng ^
Bt
best examples of what vas done
about Cabrera's time. The walls
San Carlos, wc may remark in pa:
ing, contain a very large, nicloc
malic descent from the cross by
lasar de Chaue^ and a beautiful Shej
herd Boy, by Jngics, whose amp
city recalls the fact that the Lul
Player, one of the few genuine Mi
rillos said to be in the country, is
the possession of a Mexican club.
But what of Cabrera ? Alas I tli
the walls of San Carlos should
us htile or nothing ; that the pan
who guides us through La Pre
knows about as much £ TbCi
muse of painting has been a
fornothing these many yeare,
wretched Cinderella silling at a ruii
ed hearthstone, or, rather, sweeptt
up the rubbish in the corridors
conliscatcd and despoiled convents.
La Profesa, however, is an asylt
of art. As it now stands, it is a
old chim:b, whose rigid ani:l ant
quated countenance many a prayit
Mexican woman knows for that of
motlier. NoUiing of its ample, sai
pie, sturdy architecture has cnimt
in the last two centuries. Its p1at<
rcsco — the *' frolic fancy " wliich ui
toenth-century art put upon the froi
of churches, and of which the,
iii the cathedral presents an imi
example, entangling cherubs and
wildcring saints in the ingenuitj
its small sculptures — stit) remanu
tact. The apostles arc in their
cs, and " Nuestro Sc5or " is vxw
in a text cut on the oauide
Not many years ago, La Ptofiesa
not merely a church, but. as '\\% name
indicates, a bouse for ichgioiis wot_
mctk, and that, too, one \A the
est and most extensive in M<
Many cooits, many comttocs
fountamst and some pleasant
with eaves-hayndog bbds to
one of S^ Francbls gtiSBpi. the
nnrs, wrtr no doobt umm^ the
Mexican Art and Us Muhael Angch.
339
sessions of this convent as of other
convents in the capilAl, from whose
now deserted walks and cells one
may hear the flow of fountains and
■ the song of birds, Bui a few corri-
[doTS of the many that belonged to
I the house have been left to the church
.out ol a general ruin made necessary
for the cutting of a wide street
through what xvas once a vast build-
ing or number of buildings. These
corridors aiid the church itself were
in' i86S visited by the writer in com-
pany with a courteous young padre,
but he could leani comparatively llt-
Ue of the unmistakable riches of art
deposited there. Who painted the
superb heads of the apostles framed
in an altar near llic sacristy ? Ca-
Ibrera or Velasquez ? The padre did
not know. As we enlered the first
of the wide, heavy stone corridors,
'two old men, looking like pcnsioneni,
^ were snjing ihcir prayers aloud be-
fore a shrine of Our Lady of Gua-
dalupe. \Vc stood opposite a mam-
moth scene of the crucifixion, where-
in Christ niid the thieves are most
painfully individuahzed on the gloom
■ of Calvary. Age and neglect had
^seemingly eclipsed the larger portion
of Uiia canvas, and left no shade of
^thc painter's identity in the mind of^
kur student of the cloister. In an*
Hhcr ill-lighted corridor were paint-
igs by Cabrera, Xuarez, Ximcncz,
j Joachim, Correa, Rodriguez, and
|some others, all Mexicans, it is said,
ind evidently men of decided gifts.
[Here w<ts a picture by Xuarez of the
iSaviour in apparition among the
ipostles — a presentment in tendcrest
[•nd most luminous colors of ethereal
jcntlcness. The finest picture in the
[gallery, entitled St. Luke, might have
ren by a pupil of Murillo, but real-
ty the padre could not leil. Another
corridor more neglected than the
> rest seemed to be a very chamel-
and lumber of unhung, imdusted,
unrestored pictures. The distracted
church has been a sorry sexton for
its dead painters. After all, the best
efforts arc not certain of immunity
Irora the outrages of time and igno-
rance. Well enough if the great un-
seen critic applauds.
Nowadays the common vn'sitor to
La Profesa searches not at all for
Cabrera, but looks at a dome bril-
liantly painted with scenes from the
life of tJie 5a\iour by the Sfuinish
Mexican Clavel. Except the dome
of Santa Teresa's by Cordero, there
is perhaps nothing of the kind, at
least in the three principal cities of
Mexico, to compare with Ciavel's
work. Cordero, whose picture of
Columbus at court received all the
honors of an exhibition in the palace
of Prince Poniatowski at l-'lorencc,
and who has received high encomi-
ums from his brother artists in It.ily,
is by some regarded the best of ex-
isting Mexican artists. Like the two
Coras, who, mth Tolsa, appear to be
the most noted of the sculptors of
Mexico, Cordero is a native of the
country. To Jose ViUcgas Coras,
who was born in 1713, the city of
Puebia owes those statues of oiur
Lord and Our Lady, which one of
his admirers dccl.ares have a sublimi-
ty of expression and a grace in de-
tails not easy to find in the best
schools of Kurope. Jose Zocarias
Coras, his nephew, was less an ideal-
ist, says his critic, but more faithful
to nature, and Ls distinguished by
his sculptures of the '* Crucified," in
which are exhibited a profound ago-
ny. Tlie two statues wliich crown
the towers of the cathedral are also
the work of the younger Coras, who
died in 1819, in tlie sixty-seventh
year of his age. TI)e work of these
men was ill-requited, like so much
else in Mexican life and industr)-.
The nriici is not able to speak of
340
Mexican Art and Us Michael Angela.
them upon personal or from a very
common knowledge of their sculp-
tures; but it is wdl lu iiutc tlicm
here as artists who arc thought wor-
thy of a place in that scarce and not
loo steady literature, Mexican bio-
graphy. It may serve others who
visit Mexico to know that, in the lat-
est phase of art at the capital, Cla-
Tcl, Rvbul], Cordcro, and the sculp-
tor Islas, with some others, have dis-
tinguished themselves.
Let us now speak freely of Cabre-
ra, the father and master of Mexican
art — of him whose pictures arc at
once so numerous and so scarce,
whose fame is so well-founded, yet
of whose life so little is known. The
firft important fact in his biography
is, tliat, like the greatest nilcr which
the country has product-d, its great-
est artist was an Indian — a Zapotcc
Indian, itxi, from the native country
of Benito Juarez, Oaxoca. The next
i^ that, under the patronage of the
Archbishop Salinas, he painted those
many admirable pieces which are the
reproachful glory of his country.
According to a modem Mexican
writer, Scnor Oroxco, works of Ca-
brera may be found in the churches
of Mexico and Puebla especially,
and in the convents of San Uomingo
and La Profcsa, but wc have seen
under what circumstances. His mas-
terpieces, if we may credit the in-
telligent opinion reported by Seftor
Orozco, arc contained in the sacristy
of the church at Tasco, where a
whole hfe of the Blessed Virgin is
portrayed, the scene of the Nativity
being distinguished by its light and
freshness of color. The same writer
assure:! us tliat Cabrera wrote a trea-
tise on the celebrated picture given
to the Indian Juan Diego during the
Mar\-cllous Apparition of Our I«a<1y
ol Guadalupe, and in it he concurs
with other [)aintcni of his day in af-
firming Uiat the miraculous painting,
which he had exanuned carefully in
the light of art, is not the work
human hands. Thisis the judginc
of an Indian artist respecting a woi
dcrful rcvflation made to one of
race, and, however it may be viewe
by those who discredit all super
turalism of a later date th.in eigl
teen hundred years ago. i;ives th<
stamp of conWction to the faith
Guadalupe. What the opinion
Cabrera was wortli in a question
art, what the artist himself shoul
be worth in the estimation of m:
kind, is signiticU to us in the folloi
ing ex'raordinar)' notice of his
nius by Count Bellrani, an Italia
traveller ;
"Some pictures or Cabrera are calh
AmtriiAiH wff/tJrn, aod all arc of cniiot
merit. Tiio life of Si. Dominic, paintc
by him in the clotficr of the convent
that name ; the life of St. Ignatius, at
the histoiy of llic man dcijiailcil by mo|
tal sin and irKC>>ol^<J by religion ai
virtue, ill the cloister of La Prnfcsa, pr
s«nl two ^lleties which in nothing yiej
to the clolMer of Santa Maria la Ntiei
di Florenci», nnd the Campo Santo
Pi»a. I hafiird cvca paying that Cabrei
alone, in Ibese two cloisters, is woitli
the artiiits joined who have luinled ll
two magnificent Italian galleries. Cabr
ra possesses the outlines of Corrcgglo, it
animation ofDomcnicbino,andthepath<
of Murillo. H'\« episodes— as the * Ai
gels,' etc.— arc of rare beauty. I a my coi
ceplion. he is a great paint«^r. Ilowj
morcoTcr. an architect and sculptor;
6no, tfao Michael Angelo of Mexico."
What say our American pilgrims
Italy of this report of on Italian pi2-'
grim in America ? Here, then, was
an Indian Michael Angelo of whom
few artists of the New World koow
anything whatever. We need not
strain an objection that Count Bel
trani's dictum may be an exaggc
tion, for there are not many trav<
lers who care to praise Mexico,
very few to overpraise her — at leu^]
in respect to art. The (act reroaii
" The Serious, too, have their * Vive fa BagaleUe^ " 34 1
lat the country which gave birth to
[Sor Juana Inw dc la Cruz, perhaps
ftthe most remarkable character m all
^American letters, also had for its na-
bve tlie greatest painter of the New
World, and one of tlie roost singular-
ly meritorious in an age when great
painters were numerous. In judging
of Cabrera, wc must fairly consider
the time, the place, the elements in
which he wrouglit; for schools, mas-
ters, mwicis, emulation, royal encou-
ragement, and proper recompense and
fiune were alt denied to him, in a
greater or les degree. Cloistered as
a great artist must necessarily he at
any time, he would have felt, per-
haps, especially abandoned in far-off
Mexico in the sixteenth century. That
Cabrera did suffer this abandonment
the facts of his life attest. Yet, to
speak a literal truth, Cabrera has no
biography. It is not known when he
was born or when he died, and, says
a Mexican writer, *' wc only know
thai he lived in the eighteenth cen-
tury by the dates of his paintings."
Alas ! for fame ; alas I for genius ! —
and this, too. tn the eighteenth ccn-
iry ! Wc know more of Sliakc-
speare, more of IjDp^, more of Soi
Juana, more of .-Marcon— he, too,
was bom in Mexico, yet we know
his birthday — than of Cabreni, who
could not have died more than a
hundred and twenty-five years ago,
and respecting whom it was said :
"There is hardly a church of the
republic which does not contain
some work of his distinguished pen-
cil." .'Mas I for work and worth I
How much of all this may iiave
l>erished or vanished bcncatli the
storms of the lost fif^y miserable
years of Mexican life, overridden
by swaggering pronouncers, stolen
by intcn'cning robbers, the torch of
genius extinguished in the dust raised
by defiant nobodies. Yet Cabrera sur-
vives, as few artists can, a veritable
wreck of matter. Happily for him,
it may be, his only biography is in
his works ; and they are full of life,
and of life better than his own, yet
in some respects received into it —
lives of saints, apostles, angels, tlie
Blessed Virgin, and the Divine Re-
deemer. Let these speak for his life
to men, and commend his work to
the unseen Master.
THE SERIOUS, TOO, HAVE THEIR 'VIVE LA BAGATELLE.'
Gav world ! You may write on my heart what you will
If your laugh-shaken fingers but trace
The dream, or the jest, with that fairj-like qufll
That ciphers the wood-sorrers vase !
Fair world ! You may write on my heart what you will ;
But write it with pencil, not pen :
You are fair, and have skill ; but a hand fairer still
Soon whitens the tablet again 1
Aubrey oe Vere.
342 ll'Aat Our Municipal Laxv Owes to the Churth.
WHAT OUR MUNICIPAL LAW OWES TO THE CHURCl
The wisdom and bravery of our
forefathers having at length enabled
them to sever the ttcs which had bound
the original thirteen colonics to Great
Britain, their experience, knowlwlge,
and foresight were called into requisi-
tion to form a government for the
new uatiun, and adopt a code of
laws which, avoiding the complex
and erroneous features of those of
the Old-AV'orld countries, the neces-
sar)- result of centuries of contradic-
tory legislation, would confirm to
the people their newly-acquired lib-
erties, and guarantee to every citi;cen
not only justice from the state, but,
in their relations with eacli other, am-
ple protection for life and liberty, pro-
perty and reputation. As a foundation
for this new s}^lcm of jurisprudence,
the statesmen of the Revolution se-
lected the English code almost in
its entirety, partly because the late
colonists had been familiar with its
workings on cither side of the ocean,
but mainly because they considered
it, comparatively, at least, humane and
liberal, and the most suitable for a
free government. Many statutes and
customs peculiar to monarchies were
at the time necessarily omitted, and
several enactments have since l>een
passed by our national and local
legislatures libcraliiting ancient laws,
as intended to keep pace ft-ith the
rapid development of our industrial
resources, which, from time to time,
creates new and complicated rela-
tions between individuals. Still, to
■II intents and purposes, our body of
laws is fundamentally identical with
that of England in the last century,
is founded on the same general prin-
ciples, and has the same origin an
history. Therefore, in speaking o
the jurispnidence of our rcpubU
wc also speak of that of Great Bri
tain, for whatever applies to one as
wiiole equally applies to the other.
Our municipal law, consisting
the common law {lex no» sc,
and the statute law [iex uhpta
springs from three distinct sou
each of which in its degree has ma-
terially contributed its share to tfai
general stock which goes to m
up our legal syatem, which, for co
pleteness and enlightenment of spin:
may well challenge the adnilralii
of mankind. These tlircc suur
are — the ancient common law of
England, the civil law of the Roma
Empire, and the canon law of
church. Though originating at diW
tinct periods and places, and tutaid-
ed primarily to operate on div
elements, the provisions of ih
three codes have in process of li
become so interwoven, one with
other, in the body of the English
taw, that it is often difficult
sometimes impossible to discriminai
between them.
The common law, in its general
acceptation, is composed of tlic an-
cicnt customs of England, beyond
which the memory of man runne
not to the contrary, of reports
cases and decisions of judges thereon,
and of the writings of i)crs(jns learn
in the law. Sir William Blacksion
the celebrated author of the Ca
meniariei on the Laws of i^ii-^/atnl^
by universal consent the great
expounder of the common law. With
the legal profession, his o^^ioiona
have a force littlt* less binding than
ihflt of a positive enactment, while
his de6nitions, whether borrowed
from his predecessors or his own
creation, are accq^ted by the leam-
wi of all classes as the most compre-
hensive and sfltisfactorj- in the lan-
guage on this branch of study. Un-
happily for postcrii)*, but more un-
fortunately for his own reputation.
Blackstone lived aiid wrote in an age
when it was the fashion to introduce
into every department of Knglisii lit-
erature the most absurd calumnies
against the church, and to advance
the most preposterous claims in favor
vl' I he so-called Reformation. The
uijft fanaticism and li:st of plunder
with which that stupendous rebellion
against God's autliority was inaugu-
rated had in a great measure sub-
sided in the middle of the last cen-
turj% and it behooved those of its
advocates who atlenipted to look
back into the past to justify preM:nt
crimes by maligning their CathoUc
ancestors, or, when that could not
be hazarded, by imputing the
worst of motives for the best of ac-
tions. The great connnentator, with
all his perspicacity and legal acumen,
was noi above resorting to this dis-
honest method of bolstering a sink-
ing cause, anil hence we hnd in his
otiierwise invaluable work that he
loses no opiwrtunity, in or out of
season, to ignore the transcendent
merits, misrepresent the conduct, and
misconstrue the intentions of the t-r-
dcsiastics of the early and middle
ages of the church, who, in their
time, had done so much to reduce
our taws into something hke system,
and make them conform in justice
and e'juity as much as possible to
those revealed by the Creator. Sur-
rounded by the mists of doubt and
dissent, the emanation of a hundred
jarring creeds, he failed to sec be-
yond the horizon of his own gene-
ration, or to perceive the reflux of
that wave of heresy which, in the
sixteenth centur>', submerged Eng-
land, and threatened to inundate the
whole of Eurupe. As an expounder
of law, blackstone siill holds a posi-
tion in the front rank of our jurists,
but so warped are his views by the
prejudices of the epoch in which he
lived that, before the enlightened
spirit of our lime, he is gradually but
surely losing his vantage-grouml as
an impartial authority, even on ques-
tions upon which he is really most
reliable. Another defect in the
writings of this able professor, but
one uf niudi lesser importance, is
his constant tendency to exaggerate
the merits of the Anglo-Saxun law-
givers, and to attribute to ihcm the
credit of originating many laws
which were wholly unknown in Eng-
land till many years after the coi
quest; but as we have the authoritj
of Hallam for saying that his kno\
ledge of ancient history was rath<
superficial, we may attribute thi
fa.ult more to a deficiency of histOi^
rical knowledge than to a wilful
tention to deceive.
The civil law is founded printipatljr '
on the ancient regal constitutions of
Rome, on die laws of the twelve.
tables, the statutes of the senate and
republic, the edicts of the prretors, Uit '
opinions of learned lawyers, and oa,
imperial decrees. So niuncrous, how-
ever, had these various enactmcnUj
become, and so contradictory iaf'
terms and penalties, that the study
of them was the labor of 9
lifetime, altogether beyond thti
ability of the great mass of the
governed to overcome. It was
tliercfore found necessary in the reign
of Theodoitius, about a.d. 438, toll
codify them, and, by rejecting alt stw
pcrfluouB matter, to greatly rcduca|
their bulk. About a century later,
under the Lmpcror Justinian, they
uutctt
were again submitted to a simllnr
process, the Institutes being reduced
to four books, and the Pandects,
containing over two tlioui»aiid cas<:5
and opinions, to fiftj'. To these
were added a new code, twing a con-
tinuation of that of Thcodocius, the
novels or decrees of that emperor
and his successors, as well as those
of Justinian himself. Tliese taken
logclhcr formed the corpus juris chilis
of the Kastcrn and Western Empires,
It is in the new code and the novels
that wc first begin to perceive the in-
fluence of the church in civil legisla-
tion. From the'tinic of the conver-
sion of Constantine, the emperors,
with one or two cxrcptions, were the
fast friends, and, in niaitets spiritual,
the obedient children of Uie pontitls.
The laws of pagan times, particular-
ly those respecting distributive jus-
tice and the domestic relations, were
utterly unsuitcd for the government
of a Christian people, and, as the
church was recognized as the sole
arbiter of right and wrong in the ab-
stract, it is natural to expect that the
Christian emperors before aud after
Justinian not only conformed to the
dicia of the church in their decrees
and decisions, but frccjuenOy consult-
ed their spiritual advisers on matters
affecling conscience in their twofold
capacity of legislators and judges.
Justinian in particular apfHrars to
have borrowed many of his ideas of
lemporal law from the church, for we
find him paraphrasing or adopting
bodily many of the canons of the
early councils.* Hence we easily
perceive that much of tlie more modem
portion of the carpus Juris rivi/is,
though bearing the impress of im-
perial authority, is in reaUty iittlc
more than a copy of the rules laid
down prewously for the spiritual and
social guidance of the children of the
* fVilr 111, AVv. ym*timi%t».
church, and that those grand princi-
ples and delicate distinctions whit
are as true to-day as ia the time
tiie apostles, and are as applicable
our advanced state of civilization
they were then, are simply tli
result of the infusion of the spirit
Christianity into the ciul polity of
once pagan people. Thus we fine
the Institutes or Klemenls of Juatinis
commencing with the solemn ini
cation, " In the name of our Lot
Jesus Christ," and cndmg with
equally edifying aspiration, " Ulcssct
be the majesty of God and our Lord
Jesus Chribt," and in harmony with
this pious disposition we fmd among
other laws relating to the rights
the church tlie following: " Th03
things which have been consecrate
by the jmntiffs in due form are
teemed sacred ; such as churclu
chapels, and all movable things,
llity have beai properly dcdicat<
to the senicc- of Cod, and wc have foi
bidden by our constitution that tbi
things should be either aliened Cff ol
ligated unless for the redemption
captives."* A novel of Valentaii:
in A.i>. 452, in recognizing tlie righl
of bishops to try cases of only tcm^
poral concern where the parties were
in orders, extends their jurisdicti(
over laics who have power to ** oblij
themselves to obey the sentence ol"
the bishop," which sentence, if ne-
cessary, was to be enforced by th|
civil authorities.!
The church did not conform, cith<
in her discipline or her doctrine,
the rules or underljing principles
the civil law, hut on the central
subjected that law to the roost rij
examination and the most careAj
analysis, expurjjating what was o\
posed to justice and retaining all that
* Doctor lUnrb'i tnaslatlon. p. tft
l3l4-
t Ub. IL Ut. ».
Londa
she found in consonance with divine
truth ; and as ihe Roman ci\'il law
was at that period a rule for all civ-
ilized nations, this may be considered
her first great human gift to mankind,
equal if not superior to her subse-
quent culture of the arts, sciences, and
literature. Admitting, llien, the bar
mony which existed between the
Roman laws and the teachings of
the church, we are not surprised to
find that when, in the elevenllj cen-
tury, a copy of Justinian, discovered
at Amalphi, Italy, was published, it
was eagerly received by European
nations, adopted in whole or in
part by all ChriMcndoni, and that it
to-day forms the main foundation of
the jurisprudence of all enlightened
peoples.*
About tlie time of the revival of
the study of the Roman civil law.
Gratian, an Italian monk, published
in three volumes, arranged in, titles
and chapters after the manner of
the Handecis, a collection of the de-
crees of the general councils of the
church, a digest of the opinions of
the fathers, and the decrct.ils and
bulls of the Holy Sec. Other collec-
tions had been previously made by
ecclesiastics in Sjjain and elsewhere,
but none were found to be complete
or reliable. However, as Graiian's
work was itself far from perfect. Pope
Gregory IX. authorized Raymond
de I'ennafort, a learned divine, to
compile a new collection, which was
• Aerorrilnjc to »ome authorltieit.ft copr of the
pBmlecU wa« ilLwnvcird at Amalplii. In the mid-
dle oflbc ttvclfth f«nlut)f, «nil vrai tint elver)
to Ibo worlil by two lulUn lawyers. D'liraeli,
ID bit Cfriasiliti af LiUrittitrt, Mys: '■ Th«
original mv uf Juitinian't CoJc wm» ili«c<tver«d
by the )*iv4m acrld^nlally tvben tticjr Inok k
city In CulibiiL Thai rut code ot laws lud bran
in anMonFrtinlcnawn from the time of that Em-
fwror. Thh curious baoli wms brnuxhl in I'isa,
■ nd, when I'im was Ukcn by ihe I'liirvfitinc*.
IranUiernrd to Plorcnn, wticte it i» slill pTfuetv-
«d," The Code, PanrlccB, and Institutes ■(«
still feceired as c^iamoa law in (•crmsnv. Ho-
bemb. HunitarY. I'alanil, and Scotland in ihcir
snUrely, and partly sola FruKe.Spata, and Iialy.
published by authority of hi» Holi-
ness. A.t>. 1234. under the titk of
Df ere f alia Gie^mi Noni. It was di-
\-idcd into five books, and crtntained
uU that was xvortli preserving of
Gratiun, with the subsequent rescripts
of the Popes, especially those of
Alexander HI., Innocent III., Ho-
norius III., and Gregory IX. "In
these books," says Hallam, '* we find
a regular and copious system of ju-
risprudence, derived in a great raca-
sure from the civil law, but with
considerable deviation and possible
improvement." • Boniface VIII,,
sixty years afterwards, published a
sixth part, known as Sexfus DecrdaU'
WW, divided also into five books, in
the nature of a supplement to the
other five, of which it follows ihe
arrangement, and is composed ol
decisions promulgated after the ponti-
ficate of tlregory IX. New consti-
tutions were added by Clement V.
and John XXII., under die titles
respectively of Clementine an'i Mx-
traviigan/es yohamm, and a few re-
scripts of later pontiffs are included
in a second siip|>]ei«enl, arranged
like the SexTtis, and called £xfr,n-a-
R4jntes Communes. Up to the Coun-
cil of Pisa, in a,d. 1409, these books
constituted the whole of the canon
law or carpus juris caniwiei, and
though principally intended for the
government of ecdesia^Jtics, were
often applied to temporal puri)Oses,
in law and ci|uity, when neither the
civil norcommon law met the rcquire-
incnls of a disputed poinL 'I'he
study of the canons had been en-
couraged from the first in the col-
leges and schools of Eiu-ope, but,
upon the publication in a systemati-
cal form in the eleventh century, it
became universal, and with the
Rom«n civil law constituted an es-
sential branch of clerical education.
I
*.
346
JVAai Our Munidpai Law Owes to the Church-,
At first the Canonists ant) Glossators,
as the professors of civil law were
called, formed separate but not an-
lagonistic schools, but in tlic ihir-
leenOi century Lanfraticus, a professor
of Uologna, united ihe study of both
taws, a custom whicli has since been
generally adopted.
As we have before reniirke<l, Sir
William Hiackstonc would fain have
us believe that every principle of
English common law originated with,
and was recognized by, the Anglo-
Saxons from the remotest period of
their history, but there is neither fact
nor probable suspicion to siislain
those unqualified statements of our
partial com men ta tor. The Romans,
who held possession of Britain for
more than four hundred years, may
have left on the vanquished people
of that countf)' some impress of their
laws, but the Britons themselves,
soon after the departure of the
legions, were driven to the moun-
uins of Wales by the Angles and
Saxons, and for centuries held no in-
tercouKc witli the victorious intrud-
ers. These latter, the outpourings of
the woods and swamps of the north,
are represented by all reliable histo-
rians lu the veriest barbarians, illite-
rate and idolatrous, and altogether
incapable of conceiving or afipreciat-
ing the broad principles of free gov-
enunent or tlic varied regulations
which control the intercourse and
commerce of man wiih man, such as
wc find in civilized society; much
less those which affect the conduct
of household relations, which, origi-
nating in the church, could only have
been ' properly expounded by her
ministers. 1 he Danes, who subse-
quently invaded and for many years
held possession of the larger portion
of (he island, were lilde less barbaric,
nor can we trace to them any wcll-
rccogni/-ed custom or fundamental
principle of our present laws. '* In
the barbarous specimeus of legisla-
tion due to the era of Saxon
Danish rule," says a late able writer*
this subject, '' the few texts of Romi
law which occur appear to us tracei
bic through the Papa) canons. Hot
faint is the impressiyn which eve
the Anglo-Saxon laws have left U(
our system ? Wc have still the U
court and the local ofticers. and aai
of the rude democratic elements
judicial procedure and constitutioi
Jaw have been nurtured into real
civilized liberty, but happily for ti%i
the harsli and partial regulatioi
savoring of original Teutonic savn{
ness which awarded the various pel
allies of crime have passed away, ai
the ancient absence of all cxprc
regulation in many most importa
points has lieen supplied by the
islation of more enlightened times at
more cultivated men."* After
arrival of St. Augustine, towards \\
close of the sixth century, ti
gradual evangelization of the isls
of Britain necessitated tlie aboliik
of the heathen custums, the basts
the Anglo-Saxon legislation, such
it was, and the introduction of a d<
coilc of government, llie primitii
ignorance of the inhabitants and
subsequent decline of learning coi
qucnt on the repeated incursions
the Northmen, had the effect of lim-
iting whatever knowledge was siiU
[iossessed in ilie country to the eccl
astics, who, amid the most advet
circumstances, and ver>' often at ihl
sacrifice of their lives, fed the lor
of learning and kept Its brilliancy m
dimmed when all around was darV
ness. They became not only the ma
kers but the dispensers of the law, fo
though surrounded on all sides bl
anarchy and ignorance, they had siij
the guidance of their canons ai
some acquaintance with the elaboral
' Smeyeltfmdi* Mttn^kmma. Loa.
What Our Manidpal Law Owes to the Church. 347
code of the empire. Tlie clergy, ad-
mits lllarkstonc, *' like the Druids,
their predecessors, were proficient in
the study of the law."
This marked and beneficial inter-
ference of ilie ministers of the church
in the legislative and judicial afiairs
of newly converted nations not only
nrosc out of political and social neces-
nty, but may be considered as a logi-
cal sccpience of tlie establishment of
Christianity itself, "'riie arliitrative
authority of ecclesiastical pxstors,"
says Hallam, "if not coeval with
Christianity, grew up very early in
the church, and was natural and
e\en necessary to an isolated and
persecuted society, accustomed to
feel a strong aversion to the impe-
rial tribunals, and even to consider
a recurrence to them as Iwrdly con-
sistent with their profession ; the
early Christi.ins retained somewhat
of a similar i>rejudic:e even after ihc
establishment of their religion. The
arbitration of their bishops still seem-
ed a less objectionable mode of set-
tling differences, and this arbitrative
juris(Uciion was powerfully support-
ed by a law of Constantinc which
jlircctcti the civil magistrate to cn-
:e die execution of episcopal
irards."* Justinian went even fur-
;r than his illustrious anccslorst, for
not only gave the bishops in the
>t instance, without the consent of
parties, the power of trying tem-
>ral causes iu which the defendant
an ecclesiastic, but the episcopal
Jer was absolutely exempted by
from all secular jurisdiciioD.j
If such clerical intrusion into the
n-ince of the civil magistrate was
>l only tolerated but encouraged in
best and most Catholic days of
: Western and Eastern empires, how
luch more salutary must it have
•irUJt, Alt: vol. tl. p. i^tf.
been in its eflfects among the semi-
civillted and turbulent Saxons and
Northmen ! Unfortunately, scarcely
any rccortl is left to us of the labors
of the priesthood in this direction
during those centuries which preced-
ed the Norman conquest, for tlie com-
pilations of Alfred and Edward the
Confessor are irreparably lost ; but
here and there we catch a glim[)se
of their presence legislating or de-
ciding causes, llius, as early as a.d.
787, at a provincial council held at
Calcluilh, a place long obliterated
from the map of England, it was so-
lemnly enacted " that none but legi-
timate princes should be raised to
the throne, and not such as were en-
gendered in adultery or incest." " Bui
it is to be remarked," says Mallam,
" that, although this synod »vas strict-
ly ecclesiastical, being summoned by
the Pope's legale, yet the kings of
Mercia and Northnmbcrlanfl, with
many of their nobles, confirmed the
canons by their signatures."* .^noth-
cr instance of clerical legislation is to
be found in the canons of the North-
umbrian clergy, and that one of pe-
fidiar interest to students of law and
hislor>', presenting, as it does, the first
germ of that glory of English law not
inaptly called the palladium of the
subject's liberty — trial by jury.t " If
a king's thane," says the crfnon,
"deny this (the practice of heathen
superstition), let twelve be appointed
for him, and let him take twelve of
his kindred or equals {m^.t^) and
twelve Uritish strangers, and if he (ail
*MiJ4l* Aeti, Tot. H. p. i«.
1 Sif wmuin f OIK*. 9 Uarncd achoUr and >blfl
inrisl, wm of fipininn ih»t the invcntjun "t irl«I
hv jury eould bo inireil to llic ancient (lieekd.
wtiilc liU>.k.s[or.« pretend* lliat tlic (icilit ol it
i» ilu« 10 the S«JK"rt who brouEbc the cu«om
with Ihem tQ Kfiffland; bnl Hallam and other
luperlur anitioiiUvi autnlain Uial the canon
Suvteil in the text ii the firw vci m nn T«cor«) of
lU great 4tiiCinKiii:>hc4 (eAinic "f RnKlbb coa-
iDon law, and ibat it wa« nni \\\\ tanf aflei Uw
adrcntoribe NDnnansUuiIllUMtaictl its|irewat
■^itcmulic form.
J
34«
IV/iat Our Mttnicipai Law Owes to the Ckureh.
let hini pay for his breach of law
^clve Imlf-raarcs; if a landholder
|K(or lesser ihanc) deny the charge, let
many of his cquaht and as many
rangers be taken for hira as for a
jyal thane, and if he fail let him pay
)r bis breach of law six half marks;
^if a ccorl deny it, let as many of his
juals and as many strangers be
iken for him as for the others, and if
he fail let him yjay twelve orce for his
breach at law."* This quasi-jury sys-
tem appears to have been applied to
other casts, for we Icani from the his-
tory of Ramsey, pubttshe<] in Gales's
t-Sirijiforts, that a controversy relat-
ig to some land between the monks
id a certain nobleman was brought
ito the county court, when each
my was heard in his own behalf,
id after its commencement it was re-
liferred by the court to thirty-six thanes,
equally chosen by both sides, t
The invasion and speedy conquest
sf Britain by the Normans not only
overliirned the Saxon dynasty, and re-
duced the people of that and the Dan-
ish race remaining in tlie country
to a condition uf absolute servitude,
but ituruduced a new language and
completely revolutionized the muni-
tipal laws of the entire nation. The
-sacriOcc of human life incident to
the conquest was small in com|>ari-
|iBon to the amount of miser)', wretch-
Iness, and degradation entailed on
ic vanquished for centuries after-
[ wards by the conquerors — men gath-
ered from every quarter of Europe,
vhose fortunes were at their swords'
points, and whose fidelity and sup-
port were only to be [purchased by
the fruits of plunder and spoliation.
Still, it must be admitted that the
conquest had its advantages, and very
great ones. From the departure of
the Romans until the arrival of Wil-
» WilkiM. p. too.
liam, England proper cannot be said
to have enjoyed any appreciable re-
spite from foreign wars or domestic
dissensions. The Britons, deprived
of the powerful protection of the le-
gions, were constantly harassed by
their rapacious neighbors Irom the
north side of the Twc-cd, and in trying
to escape from them they fell into I
dutches of their false allies, the A;
gles and Saxons, and narrowly
ed extermination. These latter w
no sooner settled to Ihc country
they established as many monarch
as they had chiefs, and, having for
time no foreign foe to contend again
readily turned their arms against eai
other on Uie slightest provocation.
Weakened and distracted, they soon
fell an easy prey to the piratical
Northmen, who, under Canute and
his successors, fastened on the fair
lands of the middle and north
liortions of the island and on
contiguous seapons a grip so te _
clous tliat all the subsequent effortr*
of the Saxon monarchs could not un-
loosen it. 'I'his diversity uf race and
traditional forms of government na-
turally gave birth to laws and cus-
toms entirely at variance with each
other in letter and spirit, and what
was binding in one section was un-
known or disregarded in another.
The Normans, with the thoroughness
of genuine conquerors, disregarded all
such local distinctions, and reduced
the entire native population to l
level, thane and ceorl alike bei
made to endure the same burdens
servitude and compelled to obey
Illicitly the will of their new mast
But the Normans were Christi
at least by profession, and boa
of a species of rude chivalry which
vented them from imitating the cjici
es of their pagan predecessors. \Vbi
greedy enough for the secular lani
of the defeated Saxons, tlicy seldom
interfered witli cliurches or insbUh
fair
dons or learning and charity ; on the
contrary, they were wise enough to
protect the one and encourage the
other in everv manner possible con-
sistent with their design of total sub-
■jection. They introduced generally
the new sj-stem of feuds and a for-
eign hierarchy, It is true, but they did
not deprive the people of the conso-
lations of religion, and they gave to
the country for the first time unity,
the ncccssar)' precursor of rational
freedom, and a national government
with uniform laws, which, if bom
amid the clash of arms, rested its
principal claims to support on the
ways of peace.
The feudal svRtcra, though bur-
dened with its aids, rchefs, seisin,
wardship, and many other equally
onerous conditions, was for that time
the best and in fact the only proper
form of government for England, and
it is mainly to its uniform esinbUsh-
inent by the conquerors, and lo the
judicious statesmanship of her great
ecclesiastical lawj'crs, who subse-
quently gradually mitigated its harsh-
er features, that the past and present
greatness of that country is to be
tracL-d, The theory thai the sover-
eign, representing the majesty of the
nation, was the owner of all the lands
of the kingdom, and that directly or
indirectly all the occupiers qf the
soil were his tenants, holding by
right of fealty and senice, gave to
tlie people what they so long wanted,
a centre of unity and a common au-
thority to which they could look for
redress and protection. Besides, the
system had become so general on the
Continent, ai^l had proved so admi-
rable a machine for defence or ag-
gression, that Its adoption by the new
Anglo ■ Norman kingdom had be-
come a political necessity.
Iliough sadly behind many of her
sister nations in the arts of govern-
ment, England was not at the time
of the conquest altogether deficient
in the knowledge of civil or common
law. On the conUary, she iiad many
eminent profe^isors of both. The
monks of Croyland and Spaulding
were di5ringuishe<l as jurists, and Eg*
elbert, Dishop of Chichester, is said,
even by Norman authorities, to have
been thoroughly acquainted not only
with the canons and what was then
known of the Roman civil law, but
with " all ihc ancient laws and cus-
toms of the land."* 'lire Normans,
however, preferring to place their
own countrymen in positioni of trust
and influence, invited from the Con-
tinent many learned l>i!tho]is and pro-
fessors, to whom they gave the charge
of the principal sees and universities,
and these, having been trained in the
schools of Italy and France, soon
substituted the study of the clearer
and more equitable regulations of the
lately- revived civil law for the illog-
ical and conHicting customs of the
natives. Thus the Pandects of Jus-
tinian were introduced into England
by Vicarius, professor of canon law
at Oxford, A.r>. 1 138, and he was suc-
ceeded by Arcorso, a doctor of the
civil law. Bishop Grossetesie wrote a
treatise in favor of the study of Ro-
man law, and Theob-ild, Archbishop
of Canterbury, founded a professor-
ship in Oxford lo promote the same
object. Of the latter prelate, it is
said that he was accustomed lo retain
in his house " several learned persona
famous for their knowledge of law,
who spent the hours between prayers
and dinner tn lecturing, disputing^
and debating causes,"t
The conquerors of the Anglo-Sax-
ons, though by no means deliaenl in
the schobrship and accomplishroenta
of that rude age, were too intent on
retaining by force the possessions
• r»cml^k, p. 3«. Skhoir«Z//. Ante. vol. L
p. »S.
t Peter of SMI, SfiMt. roL i. 3. Putt, iii».
350 IV/tat Our Mutticipal Law Owes to the Church,
tliey had won by ihe strong arm, lo
,cultivjte the arts of pMce, and, con-
lequcntJy, the framing of the laws,
the judicial auihority, and even the
pleading of causes, necessarily de-
volved on the ecclesiastics. Hallam,
a writer equally prejudiced with Blacjt-
stone, though a much better histo-
rian, is forced to admit that " the
bishops acquired ami retained much
of their ascendency by a very re-
spectable inslrumcnl of power — iulcl-
lectual superiority. As they alone
were acquainted with the art of wri-
ting, Uiey were naturally entrusted
with iiolitical correspondence and
the ]nuk.ing of the laws."* And it
was well for the conqueror and con-
quered alike that it was so, for lo
iheni, aiid ihcin alone, was given the
skill and aulliority lo restrain with
one hand the ru(hte»ii oppressions of
the lawless barons, and with the
other to alleviate the sufferings of a
down-trodden people. To the wis-
dom that proceeds from long com-
munion «-ilh the works of great and
good men they joined the authority
of the church, which they failed not
to call into rcquibiiion when jwrsua-
sion and reasoning equally failed.
To them we owe every successful ef-
fort that was made in the middle age
of England's history, either against
the tyranny of tlie crown or the in-
justice of the nobles. Mapm Otarta,
that famous instrument, whidi, like
our own constitution, ii so frequently
tftlked about and so little understood,
issued from ihe fertile brain of Arch-
bishop Langtot), ami M-as signed by
every bishop and abbot in the land.t
It was ihey who took up the serf, ed-
' MIM-t Aett,p. ISO.
t The ci>nttnued cncroarhiBcnls Of lh« crown
aa tiie rights ol' iha tMmn« uid their Unu>t> led
to an «iD«d league ac«laK John T.,lbc iMd-
iog ipLnt of wlikn WI.1 Ibc inCte|>ld Aichbi'ihoii
of CoDlertaury aail the GeticTBl. Kutxtt KlU-
v»lt«r. wlio Uiok tl»e title of "Mantial of the
Amy of Cod Mid of Ifniy Cbnreb." The lenult
wu k tlauly ooae^oa oC Uw hUtc, wUck wu
ucatcd and ordained him, and made
him rot only the equal but in m:
cases the superior of his late mast4
'i'hey also regulated the alienation
descent of lands, and by their inl
duction of fines and recoveries,
and trusts, and other forms of convt
ance, not only abolished many of tl
worst evils of feudalism, bul even, ■
cording to Blackstoiie, " laid
foundation of modern conveyancing."
For many centuries they were the
confidential advisers of kings, their
trusted ambassadors abroad, and iht^^H
names always appeared lirsl in cveij^f
writ summoning a council or parlia-
ment lo legislate for the welfare of
tbc realm, and the laws thus m;
were regularly dispensed in the co
courts by the bishops and the d
magistrates sitting together wi
c()ual jurisdiction.
But it was in the courtof chan
that the wisdom, clemency, and equitj
of the bishops of those days sfa
with ihe greatest brilliancy, t
was a court of extraordinary jurisd
lion, unknown in England before
conquest and unparalleled in coole
por-iry nations. The chancellor
his assistaiiLs, almost without ex.
tton, up to the time of Wolscyj wi
ecclesiastics. 'I'heir decisions, r
U[X>n conscience alone, tliough
2iatiCe<l iri the farm of ■ l.!rrac Charier,
imporuiact of inaoy <•( Uio libeial {uaranieM
Ki fuTth In that InsirumcTit hu dcparuo witli lk«
Kt>ecial eviU Itut |r>ve tiv; 10 |li»m, but BUnyoT
a mon geueral mtture and Mch m rvlaled to
clicajt, speedy, and ImpariMl jiitllcc. hare
coma inlCKral ^ans of the llrlllvh t*-oatt)lUt
As to the document )l%e!f, U'laimeli tdAbM i
fotlowinj; curious circumstaace: "Si/ Thon
ColIOD one day at hn tailor's discorercd thai i
ntan w»% hulding itt hL« liand, leadyto cnt '
formcanurct, Ml original mai^ma r,i.irVj|, wiiki
its appendaftcs of Malt and flffaaturcs.
bouRht the cuiiotllyfor a iriflc, and rocorcr
In Una nanncf what bad bi«a given arerl
lost.*' This aae^doie Is told hf Coluiuica^ ■
lon|[ resided and died In ihb connirf. .\ootI]
litaj imtgnit thnrSa is piescrvrd \\\ llic I'LiiinrL
LtbrmrT ; It eahlblts marlii of diUi>iaaiiim,
ivhclhcr ffOTQ the invisible tcr'he of time or
buiublcHis»orsof a talloi 1 IcavB tu arducolc
KaU liupUfy."
W/ta/ Our Municipai Law Ottfts to the Church. 351
supported by express statute or even
in cuntraventioii of its letter, had
all the force L>f legal coactDieDis, and
formed, collectively, the basis of much
of our modern remedial legislation,
as well as an unerring rule for the
guidance of our highest civil justices.
The affairs of married persons, in-
fants, idiots, corporations, bankrupts,
testators and intestates, grantun> and
grantees ol land, and of nearly every
conceivable condition of life, arc even
at lUc i)resenl d.iy within the special
and alni05t exclusive jurisdiction of
our courts of equity. In the words
of a distinguishetl English lawyer,
"It gives relief for and against in-
fants, notwilhst.inding their minority,
and for and against married women,
notwithsunding their coverture. All
frauds and deceits for which there
is no redress nl common law, all
breaches of trust and confidence, and
unavoidable casualties, by which obli-
gors, mortgagors, and others may be
held to incur penalties and forfeit-
ures, arc licre remedied. This court
also gives relief against the extrem-
ity of unreasonable engagements
entered into without cnnsiileration.
obliges creditors who are unreason-
able to compound with an un-
fortunate debtor, and makes execu-
tors, etc, give security and pay in-
terest for money which is to be long
in their hands. The court may con-
firm tlie title to lands, though one
has lost his writings, render convej--
ances which arc defective through
mistake or otherwise good and per>
feet. In chancery, copyholders may
be relieved against the ill-usage of
their lords, enclosures of hnd ivhirh
is common may be decreed, and this
court may also decree the disposition
of money or lands given to chari-
table uses, oblige men to account
with each other" etc.*
A system of laws like that of Chan-
cery, so comprehensive and so. equi-
table, tlefined and administered by a
long succirsiion of the most upright
and enlightened men of the Und,
could not but have left a deep im-
pression on the entire jurisprudence
of the people who prolilcd by its
protection — an impression, indeed,
tliat neither the mental obliquity of
the fanatic nor the sophistry of tl
pedant lias been able to oblilcratt
•' So ik'ep hath this canon law been
rooted," says L*jrd Stairs, "that
even where the Pope's authority is
rejected, yet consideration must be
hatl to these laws, not only as those
by which the church benefices have
been erected and ordered, but as
likewise as containing many equita-
ble and profitable provisions, which
because of their weighty matter and
their being once rcceive*l may more
fitly be retained than rejected." •
Had die prelates and priests of
the Saxon and Norman periods done
nothing for our law but what we find
in the dccisionsof their eqnily courts,
they wonid have conferred upon us
an incalculable blessing, one equally
L-alculaled to liberalize the spirit of
legislators, enlighten the understand-
ing of jurists, and make government
what it was designed lo be, a shield
for the weak and helpless, and a ter-
ror to the wiiied and dishonest.
But, as we have seen on the authority
of writers conspicuous for their anti-
Catholic bigotry, lliey did infinitely
more. Statesmen as well as lawyers,
they framed most of our best statute
as well as adjudicated upon them,'
and they originalc<I or perfected eve-
ry feature in our entire co<ie which
has stood the test of time, and en-
larged civil Lcalion from trial by jury
lo the unqualified right of ever)' man
to dispose of his property as seems
' Rmt, SriL, ut " Law," p. 413.
•/iutifi,tft,h. t.at. t,% 14.
353
To ike Cruiifitd,
best to himself. They have thus
placet! us under obligations which
we can only in pan repay by trans-
mitting their maxims unimpaired to
our descendants, and by, at length,
doing justice to tlieir memories. And
now, as wc believe that llie world la
growing wiser as it is growing older,
when time has hcajed many of the
wounds inflicted during the great
schismatic revolt of the sixteenth
century, and, uninfluenced by pas-
sion or unawcd by power, the scales
of prejudice arc falling from the ryes
of those who through the fault of
their fatliers arc aliens to the truth,
it is not too much to hope that they
will neither be ashamed nor a&aid to
acknowledge how much they arc in-
debted to Uic church and her minis-
ters for the generally admirable sys-
tem of laws under whifh wc live —
laws which are at once our highest
boast and best protection.
TO THE CRUCIFIED*
Ske how fond science, with imwcaricd gaze,
Eyes on the sun's bright disk each fiery vent,
And from his flaming crown each ray up-sent
Searches, as miners, in their fumacc-blazt —
Seek trace of gold. But who to thee doth raise
His eyes the while ? Who, with true heart intent,
ScAns thy sharp crown, thy bosom's yawning rent.
And peers into its depths with love's amaze ?
Let me, at least, come near the abysmal side,
And reach out to the heart which throbs within.
I am oppressed with woe and shame and sin ;
Oh I sufifcr me within that cleft to hide)
There glows the fire which purifies each stain ;
There burns the love which bids rae live again.
* Tliougbta sugs^led br lading, la Stmimrr, mi account of tha wAax edipM of l>tCftHibcr, ii}%
Las Anintas.
353
LAS ANIMAS.*
Don Feman. Uncle Romance, I
am coming in, although it don't
rain.
Uncle Romance. Welcome, Seiior
Don Feman. Your worship comes
to this, your house, like the sun,
to illumine it. Has your worship
any commands ?
Don F, I am hungry for a stor)',
Uncle Romance.
Uncle R. Story again ! Seiior,
does your worship think that my
yarns are like Don Crispin's titles,
that were past counting ? Your
worship must excuse me ; I'm in
a bad way to-day; my memory is
broken-winded, and my wits are
heavier than bean-broth. But, not
to disappoint your worship, I'll call
my Chana.f Ch-a-a-a-na! Sebas-
ti-a-a-na ! What ails the woman ?
She is getting to be like the Mar-
quis of Montegordo, who remained
mute, blind, and deafj: Ch-a-a-na!!
Airnt Scbasiiana. What do you
mean, man, by bawling like a cow-
herd ? Oh ! Seiior Don Feman is
here. God be with you, seiior !
How is your worship ?
Don F. Never better, Aunt Sebas-
tiana; and you are well ?
Aunts. Ay! no, senor; I'm fallen
away like a Hme-kiln.
Don F. ^Vhy, what has been the
matter with you ?
Uncle R. The same that ailed the
other one who was sunning herself:
• " The Souls "—generally said of sculs ia pur
gntory.
t Diminutive for Sebastlana.
J " El Marques dc Montegordo
Que se quedii mudo ciego y Bordo."
Said of those who do not wish to spealc, see, or
liemr.
VOL. xiir. — 23
* Una viej'a tsfaba at lel
Y mirande at almanajue :
£n tu^nda en cttanda d€cia,
'Kii va la luna mtitgvamli,' "
' An old woman was sunning herself
And sLudying the almanac :
From tinie to time she said,
'The moon is waning already.'"
Aunt S. No, seiior, it isn't that.
Cod and his dear mother do not
take away our flesh, but the child
when he is bom, and the mother
when she dies; and my son — ray
own life —
Uncle R. Tliere, Ghana, don't men-
tion Juan, the big hulk, with more ribs
than a frigate.*
Aunts. Don't believe it, seiior; he
just talks to hear himself, and don't
know what he's saying. That boy
of mine is more gentle and reason-
able; he wouldn't say scat to the
cat. He has served in the army
six years, and has got his lights
snufTed.t
Uncle R. His lights are those of
midnight. He entered the uniform,
but the uniform hasn't entered him. J
Don F. But what is the trouble,
Aunt Sebastiana?
Aunt S. Seiior, he can't get work.
Don F. Oh ! I'll give him work,
if you'll tell me a story.
Aunt S. My man, here, would do
it better. Your worship knows that
he has the name of being such a good
• Very obstinate.
t TuKt /at tuett etf-aiilada*. He has his lights
snufTed, i.«., wits brightened— a common expres-
sion.
X If a tnirade *n la easaea fer* lit tataca no ha
enirado tit //. Though he has put on soldier
clothes, he hasn't gained wit by a soldier's expe-
rience.
*
aiery-uikt. He ment naa fcr a "Sp*.
tak.
i3b« /: 'flm i> trac; bat U^dijr
fcc'ft ncfC ia a. Uflang Bood.
^a»/ X If I Juiia'i^
t'iCCilr AL C o t, COT, vooui,
dfici'i keep fail w o o hip is exfectm-
bOB, liiw a vstcb-do^ A ftofy,
aad ft good one; far fo« coatd
uBl a pm woe oodcr viicr.
>#Mt/ 51 Woold fcm woobip like
lo bear about the mmwuu/
I^tm Jf. Wtiboat delay; Let us
bear about the aaimat.
JuMi S. There was ooce a poor
WOttUi who had a niece that she
biDvgbt np as stnighl as a bolt.
Tb« pA wn a good girl, but very
timid and bashful. The dread of
what might bccume of this child,
if she should be taken avaj, «3s
the poor old wonion's i;reaicst anxi-
ety, 'nicrcfurc, »lic prayed to God,
night and d.ty, to send licr niece a
kii)d husband.
'Hie auDt did errands for the house
of a gossip of hers that kcj;t Iwanlcrs.
Among the guests uf this house was
a great nabob, who condescended to
say tltal hv would marry if he rould
find a gid modcHt, industrious, and
clever, Vuu niay be sure that the
old woman's car wax wide open. A
few days ofLerwanls, she told the
nabob that he would fiml what he
wos looking for in her nietc, who
was A Crc.iHurc, .1 grnin of gulJ, and
so clever (hat site paintL-<l even the
birds of the air. The gcmlcman said
that he would like to know ht;r, and
would go to see her the next dny.
Tlie old woman ran home so fast
that she never saw the path, and
tol'I hrr nictc to tiily up tlic housL',
and to comb Iter hair, and dress her-
Sirlf, the next muniing, with great care,
for they were going to have company.
When the gentleman came, the
next day, he asked the girl if she
knew how to spin.
or
** Wfaat havr yOT
oied tfac Dieoewfcai tfac
hsd gone, after girnig fas
hsnks of flaa CO spin far hiaft. *
iMEV ytmdote? AadldoiA
bovtospinr
" Go aloog,** said Ae aaab '
along, for a. poor anide tkv «3I
wtilam^dfi^/fefmrrfinedfmm^ b«t
let k be as God wiO."
" Into what a thoro-hrake yo«
hare put nic, madam ^ said
niece, crying.
" Wen, see that you get out
answered the aunt ; " but these
hanks must be spun, (or your Jartaae
depends upon them.*'
The poor giri went to her roooi
in sore distress and betook hcnelf
to imploring the blessed soulst fer
which she had great devotion.
While she prayed, three bcaotiAil
souls, clothed in white, appeared to
her, and told her not to be troubled,
for Oiey would help her in return for
the good she had done them by her
prayers; and, taking each one a
hank, tliey changed die flax into
thread as fine as your hair in less
time than would be worth one's while
to name.
When the nabob came, the next
<\ay, he was asloniiihcd to see the
result of so much diligence uruted
with so much skill.
" Did I not tell your worship so!"
exclaimed the old woman, beside
herself with delight.
The gentleman asked the giii if
she knew how to sew.
" And why shouldn't she ?" an-
swcre<i the aunt with sjiirit '* Pieces
of sewing are uo more in her hands
* JRohrar ir, ml* or niiltc ctboibmi. lUanUy
tqulnltni u* " iloa'i cououi > uuncU."
^^
Las Animas.
35S
es would be in the big
ith." *
The gentleman then left her linen
to make him ihree iKiris, and, not
to lire your worship, ii happened
ju.st as it had the day before ; and
the same took place (>n the day after,
when the nabob brought a satin
waistcoat to be embroidered; except
that, when, in answer to her many
tears and great ferx'or, the bouIs ap-
peared and said to the girl, '* Don't
be troubled, we are going to embroi-
der this waistcoat for you," tlicy add-
ed, *' but it must be upon a condi-
tion."
" What condition ?" inquired the
jtrl anxiously.
"That you ask us to .your wcd-
'* Am I going to be married ?" said
le girl.
" Ves," answered tlie souls, " to
lat rich man."
And so it turned out, for, when the
tentleraan came, the next day, and
iw hts waistcoat so exquisitely
rought that it seemed as though
hands of flesh could not have touch-
^■pd it, and so beautiful that to look
^Kt it fairly took away his eyesight^
^B>e told the aunt that he wanted to
^Brtarry her niece.
^K The aunt was ready to dance for
^^oy. Not so the niece, who said to
her : " But. m.tdam, what will become
of mc when my husband finds out
that I don't know how to do any-
thing ?"
" Oo along ! and don't make up
your miiui" answered the aunt. " Tlic
^Hble&scd souls that have helped you
Hjt other straits are not going to de-
' sen you in this."
On the wedding-day, when the
feasting was at its height, three old
voacn entered the parlor. They
ft:
I
*The T(iruK'«,OTBtninmo(liinKkfr~«DlRiiiieni4
(noM covcinl wtm cftiiru, uid r«in(ed to te-
•mblc I iOkke— Whkb h curted tn ttoaX bt UiB
pnecnloa on the feut at Coqxu ChhitL
were so beyond anything ugly that
the nabob was struck dumb with hor-
ror.
The first had one arm very shot
and tlie oUier so long that it dragged'
on the ground ; the second was
humped and crooked; and the eyes
of the third stuck out like a crab's,
and were redder than a tomato.
" Jesus, Maria 1" said the astonis
ed gentleman to his bride, '* who are
lliose three scarecrows ?"
" They arc three aunts of iny fa-
ther," she replied, "that I invited to
my wedding."
The nabob, who was mannerly,
WLMU to speak to tlie aunts and find
them scats.
"Icll me," he said to the 6rst,
"what makes one of your arras so
short and the other so long ?"
" My son," answered the old wo-
man, " it was spinning so much that
made tliem grow that way."
The n.ibob hurried to his wife and
told her to burn her distaff and spin-
dle, and to take care that she never
let him see her sjiin.
He immediately asked the second
old woman what made her so hump-
backed and crocked.
" My son," she answered, " I grew
so by working all the while at my
broidery-frame."
With three strides the gentleman
put himself beside his wife, and said
to her : '* Go this minute, and bum
your broidery-frame, and take care
that in the lifetime of Ood I do not
catch you with another."
Then he went to the third old
woman, and asked her what made
her eyes look so red and as if Uiey
were going to burst?
" My son," she answered, giving
them a frightful roll, *' this comes of
continual sewing, and of keeping
my head bent over the work.'*
Before the words were out of her
mouth, the nabob was at his wife's
?0
Las Animas.
side: **Go," said he, "gather all
your needles and thread, and throw
them into the well, and bear in tnind
thai the day 1 find >-ou sewing, I will
sue for a divorce. "ITie sight of the
haJier on another's neck is warning
enough for me."
Aunt S, And now, Seftor Don
Fcrnan, my siory is ended ; I hope
that it has pleased you ?
Zfe/i F. Ever so mucli, Aunt Sc-
bastiana ; but what I leam from it
is, that the sonis, notwithstanding
that ihey are blessed, are very tricky.
j4u/t/ S. Now, seiior, and is your
worehip going to insist ujwn doc-
trine in a romance, as if it were an
example ? Why, stories are only to
make us laugh, and grow better with-
out precq)t or name of lesson. God
will have a little of alL
Da/t F. True, Aunt Sebasliana ;
and what you express with your
umple good sense is more wholci^ome
than ihc critical reverence of the
overstrict. Hut, uncle, I am not
going without another to correspond
with this, :iad it is your turn now. If,
as I think you have told me that
you were on other occasions, you
are a devotee of San Tomas,* here
are some Havanas as an otfering to
hia saintship.
UncU R. Not to disoblige your
xvorship.
Don F. But I must have the storj* ;
I want it for a purpose.
UmU R. By which your worshiji
means to say that, without an
^ftinv, you can't make up the reaK f
Well, let nic think. Since the talk
is about animas, animas it \&. Their
sodality in a certain place hail for
mayordorao a poor bread-lost \ of
a member, one of diose who arc
■ Salol Thofo&s la the patron or tmokert.
f A little more ibAB ft CuililQ<r> •■ tf he hxl
nl<], >' uiiboui the CutUac, rov cui't auke Ibe
fip."
iiTch
1
always like the sheep that missc« the
mouthful.* He was without a rloa
and went wilji teeth chattering a
limljs benumbed with cold. Wh
does he do but go and order hi
a cloak made, and, witliout so mU'ch
as saying (huz or mwj.f tn- by yo
leave, sirs, t.ike money from
funds of the animas to pay for
When it came home, he put it on,
went into the street as conseciuen
and hi^h-stomached as those rich folks
recently raised from the dust. But
at everj* step he took, some one
gave the cloak a jerk, and though
he kept a sharp lookout he could
not see who. The injrtant he «hrew_^_
it up on the left shoulder, down i^H
slid from the right, causing him ij^^
keep a continual hitch, hitch. You
would have thought he had a thorn
in his foot.
As he went along, pestered and
chap-fallen, trying to make out whaf
it could mean, he met a gossip of
his, who was mayordomo to the ffrr-
Piiind.id ditl Sithtiiim0\ This fellow
w.xs stalking loftily, filling the stre
with his air lliat said. G*^t out of the
I am (omi/if;. After" How d'ye do
this one asked the other, " MTiat
the matter, comrade, tliat you se
so down at the mouth lately ?"
•'Matter enough!" answered he
of the souls, pulling his cloak up on
the right shoulder while it slipped off
from the left. " Know that in the
beginning of the winter I found my-
self in ditBcuUies. I had sown
/f^jar^ without seeing the cftlor ofj
wheat. My wife brought me tw
boys, when, with the nine I had al-
ready, one would have been too
many; the delivery cost her a long
• Orfj'.t fMf taU f«eruf« /lerdf. The tlieap
thai biiai lulMci > nioulhfiit.
r Without taylns r4 me ot mix— wit bout akfiaf
anylbliix.
; Sod;iIlir ot the BteiMil Sactitnuit.
I Field bired ot toe (own.
Las Animas.
357
sickness, and me the eyes of my
face. In few, I was just stuck to
the wall like a star-lizard, and hun-
grier than an ex-minister. I had to
borrow money of the souls to get
this cloak ; but what the seven ails
it I don't know, for, whenever I put
it on, it seems as though somebody
was giving it a pull here and a jerk
there. Two rudder-pins couldn't
hold it fast to my shoulders."
" You did wrong, my friend," re-
sponded the steward of El Santfei-
mo. " If, like me, you had taken a
loan of a great powerful and giving
personage, you wouldn't have to go
about as you do, chased and perse-
cuted for the debt. If you borrow
of miserable destitute wretches, what
can you expect but that the poor
things will try to get back their own
when they Jieed it so much ?"
SAINT JOHN DWARF.
One day a hermit father in God,
Planting in earth a pilgrim's rod,
For holy obedience did pray
Dwarf John to water it every day.
From the far river daily brought
Silent John his water-pot ;
As 'twere a soul's task done for God,
For three long years he watered the rod.
"When lo ! the dry wood forth did shoot.
And bear of obedience flower and fruit I
Water thy barren heart with tears.
And the same shall happen in good three years.
358
How Rome Looktd Three Centuries A^,
y
^M Let us suppose a cumpany of
^1 tra.vclters through Italy — strangers
^p from foreign climcx.Kngland, Germa-
ny, and France — reaching Rome at
the period of ihe accession of Sixius
■ V. lo the throne of Su Peter. Ap-
proaching the Eternal City by the
road from the nortli, they find tliem-
^_ selves before the Porta del Popolo.
^1 Let u<t go in with them, and
^B through their eyes see the Kome of
^1 that day.
^1 On entering the gates, they pass
^1 into an oi>en place of irregular shape.
^^ A large convent occupies nearly the
^" entire eastern side, which, with the
graceful campanile, or bcli-towcr, of
Santa Maria del Popolo, and the
high houses with wide portals be-
tween Ihe Corso, ilie Ripetta, and the
Babuino, are tlie only edifices visible.
The obelisk is not yet placed there
by Sixtus V., and the two little
churches with their heavy cupolas, so
well known to the modem tourist,
and the other buildings now seen
there — the work of Pius VII. and
the architect Valadicr— <iid not then
exist The Piazza del Popolo was
then less synimelrical, but more pictu-
resque. \Vayfarer5 on horseback and
on foot pass to and fro ; muleteers
arrive and depart, driving before them
hncs of mules and beasts of burden.
In the centre of tlie place women are
washing at a circular basin. Idlers fol-
low and gaae at the strangers while
they make their declaration to the
■Tlie iMWrkU for ihU ■nide are rannil In
Um IcKractl ivoik o flrcgoTovlua ifitukitktt
drr Sim^l firm), tbc publinUon v( whhcli. com-
■enrnl al Sttittcmrdt in tSt^, U nni jrel fvny
COnptrtMl : In Kaion Hlltitwr'ft Li/r f/ SUtnf K ;
BarckhaMl't Cii-yrmw in Itnlx ; *.aA Voa Reu-
■oBf • ciMalcal worfc on MUOU Agri Xmtc.
HOW ROME LOOKED THREE CENTURIES AGO.*
I'argcl, or public auUionty, and sub-
mit their effects to ttic examination
of the custom officials. These pre-
liminaries through, our travellers may
pass into the city by a street leading
around ihe base of the Pincian Hill,
by another going toward the Tiber,
both of which have long ceased to
exist, or by the well-known Corso.
Some find their way to ihe then cele-
brated and ahready veoenxble hoft-
lelry,
THE BEAK,
Tvidely known and greatly in vogue
ever since the reign of Sixtus IV. Its
peculiar octagon pillars fix the period
of its construction. Strange to rt-
late, this patriarch of hotels, which
has seen four centuries and twenty
generations of travellers pass over its
head and through its halls, has con-
tinued in existence, and is still open
as a tax'cm in Rome to this day.
True, its guests arc now no longer,
as they were in the sixteenth centu-
ry, such personages of distinction as
foreign prelates, noted scholars, phi-
losophers like Montaigne, and, soon
afterward, the earliest known tour-
ists. Its inmates and frequenters of
the nineteenth century are now coun-
ir>- traders, cattle dealers, and wagon-
ers.
Others of our travellers who in-
tend to make a longer stay in Rome
seek out tlie houses in the neighbor-
hood of the Pantheon or the Minerva^
nearly all of which are let out lo stran-
gcni in rooms or suites. 'Iliese apart-
mcntsarc luxuriously fitted upan<I or-
naracnicd with ihc then famous Cordo-
va leadier hangings, and richly sculp-
I
I
t
How Roftu Looked Three Ceniurus Ago.
tured and gilded furniture. Kvery-
thing is brilliant to the eye, but the
nineteenth century tourist would have
found fault u-ilh the lack uf cleanli-
ness and the stinted supply of fresh
linen.
Widi yet others of these travellers,
let us enter
THE CORSO,
the Via Lata of the aucicnt Ro-
mans. There is no ^gn of business
on it at this early day. Hut few of
the aristocracy have as yet transfer-
red their residences here, but it al-
ready wears an air of life and anima-
tion, and is well iiUed at the hours
of the promenade.
We pass along between nncyards
and vegetable gardens. A single
large edifice just completed strikes
the Rtranger*s attention. It is the
magnificent Ruspoli palace, buili by
Rucellai, the IHorcntinc b.inkcr, upon
the designs of his countryman Am-
manati.
Now we reach the Via Condotti,
to-day well-known to every Ameri-
can who ever saw Rome. Let us
turn into it to tlie left, and traverse it
to the Piazza della Trimta (now
Piazza di Spagna), whence we may
scale the hill above and obtain a
commanding view of the entire city.
In doing this, we pass through
the then worst quarter of Rome, phy-
sically and morally, for the triangle
fonned by the Corso, the Via Con-
dotd, and ihc Babuino was at once
of the most evil repute and the most
unhealthy in all Rome. In this quar-
ter were sure to break out all the epi-
demiui which at that period occa-
sionally decimated the populatiun of
Rome. Seeking to mount
THE PlNCtAN HILL,
the traveller of that day might have
looked in vain for the brood flight
of easy marble steps we now see
there, and he ascended by a steep
and narrow staircase. On rciching
the summit, he found himself on the
(oIit% horiuiorum of the Romans, and
saw it still covered with vineyards and
tilled fields, and the comparatively
modem innovation of the garden
of the Villa Medici. The elegant
world of Rome in 1585 had to con-
tent themselves with taking their
promenade and their enjoyment of
the evening air al>out the i'orta del
Popolo, and knew naught of the
charming promenade, the delightful
walks, the purer breeze, and the beau*
tiful view which later generations en-
joy on the hill above it.
The great painters of the succeed-
ing age who caroe to Rome, the Car-
racci, the Domeinchinos, the Guidos,
and llie Salvator Rosas, were the
first to discover the attractions of the
Pincian Hill, and, braving custom,
lack of accommoiiation, the bad
neighborhood, and the unhealthy
contiguity of the quarter below, were
the first to establish Uiemselvcs upoa
it This was the fountktlon of thei
modem Pincian settlement.
Some years ago, the writer of this'
article occupied apartments in the firstj
house to the right on reaching the^
summit of the Pincian steps. The]
tradidon of the house ran to the etj
feet that thciic rooms had been occu-,
pied by Salvator Rosa; and if, a
they say, he selected them for th<
sake of their view of the setting sunJ
he chose well, for all the sunsets of
Rome may there be seen to the bes^
advantage. As an American, howr
ever, views of the !>ctting sun in Italj
were not specially attractive to us,]
and we always regretted for .Salvatt
Rosa's sake that he had never seea^
a transatlantic sun.set, compared wtt
which those at Naples and Rome ai
tame spccwcles. The tradition;
" beauty of an Italian sunset " is onel
360
JI<nv Rome 'Looked Three Cenhtrks Ago,
^
»
of the many English provincialisms
we have adopted and believed in
along with numerous other errorj em-
balmed in the literature of Kngland.
But wc forget that wc are standing
on the Pincian in 1585. AU is si-
lent and deserted around us, and
Rome is spread out at our feet.
To the left are the salient points,
the seven hills — for the I'incian
was not one of them — the towers
of the Capitol, the ruins of the palace
of ihe Carsars tn the Farncsc gardens
on the I'alatine, the belfry of Santa
Maria Maggiore on the Esquiline, the
Qiiirinal, as yet without the imposing
mass of the pontifical palace. The
Rospigliosi palace was not yet built,
but the villa of Cardinal Sforza is
seen, the same afterward known as
the Barberini palace. We turn our
eyes upon the lower city — inhabited
Rome — and with difficulty make out
but three or four cupolas. On the
other hand, we see a perfect forest of
towers on ever)- side, some of them
of prodigious size. On the U-fc bank
of the Tiber, many of these tower.'!
have of late years disappoarwl, but
the Trasicvere, as might be exjiecl-
ed, ia still full of them — so full, indeed,
that a distant view of that quarter
presents the appearance of a comb
turned teeth upward. At that period,
tiiesc towers were the universal ap-
pendage of an aristocratic dwelling.
San Gcmiguiano near Sienna is the
only city in all Italy which has pre-
served them to this day.
As our stranger of three hundred
years ago looks over Rome and lis-
tens to the confused noises which
meet his ear, he is struck with the
rarity of the sound of bells and with
the small number of churches dis-
cernible. The great Catholic reac-
tion consequent on the Reformation
had for fifly years moved souls, but
had not yet begun to move the
stones. It is the following era which
is 10 imprint upon Rome the archil
tectural marks of the church iriimfi-i
phant. Later in the day, when 01
strangers shall have descended ioto^
the city and entered the chtu^hes^j
they will be struck with the barren-^
ncss of (heir interiors, and with ilic
al>sence of paintings. They arc pro-
bably ignurant of the fact tliat in
Italy, during the middle ages, there]
was but one altar in a church, ibat-J
there alone Mass was celebrated,!
that the mosaics and frescoes cime'
in with architectural innovation, and 1
that only toward the end of the sit-
teenth century were altars and oil-
jiaintiiigs multiplied willi the sidoj
chapels.
.And yet this comparative quiet of
the city was animation itself, compar-^
ed with the sights and soimd-i dis-
cernible from Uie same point at the
period when the popes returned tO'
Rome from Avignon.
ROME IN 1400.
The residence of the C^eurs was-
covered with fields, vineyard^ and
pasture. Hie Pantheon, the Coliseum.
some ruins, and detached columns
alone arose over the surrounding
waste as witnesses of former gran-
deur.
It was at this period that the Forum
received the name of " The Cow Pas-
ture" (Campo Vaccino). A rem-
nant of life yet remained in the plain
extending between the Tiber, the Pin-
cian Hill.an<l tlie Capitoline, but the
total population of Rome was reduced
to 17,000 souls, the great majority
of them huddled together and crowd-
ed in hovels clustered under the sha-
dow of the baronial and aristocratic
strongholds. High battlemented
towers filled the city. Of the scores
in the Trastevere, that of the Augui-
lara family exists to this day. On
the Tibcrine island arose the Krangi-
^
pant towers, on the left bank those
of the Orsini, from the Pona del Po-
polo to the Quirinal those of the
Colonna, while the tou'cn; of the
Meihni and the Sanguigni may still
be seen on the site of the stadium of
Domitian.
Of all the seven hills of Rome,
one only had not fallen into the
hands of the barons. The Capiio-
line was slil! held by the people. But
commerce, industr)', and the arts had
all disappeared. Komc had long
been cut off from connection with
the active world, and when Uie work
of material revival and rL-building
began, not only architecis and sculp-
tors, but stone masons and carpenters
had to be btought in from Tuscany
anil Umbria.
AN ARCHITF-CTURAL RETROSPECT.
Under the pontificates of Sixtus
IV. and his two succcssora, PintelH,
ff pupil of Umnellesco, ornamented
Rome with such monuments as San
I'iciro in Mouiorio, the facade of St.
I'etcr. and the Sistine Chai>cl. He
brought to his work the boldness and
tasie of his master, who had made
profound study of the monuments
of ancient Rome.
This was the period of the first
ffnaisuiHiY, with its charms and im-
pcrfeciions. at once timid and capri-
cious, imitating the models of anti-
quity in their details, but utterly mis-
taking the proportions which are the
essential, while succeeding brilli-intly
in the accessories and ornaments bor-
rowed from the ancients and used
in profusion with some endeavor to
adapt them to the ideas and needs
of the period. The fundamental
principle of architecture, which re-
quires that the exterior should ex-
press or respond to the use for which
the interior is destined, was unknown
to Pintelli.
To break the monotony of the
lines, the facade of any given build-
ing was, as it were, framed, decora-
tion was freely used, and the object
was to please the eye, no matter by
what means. At that day, the ar-
chitect was also the painter, and ihc
majority of artists were both. The
first rfnaissame obtained its apogee
toward (he year 1500. In the na-
tiu% of things it had then outlived
its day, and a change became indis-
pensable at the risk of degradation.
Fortunately Bramante was readi
to answer the call. He was fror
Umbria, and Raphael was his ne-
phew. He had stmiied in the north
of Italy, where, amid plains devoid
of scone, the architect was forced to
use brick. Hence the novelty of
combination introduced by him in
Rome, whose inexhaustible stone
quarries were such ancient monu-
ments as the Coliseum. It is from
the absence of heavy building-stone
and the contrast of the German taste
of the I.ongobards witli the Byzan-
tine style of Ravenna that the Lom-
bard style is begotten. Jt brought
with it precisely what the renaismme
most needeil, namely, its exquisite
sentiment of pioportions, and it forms
the transition between the two schools
of the r^tmmancf, the latter of which
formed the golden era of architecture
in Italy,
Its reign in Rome has left indeli-
ble traces. Its productions — and
among them are the court of St. Da-
mas, the Belvedere, the galleries of
the Vatican, the Giraud p.ilacc— were
the pride of the age. They taught ill
comprehension of proportions, th(
calculation of perspective, the cul-
ture of harmony of detail and en-
semhie^ reformed false taste, and cre-
ated an epoch tn profinc architec-
ture. W'itii increase of public accu-
rit)-, even the Roman barons began
to understand that the greatest beau-
m
tjr of the architectural art might be
found elsewhere than in a high tower
or a battkmenied block-house. Even
the m<zs<*-<fto, or middle class, began
to contract a taste for sometliiag be-
yond the absolutely ncccii-sary, and
sought to adorn even their modest
habiutions, A private dwclUnK-house
buiit nt this {jcriod and cxcluMvcly
bramitnt/sque may still be seen in
Rome on llic strada papoU^ opposite
the Govento Vcahiv, It yet bears
the liate of its toustruclion (1500)
and the name of its builder.
Aflcr the death of Uraniante ap-
peared Raphael, Michael Angclo,
Cjtulio Romano, and Balthasar Pe-
razzi, who, prodigal of their treasures
of genius, created a gohien age.
Romano's Villa Madama became
the type of the country-seac ; Pt-ruz-
zi's Famcsina, that of tlic [iiodera
palace. Raphael, more as painter
than as architect, composed ihe de-
signs of the palace Vidoni. It was
the great epoch of the culture of
simpiicity in grandeur, of disdain for
the small and the superfluous, of
faithful and noble expression of the
idea conceived.
. The models of antiquity were still
foUowed, hut they were transformed.
Tlte architect translated niudcm con-
ceptions into the sonorous buc dead
and strange language of the old Ro-
mans. In interior ornamentation,
however, the artist could give free
rein to hU inspirations, and throw
off the irammeU of the severe rules
scrupulously followed as to the fa-
cade and the general composition of
the design. Alas) it was here they
planted the germs of degeneration
and decay. Pnblic taste — never a
safe guide — seized u|)on and clung
to these prodigalities of an exube-
rant and fantastic imaginaMon sup-
pose<l to be inexhaustible. At Hor-
ence, in his work on the chapel of
the Medicis, >{ichael Angelo was the
rcao^H
first 10 enter this flowery but trea
ous path.
Wc sec and admire these nich
windows, and ornaments, charming
indeed to the eye, but which have
no ralwn d'itrc. It was at a later
period, under the pontifitiatc of i*
III., tliai the painter of the "L
Judgment" and the sculpturof "
ses " revealed him.self at Rome, as
architect stamped his work on the F
nese palace, and astonished the woi
by reconstructing St. Peter's.
thus style gainetl the upper han
Simplicity yielded 10 riches ; logic
caprice; unrestricted liberty succec'
ed the voluntary curb which t
great masters of the epoch had im-
posed upon themselves. Prescn
came pauses. Halts were made.
in all human affairs, action and
tion succeeded. Not so much in
tails as in etts^mitlf, Vignoli in Rome,
I'alladio at Vtcenza, and to a certaiA-j
degree Scamazzi in Venice, brougl
back architecture to the sobriety
the commencement of the century.
Hut the death of Michael .-Vngelo
appeared to have coniplctely dcmo^
ralized the architects who surviv
For thirty years he had reigned su*^
prente. In him alone had the popes
confidence; and upon architects c:
ployed by them, they imposed
obligation of following him. Pi
Ligorio, architect of St. Peter, w
dismissed because he muiifcstetl an
intention to put aside Michael
gelo's plans. In thus officially gua
ing the manes of the dead mast
they apparently hopetl to transfer
genius to those who succeeded him.
Rut it was a sad and fatal mistake.
The amount of building effect
in Rome during the last third of the
sixteenth century has never, proba-
bly, been exceeded. In examining
the productions of that epoch, th^
struggle between llie servile imital
of Buonarotti and the incn of pro*
i
.. an
lar^M
isia^H
rhii^
' im.
M
ihe^
How Rome Looked Three Centuries Ago.
363
gress, desirous, but through lack of
originality incapable, of cmanripating
themselves, is readily discerned. But
let us leave this retrospect, descend
tile steps of the Piiician Hill, and, tra-
versing the Piazza di Spagna and the
Via Condotti, enter
TH£ CORSO AGAIN,
at the points where to-day's tourist
sees the Via della Foniajiella, by
which he goes toward the bridge of
St. Angelo, on his way to St. Peter's.
Here our tra\*ellers of 1585, passing
under the arch of Marcus Aurelius,
which separated the Corso into two
distinct parts, and was afterwards
swept away by Alexander VII. to
straighten and widen the thorough-
fare, find themselves really in Rome.
On either side are solidly built houses
without windows or balconies, cover-
ed with frescoes, and so high that
the sun reaches the pavement only
at mid-day. Looking down the Cor-
so, the traveller perceives at its ex-
tremity, above the palazeito of St.
Mark, the battlemenled convent of
Ara Call, and the lower of the Capi-
tol Leaving the Colonna place and
the Antonine column to Uic nght*
our travellers soon reach the place
and palace of St. Mark, with its im-
mense baltlemented facades, sur-
mounted by a colossal lower built of
stone almost entirely taken from the
Q^seum. With the exception of
some few modifications in the win-
dows of the facade fronting on the
Via del Gesu, and in the roof of the
tower which formerly projectc<I, this
palace — now known as the .\ustrian
— to-day appears to us as the travel-
ler saw it three hundred years ago.
Near by is the Church and Convent
of the Apostles, where in after-years
were shown the cells occupied by
the two friars who became respec-
tirely Sixtua V. and Clement XIV.
(GanzanelU). When the monks of
this convent called in a body upoik
Sixtus V. to felicitate him on his ao*-i
cession, the cook of the community^
went up alone to the pope at the-
close of the audience " Hoiy Fa-
ther," said he, " you doubtless re-
member the wretched repasts ot
which you partook when with iis?"
Sixtus replied that the expression
" wretched repasts "perfectly describ-
ed the meals in question. *' Well,"
continued the cook, " the cau-se was
the want of good water — give us
water."
Sixtus declared that this was the
only re.isonable demand yet made of
hira, and immediately onlcred the
construction in the ancient court of
a beautiful founuin, which, although
much injured by time, yet exists.
Still progresMny towards the Cap-
itol, our travellers pass the Gesu. In
the small house adjoining it Ignatius
Loyola died, and St. Francis Borgia
has but lately expired there. And
now they ascend to ^he Capitol by
the cnnitmala of Michael Angelo.
Looking still onward, they catch a
glimpse of the Forum {Campo Vaed-
na)y enlivened only by droves of
browsing cattle and here and there
a searcher of buried antique statues.
Beyond the Arch of Titus all is silent
soIitu<le.
The modem, active, liWng
ROME OF THAT DAY
was within the triangle bounded by
the Corso, the Tiber, and the Capi-
tol. Our travellers turn their faces
towards the St. Angelo Bridge, and
approach ii by long, narrow, and
crooked streets, nearly corresponding
with the Via Giulia and the Mon-
scrrato which we to-ttay traverse.
This W.1S the Faubourg St. (Jermain
of the prrioti, full of palaces, but
stately and silent. The strangers
L
3^4
How Rome Looked Three Centuries Ago,
find the activity, movement, display,
aiid exuberant activity oi Rome in
the street now knorni as liie Bancfti-,
then lined with the residences of
wealthy bankers, in the hcli Spanish
quarter beyond (he Piazza, Navona,
.in the Tordinone and Conmari,
From the rising to the setting of
[the sua, tliroDgs of people fill these
' badly paved thoroughfares, which
arc more thickly lined with palaces
as they appr()a<:h the bridge. Our
strangers are impressed with the
great crowd of people, and are of
the opinion ihst it exceeds that of
the Maraiis in raris, an<l is second
only to the throngs they saw in Vcn-
;e. About the Pantheon and the
^Minerva arc the houses already men-
tioned where travellers and visitors to
Rome find furnished suites of apart-
ments—the Fifth Avenue and Si.
Nicholas Holds of the period. A few
years later (1595), on beholding this,
the Venetian ambassailor writes that
" Rome has reached the apogee of
its grundcur and prosperity."
With difficulty a ftajNsage through
the frowd is effected, and the task is
rendered even dangerous by the large
number of carriages in circulation.
In 1594, there were eight hundred
and eighty-three private carriages in
the city. They were almost an es-
sential. The great St. Charles Bor-
romeo said, " There are two things
necessary in Rome — save your soul
and keep a carriage." And a singu-
lar-looking carriage it was to our
^eye^ In shape resembling a cylin-
ler open at both ends, with doors at
either side, knocked and tossed aliout
in a sort of basket on four clumsy
wheels. The elegants and beaux of
the day usually had an opening in
the top of the vehicle through which,
as they progressed, they admired
fair ladies at their nindows. " They
make an astrolabe of their carriage,"
thundered a preacher in denunciation
of the practice. The crowd increa
as the Sl Angelo Hridge is a|tproa>c
ed, and it equals the human pre:isi
of the period of tlie jubilee as de-
scribed by Dante :•
C^Die I Ranwfi, per reseicHo raolto,
L'^ono ltd gliibbiWo, sw per lo paiita
llaiuiu > ^Auoir U gcuLe moila tolin ;
Cbe (l«U' un talo lulu fauino la fronlc
VerM 'I nutsllu, c vannu b Santn PlrL _
Dall' altrtt c[>oa<la v«nno vcnu 'I luante lOI
duto).
No ladies are seen. They seldt
go out, and then only in carriaj^.
We find the modem Italians htgl
demonstrative. Their ancestors w«
more so, as our travellers noticed
every step. Men meeting acquaii
anccs in the street cxchangcti pt
found bows. Friends cmbra<
" with effusion." People threw thi
selves on their knees before those
whom they had favors to ask.
DIXNERS AND BANgVETS
for invited guests were snmptu
and of long duration. The cuHna
art of that epoch — as we leam
a work of Bartholomew Scarpi,
Grand r(////of the sixteenth cent
and head cook of the saintly Pa
v., whose personal meals cost si
cents a day, but who, in state
tions, entertained magnificently—
something wonderful, according
our modem ideas. For grand
ners, there were four courses,
first consisted of preserved fruits ;
ornamented pastry, from which,
being opened, little liirds tTew out,
making it liicr.illy a vol au ve.
'I"hen came the other courses c
posed of a multitude of the most
* KvBti M the Kutti«ii&, fur (tte nlKhi; boM,
The ycai orjubklctr. upon Iho brlJK?,
Hare chOKn a mcxte to pan Ul« pci>pl« orct.
Fnr «]] a{>on one aide towariti (be cuit«
Thdi r>c«a hare and in into St. Pci^r'a ;
On Uie oUer kidc tbcy |a towuiU Uic me
Uln.
S,tmg/tilt»'t Tra miM im*
dishes, poultry with all the
feathers on, cajtons cooked in bottles,
meat, game, .iiid fish, aliemaiing with
sweet dishes in confused pell-mell,
utterly subversive of al! our modem
gastronomic ideas. Some dishes
were prepared with rose-water, and
substances the most heterogeneous
and contradictory were mingled in
the same preparations. Tlie sublim-
ity of the style was to effect the
sharpest possible contrast of materi-
als and odors.
The wines most in favor were the
heady wines of Greece, the MaJ-
volsy, and the great Nca]jolitan
brands, the I-achrima and the Man-
giai;unra, described as black in color,
powerful, spirituous, and so thick that
it coald almost be cut. So, at least,
reports the Venetian Bernardo Nava-
gcro, writing from Rome in 1558:
" M possenie c gagliardo, ncro c
lanlDspvsK> che si i^otria quasi tag*
liarc."
Before the dessert, the cloth was
removed, the guests w^ashed ilieir
hands, and the tiible was covered
with sweet dishes, highly perfumed,
preser\'cd eggs, and syrups.
Both before and after the repast,
distinguished guests used what we
would now call finger-bowls and
mouth-glasses, demonstratively and
even noisily. On arising from table,
Iwuqucts of flowers were distribute*!
among the guests. From contempo-
raneous statements as to the cost of
various entertainments of that i>criod,
we should judge that the Roman pro-
vision supply w.xs much cheaper than
we to day find it in those marvels of
modern architecture, the Washington
and Kullon Markets. Thus, for in-
stance, a wedding-snpper, given by a
Roman nobleman (Gottofredi), and
which was at the time (1588) noted
for its beauty as well as its cxlrava-
I gance, cost five hundred crowns,
V equivalent, allo^'ing for Oic differ-
■1
ence in specie values, to about nuic
hundred dollars of our money.
THE HOKSE-KACI^ ON THE CORSO,*
during the carnival, are, of course,
witnessed by our iravellers. These
races were formeriy one of the tra-
dirionnl holiday amusements of the
I'iazza N'avona, which is on the site
of a Roman amphitheatre, and they
were transferred to the Corso by Faul
11.(1468). Seated in the small room
of the corner of the Pulazetto of St.
Mark, whose windows command a
view of the entire length of tlie Corso,
this good-natured pontiff, who was
fond of promoting the innocent amuse-
ment of his subjects, witnessed the run-
ning, and had the Aa/'^/7'(litllc horses)
stopped at that point. The poor gov-
ernors of Rome liave ever since borne
and still bear the servitude of this
tradition. Four himdrcd years have
gone by since Paul 11. sat at the
window on the Corso, but to this
day the Governor of Rome, clothed
in the otEcial robes, whose cut and
fasliion have not varied a line in all
that time, must, in the very same
room and at the verj' same window,
witness the running and have the
horses stopped at the same points.
Under Gregory Xlll. thcve races
had somewhat degenerated. Buffa-
loes of the Campagna, as well as
horses, were run, and races were
even made for children and for Jews.
Sixtus V. reformed all this and made
new regulations, which, with slight
modi5catious, are to this day in
force.
LrrERATURB AND THE TUCATRB.
At the period of which we treat,
there existed a decided taste for the
dranw — such as it then was — but it
* the rctder will, af rourw. rememDcr ttutl
lh«ie w«r« ntcci of tigraes witbout riUcta.
3»
How Rome Looked Three Centuries Ago,
was a taste exercised under ditficul-
tics. During the carnival of 153S,
permission was ubUincd, as a great
£3vor, from Sixtus V. to allow repre-
sentations by the Dcsiosi troupe, at
that time the most celebrated in Italy.
But the hcensc was hampered with the
following conditions ;
thirst. The rcprcsciilalions should
lake place in the daytime.
Second. No woman should apjiear
on the stage.
Third. No spectator should be
admttied with anns about his person.
Such a public edifice as a theatre
was at that time unknown in Italy.
True, many princes had halls con-
structed in their palaces for dramatic
Tepreseniaitons, and the Olympic
Aca<lcmy of Vicenza erected a build-
ing fnr the purpose, which was com-
pletetl on the designs of Patladio.
As for the dramas represented, it is
easy to understand their inferiority
when \vc know that Guarini's Bxstor
\^di> gained a reputation not yet en-
tirely lost, by reason not of its merit,
but because of the inferiority of every
dramatic production of the time.
The costumes, decorations, and
mise en schie formed the main attrac-
tions, but the plays themselves loudly
proclaimed the decay of literature.
^"They possessed neither originahly,
[linvention, nor poetrj-. When we
contemplate our own elevated and
puhtied stage of the present period,
with ilj( boutfc, lllack Crook, blondes,
land brigands, how profoundly should
\'ve not pity the benighted Italians of
About this time, ihe first edition
of Tasso's yenaaUm Deihcred made
its appearance. I&sucd without t^
author's consent, it was both defi
tive and incorrect. In spite of
enmity of the Grand' Duke Fran
and, what was more to be fe;iri
of the opposition of the Delia Cr
can Academy, the ytrumlem 9X o:
achicvctl an immense success — a si
cess purely due to its beauty of dic-
tion. Contemporary criticisras
I taiian poets whose names ha'
since become immortal read stran
ly now. Tasso was sneered at, A
osto's merit seriously contested, and
Dante absolutely condemned.
"This poet," says Guiseppe M
testa, a distinguished writer of t
day, " has borrowed the wings
Icarus to remove himself as tar
possible from the vulgar, and,
dmt of searcliing for the sublime, he
has fallen into an obscure sea of
scurities. He is both philosop
and theologian. Of the poet he
only tlie rliyme. To measure
hell, his [lurgatury, his p.aradise,
needs astrolabes. To undersi
them, one should constantly have
at hand some theologian cap.ibte of
commenting upon his text. He is
crude and b.irbarous; he striv-es
be disgusting and obscure when
would really cost him less etfort
be clear and elegant, resembling
this certain great )>enionages who,
possessed of an admirable colUgta*
phy, nevertheless, through pure affec-
tation, write as illegibly as pofiii-
blc."
lie-
i
is
I
The Mother of Prince Galitstn.
THE MOTHKR OF PRIXCE GALITZIN .•
^^ev
In presenting our American Cath-
ie readers with a notice of tlie Life
of the lancets Atnelia Gith/iin, it
would lie sufficient ajKilogy to nien-
lioi> that this illustrious lady was the
Hiothcr ux the great religious pioneer
of Pennsylvania — that worthy priest
whose services in the cause of Cath-
olicity in our country have endeared
his name lo the American church
and have kept his memory still alive
io the filial luvt: bom of a new gene-
ration whose fathers he evangelized.
But even if this apostle-prince had
er landed on American shores ;
er sacrificed an opulent position
and a brilliant career, (o lalxir as a
humble missionary in the wild wc<it-
em forests of Penns)lvania ; never
indelibly engraved his name, as he
has done, on tliat soil, now teeming
witli industrial and religious life,
there is tliat in the life of the prin-
cess, his mother, which would amply
recommend it to our interested at-
tention.
Her career was beyond the com-
mon nm of lives. It was wondcrftjl
in its blending of the ordinary H-iih
the cxtnordinaf)'. It is the story of a
great, strong mind — a high-principled
soul, cntrammclled in circumstances
commonplace, disadvantageous, and
entirely beneath it, struggling for as-
cendency to its own level above
them. A notice, then, of her life
possesses a double interest for our
readers — its own intrinsic interest,' anri
that which it borrows from the fore-
' hf^tkuUriUt dt la Vttdtlit rrimitut Amtti*
CmiitvM. I'arTbcorf. Katcilump MUniier. iSaS.
/.« f^imfwur CtUiMn *t In Amit. Sc hack-
ing: Cologne. iS^e.
shadowing of the great and useful
life spent in our country, with which
we have already been made ac-
quainted, and of which, we are
glad to Icam, we are soon lo have a
more extended account.
The Princess Amelia Galitzin was
bom at Berlin, in August, 174!*. Her
father, the Count dc Schmcttau, a
field-marshal of Prussia, was a Prot-
estant. Her tnollier, tlic BaroncstS
dc Ruflfcrt, was a Catholic This
difference in the religion of the pa-
rents led to the undcrstamling that
the children of the marriage should
receive, according to their sex, a dif-
ferent religious education. Amelia,
the only daughter, was destined, then,
to be educated in the Catholic fiiith.
For tliis purpose she was sent, at the
early age of four years, tu a CaLliolic
boarding-school at Brcslau.
It seems that at this establishment
the religious as well as the secular
training was sadly defective ; for, at
the end of nine years, the young
countess lefl tlie pcnsionnai with no
instruction, little piety — even that
little of a false kind — and with but
one accom])lishment, a proBciency in
music, tlie resuit of tlic cultiva-
tion of a great natural talent. As
for literary acquirements, she scarce
could read or write. Another school
was now selected for her. and
this selection reveals the negligent
character of her mother, who, from
failing lo use a wise discretion,
or to exert that softening and mould-
ing influence thai mothers hold as %
gift from nature, may be held ac-
countable for the troubled darkness
and painful wanderings of mind that
36d1
Tlu MotJter of Prince Galitzin.
afilicted her daughter in her curious
after-career. At tliirlccu she was
placed at a kind uf day-cullege, in
Berlin, dirci:tcd by an atheist. Such
a step would have been a dangerous
experiment, even with a child of the
moat ordinary luiud, whose impres-
sions are easily eftaccable, but witli
ihe self-reliant spirit and keen intel-
lect tJiat were destined to be devel-
oped in Amelb. it was mure than
dangerous, it was a ruinous trial.
The resulw of her eighteen monihs'
attendance at this school were not
inimediaiely apparent, at least tliey
were but ne(;alively so. At scarcely
fifteen years of age, bhe left this
atheist scltool to become a wo-
man of the world, by making what
is technically called her entrance into
society. WhsX that entailed on a
member of a nnl>le house, and in a
gay capital like Berlin, especially the
Berlin of ilie eiglileeuih ceniury, we
may well surmise. There was an-
other feature in its society worth
attention, beyond the stereotyped
rmmd of Uv^fS^ soir^eSy and midnight
revels of high life. The great dark
cloud of incredulity had jubt settled
on sunny France. Kranrc then
stood at the bead of the western na-
tions. A rejection of her brilliancy
was found in surrounding societies.
Imiiatinn of her tastes, literary and
nialcriai, was deemed no disj;race.
Even her (piick, dancing, nnisical lan-
guage was ludicroubiy set, by fashion,
to the rough, guttural tones of the
Teutonic tongue — so great was her
fascinating int^uence. No wonder,
then, tliat the thick shadows of that
(lark doud in which she had shroud-
ed her faith should have fallen heav-
ily around her. 'i'hey fell on I'nis-
sia, and fell heaviest when Vol-
taire became the guest of Frederick.
The f<fittd, contagions almcK^pherc
lluatcd in on the society of her cap-
ital. To be rational was the rage,
when rational meant incredulous*
Statesmen became skilled in the new
philusuphy. Since the lung had
turned jihilosophcr, grand ladies sud-
denly found themselves profoundly
intellectual and controversial, and
their drawing-rooms became like the
talons de Pam — no longer the friv-
olous halls of pleasure, the dept<ts fur
the lively gossip uf the niiiiscfia <ii
life, but private school-rooms, inner
circles in aid of the grand revolt of
reason against God which had al-
ready begun throughout Europe.
In such society, tlieo, did thb
young girl, fresh from an atheist
school, find hcrstrlf at the age of
fifteen, with no arm of a Christian
to do battle for her soul ; neither tire
•* shield of faith " nor " the sword of
the Spirit, winch is the Word of
God." Hut, happily, that society
was not imntediately to possc&s bcr
young heait. /Vn timui — a name-
less weariness — jntensified by a rtwr-
bid self-love, now settled on her ratod.
And it was in iliis tnal th.-it her de-
fective instruction first began to tell
against her. The oidy relic of its
early impressions left her w;is a con-
fused notion of the horrors of bcQ
and tiic power of the devil, which
nuw ruse before her but to increase
her misery. Itcyond iliat, she be-
lieved in nothing, hoped for little in
this life, and saw not the next. True,
she accompanied her mother to .Mass
on Sunday, but to her it was as ftn
idle show. She understood as Kttk
about the ceremonies as about Ihe
text of the delicately -bound Francli
prayer-book she was obliged to hold
in her hand.- .She could find noth-
ing in what she knew or saw of rc-
ligbn to fill the void that caused the
weariness of her heart. She deter-
mined to seek relief in rea<ling. Her
father's library was sc<int. So she
sent rather a r^nfidtng request t<»
the proprietor of a neighboring read-
i
T!u Mother of Prince Galitsin,
369
' rar
i
ing-room to supply n young lady
who was anxious to improve herself
with useful books. I'his gentleman's
ideas of improvement and utility
were somewhat singular, for he forth-
with dispatched a large packet of sen-
itational romances. With the same con-
fiding spirit she acceptevJ theseJcciion,
and novel after novel she fairly de-
voured, devoting night and day to
her new occupation. That the fri-
volities of a gay society had no at-
tractions for her as a resource in her
extremity, that they could not'* minis-
ter to her mind diseased," sliows a
soul of no ordinary mould, and shows,
too, that it was not through the senses,
but through the inteUect, that its crav-
ings were to be allayed. Compara-
tive peace of mind returned, for she
made her reading a very preoccupy-
ing labor by keeping a diary of its
.ults and impressions. Music, n!-
ys her favorite pastime, she now
made her recreation.
She was just beginning to taste
e sweets of living in a httle peace-
1, busy world within herself, when
a young lady, nho had been an inti-
mate friend of liers, was admitted to
s share in lier occupations. This
resulted in not only breaking her ut-
ter isolation from society, but iu lead-
ing her to mingle in it once more.
The calm of the previous months was
not entirely undisturbed. At inter-
Is the thotigbis of her utter irreligi-
sness would conjure up again those
palling images of Satan and hcU,
d their recurrence became more
frequent as she relented in her ta-
rs. Uut now in the gay drawing-
m assemliiics she met many ladies
her own rank who, professing to
Catholics, did not heHtate to ex-
freety, in tlieir brilliant con-
lions, the sentiments of incre-
lity w*hich filled her own mind,
their example she found her self-
istilicatiun. She believed it fashion-
VOL. XIII. — 34
able to think and act as other laflies,
and so, dismissing what she now
deemed her idle fancies, she permit- •'
ted herself undisturbed to glide into
the easy way of unbelief.
Hut an unseen mercy followed on
her path, and soon again cast before
her warning signs of her danger.
Her fears of the supernatural gre»,
again; and this time, in spite of e^
example, in spite of every cfiort toj
treat them as fancies that could b« 1
laughed away, they increased t«|
such an extent that faer health became
endangered. Once more she form-
ed a plan of escape from her terrors
of mind and the weariness they en-
tailed — this time an unaccountable
and for her an unexpected one.
She resolved to devote herself to me-
ditation, that, as she said in her
jounial, *' by force of thought she
might raise herself to union with the
Supreme Being," and thus neutralize
the effects of the frifjhlful j)ictiiies of
eternal punishments which wearied
her imagination. We cannot help
seeing in this effort a noble struggle
of a great mind, untutored in child-
hood, and left in early youth without
guidance or encouraging support.
She immedialcly entered on her
new project, and made great and
persevering eflbrts ; but she groped
in the dark and made little progress
in meditating. Yet these ctforts
were not wholly unavailing. Sl»e
succeeded by her bare strength of
thought in impressing deeply and
thoroughly on her mind the digni-
ty of a highly moral life, which led
her to the convHction that cverj'thing^
gross or vile was utterly unworthy
of the nobl« soul that dwelt withiikl
us.
What child of sixteen have we
ever known or heard of whose young
life presents a history of mind so
curious and so wonderful ? Few
even of riper years have ever display-
3;o
The Mother of Prime Galitsin.
nl a mere, bare natural power of
soul at once «o strong and so refin-
ed as tltat which led Amelia to so
beautiful a conclusion.
Be that as it may, it was for her
a saving rt:sult in the chanj^e Uial
was now about to come over her jwsi-
tion in liie. It was arranged at this
time, by her parents, that the young
countess should join the court, in
the capacity of lady robe-keeper
to the wife of Ferdinand, Prince
of Prussia, brother to Frederick
II.
If we called the court society of
that epoch gilded corruption, we
believe we would be epitomizing the
detailed chronicle of its cliaracter.
Yet, armed with her high-soulud
conviction, AmeHa glided untainted
through its seductions and scandals,
tliough her youth and beauty and
tliu alTcctiunate biniplicily of her
manners made her the object of
much attention.
From the character of her mind
wc may well ima;;ine that site had
little relish for her new duties. To
any one of a high order of intellect,
and consequent intellectual aspira-
tions, the mean, material duties of
arranging a wardrobe, sorting dresses,
seeing them set out in their respective
turns, and changed with every chang-
ing (ashion — in a word, being a mere
waiting-maid to any one, no mailer of
what rank, must necessanly be irk-
some and distasteful. And tliough
we will not draw the exaggerated sar-
castic picture that Lord Macaulay
gives of Frances JIumey's life at the
court of Lingland, yet the fact that
the young countess stole many an hour
from Iter trksorae |)Ost and still more
wearying ceremonious court-pleas-
ures to enjoy the instructive conver-
sation of elderly men of known lite-
rary tastes and acquirements, gives
us full ground for at least compassion-
ating her in a position so evidently
unbefitting her gifted and asptnng
mind.
In her twentieth year she accom-
panied the princess on a summer
trip to the waters at Aix-la-Chai>cUc
and S\>di.. It was during tlieir
dence at the former place she
met and received the addresses of
Prince Dmitri Galilzen, The
of their love does not seem to
anything above the ordinary inter
and even extended over a
shorter period than is usual before
marriage. All we learn about it
that the match seemed very adva
tageous in the eyes of her proiectfi
the princess and her brother. Gene
Count de Schmctlau (her mother,'
long extremely delicate, ha\ing died
during her residence at the court),
and that the marriage ceremon
was performed with great /chi
August of the same year in whi
the proposal had been made and
cepteil.
^Vlmost immediately after her mar-,
riage she had to set out with K
husband for the court of St. Pete:
burg, of which he was an attach
iler sojourn, however, in the Rusat
capital was very brief, for soon aft
his arrival the prince was sent
ambassador to tJie Hague, in H
land. Five ycare previously he h
filled d^c same post at Paris, whe
he became the intimate friend of \
tairc and Helveiius. For the latt
he paid the expenses of the public
tion of his famously infamous worl
Dc rEsprii. He himself seems t<
have been quite a UilMUeur. He
contributed, while in Paris, to
yournal d€s Sathiti/s, and publish
two or three works of a scientific and
political character. But to return.
A new life now openeil for Ameli
at the Hague. She became the si
of the brilliant society that daily 611
the halls of the palace of the Prince
Ambassador oi Russia; she lived
i
ied
rt),
m
Me
^ I I
The Mother of Prin(( Gaiiisin.
37*
courtly splendor, and received tlie
flattery of homage tliat queens might
liave coveted.
Sill' had now resided two years in
Holland, and had given lilrih to two
children, a daughter and a son. It
may be naturally expected that now
the duiiw of a mother wonid bring
her life ;ind licr mind to the level of
ordinary ititercst Not so. The rou-
tine duties of her station had all
along been tasteless to her. The
constant round of pleasures which en-
gaged her, ihc flatteries she received,
in which meaner minds would have
loved to live and revel, had for her
no soothing or beguiling influence;
not even the total change of existence
and occupation which married life
induces wrought any change upon
her spirit An aching void was still
within her heart, and, seeing nothing
around her with which to fill it, she
began to pine away. At length a
strong inclination seized her, one of
^osc yearnings for some one project
lich swallows all our thoughts and
which all else must yield ; we may
call it a humor precisely in Ben
■^Kpison's sense :
i
^Bhis humor was nothing less than
entire abandonment of ihc worhi and
cares. Notwithstanding the ob-
tions of her married life or those
her position in socieij*, she dcter-
ineii to retire to some solitary spot,
Id (here engage her mind in hard
idv of difficult and dry subjects.
Alarmed for her health, and prob-
>ly deriving little comfort from such
moody consort, her hutsband con*
jntcd to her retiring to live in a
small country villa a few miles from
the Hague. She engaged a distin-
tished professor of the city, named
9(1 <J
Hitea fooc one pcculinr qtwUiy
Doth w posvn« ■ man iliat \\ doth dnw
All hi« rfmv his niiiiKs^ and his puvrcrs
In thcif tonfluKJoni, *ll lo run on« way,
Tbl* mny bv iiulj' utid to be a hutnor.''
Hemsterhuys, to give her lessons in
Creek, with a view to following under
his guidance, loo, a course of Creek
[ihilosophy-
Strange to say, the moment sho
entered with ardor on this uninvit-
ing task, her mind became cumpli:te>j
ly calmed, and she felt a peace and
contentuient which for yeaib she had',
not known.
Besides the seeking of her own
peace of mind, the resting the wea-
riness of her heart, she 4iad another
object in view— to prepare herself to
be doubly the mother of her chihlrea
by imparting to them herself a tho-
rough education. In the six years
that she toiled in this seclusion, this
was the great sustaining motive of
her labors.
When the children grew to the'
years of discretion, she relented Jni'
her harder studies to devote her-
self with no less assiduity tolheir ear-
ly inslniction. Kvcrylhingwas made
suliservient to that end. liven the re-,
creations requisite for herself, and th<
amusements necessar>' (or theiii, th<
pleasure excursions away from home,
all were designed to oiwn and ma-^j
turc their young minds.
Hut in these respects Holland had
but poor resources. One quickly
wearies of its changeless lowIand.s.'
It can boast of no wild scenery
which grows new at every gaze and
invites repealed visits, and it has few
places of any peculiarly instructive
interest. Il was this consideration
that determined the princess to re-
move to the more pictures»|uc and^
favored land of .Switzerland, where
her husband owned a country-house
near Geneva.
Her preparations for this change <
of residence were nearly completed,'
when news reached her of the pr
jects of the Abb6 de r'urstenberg for^
a reform in the method of public ii
stnicdoQ.
372
Tke Mother of Prince Galitzin,
¥
Thill Abb^ de Furstenberg was
'lie of llic most remarkable men of
that liay in Oeniianj'.
Oi noble birth, he received a (ho-
rou{;h civil and ecclesiastical educa-
tion, and at the age of thirly-fivc
found himself chief a<hninistrator,
spiritual and temporal, of the princi-
pality of Miinster, under the prince-
bishop. His administration was at-
tended with most marked success,
and had brought the little state to an
tuicqualled degree of prosperity, not
only rcllgiuus and political, but even
commercial and military. His latest
tabor was his educational reform re-
garding ihc method of leaching. To
mature this scheme, he had studied,
consulted, and travelled much during
seven years. >\'hcn, at length, be
publtslied ihe result of his researches,
It was received far and near wiili
much applause, whose echoes had
now reached the Princess .\melia in
Holland on the eve of her depar-
ture for Switzerland. She at once
indefinitely deferred this journey, and
resolved to lose no time in making
the acquaintance of this accomplished
ccclejlisiic, ill order to master under
hi* own guidance the details of this
new method of instruction. For this
purpose, in the May of the year 1779,
she set out for Miinster, intending to
pay only a short visit. She rem.iin-
e»l nineteen days, and, though the
greater part of the lime was spent in
Ihc company of the learned abb6,
she found it impossible in so short
a space to take in the result of \m
experience. "ITiis, and probably a
certain charm which his grer.t con-
versational powers exercised over her,
made her determine to return again,
and, with the j)ermission of her hus-
band, remain a whole year In Mfln-
sier before setting out for Switzer-
land. Consc<]UcntIy, in the same
year, she took leave of her huslwnd
and her old preceptor Hemsterhuys,
purposing not to return to the Hagi
but to pursue her Swiss project
tcr her year's sojourn at Nlunst
Uui this programme was never to
carried out. Any one who ha.s e^
felt the influence of our aflccUons
our j>]ans and .schemes — how pl.isl
they are beneath them, how read!
they yield in their direction — will cj
ly divine the cause of thii. In fa
so -strong had gTo\«i this intet]et:tual
friendship between the princess at
the Abb^ de Furstenberg that cvt
idea of going to Switzerland yicldl
before it; so much so that, befe
the end of the year, she ha^l ])urch:
ed a house in Miinster, and engage
a country -chfiteau for the sumni
months of every year.
All this time she had kept up
frequent correspondence wiili
husttand and her old professor, ai
she had made them promise to ton
and spend as long a time as th<
could spore c\'cry summer st
country-scat
She was yet in the unchristian por-
tion of her life. In her conversaiic
and communications with Hemsti
huys, she had worked out a coi
plete scheme of natural virtue ai
Iiappiuess, which she embodied in
work entitled Simon ; or. The JWuftif.
0/ ihe Soul. While we must adnil
that this is a curious si^ecimcii of
mere human, religionles'i view of
virtuous and happy life, yet we cni
not allow that it could have
drawn up had not some faint
membrances of early Christian lead
ing still lingered in the mind of ll
authoress ; much less can we grai
that it could have been realited
any life without the sustaining ai^
of di%'ine grace. Even if it were'
practicable, its practicability wouUl,
from iis very character, bcncccssarilj
limited to a few rarely gifted mind
consequently, lacking the generaU
ing principles of the truly Christii
The Mother of Prince Gaiiisift.
373
'code, which makes a life of Chris-
ttian virtue accessible to all, Uie low-
Iky and the great, the nidc and
[the wise alike, it is assuretlly a fail-
[ure.
SliL* now applied herself with great
^assiduity tf» her children's education.
Not rontcnt with imparling the mere
riichmcntary jKirtJon, she aimed at
giving them a higher and more tho-
ruui;h course of instruction tlian most
uf our graduating colleges can boast.
It was a bold task for a woman, but
the order of her day at Miiiister
sIioMs us how little iis diDiculty could
bend the will or weary the mind of
one who could unswervingly follow
the regulations it contained.
The household rose early every
morning. Some hours were devoted
to study before brcakf-xst, and soon
afler the lessons of the day began.
To these she gave six liour^ daily.
With Uie exception of classic litera-
ture and tjennan hislorj-, far which
she engaged the ser\*ices of the two
disiiiigiiished professors, Kislermakcr
and b|}i:iskman, s}ie gave unaided all
the uiher lessons.
She had compeient persons to su-
perintend the studies of the young
prince and his sisicr while she was
engaged in her own, but she rcscrv-
cil die teaching exclusively to her-
si:ir. She very often spent entire
nights in preparation for the morrow's
inttruction. After die labors of the
day, she always devoted the even-
ings to conversation. It was then
she received the visits of I'urstenberg
and a number of his literary friends,
an:ong whom was the A!ib^ Ovct-
berc;, with whom she was afterwards
to be so intimately related. Her old
friend Hemsterhu)'!! sonieiimes made
one of the party, and he was the
only one of her guests at that time
who was not a Catholic.
This was tJie beginning, the nu-
cleus of tliat brilliant literary circle
which, a lilde later, became so fa-
mous throughout Gennany.
Invitations to the literary smriti
of the princess soon began to be co-
veted as no common honor. The
most distinguished Protestant authors
and sax-tjiiii sought introduction to
that Catholic society, :md even infi-
dels who did -not openly scoff ai re-
ligion were soon found among its
members. It would have been n
sight of curious interest, standing
asitle unseen in that drawing-room
on any evening of iheir reunions, to
watch that sifangely mingled crowd.
The Princess Amelia is evidently the
ruling spirit, and the marks of re-
spect and homage which her distin-
guished visitors pay hsr on their ar-
rival tell plainly that her presence
is not the least among the attractions
of that i)leasant assembly. Scattered
through the room arc men of the
most varied minds and opposite
views. There were many there who
had already acquired literary notorie-
ty of no mean degree. There were
many more, the history of whose
minds would have been the story of
the anxious doubts and bold specu-
lations of unbelief which swayed so-
ciety in the waning of the eighteenth
century.
In the charm of that literary circle,
Jacobi found rest from his restless
scepticism. There Hnmann could
quiet his trouble<l mind. The cold
inlidelity of Claude thawed in the
presence of venerable ecclesiastics
and before the influence of their dig-
nity and learning. Kvcn Goethe him-
self confessed that the pleawintest
hours of his life were passed in tlie
society of the Princess Galitzin. Dur-
ing three years, these reunions were
a literary celebrity.
Though the princess had not al
lowed her mind to be tainted by the
impious philosophy of her lime, uid
had formed, with the assistance of
4
374
The Motfur of Prince Gatilsin.
Henjsierhuys, a belter philosophical
system of her own, founded on the
idea of tlic divinity, yet in alt her
views sht.* was coniplelcly ratiunnl'is-
lic, rtjeiriing all positive religion.
And slic liad la confess, too, the de-
fcctlvcricss of her system in its prac-
tical bearing on her life ; for at tliis
time slie complained feirlingly, in one
of her letters, thai in^tend of grow-
ing belter, according to her idea of
virtue and happiness, she was daily
growing worse.
In tlie spring of 1783, she fell dan-
gerously ill. Furstcnberg look this
first opportunity to persuade her to
taste of the consolations of religion,
and tn try the virtue of the sacra-
ments of the church. But, though
he actually sent her a confessor, she
declined his services, alleging that
she had not sufficient feith, promis-
ing, however, at the same lime, that,
if her life were spared, slic would
turn her thoughts seriously to the
subject of religion., li was spared,
and she kept her promue ; but it was
a long time before her reflections
took any definite shape or had any
practical result. This was undoubt-
edly owing to a want of direction,
and wc cannot divine why. among
so many distinguished clerical friends,
one was not found to do her this
kindly office. Yet so it was, and,
most likely, the fault was all her
own.
The time had now come M-hen
her children were of an age to re-
ceive religious instruction ; and, this
bring a part of the self-imposed task
of their etlucation, she determinetl
not to shrink from it. But what to
teach them, when she herself knew
nothing, w:i-s a most perplexing ques-
tion. Hitherto her own researches
only plunged her into a restless un-
certainty of soul which beuayed it-
self even in her sleep. Her conscience
would not allow her to impart to her
children her own unbelief, nor y|
permit her to instruct ihcm in a rcl
gion of wliosc truth she herwlf wi
not convinced. Site relieved hcrscl
from this perplexity by deciding n<
so much to instruct them in any
Hgion aj to give them a history
religion in general, abstaining tr
any comments that might Ixitray h(
own incredulity, or be an obsLtcle
the choice she intended iticy :>hoi
5ubsct[ijcndy make for themselves.
To til herself for this task, she cor
menced the study of the Bible. Tl
was the turning-point in bc-r dcstinjpj
she held in her hands, at length, wl
was designed to be for her Ihc insir
ment of divine grace. Long years age
when a child, at the Ureslau boardin^^
school, it had been remarked tha^
when notlnng else could curb b<
proud and sclf-willcd nature, an a|
jieal to her affections never failed
its eflet'i. That tenderness of h4
young heart was to be her salvatioi
She opened the sacred text to
there only dry historic facts, whit
she was to note down and relate
her children. For aughi Uiat cot
cerncd herself, the study was undei
taken with a carvless, incredulous dii
in teres ted ness. But as she went
and on through the sacred volume
and the sublime character uf the
mighty was unfolded before her
all the beauty and tendernesses
his mercies, and shining In all Ui«
brightness of his wisdom, hei sou
was moved, her heart was deept
touched; she bowed down before tl
oranijjotent Creator, and, for tt
first time, felt herself a crcatt
She read on still; she came to ill
Go:>pel, thai record breathing lovi
— coniiMissionate, prodigal love-
every page, and before its cha
her heart melted, her pride of ini
telle': t faded away, her life
before her as a uiielcss dream,
her tears flowed fast upon the
The Mother of Prince Galitziti,
375
ige; for now she not only felt what
was to be ,1 crcatxiTc, but had xcoX-
liited what it was to h< saveit
Her work now became a labor of
love. She not only taught her chil-
dren, but she instructed herself. With
her usual intrepidity of intellect, she
was soon acquainted with every inys-
\txy of our holy religion, and with
every duty of the Catholic life. From
ihe knowledge to the fuIUlment of
her duty was always with Amelia an
easy step ; conse*]Ucntty, she began
immediately to prepare herself for a
general confession. After a long and
serious examination of her whole life,
ehe at length made it, on the feast of
St. Augustine, 17S6, and, a few days
bter, approached the holy commu-
lion, for the first time, with feelings of
^ep and tender devotion,
t'rotn thiii moment, a complete
change was wrought in her whole
manner. Her habitual melancholy
gave way to a cheering serenity,
which was as consoling as it was
agreeable and charming to all around
her. Her children and her many
Diends were greatly struck with the
visible efiects which divine grace
had so evidently produced in her
)Ul.
Slic now wished, for her more rapid
Bdvaiicement in perfection, to place
her conscience entirely under the
direction of the saintly Abbi Over-
berg. She was not content to have
him merely as her confessor, but she
wishe<) to enter on the same relations
— to have the same intimate friend-
ship with him — as existed between
it. Vincent de I*aul and Mme. de
Jondi, St. Francis de Sales and St.
lane de Chantal, St. John of the
>oss and St Teresa. 'I'hough she
had wntten to him several times on
rthc subject of her direction, yet she
lever dared fully to propose her pro-
'lect to him, lest he might reject her
request altogetlier. However, she
took courage at last, and, to her
great joy, she was not disa])pomted.
This holy priest took up his resi-
dence in her palace in 17^9, and re-
mained there, in the capacity of chap-
lain, even after her death.
In the following year, Hemster-
huys, her old friend and preceptor,
died ; and in this year, also, the young
Prince Dmitri, having finished an ed-
ucation which would have fitted him
for any position or profession in life,
took leave of his mother, to com-
mence, in accordance with the fash-
ion, his post -educational travels. For
what particular rcasuti he turned his
steps toward the New World does
not appear. It was during the voy-
age that he resolve<i to embrace and
profess the Catholic faith. But Pro-
vidence had designed for him more
tlian a visit to the United States ; his
life and his labors in our country have
made Ihe name of Galitzin a familiar
and much loved word to American
Catholics.
In 1803, the husband of the prin-
cess died suddenly at Hrunswtck.
This loss she felt most keenly. He
had ever been to her a good and
indulgent husband, yielding, with
even an abundance of good nature,
to all her plans, and never interfering
witli the various projects of her life.
We may suppose, too, that her grief
was deepened as his unexpected
death suddenly blighted all her
hopes for his conversion.
But sore trials of another kind yet
awaited her. The property of the
prince, which, by the marriage con-
tract, should have reverted to her in
trust for her children, was seized by
his relatives. Penury threatened her
for a time, but her appeal was, at
lengtli, heard by the Km]>eror Alex-
ander, and the property was re-
stored.
Meanwhile, she began to suflcr
from a painful malady which pro-
17^
Tfte Mother of Prince Galitstn.
duccd hypochondria. The patient,
plainlless manner in which she bore
her pains; above all, the c:Uin of
mind which she preserved in th:it
temblo physical malady which poi-
sons ever)' pleasure and clouds every
brightness of life, sliows what a high
state of perfection site had already
attained. Religion was now her
solace and her succor. By the per-
fection of her resignation to the
divine will, she not only succecdetl
in concealing from her friends her
painful state, by joining clieerfully
in every conversation and pastime ;
but she cheered the melancholy and
depression of others without once
evincing that she herself was a vic-
tim to its living martyrdom.
With equal fortitude, she was bear-
ing at the same time yet a harder
trial. It is always wounding enough
to our feelings to have our actions
misappreciatcd, our whole conduct
misunderstood, by persons merely in-
diflcrent to us. IJiii what is there
harder to endure tn life thau to be
misundentood by those to whom we
were once (cndcriy devoted, to whom
we were bound in the closest friend-
ship of intimacy, and to liear their
conseijuent coldness and slights, and
sometimes cruel wrongs ? Yet this
pang was added to the other trials
of l*rincess Amelia. But her great
charity checked every human feeling.
She was never heard to complain of
any neglect, or even the annoying
treatment of false friends, and she
never sought to soothe the sorrow of
her tender heart by any human con-
solations. In a letter regarding the
Abbi dc Furstcnbcrg. she described
beautifully the rule of charity she
followed in this sorest of her trials.
Whenever the memory of her sligt
ed friendship would send a paa|
through her soul, her love of G<
was her first resource ; then she re-
solved never to intensify the sorrow
of the moment by ijidulgijig in any
dreams of the imagination with re-
gard to an irremediable past, or Id
any speculations whatever on tlic sub-
ject which would strengthen her sor-
rower tend to an uncharitable leeling.
Thus, in these purifying trials, were
passed the last years of her life ; aad
when, at Icngtli, the gold of her me-
rits was made pure enough in the
crucible to be moulded into hei
crown of glory, she rested ftom h(
sorrows.
In iSo6,shc died the death of the
holy, and, at her oft-n refjuest.sl
was buried beneath the chapel of he
country-house at Angelmodde, m
Mtinster.
Were we right in saying that hi
life displays the struggle of a grt
soul for its own level above dii
advantageous circumstances ? Sb(
struggled above llie sad defects of
early training, then above the coi
monplace routine of ordinary li^
in the world, and finally above
clouds of infidehty and ignorance
divine things, to the bright, deaf at-
mosphere of the faiili, where the loi
of her ardent heart was sated, ai
her yearning asi)ir3tions found their
lasting rest.
It may be, too, that we now have
an easier clue to the wonderful cl
racter of the Ajiostlc of West*
Pennsylvania since we have becor
better acquainted with the tnoth€w_
Prime Gaiitain.
Egbert Stan-vay.
117
EGBERT STANWAY.
If Germany was the cradle of the
Refomiacion, England can claim to
have been its nurse, and to have Ko^
lereiJ in it many phases even at
present unknown to ihe land of its
originators. In its last-born and per-
haps mcst dangerous outgrowth,
KitualiKm, we see Uie English r,pint
that was already timidly visible long
Ix'fore, now fully flowering in delu*
sivc self- existence, unilinp in this no-
vel combination the thcrishcd inde-
pendence of Rome, that Englishmen
are taught instinctively to regard as
the only palladium of national free-
dom, and those aesthetic aspirations
which come doira to them, we ven-
ture 10 think, as instinctively, from
their forefathers of " Mcrric England "
and the " Island of Saints."
But if there are in the Enghsh
character great capabilities for evolv-
ing unthought-of theories out of
stern dogmatic codes, there is also
a strange power of assimilation by
which it can engraft upon itself the
alien modes of thought of other lands,
and yet infuse into them something
that is not their own — something that
renders them unspeak.ibly more at-
tractive and, withal, more ho|>elessly
earnest.
Such a power was most likely to
have been encouragctl and develop-
ed in Egbert Stanway by his almost
foreign etlucation and niost sensitive
and contemplative nature. The love
of (rt-'tman philosophy and German
literature hail descended to him from
his father, who had been a disciple
and a friend of Goethe, and who had
early sent him to the university at
Heidelberg, where the boy brill was
At his father's death, llie weird old
city, with its castle overlooking
rushing Ncckar, and its antique hou:
enshrined by woods of chestnut, wi
the earliest home he could remember^'
and as, during his holidays from thffj
school where he had been jireparing'^
fur univeisity initiation, he had nevct'
left Germany, ic was almost as a for-1
eigncr and a stranger that he visited
Stanway Hall to attend his father's
funeral.
The evening he arrived, the gloom
of the old house, and the long sha-
dows creeping round it, the hooting
owl in the dark fir plantations, and
the grim and spreading cedars near-
ly touching the hall-door, every-
thing he saw, in fact, seemed to make
a most painful nnpression on his sen-
sitive mind. The old servants crowd-
ed round him in affectionate and
mournful welcome, for they remem*
bered the little fair hairetl child that
used to prattle so merrily through tho.
\\o\iSK. many years ago. and thejr'
thought they saw in his face thei
same expn-s^on thai had melted their
hearts within them as they had gaz-
ed on the child's dead mother the
night he was bom. One of his guar-
dians, a cousin of his father's, a kind,'
grave man, with grizzling hair and
soldier-like bearing, came and took
his hand in silence, and led, him to
the low, wi<le dining-room where thft
cotftn lay under its heavy velvet pull.
There, in i!ie gloom that the few tall
candles near the bier could hardl^^
brighten, he told the son how his (a^
t her had fallen from his horse while,
returning at night from a distant fana
where he hod been to sec tl)e sick
tenant, and relieve him from the rent
that was due and whicli his lAmlly
Egbert Stanwoy.
^
coul'l not meet. Egbert's face glow-
ed as he lifted tl from the coffin
against M-hich he had been resting
his forehead, and as he said in falter-
ing accents :
"So like him t I am glad he died
like that,"
The words M-ete «mple, but (he
old soldier could not refrain from ihc
tears tliat his own narrative had nol
yet forced from him. The child's
comment unlocked his heart, and af-
ter a few moments* silence he said :
" My boy, you will try to live like
him, and try to do your duty like
him. Vou know you will soon have
power in your hands : use it as he
did. In a few years you will be your
own ma:>lcr ; even now you are mas-
ter of this house and this estate.
Never forget the responsibilities you
will liave. Always be kind to your
servants .ind Just to your tenants,
and ch.iritahic to the poor. Beloved
u your father was, so that, when you
die, you may be regrcltetl as he is."
Egbert pressed his guardian's hand
in silence, and presently knelt down
by ihc coffin, There was a wreath
of cypress on it, and he broke off
a little twig and hid it in his bosom.
His lips seemed to move — was he
praying, ortliioking half aloud ? 'I'he
old man's hand was on his shoulder,
and he felt its pressure weighing hiin
down. When he stood up again, he
said nothing, only motioned his (fuaj-
dian to the door, and followed him.
There were a few relation*, mostly
men, gathcrwl before the fin: In the
drawing-room, and as ihc boy canie
in there n'as a general welcome of
silent sympathy, and then a pause.
Some few spoke In whispers, but the
gloom was too deep to be broken.
There seemed in the dead man's son
more dignity and manliness than is
usual, even under such circumstances,
in one so young. an<l there was defe-
rence and surprise as well as pity
fcre
1
in the looks that were bent on the
boy of sixteen, to whom nearly all
were strangers, and to whom his own
home and his own household were
themselves but new and strange
sociations.
As night came on, every one disa
peared noiselessly from the roo
Egbert himself having left it at an
earlier hour. He had gone out into
the summer moonlight to roam
through the grounds he scarcely r«^H
menibered, and lo be alone with hl^H
own thoughts that would not let him
sleep. The tall formal evergreens
that skirted the broad terrace thre
their shadows across the many flig
of ornamenul steps leading to t
flower-garden ; the scent of the helii
trope and mignonnette in the bord-
was wafted on the cool breeze that
came from the sc<Ige-cncircled pond
where the water-fowl played and hid
in the rushes ; the smooth -stemmed
beeches stood like columns of silver
in the moonlight, supporting iheir
vaulted arches oi interlacing leaves ;
the rooks cawed solemnly from their
restless homes as the soft wind blew
the branches backward and forwanl
across the mossy mound ; squirreU
made cracking noises as they chat-
tered in cardess gaiet>- on the slender
twigs of the spruce-fir; and hares and
rabbits scudded away with terror-im-
pelleii swiftness .is they heani human
footfalls on the dewy grass.
*lhe tall church-spire seeineil lO
speak when the bell tolled out the
hours through the night, and Egbert
gazed longingly toward it, nol as one
who answers a well-known ^'oice. but
rather as one who strives painfully to
guess the meaning of words he wouM
gladly understand and yet cannot
fathom.
"Oh!" he thought, *' my fethet
knows now alt / wish to know ; bvt
he cannot come ant) tell me, and I
shall Itarc to live on, perhaps as lon^
Egbert Sianway.
3^9
as he did, and never know what I
seek, and nevtrr find tKe satisfacuon
and peace I look for. If /too could
die, aiid know all at once!"
He ihoughi, too, of the ceremony
that would take place in that church
to-raorro«', and of the cold, damp
vault his father's body would be laid
in. And so great was the horror of
this to his mind that the beauty of
Che night turned lu hideousnew for
him, and its wooing sounds were
<*liangc<l into ghoul-like beckoning.
Tears would not come to relieve his
heart, and he felt as if an icy gnisp
were upon him, crushing out hi^
young Ufe, hii athcr, he could only
think of as he wx<i, mute and help-
less, not as he once had been, a true
guide and monitor ; his hotne, where
was it ? his duty, lo what dreary
fields of thankless labor might it not
carry him ? his friends, who were
they ? friends of yesterday ? frienils
of the aniily, perhaps, but that was
conventional friendship to him — or
friends to him as the young landlord,
but that was interested friendship !
And then came back a rusli of
Heidelberg memories, of the reckless
young companions of his scarce-be-
gun career, of the kind old professor,
HerrLebnach, and ofbis child-daugh-
ter Christina, of rambles among the
chestnut woods, when the band had
done playing in the casile gardens,
and of two or three darker and more
solemn rambles when he had gone
to follow a dead comrade to his sclf-
ride grave.
The chill morning dew roused him
I last, just when a faint-breaking
light was to be seen over the fir-
planted hill behind the house, and
_he went in and threw himself, all
jsscd, on his bed in the dim
tunted-Iooking room he remember-
ed as his nursery in days so long
past that he could remember nothing
cl&e of itiem. 'ilie sun ro&c and silU-
ed the many-hued flower-garden,
and lighted red fires in the diainond-
pancd windows on the east side of
the house, and sent long arrows of
light into the tipcstried and wain-
scoted chambers where the guests
slept ; it took the church -steeple by
stonn, and poured in floods of mot-
ten gold through the stained-glass
windows of chancel and clerestory;
it flashed through the dark beech
grove, and blinded the uneasy rooks
whom it roused lo a new and jan-
gling chorus; it threw rosy sparks
across the pond, on the margin of
which floated the water-lily and nest-
led tlie forget-me-not; and, lastly, it
penetrated the sombre curtains of the
darkened dining-room, and, braving
death on his throne, threw a coronal
of light on the very cypress wreath
on the bier. And had it not a royal
right, nay, a God-given mission, so tt>
do ? For the moniing of the resur-
rection is ever near, and each morn-
ing's sun is its fit representative and
the forerunner of its joy.
The same consoling ray that would
not leave the dead alone in death's
o«ni shadow shone on the boy's fair
curls as he bent, half in sorrow, h.-ilf
in slumber, over the hidden cofTin.
Soon, very soon, that coffin would
not be there in the dear sunshine. It
would be away in the darksome earth,
in a lonely vault, with no one save/
the bats to make any moan over it»'
and, if ever the sun's darts made their
way to it through low. grated ait^
holes or widening cracks in the
stone, tbev "would I>e pale and spec-
tra! themselves, like torches in a dead-
ly atmosphere, like phantom lightai^
over the quaking bog.
The hours wore on, and the time
came for the funeral. Again iherei
was a gathering together of friends.]
and relatives, and a marshalling of
tenants and servants, a whispcringfJ
among the awed assemblage, and tl
380
Egbert Sfanway.
boy asked uncc to have the pall lifx-
ed and the lid removed. In silence
it vas don«, and in silence Kgbert
I^Stanwny came near, and laid his right
land on his faUier's cold, calm fore-
I'licad. His li]>s seemed lo move, and
[a deeper expression of mingled sor-
[k>w and resolution settled upon his
features; and thus, without a tear, he
took leave of the best friend and best
lo\er he had ever had on earth. He
seenicd niuth quieter after this, and
the funeral procession now started
on its way to the church, Egbert
twralking next the cofHn as chief
[mourner.
The next day, he was far on his
road to Heidelberg.
Four years passed by. Egbert
Stauway was high in honors at the
university, renowned among the read-
ing set as an indefatigable scholar,
beloved by his favorite professor,
Hcrr l.ebiiach, and his no longer
child-daughter, courted by all the
best men, and respected by all the
worst, in the old city of Hcidcll>erg.
Having resolutely set his face against
duellmg and all kinds of brawls, and
even against all imioccnt-seeming
meetingb thai, neverthele.«, were like-
ly to end in brawls, be liad yet not
acquired the unenviable notoriety of
A misaniJuope, and, though many
islled him proud, Mill none called
him churlish. Herr Lcbnach used
often to gathcj a few real friendii about
him, and there was generally some
musical banquet provided for his tic-
licate and discriminating gue.'tts.
Hrs room was one of those that
arc dreamt of, but seldom seen, home-
ly and artistic at once, quaint and
suggesttve as one of the mysterious
dens of those sages whom modem
times have called sorcerers and tam-
pcrcr* with arts forbidden. There
stood on one side a great oak book-
case, massive and plain, filled with
huge folios, and smaller books
careliifssty across tlielr dust-cov
edges, old tomes tliat looked b
enough for magic, though they mi
contain nothing more than medi
lore and visionaries' dreams ; over
the carved mantelpiece, where a d£
stove hid itself in the wide space
could not till, was an array of pi
meerschaum silver - mounted^
rare wood cunningly wrought; pi
of tarnished Eastern splendor, a:
calumets of Indian workmanship;
real oUI spinning-wheel, where Grei
en might have sat as she sang of
denwn-lovcr Faustus, stood in
corner, and a collection of antiqi
armor hung on all the spaces on
wall that were not occupied by nii
dical portraits and angel-crowd
tryptichs in twisted golden fram
Here, in one oak - carved c
was Venetian ruby glass and O:
Dresden w.ire, and there, on
quaint low tables, lay illuminat
missals of the thirteenth centu:
alongside of dainty woman's embro
er)-framcs, and the last new pam
let on the last new pliilosophical i
coinprehcnsibilily. Then, as the di
lijlht of the lamp fXished when so;
motion was made vikm the long tabl
by the stove, there appeared on t
other side of the room a great org
with golden pipes and carved case
world within a world, the kingdom
music enshrined wiUitn the surrouni
ing kingdom of science and of lite:
lure. The treble manual, with its rii
of smooth white notes sheathing t
melodies a moment's touch might set
free, shone under the golden arbtSr of
the spreading pipes, and beneath the
dark car\'cd garlantb of oak-leav
and hanging fruit and sporting bea
that seemed only as petrified era
dimcuts of the thoughts that hado
been living and breathing m those
keys.
A girl sat by the organ, her
no^B
Egbert Stanway.
3^1
^son
ing to have caught the golden
reflection of the music-laden pipes,
ami her slender fingers the Htheness
of those easily-moulded keys. Be-
side her was a large basket, where
balls of wool mingled with half-
finished garmenis of domestic myste-
n', while in her own hands she held
a piece of knitting. A kitten played
at her feet, and now and then tang-
led the long thread that fell from her
work. Egbert Stanway sal quite
close, one hand resting on the organ-
notes, reading aloud by the dark
light of one little candle in the fixed
organ candL'btick.
A few men begin to drop in, but
the reading was not interrupted, for
the room was large, and the professor
was sitting not far from the door.
Some came In with rolls of white
music; some with instninienLs ten-
derly imprisoned in warmly-lined
cases ; some, again, with their hands
unoccupied, but their targe pocketii
bursting with the treasures of meer-
schaum and tobacco; some thought-
ful, stiident-like, long-haired; some
gay and rubicund, as if dinner were
but a late and therishcil memory;
rac young and unc.isily conscious
the stranger by the organ. Pre-
tly one came in who was neither
student nor jtrofcssor, but long-haired
and quaint-looking nevertheless, with
iron-gray lotks. straight and wlr)-,
strongly -marked features, tail, spare
figure, and almost kingly demeanor,
so mixed was it of haughtiness and
courtesy.
Christina rose and signed to her
mpanion to close the book. She
t forward, and said a fe-w words
of blu.shing welcome to the royal
ger, and then turned to Kgbert,
ytng:
"jVrtw herr, this is my father's
ung friend who was so anxious to
ow you."
<ui out his hand with kind
eagerness, and, as he did so, Egbert
noticed the long, slender, nervous
fingers, hke iron sheathed in age-
tinted ivory.
" I am very glad to see you, Herr
Stanway," he said, "and very glad to
see you here, for I have no better
friend than Christina's father.'
The girl fell back as he spoke, and,
passed through the room, speaking,]
now and then, to the bearded gucstsj
who all smiled at her like the Flemisbi
saints in the old pictures of the Maid*
en-mother and her mystic courl ; and]
made her way to an inner aparimentj
where a giand piano occupied most of]
the spate, and round the walls of h liich
were many brackets with bronze and:
marble busts of sages and poets, pliilo-
sophers and musicians, gleaming out.
ghostlike, against the heavy crimson
draperies that fell round window and
doonvay.
'Ibe stranger w.is still talking tOi
■Egbert in German when the sounds
of tuning instrumL-nts in the next room
drew his attention. He took iJie young
man's arm, and hurried in, ra.<«ting a
glance over the sheets of music scat-
tered on the piano. A flush of plea-
sure and suqjrise came over his roun-
lenance; they were headed, "Over-
lure— St. Elizabeth." Egl»ert looked
across to Christina, but she wa.^ busy-
ing herself with a refmctoiy violoncel-
lo-case, whose huge fastenings would
not open, and whether or no she saw
the macstro's puzzled air rem.iined a
mystery both to the young nmn ami
to his companion, whose glance had
followed hi.s own, as if haJf-gue8.sing
what it meant.
Herr I.cbnach struck his friend on
the shoulder as he approacheil the
wondering musician.
"You must foi^ive my lxtldne*is,"
he said : " in fact, I can only call it
smuggling. I got a copy from a
pupil of yours — one whose enthusi-
asm was stronger than his sertse of
382
Egbert Stanxvay.
obedience; but, of course, this is h11
amon}^ friencU — it sliall go no further.
Indectl, if you wish it, 1 will burn the
mamtscript after the performance."
" No, no, dear friend," returned
the composer; "it will be publicly
l>erformed and given to the world in
a month or two, and I am glad you
sliould have tlie first-fruits."
The amateur orchestra was in a
state uf nervous delight at these
words, and as the maestro took the
baton in his hand there was a hush
that Maid far more than words could
have embodied. Christina and her
father .ind Kgbcrt sat aloof near the
doorway, and a few others gather-
ed in silent groups round tJie rourii.
The music came forth, at last, like
the rush of an elfin cavalcade out of
darksome cavcms and cloven rocks
of uniuiagined depth, wild and weird,
like the cry of the storm -tO!vse<I sea-
gulls among the reverberating cragj
of foam-washed granite. It was the
music of delirium, the music of mad-
ness, the music of des|>air. It was
the voice of a soul that had lost its
way in a labyrinth of dreams so fan-
tastic that (hey bad thrown a spell
over its returning fooutcps, and so
made it for ever an enchanted exile
among their mazy paths. It was un-
intelligible, yet full of meaning; un-
approachable, yet full of allurement ;
impregnable, yet full of symfmiliy.
l.uter on, in great cities, and before
critical audiences, it was held to be
the music of a maniac, while it lacked
the chami or the interest of Shake-
speare's maniac-heroes and their too-
faithful rba[>sodies; and even now,
though the performance was a labor
of love, it was not without difficulty
thai many phrases were interpreted.
Christina seemed to think more of
the coni|Kj>er tlian of lus work, and
more of his pleasure in seeing bis
music .ip;;retij|Ld than of his actual
skJU in coiiiposiiion. Indeed, her
fa<
father and Egbert shared her
ings, as was apparent from their
ful watching of ihe conductor's
rather than of the pcrt'ormers' bo
Uut when the long piece was ov
and every one started forward to co
gratulate and be congratulated, ih
was a general ajjpcarancc of satisfai
tiun at having mat'tered somethi
that was no little ditiiculty, and otfi
ed such a grateful and accepia
homage to one whose heart seem
to value it so highly. Soon there
was a hush again, and Chnsti
glided to the piano, where the ma
tro was now sitting.
" Von will not refuse to reward us
now, will you ?** she said.
A smile and a soft chord were
speedy answer; and now the pi
spoke and wailed, ]>leadeti and wc
as the strong, supple fingers swept i
astonished keys. It seemed as ii
there were within it an imprison
and hitherto dumb spirit, wh
voice was now unshrouded and
lowed full power over the hearts
those who had scarcely before
pected its hidden existence. K
dili'erent from tlie tempestuous ovi
turc was this soft and swift l>lcndin,
of chords in garlands of sweet sound.
Howera were dropping around the
feet of the anisi; clouds of faintly-
suggested and dreani-hke faiici
were fanning the air around
head ; a spell, as of I'lastcru lan-
guor, was slowly deadening th
senses of the listeners to any oi
sound save that of the m.-irveUo
melody die piano nns sighing forth,
when, with a wild toss of the he*
and a sudden l^cnding forward oft
body, the maestro chajigcd the key,
and bur^ into a halflriumphan
half-defiant pican — a chant of patri-
otic and maddened enthusiasm—
which soon merged into the last
movement of his impromptu and I
last appeal of every Christian tu
Lan- '
nh, ^
Egbert Stamvay.
GocI that mnUe him ; a solemn, dirge-
like hymn, full of unspoken sadness,
full of expressed confidence, a lilting
up of the soul above cveryihing of
earth, a consecration, a supplication,
a thanksgiving, and a sacrifice.
Never before had Egbert heard
anything like that prayer ; never
after was he destined to hear it
again.
Christina drew a long sigh, as if
such beauty were too heavenly to be
{{azcd upon williout pain, and tura>
ing to the young man :
" I am glad," she said, " I cannot
play the piano. One could not dare
to touch the instrument after that, un-
less it were to destroy it !"
" You arc right," he answered
slowly and musingly ; " but where
can he have leamt the things he
puts into his music ^"
" In bis ])raye«, Hcrr Stanway."
A dark sliadc of melancholy passed
over Egbert's face ; there was pain
at the implied rebuke, and a vague
sorrow, as for something lost, in that
fugitive expression, but the music
chasetl it away as ihe violins were
tuning up again for ])ceihoven's
" Septet."
So the evening wore away, and cho-
I rus and concerted piece followe<l fast
upon one another, till the musicians
were so excited they could hardly
speak. The maestro conducted all
through, and as he shook his hair
like a mane about his eyes and
swayed to and fro in the intensity
of his enthusiasm, Egbert whispered
to Christina :
" He is the magician of music, is
he not ?"
When all was over, and some of
the guests had lefl in singing groups
that would probably serenade the
town for the rest of the night, the
great artist called the young English-
man, and asked hira to show him the
I way home.
" I am somewhat of a stranger
here, my friend, and there is no one
whose company I would more gladly
ask under the pretence of wanting ft
guide home."
As soon as they were out of ilie
liouse, he turned suddenly on his
companion, and, lingering so ils to
stay for a few moments in the full
moonlight, he said :
" And so you arc the betrothed of
my old friend's daughter ?"
A start and a blush tliat he could
not repress were Egbert's first an-
swers to this abrupt but not unkind
question, yet the old man saw that
his arrow had perhaps overshot the
mark.
" Is it not so ?" he said again, but
doubtfully now.
*' No, trnin furr" replied Egbert,
with slow and sorrowful composure;
" and I fear it never will be."
" You fear, dear friend ? rhcrefure
you hope ?"
•' I Ai77'^ hoped, but J see now how
useless it must ever be for me lo
think of her except as a friend."
" Can I do anything for you that
her own favor could not do ?''
•' 1 have never aske<l her for any-
thing, and I never shall, and it suf- *
ficc% that she knows as well as 1 do
what Ihe reason of my silence is."
'* Then she docs know that you
love her?"
' She knows it as the angels do—
if liiere be angels !"
" If! W hat do you me.in ?"
'• Only this, that, if there are angels,
they are not more remote fi-om me
than she b."
" You s])cak in ridiilcs. I have
no wish to force your confidence, my
friend ; but I have known that child
from her cradle, and I cannot help
being interested in anything concern-
ing her,"
" O man herr ! I have nothing to
conceal ; you misunderstand me.
384
Egbert Stamvay,
She is a Catholic ; that is why she is
so far from mc."
" An<i you are a Protestant ? But
so is her laihcr."
'* No, 1 am not a I'rotestant, though
I am English,"
" Ah \ perhajwi you have no set-
tled outward form of rcHgion ?"
" That is it. But, if I were Protest-
ant, she would nui marry mc."
'*In a few years, dt-ar young
friend, you may think difteraitly. I
was very like you once, only far
worse ; yet, you see, I too am a Cath-
olic now."
The young man shook his head in
nlence. They had journeyed through
the dark winding streets ver)- near to
the maeslro's temporary home, and
the old artist turned now solemnly
and affectionately to his companion,
putting liis hand on his sliouhler :
" Herr Slanway," he said, '• I may
never see you ai^uin, and you must
.forgive an old man for speaking so
plainly to yon ; but I cannot bear to
leave Heidelberg, where your friends
and mine have made me so happy,
without ir)'ing to do something
towards your happiness, and, I am
sure, towards hers. l>o not, for
Heaven's sake, give way to those
foolish and yet wrecking tendencies
of the young men of your day.
Stand by religion, for I tell you by
experience she is the best philoso-
] phcr, as well as the best comforter ;
Bhc is the only friend for the student,
as well as for the priest ; and, above
all, she is the only guardian for the
home, and the only giver of true
peace. Remember that as an old
man's advice, and, if you Inist to the
word of one who has run the round
of all pleasures witliout finding true
ones till very late, you will save your-
self the long struggle of experience
that wears the body and sears the
ind, and leaves you in your old age
it a shattered wreck to carry back
fonb
lOp^H
to the feet of him who sent you forth
a [H.'rfect man. Will you irtneml
this, dear young friend ?"
" I will try to do so," Kglicrt
swercd slowly, with intense but h<
less yearning to be able to do so.
He kissed the hand of the old man
wliose words seemctl to him but a
mortal record of that other one writ-
ten in notes of fire on ihe awakened
instrument at Cliristina's home, and
the artist took him in his arms and
embraced him as a son. They parted,
the one to go to his peaceful rest, the
other to ttuti for consolation and li>r
calm to the wild wood^ alKive the
casdc, whence through vistas could
be seen the silver- ilashing river, with
here and there its dark semblances
of reversed houses, and spires, and
turrets. " My father ! my fathcrUtaH
thought the young man, " why ca^H
you not tell me what you know — wh^^
c-an you not assure me of all 1 long to
believe, yet cannot ? She has often
said that the dead are all
faiih when they reach God's
and that they believe in it even
firmly, if possible, than those
creed do on earth — because to them
evidence has been given. Perhi
to some the evidence is eternal fit
if that exist! Hut surely, he wl
made this earth so fair, he who gave)
this solemn ntght-beauty to enji
and a mind fitted to admire
he cannot have meant to bil
us to cruel, unyielding fonnuh
If one heart feels its love go out to
him in one way, and another in
different way, why should not Imth
as welcome to him as is the va
beauty of the many diflerent-tintcil
different-scented flowers ? Who has
been to God's feet and learned his
secrets, and come back to tell
with certainty that he loathes i
heart's worship, and accepts
other's ? Not till I have such an
surance will I, or can I, if I woi
as often
of hj^
throi^H
:n nru^^l
^of h^
1
us
B^ert Sianway.
3«i
go to Christina^ and say, * 1 am a
, -Jl^atholic.' "
HB Aiid ^xi Uie specious aiul seemingly
religious poison worked on aud can-
kered lii* heart, notwiihstanding the
sok-inii warning of his new-found
Q-icnd, whose voice, he sliould Iiave
known it, was near akin to that of
the spirit-witness he was but now
invoking.
'I'he night was verj' lovely, and re-
minded him of that one preceding
his father's funeral, when already
wandering dreams of a self-rcvcaled
faith were turning him away from the
belief in a just and personal Clod.
The Church of England Catechism,
which he had learnt by heart as a
child, tlie teachings of a zealous
Episcopalian clerg)-man who had
prepared him for confirmation in
Oermany itself, rushed back upon
his memory as he looked on the sym-
bolic beauty of the dyi:)g night ; but
in the dawn that already stirred
the birdlings in their nests and shot
pale darts of virgin light across the
^^Aurplc-bluc heaven, he could see no
^^■bblcm of truer life coming to his
^80ul nor any sign of silent joy offer-
ing itself to his weary heart. And
yet the dawn was shining into a little
^^iowcr-sccntcd chamber, and striking
^^^ sweeter perfume from the silent
^^■ayer of its occupant than it could
^Hbaw even from the fragrant blos-
soms of the golden lime and the
starry pendent clusters of flowering
chc$tnut gathered in the large earthen
^oses near the window.
ITiat prayer was for Kgbcrt, but
could not fed it yet
Night again, summer again, but a
\x has passed, and the German
jdent vs now an Kng]i.sh landlord.
)-monow he will assume the duties
his new jxsution; to-day he le-
eived the first-fruits of its honors.
The customary rejoicings attend-
VOL. XIII. — 35
ant on a " coming of age " in Old Eng-
land had been duly gone through]
there had been banqueting in tlie
hall, and feasung in the dining-room j
healths had been drunk and speeches
had been made, and evcTy one waj
supposed to be in a superlative slate
of happiness. Probably every one
wos — that is, according to their kind,
and to tlieir capability of enjoyment.
Kgbert alone seemed thoughtful and
preoccupied ; his assembled relations
thought him reserved and cold; some
said a foa-igu education could be na
good to an Englishman, and he would i
never be popular in the country j
others thought he would many
abroad, some said he would turn
Roman Catholic, and the sporting
squires wondered whether he would
ride and would subscribe to ih(
hunt.
Contrary to the expectation of tha
marriageable young ladies of the
neighborhood, there was no ball
included in the programme of the
birthday Jites^ and Uie guests who
were not slaying at the house all
left towards dark, lighted on their
way by the last explosions of thfl
fantastic fireworks that had been in-
troduced as ^finaU to the rejoicings.
After dinner, Egbert and his guar-
dian, the one wc alluded to in the
beginning of this tale, sauntered out
on the terrace, talking in a desultory
way about Uie little incidents of the
day.
" You gave us so little time, my
dear boy," he said presently, "to
make your acquaintance over agaio,
considering the time you have been
abroad, that I feel almost as a stran-
ger to you."
" I should not like ever to be a
stranger to you" replied Egbert;
*' but X own I felt a shrinking from
coming here at all, much more upon
such an occasion, and to meet such
people."
Egbert Stanway,
" You have grown fastidious, I am
afraid."
"i have led a very quiet life for
the last few years, and 1 (eel much
older than I am, and quite diflercnt
from all the young people, both men
and girls, I have met to-day; and, to
teU you the truth, I felt shy, so I
delayed coming to the last niomcnl.
Hut if you will stay when the house
is quiet again, I am sure wc shall
understand each other."
" With all my heart, my dear fel-
low ; your father was my earliest
friend, and I should like his son to
be as my own."
" I am glad you arc alone in the
•world, Charles, if you will allow me
ftat cousinly freedom ; for I own I
•hould have been scared at a bevy
of ladies, and probably committed
Nsome dreadful solecism, and have
got myself ost^aci^ed for ever."
•' V\'ell, well ; it wiJl ftll come in
time, no doubt; and now tell mc all
about your life at Heidelberg."
Could Charles IJeran have looked
back at thnt life, and known what was
called back to existence by his care-
rlcss question, perhaps he might have
[jiskeri it less carelessly, and been less
^iSstonished at the effect it produced.
■His cousin grew pale.
** My dear boy," he added hurried-
ly, '* if there is any painful rccollec-
ition I have stirred up without know-
ig it, pray forgive me."
" No," answered Egbert slowly,
*• I have no paUtful recollection in
alt my life, not even my father's
death ( Reran looked at him anxious-
ly); for nothing has happened to mc
rithout making me sadder and wiser,
that Ls, teaching mc more and more
that 1 know nothing."
His companion did not answer.
Egbert was getting beyond him, but
le pressed his hand to show him
that, whatever he might mean, he
had one to sympathize with, even if
he could not share, his sorrow.
bert understood the wistful, loi'ing
sign uf the old man whose happy
disposition most fommately kept
him ignorant of the i>ath5 of gloom
through which he himself was pass-
ing, and went on to tell him, io gen-
eral terms, of his outward hfe and
habits at Heidelberg. He made no
conceahncnt of his intimacy with
the family of his old profe.^sor, but
simply and truthfully said that, on
account of her rehgion, Christina;
he felt sure, could never be his wife.
" Perhaps," interrupted the old
man, "it is better so, and Provi-
dence meant you to marry an Eng-
li.sh wife, and tliink more of your
property and your own country."
Egbert smiled at this innocent
pressing of Providence into the up-
holding of a mere actional prcju*
dice ; and said, unconsciously using
the endearing pliraseology of his
adopted language :
" I knew you would think so, dear
friend; but do you fancy iliai, com-
ing from the feet of an angel, one
would be likely to rush into the
arms of a child of earth ?"
" My dear fellow, you have grown
too German by far I Excuse mc, but
this will never do for England, you
know."
" I am afraid England will not do
for me," Egbert replied, laughing;
" that is, if England is to mean Eng-
lishmen and Englishwouicu.
"Oh! you will thiuk differently
when you have mixed with them a lit-
tle ; we really must trj- and cure you."
'• Well, you can My, if you like.
Tcrhaps we had belter go in and
begin with the assembled company
around that piano," said ilie young
man, as he shrugged his shouldcn
and pointed to a whitc-robcd girl
attitudinizing before a splendid in*
strumenl, which, ] think, could it
have spoken, woulil have begged to
Egbtrt Stanway.
387
be delivered from tlie attacks of un-
musicnl school-girls on the matri-
inoniat lookout
But every one was tired now, even
schoo I. girls and croquet pbying young
gentlemen — and heir-huntresses, and
heiressliuniers, and diggers after co-
ronets, and the various other pliers
of unhallowed trades — so Kgbcrt was
soon left to himself again, which with
him always meant a long night-ram-
ble in the whispering woods.
The English beauty of his own un-
known possessions was new to him ;
it was also sad, for it was associated
with the memory of lits fatlicr's fu*
neral; but, because of its very sad-
ness, it was the less new, the more
familiar. Across the flower-garden
across the terraced lawn dotted with
rare trees from Rocky Mountain
gorges and Califurnia valleys, across
the network of gravel paths, he walk-
ed thoughtfully over to where an
ruin stood, wilh its mantle of
iry, shrouding crumbled wall and
broken buttress, climbing over scut-
leon and car\cn doorway, and fling-
)g its tendrils like falling lace across
le tall mullioned windows. I'hi^
ray ruin had been a house onte,
It now it was disused and had fall-
into decay. Opposite, only parted
from it by a shrubbery, was the
lurch where Egbert's father was
iricd, and to the left stretched a
wide and long quadrangle wilh walls
^<jf coral-berried yew, and hedges of
^^■niling ruse and honeysuckle within,
^^bclosing a tract of wild, rank grass
^^Bnd little, nestling, creeping flowent
^^■iddcn among the tall tufts. Jn the
^^Pentre stood a sun-dial, lichencd over
in brown and yellow jjatclies, cratch-
jg the moonbeams now, as if it were
: solitary tombstone in a desecrated
taveyard. The long shadows from
lurch and rutn stretched themselves
3SS the lonely enclosure ; the
ireetbrier gave forth soft perfume
^^>
to:
that carried on its breath some re-
membrance of the Heidelberg limes
and chestnuts; falling twigs made
a ghost-like rusding in the tall trees
beyond, and the voice of the night
seemed to say to the young man's
heart, " Peace is nigh."
Egbert wandered on till he camei
to the sun-dial; he leaned upon it
and looked around. Mis thoughts
were deep and sad, but something^
within him seemc<i changerl — he
himself knew not what. "Is it my
father's spirit calling me, or Christi-j
na's heart sending me some heaven-
ly message ? Is it that I am going to 1
die, or to live and know Clod ¥*
Such were the flitting thoughts that'
sped like restless wanderers tlirough
his mind, and all night tlirouglt, as-
he walked backward aud furwani in
the yew quadrangle, and then by th*:
edge of the beech -shadowed pondjj
these same thoughts piirsncd him,'
and shaped themselves to his fancy
into the whispering of the ever-quiv-
ering leaves and the trembling of
the unrcstful grass.
U was dawn again before he \i
the grounds, and he had scarcely j
been asleep a few hours when a hasty
message came to him lliai a poor
woman from tlie village was asking <
for him in great distress, and waa
sure he would not refuse to see her.
It seemed that she came to say her^
little gill was taken suddenly ill, and'
the doctor thought she would not livci
Egbert had specially noticed this litllej
one, and played with her during the |
preceding day, when tlic school-chil-:
drcn were enjoying their share nfj
the day's delight; and, without the]
slightest hesitation, he followed the
poor mother to her cottage, where ha|
found a whole nest of children ; some
old enough to look sony and fright-
ened, some hardly able to do
aught else tlian crow and laugh
and give trouble to the elder ones-
^S8
Egbert Sl/tnway.
Up-stairs in a poor little garret lay
the sick child, rocked on tlie knees
of its eldest sister, and looking very
•pinched and white and mournful.
'A Catholic priest w.as in the room, and
liherc were a few rude priut.s and a
crucifix on the walls. The little one
*as very silent, but the nooiher said
-it had asked pitcously for the " pretty
gentleman " to bring it some flowers.
Egbert look its hand and stroked its
small, thin face. The child was not
pretty, but it had that p.-ilieni, con-
fiding look that always stirs the heart,
tfiat prematurely yet unconsciously
Bad expression that is a thousand
I limes more winning and more touch-
Hog than beauty. For this vcrj- rca*
}*on had Egl>ert noticed it the day
>fore, and asked its name and age
Jvith an interest that made all its
[Companions jealous.
As he bent down to it, ft said
[something he could not make out,
f^d turning to the mother for expla-
lation, " She says, sir," answered the
loor woman, " would you please say
^ prayer ?*' The young man reddened
ind looked at the priest Again the
pthild spoke. The priest said to Eg-
ilert : " She has a fancy for it. Will
)U not say an Our Father for her ?"
He had chosen a prayer on which
lere could be no controversy, he
lought, and was surprised when
Egbert, instead of the Lord's Prayer,
;gan a beautiful and impromptu sup-
plication. For some time he went
)n, and the child listened hewil-
Icred ; but as he stretched his hand
rjo\\'ards her, and drew her head upon
rtlis arm, she snid with a sofl, child-
accent, as if recovering from an
in intelligible surprise: '* No; say the
tail Mary."
The priest saw his head suddenly
droop, and his fair hair touch the
child's darker locks ; his voice sank,
and sobs came instead of words;
then there was silence.
"Say the Hail Mary,"' said
child.
Egbert never raised his head, bu^
in a broken voice he said the praj
as the liule one directed, and
Our Father directly after. But the
priest Duticed that he said it a.s Cat
olics do. omitting the su|H:raddl
words of the Protestant liturgy.
A few moments after, the child's
father came in; he had been sent
for from his work.
1 1 was not long before God count-
ed another angel in his train, and
the mother one treasure less upon
earth.
Egbert left the cottage with
priest, promising to send flowers
the little one's coffin, and to ret
to see it once more in the evening. '
He was sulent for some minuti
his companion w.itching him in a|
preciative sympathy, half-guessif
the truth, and giving thanks to
for his double accession to his chi
in one and the same hour. At Ui
the yoimg man said :
" Mr. C'arej', you were surprised^
knew your prayers ?"
" I own J was, Mr. St.tnway,
I was happy to see you did."
" I know more than them, snd
always thought that, couUI I mi
any form of faith my o«-n, it woul
tve yours."
"And what you saw this monung
has, I tliink, induced you to do so ?"
"I will tell you the truth, It^^H
Carey. Up to (his morning I coi^^|
not bring mwelf to any tangible b^^^
lief; at this moment, thank God, I
think I may venture to say I tin
a Catholic."
'• My dear Mr. Stanwar, tWs
indeed happy news. .\nd see
instrument God has chosen for
conversion !'*
" I have only one more qu
to ask you. 1 have studied |i
Catholic faith a long time ; I m
E^ert Stantoay.
389
ly 1 liave loved it long, and, now
that I feel it to be the faith of my
understanding as well as of my
heart, may I not be received at
.once ?"
" Of course, if you will only come
•to my house, and wc will have a
few momenta' convcreaiion. 1 have
no doubt you can be made one of
us before to-night,"
The priest's house was a humble
little cottage beyond the village
green, and it had indeed needed all
the Oxford scholar's taste to make
its evangelical poverty the type
rather of voluntary detachment tlian
of necessary want.
Here, in a modest little room, whose
only ornaments were two or three
Dusseldorf prints and a book-case
of theological and controversial
books uniformly bound. Egbert and
Carey sat down for a short time, that
a few questions might satisfy the lai-
ter's judgment as to the propriety of
at once receiving the new convert.
He rose at last, and pointed to a
temporary confessional that stood in
one comer. Egt>ert w.is soon pre-
pared, and every ceremony was ra-
pidly jR-rfurmfd. The priest could
not help noticing the look of perfect
peace that seemed to be the expres-
sion of die young man's preilominant
frame of mind. As he was still fast-
ing, Egbert pleaded hard to be al-
lowed to receive communion directly
after baptism, and, after a moment's
hesitation, the request was granted.
[c then paid another visit to tlie
>T cottage where Go<l had nTOUghl
lis marvellous change in him, and
reverently kissed the tiny white fore-
head of the litdc angel who had gone
fore him. And from that hour,
L-re was not one in the village that
>uld not have died for the " dear,
kind gentleman that never said one
hard word to a poor man." That
day was remembered long years alter,
when the children of the giri he had
seen nursing hcT little sick sister ful-
lowed his own honored remains Ld]
their last earthly abode, 3n<l whca<j
another and a less kind master ha^j
come to reign over Sunway Hall.
Meanwhile, in the great dining-
room where the guests were assem-^
bled for breakfast, conjectures wer
rife about the absent host, and laugh*
ing questions were put about \\\i
idleness on his loo-romantic morning]
wanderings, tmtil Mr. Beran, who|
also came in rather late, dispelled
the whole mystery by an expianatioa
consisting of one word, itself a my*
tery to many there present — busi-
ness ; and a courteous apology frora.^
Egbert, who hoped his friends would
consider Mr. Beran as his delegate
for the house. A few jiortly matrons
and unmusical school-girls lookeC
rather black at this substitution; buf
against fate what avails impatience ?
and ag.iinst Beran, what availed
black looks?
But when at luncheon Egbert di(
not appear, and when at dinner he'
came in with a saddened, grave de»
meanor, the discontented ones thoughts
it realty was time lo tliruw \\\i tht^j
game and go to other and nior<
tempting hunting-grounds. Su the
party broke up the next day, and
Egbert and his Cousin Charles were
free again. The old man w.is sooiii
made acquainted with what had tak^
en place, and two days after both h*.
antl the young lord of the hall fol
lowed the little child's funeral to tlie
Catholic cemetery.
Hut Kybert's heart was not yet sa-
tisfied. Heidelberg's memories were |
with him night and day, and it wa«i
not many weeks before he started
for his Ccrman home with his new
English friend as companion. He
had not cared lo truht his precioug.]
news to the slender certainly of for-|
eign posts. He wanted to see the
390
E^rt Stanivay.
very first glimmermg of the cxprcs-
iiion he knew it would call fnrth on
one ever-dreaii)t-of face, and ibc
journey was to him a ceasele&:> pre-
paration for a joy that would come
suddenly after all.
Leaving Beran at the *' Golden
Kranz-Hof," he walked through the
doiklini; streets, ])ast the silent fhtz,
up to the old houw; he knew and
loved so well. He never rang, for
the door was open, and the next mo-
ment he stood in the organ-room.
It was empty — so was the next apart-
ment. A fear came over him, and
he covered his face with his hands.
Trescntly the door opened, and
Herr Lebnach came in, looking aged
and haggard. There was no surprise
on his face as he saw his pupil and
friend. " I knew thou wouldst come,"
he said simply.
" Is she — " began Egbert, fearing
to shape his dread In words.
" No ; come to her. hlic has asked
for thee. Didst thou not get my let-
ter ?"
" Letter ! No, I came of my own
accord."
*' C(Od Ik thanked I she will be S0
happy !"'
And this was his welcome 1 this
lite home he had been jounicyingtol
Christina was lying in a sin.ill iron
bed by the window, a vase of golden-
lime blossoms on tlic tabic near her,
and a prayer-book l>cside it. I^er
hands were clasped carelessly on her
knees, and her head propped up very
high with pillows. Egbert look her
white, cold Angers in his, and knelt
down by the bed. She only said his
name — it was the first time she had
ever done so.
" Christina," he said at length. " 1
came to tell you something. Your
faith is mine now."
A faint cry, and a pale, momenta-
ry flush, and then a long look in si-
lence.
"My God, I thank thcel My
prayer is answered I" So she spoke
after a few minutes.
" And I came to ask you some*
thing also," continued Egbert. **l>o
you love inc as I alwavs hoped you
did ?•■
" Kgbert," she answered solcmnlf,
*' I loved you from the first time I
saw you ; but, when I found you did
not love and know the dear God,
I offered my life to him for your
conversion, and he has answered
me."
Egbert told her briefly the dnnim-
stanccs that had occurred. A few
days passed, and one evening, when
the red sunset was firing the cate-
ment, and her father, her lover, and
Charles Beran, were around her, she
suddenly said, taking the two Ibnner
by the hand :
"God is calling me — do not forgvt
me. Your blessing, dearest fi
O Egbert !"
And so died Egbert's first and toAf
love.
Strangers often asked, when they
came to see the beautiful Cathohc
Church adjoining Staiiway Halt why
it was dedicated to the virgin mar-
tyr St. Christina.
Ihe strong current of scepticism
which set in during the ciglitcenth
century extends into the nineteenth.
Among the lower strata of society,
s-mong the dwellings of the poor —
long the ixst refuge of religion — and
(ispecially nniong the factories and
workshops, this scepticism has made
varicius inroads on the ancient foun-
dations of faith, hy the sulphurous
glare of the ominous flashes which
momentarily rdicvethc cloudcti Euro-
pean horizon, we often catch glimpses
of the horrors that are steadily accu-
mulating in the lowest social deptlis.
A powerful Chriiiian current, whose
volume has as usual increased with
persecution, runs endcntly by the
side of this si^rpticism, but the latter,
nevertheless, preponderates, and it is
therefore not surprising tliat the ba-
rometric mean of our civilization
chould be such a low one.
The frivolous scepticism of the
Voltairean scliool, now almost extinct
in the French army, still survives
among a majority of the political and
military leaders of tlie other Latin
nations, as, for instance, in Spain and
Piedmont. For this reason the noble
Spanish people, in spite of their here-
ditary virtues and high spirit, arc still
accursed with mediocre party lead-
ers, while statesmen like the pious
and chivalrous Valdegamas are only
too rare. In Piedmont, unbelief,
leagued witli Italian cunning and ra-
pacity, haii during the last years
bomc blossoms which may well make
us blush for our boasted civilization.
*' The proclamation of Cialdini and
Pinclli " (one of which calls the Pope
a clerical vampire and vicegerent of
Satan), observed Nicotcra, speaking in
the National Assembly of the con-
duct of these generals in Naples and
Sicily, '* would disgrace a Gengis-
Khan and an Attila!" "Such acts,"
exclaimed Aversano, alluding to the
same subject in the Italian Parliament,
" must disgrace the whole n.ition in
the eyes of the world !'* ♦' It is literal-
ly true," said Lapena, Prcsideiu of
the Assizes at Santa Maria, '* that in
this second half of the nineteenth
century a horde of cannibals exists in
our beautiful Italy !"
Other nations may perhaps thank
God with the Pharisee in Scripture
that theyajc not like the Italians. Hut
if they have not gone to the length
of fusillading defenceless priests (the
case of Gennaro d'Orso, Casr/U du
Alidiy February r, 1861) — if they have
never trodden under foot the cruci-
fix — if their mercenaries have never
raised blasphemous hands against
the consecrated Host {GiorttaU di
Roma, January 24, 1861) — tn short,
if other European nations have not
yet been guilty of such atrocities as
the Italians, very few have much
cause to pride themselves upon ihcir
godliness and piety. Even in Ger-
many, the fanaticism of infidelity has
brought men close to the boundary-
Une which divides a false civilization
from barbarism, and in some cases this
line has already been crossed. At
Maimlieim the cry, " Kill llie priests,
and throw them into the Rhine!" was
raised in 1S65. In many parts of
Southern Germany, the memlteis of
certain religious orders have been
grossly ill-treated by an ignorant and
brutal populace. " Ii is but too true,*'
392
The Scepticism of the Age.
says the Archbishop of Freiburg, in
his pastoral of May 7, 18CS, "that
the servants of the church arc often
exposed to insult and violeiicir."
Ascending from the levels of ordi-
nary life into the higher regions of
civilization, science, and art, we dis-
cover that the scepticism of the lost
ccnttiry has made more progress
among our philosophers and poets.
It is especially among the former
that this scepticism seems 40 have
gained ground, for miterialisoi ranks
lower in the scale of intelligence than
the dcihcition of the human mind.
This return to tlie atomic theory of
Epicurus is calculated rather to stupe-
fy than to enlighten, for Humboldt
remarks that' a multiplicity of ele-
mentary principles is not to be met
with even among the savages. Ma-
terialism is utterly incapable of ele-
vating the heart, and destroys there-
fbre a branch of civilization quite as
essential as intellccltial culture itself.
Where all this tends to, how it bru-
talizes man and degmdes hmi l>elow
tlic animal, how it obliterates every
distinction between good and evil,
how it robs our accountability of all
meaning, how it makes the savage
state with its attendant ignorance
and barbarism our nonnal condition,
has been forcibly pointed out in
Haeflhcr's admirable treatise on The
Results of MtUoiaiism. " The mate-
rialist," says Hacffner, " virtually tells
man : You are wrong to set yourself
in aristocratic pride over the other
brutes; you are wrong to claim de-
scent from a nobler race than the
myriads of worms and grains of sand
that lie at your feet ; you are wrong
to build your dwelling above the stalls
of the animals: descend, therefore,
from your grand height, and embrace
the cattle in the fields, greet the trees
and grasses as equals, and extend your
hand in fellowship to the dust whose
kindred you are."
As in modem philosophy, so t
scepticism of the preceding ccntur
is equally manifest in modem poetry;
" No department of human activity,
observes a profound tliinker of th
present day, *' U so feeble and occa
pies so low a moral standpoint a
poetry, through which all the demor
alization of the eighteenth, cent
has been transmitted." It is a f
of confessional, from which wc pu
lish to the world our own effemiua<
and degradation — not to regret an'
repent, but to defend and make pa'
rade of them. What we feci ashain
ed to say in simple prose, we
claim boldly and complacently
rhj-mc. If a poet soars now an
then to virtue, it is generally onl
virtue in the ancient heathen sense**
Hence itcomcs that, when a jfolitic
stonn impends in the sultr)* aim
sphere of the Old World, the night-
birds and owls of anarchy fdl the
air with their cries. In times of-
peace they luxuriate in our mod
political economism with the law O'
demand and supply, by whose age:
cy human labor has been reduce*!
a mere commodity. In literatuT'
ihcy preach the evangel of material-
ism under the Qimsy guise of so-call-
ed- popularized science, and even the
school has been perverted into an
institution whose sole object
to be to supply labor for the
slave mart.
Those who desire to behold
fruits which spring from this unchii^
tian culture of material int
should go to t^ngland for an illns
tion. Though the Anglican ^cc\ is the
state rcHgion, infidelity has made no-
where greater progress than in that
country. Its princi)>al church, S&
Paul's, London, gives no evid
of Christianity. The Interior
not address itself like Paul to
Areopagus, but like tlie Areopagus
to Paul, for it inculcates an unaduU
to an
seems^H
h, S^^
ih^H
The Scepticism of tkt Age.
393
terated heathenism. The first munu-
ment that arrests the attention of the
visitor is dcilicated to the pagan
Faiiia. who consoles Britannia for the
loss of her heroic sons. The next
monumeat belongs to the heathen
goddess of Victory, who crowns a
I'asenhy ; while a Miiicr\'a calls the
attention of budding warriors to I-a
Marciiands death at Salamanca.
Then come a Neptune with open
arms, Eg>-pttan sphinxes, the Last
India Company seal. When the
princi|>al rehgious edihce of a natiim
is thus turned into a heathen temple,
the people themselves must become
heathenized, and iliis we find to be
so here. In Liven»oo[ 40, in Man-
chester 51, in Lambeth 61, in Shef-
field 63 per cent profess no religion
at nil. So says the London Times
of Way 4, i860. In the city of
Londun thousands and tens of thou-
sands know no more of Christianity
than the veriest pagans. In the par-
ish of Sl Clement Danes, on the
Strand, the rector discovered an ir-
religiousncss incredible to believe
(Quartfriy A'rt'/W^', April, 1861). I''or
generations hundreds and tliousands
^jof coal miners have lived in utter ig-
>nuice of such a book as the Bible,
answer to the question whether
had ever heartl of Jesus Christ,
one of them replied : " No, for I
have never worked in any of his
mines." Innumerable facts attest
that civilt/Qtion retrogrades in a ratio
with this deplorable religious igno-
rance. " Amf>ng all the states of
Europe," remarked Fox in tlic House
of Commons (Feb. 26, 1850}, " Kng-
Und i.H the one where education has
been most neglected." The justice
of this ob«er\*aiion is fully sustained
by the report presented in May of
tiie »ame year by the board of sichool
I trustees of Lancashire : " Nearly ha! f
^Hdie people of this great nation," say
^^Bcy, " can neither read nor write.
and a large part of the remainder
possesses only the most indispensa-
ble education. Out of 11,782 chiJ-
dren, 5,805 could barely spell, and
only 2,oz6 could read with fluency.
Out of 14,000 teachers, male and
female, 7,000 were found grossly ia-
competent for their positions. Among
the troops sent to the Crimea, no
more than one soldier in every
five was able to write a Iclter
home.
A glance at a few statistics wi
clearly show that moral deterioratio
keeps even pice with the intellectual*!
From 1810 to 1837, the number of'
criminals has annually increased,
certain districts, from 89 to 3,1x7 J
from 1836 to 1843, the average num-
ber of persons arrested each year i
the manufacturing districts o{ Yorfc;
and Lancaster incrcasc<l over i
per cent., and the number of mur-
derers 89 per cent.; from 1846 Itf
1850, the number of criminals in the
Dorset district increased from 736 to
'.300. gt^*ing. in a population of
115,000 souls, I criminsl to every
6q individuals. In london, the num-
ber of persons arrested in 1 856
amounted to 73,260, whence it ap-
pears that about i inhabitant in
every 40 passes through the hands
of the police. Of the 200,000 crimi-
nal ofionrcs tried each year bcfon*
the Lnglish tribunals, one-tenth pa
are committed 1^ children, and
50,000 by persons less than twenty
years of age. In London alone,
17,000 minors are ycariy tried,
which is I inhabitant in every 175;
whereas the ratio for Paris is only
I inhabitant in every 400. Mayhew
computes that ;^2,ooo are blolen
during the yxar m the metropolis;
and the London Examiner lately de-
plored that there should be less dnn-
gcr in crossing the great desert than
in passing through some of the more
remote suburbs of London at night.
394
Tlu Scepticism of the Age,
'i'he story of a Professor Fagin, who
gave private lessons in stealing, has
often been regarded as a canard ;
but we read, in the Morning Chroni-
cle, an advertisement in which one
I^rofessor Harris announces a sioiUar
course of instruction, and even pro-
mises his pupils to take them, for
practice, to the theatres and other
places of public resort. Among
these startling fruits of British civil-
ization must be included the aS
cases of polygamy which occurred
in London in a single Iwelvemouth;
tlie 12,770 illegitimate chiklren born,
rdtinng 1^56, in the workhouses alone ;
[the children market, held openly in a
pLoodon street every Wednesday and
Thursday, between Uic hours of six
and seven, where parents exhibit their
oflspring for sale, or hire them out for
infamous purposes. Such being tlic
condiiion of an overwhelming majo-
rity of ihc pctipic, it is no longer dif-
fiailt to credit the existence of the
new race which is nnw said to be
growing up in England — a race whose
civilization Dr. Shaw contrasts, rather
disparagingly, with that of the African
and the Indian. " After a careful in-
vestigation," says Dr. Shaw, "I have
been forced to arrive at the conclusion
that, while the moral, physical, intel-
lectual, and educational status of the
lowest English classes is about on the
same level with that of the savage,
they rank even below htm in morals
and customs."
And what has England, politically
considered, done for the cause of
civilization since cotton achieved its
great triumph over com ? As one
of the great powers of the Christian
world, she has virtually abdicated.
Vm national right and justice, for
really oppressed nationalities, she has
long ceased to upraise her voice or
her arm. It is only when some
Manchester cotton-lord suffers an in-
jury in his pocket that her fleets
threaten a bombardment. She is an
asylum for the refuse uf all natiun.%
and freely permits the torch of the
incendiary to be cast into the dwell-
ings of her neighbors. Her litera-
ture, philosophy, religion, as well as
licr industry, trade, and diplomacy,
are intended to hand the nations
completely over to materialism.
Wherever England's policy predom-
inate.s, there virtue and simplicity,
happiness and peace, disappear from
the eanh, and out of the ruins nsca
an arrogant and iuordinatc craving
for the goods of this world. British
influence has destroyed I'orxugal,
weakened Spain, distracted J taly,
and impaired the moral prestige of
France. Her religious apathy en-
courages a degrading heathenism.
Britain's political economy has in-
augurated iu £uro{M: not only a serf-
dom of labor, but a serfdom of mind.
The Scotchman, Ferguson, predicted
that thought would become a trade,
and Lasalle remarks that it has al-
ready become one in. the hands of
most English scholars. And these
.ire the results of our much-vaunted
civilization I
The pernicious ex.-imple set by
England in philosophy, [Kwtry, and
letters has unfortunately found but
too many imitators on the Continent
of Europe and elsewhere. Our lite-
rature is at present in the same con-
dition in which it was in the days of
Sophists and Greek decadence. When
God desires to punish a civilized peo-
ple — remarked some years ago an
eloquent French pulpit orator — he
visits them with such a swarm of
unbelieving scholars as the clouds
of locusts which he inflicted upon
ancient Egypt. Men of perverse
heads and corrupted hearts generate,
in centuries which are called enlight-
ened, a darkness u|>on nhich the
goddess Genius of Knowledge sheds
tmcenain flashes, resembling tl
Mater Christu
395
lightning which reUeves the evening
sky on the approach of a stonn.
The Sophists of ancient Greece were
such heralds of impending wrath and
desolation, and this class of men
closely resemble the majority of our
modem literati. If we compare the
atheistic, material tendencies of a
Protagoras, Antiphon, or CEnopides
with our present progressive science ;
if we recall the time when Prodilcus
or Critias, in their efforts to destroy
the religion of Greece, represented it
as an invention of selfishness or of
the ancient lawgivers ; if Hippias
offered himself to lecture on every
conceivable subject, just as prominent
writers now undertake to discuss all
topics; if the latter again cloak their
designs under the same phraseology ;
in short, when all this is once more
re-enacted, then the parallel between
that age and our own will be found
almost perfect. The same class of
scholars flourished in both eras ; in
both they claimed to be the high-
priests of truth, although they are no
more entitled to this honor than
those whom Luctan describes leading
the Syrian goddess on asses about
the land. We live, in fact, in the
days of a declining civilization, and
nothing but a speedy return to the
cardinal principles of Christianity
can save us from relapsing into bar-
barism.
MATER CHRISTI.
Mother of Christ — then mother of us all :
Mother of God made man, of man made God : •
The thomles's garden, the immaculate sod,
Whence sprang the Adam that reversed the fall.
Mother of Christ the Body Mystical ;
Of us the members, as of him the Head :
Of him our life, the first-bom from the dead ; f
Of us baptized into his burial. \
Yes, Mother, we were truly bom of thee
On Calvary's second Eden — thou its Eve :
Thy dolors were our birth-pangs by the tree
Whereon the second Adam died to live —
To livein us, thy promised seed to be,
Who then his death-wound to the snake didst give
• " God becamo nuu that Duu aight become God."— £/. A ugtutimt,
t CoL I. iB.
t Rom, Ti. 4.
Our Lady of Lourdfs,
OUR LADY OF LOURDES.
ntOH TMK ran«cH or want u ut pu m .
PART VII.
The clergy siill kept away from
the grotto and aloof from oil share
in the movement. The orders of
Mgr. l^urencc were strictly observeti
throughout the diocese.
The people, cruelly harassed by
the persecuting mcisurcs of the ad-
ministration, turned with anxiety to-
ward lilt* authority charged by God
with the conduct and defence of tlie
faithful. They expected to sec the
bishop protest energetically against
the violence offered to their religious
liberty. X vain hope! His lordship
kept absolutely silent, and let the pre-
fect have everything his own way.
Shortly afterward, M. Massy caused
to be circulated in print .a report that
he acted according to agreement
with the ecclesiastical authority; then
astonishment became general, for the
bishop did not publish a line in con-
tradiction.
The heart of the people was trou-
bled.
Hitherto the ardent faith of the
niitliitude had been at a loss to ex-
plain the extreme cautiousness of the
clergy, .^t the present juncture, af-
ter so many proofs of the reality of
the apparitions, the springing up of
the fountain, and so many cures and
miracles, thus excessive rescr^-e of
the bishop iluring the persecution of
the civil power seemed to them like
a defection. Ncidicr respect for his
pnvale character nor even bis ofBce
wei
aUi
ui
could restrain the popular m
murs.
Why not pronounce upon die m
now that the elements of certainty
flowing in from all quarters ? W
not, at least, order some inquiry
examination to guide die faith of
Were not events which might su
to overthrow the civil power ani
raise a sedition worth the attcatiod
of the Iiishop ? Did not the pre-
late's silence justify the prefect
acting as he did ? If the apparitioi
were false, ought not the bishop
have warned the faithful and nip;
error in the bud ? If, on the other
hand, it were true, ought he not to
have set his face against this persecu-
tion of believers, and courageously
defended the work of God against
the malice of men ? Would not &
mere sign from tlie bishop, even aa
examination, have stopped the pre-
fect from entering upon his course of
pcisccutiou ? Were the priests aod
the bishop deaf to all the demands
for recognition which came from tlie
foot of this rock, ever to be celebrat-
ed as the place where the Mother of
our crucified God had set her >irgin-
al foot? Had the letter succeeded
in killing the spirit, as among the
priests and Pharisees of the Gosjxd,
so that they were blind 10 the most
striking miracles? Were they so oc-
cupied with the admiiiistration of
church affairs, so absorbed by their
clerical functions, that the almighty
hand of God outside the temple was
for them an affair of little account ?
Was this time of miracles and pertc-
J
cutton a proper season for the bishop
to take the last place, as in proces*
sions ?
Such was the clamor that arose
and daily swelled Iroui Itic crowd.
The clergy were accused of indiffer-
ence or hostility, the bishop of weak-
ness atid tiiuidily.
Led by events and tlic natural
bent of the human heart, this vast
movement of men and ideas, so es-
sentially religious in spirit, threatened
to become opposed lo the clergy.
The multitude, so full of faith in the
Trioity and the Itlesswl Virg;in, seem-
ed about to go where the divine pow-
er was plainly manifest, and to desert
the sanctuar\% where, under the priest-
ly vestment, the weaknesses of men
I arc loo often to be found.
Nevertheless, Mgr. Laurence con-
tinued immovable in his attitude of
!icscr\*c. What was the reason that
[made the prelate resist the popular
roice, so often taken for the voice of
(•Heaven ? Was it divine prudence ?
r'as it human prudence ? Was it
irewdness ? Or was it mere weak-
less?
It.
It is not always so easy to believe,
fsnd in spite of the striking proof,
fgr. Laurence still retained some
idonbis, and hesitated to act. ULs
l^i'ell-instnicted faith was not as quick
^«5 the faith of the simple. Cod, who
10W8 himself, so to speak, to souls
irho cannot pursue human studies, is
^often pleased to impose a long and
)atient search upon cultivated and
'informed minds who are able to ar-
rive at truth by the way of labor, ex-
amination, and reflection. Kven as
[tlie Apostle St Thomas refused to
lelieve the testimony of the disci-
iles and the holy women, so Mgr.
kXaurence desired to see with his own
Reyes and touch with his own bonds.
Exact, and far more inclined to the
practical than to the ideal, by nature
distrxLstfu! of i>opular exaggeration,
the prelate belonged to tliat class
who are chilled by the passionate
sentiments of otbcrt, and who readi-
ly suspect self-deception in anything
like emotion or enthusiasm. Al-
though at times he was startled by
such extraonlinary events, he so fear-
ed to attribute them nishly to the sii-
pernatoral that he might have put
off his acknowledgment of their true
source unril it was too late, were it
not that his natural bent bad been
well tempered by the grace of Go«i.
Not only did Mgr. Laurence hesi-
tate to pronounce judgment, but he
could not even make up his mind to
order an official inquir)'. As a Ca-
tholic bishop pent-trated v/'nh the ex-
ternal dignity of the church, he fear-
ed to compromise it by engaging
prematurely to examine facts of which
he himself had insufficient personal
knowledge, aud which, after all, might
have no better foundation tliaa the
dreams of a little peasant and the
illusions of poor fanatical souls.
Of course the bishop never bad
counselled the measures taken by
the civil power, and warmly disap-
proved them. But, since the wrong
had been committe<), was it not pru-
dent to draw from it an accidental
good ? Wasitnotwcll — if.pcrcJwnce.
there were some error in the popular
stories and belief^to abantlon the
pretended miracle, and allow it to
sustain single-himdcd the hostile ex-
aminations and peisecuiion of M.
Massy, the free-thinkers, and scien-
tists leagued together against supcr-
slirion ? Was it not proper to wait,
and not to hasten a conflict with the
civil power which might prove en-
tirely unnecessary ? The bishop pri-
vately answered after this manner
all who pressed him lo interfere :
'* 1 deplore as mudi as you tlie mea-
4
398
Our Lady of Lourdes.
%
surcs which have been taken ; but I
have no charge of the police, I have
not been consulted with regard to
their proceedings, what then can I
do ? Let everybody ariswcr for his
own acts. ... I have had no-
thing tJ do with the action of the
civil ]ioweT in rcfercnre to the grotto;
and I am glad of it. By-and-by
the ecck'siasiical aulhority will sec if
it is necessary to move." In this
spirit of prudence and expectation,
the bishop orderctl his clcrgj* to
preach calmness and quiet to the
people, and lo employ all means to
make them submit to the prohibitions
of the prefect To avoid all disturb-
ftnce, not to create any new difficul-
(ics, and even to favor, out of res[)cct
for the principle of authority, the
measures adopted in the name of
government, and to let events take
their course, seemed to the bishop
by far the wisest plan.
Such were the thoughts of Mgr.
Ijiurence, as is manifest from bis cor-
respondence about this lime. Such
were the considerations which deter-
mined hU position and inspired his
conduct Perhaps, if he bad pos-
sessed the strong faith of the multi-
tude, he would have reasoned other-
wise. IJui it was well that he rea-
soned and acted as he diJ. Because,
if Mgr. Laurence, with the pru-
dence becoming a bishop, looked
from the standpoint of possible error,
God with infinite wisdom saw the
certainty of his own acts and the
tnilh of his work. (Jod willed that
his work should undergo the test of
time, and should afTirm itself by sur-
mounting without human aid the
trials of persecution. If the l>ishop
had from the start believed in the
apparitions ajid miracles, could he
have refrained from a gcncmus out-
burst of apostolic zeal and energetic
interference in behalf of his persecut-
ed flock ? If he really bad believed
that the Mother of God had appear-
ed in his diocese, healing the sick,
and demanding a temple in her ho-'
nor, could he have balanced against '
ttie will of heaven the pitiful oppo»j
sition of a Massy, a Jacomet, or
Kouland ? Certainly not With
what an ardent faith he would hare
set himself with mitred brow and
cross in hand against the cnil pow> :
er, as St. Ambrose of old met ihei
emperor at the church-door of Milan I
Openly and at the head of hts Bock,
he would have gone without fear to
drink at the miraculous fountain, to
kneel in the pl.ice sanctified by the I
footsteps of tlie Blessed Virgin, and]
to lay the comcr-stODc of a magni6-j
cent temple in honor of Mary Im*
maculate.
But in Uius defending the work of
God at that lime, the prelate would
have infallibly weakened it in the fu-
ture, The support which he gave it
at the start would hereafter render it
suspected as emanating from man
and not from God. The more that
the bishop kept aloof from the move-
ment, the more rclx-Uious or even
hostile he may be showed to have
been to the popular faith, so much
the more clearly is the supernatural
manifested by its triumph, singly and
in virtue of its truth, over the hatred
or neglect of all that bears the name
of power.
Providence resolved that so it
should be, and that the great appa-
rition of the Blessed Virgin in the
nineteenth century should pass
through trials, as did Christianity,
from its very birth. He wished that uni-
versal faith shouhl commence among
the poor and humble, in the same
way as, in the kingdom of heaven,
the first were last and the last first.
It w.os then necessary, according to
the divine plan, that the bishop, far
from taking the initiative, should he-
sitate the longest, and finally yield
i
Onr Lady of LourdfS.
399
uiro
of all to the irresistible evidence
cts.
haw, in his secret designs, he
had placed at Tarbes on its episcopal
Uiroiie the eminent and reserved man
rhosc portrait nc have just sketched.
how he had kept Mgr. Laurence
from putting faiUi in the apparition,
and maintained him in doubt in spite
of the most gtriking facts. Thus, he
conftrinc<i in the prelate that spirit
oi" prudence which he had bestowed
upon li'in, and left lo his episcopal
wisdom llial character of long hesi-
tation and extreme mildness which,
in the midst of their excitement, the
people could not comprehend, but
whose providential usefulness and ad-
mirable results the future was about
manifest to the eyes of all.
The people had the virtue of faith,
but in their ardor they wished to force
the clergy into premature interfer-
ence. The bishop possessed the
firtue of prudence, but his eyes were
>t yet opened to the supernatural
ircnts whicli were taking place in
'the sij;ht df all. Complete wisdom
and the just measure of all things
were then as ever in the mind of
God alone, who directed them to-
ward the end and made use both of
the ardor of the people and the pre-
late. He willed that his church, re-
presented by the bishop, should ab-
stain from taking an active part, and
keep nut of the struggle until the
supreme moment, when she was to
ctep forward as the final arbiter in
(e debate and proclaim the truth.
:
cnc
IF
m.
Less calm and less patient than
the bishop by their very nature, and
now carried away by enthusiasm at
sight of the miraculous cures which
took place daily, the people could
uot bear tbemsclvca so indiflercntly
toward the measures of the adminis-
tration.
'ITie more intrepid, braving tlie
bunals and their fines, broke through]
the barriers, and. Ringing their name
to llic guards, went to pray befor
the grotto. Among these same
guards many shared the faith of the
crowd, and commenced their watcl
by kneeling at the entrance to tl
venerable s[iot.
Placed between the morsel of
bread which their Jiumblc cmplojr-
ment procured and the repulsive
duty which was demanded by it, thesttj
poor men, in their prayer to the M(
thcr of the weak and needy, cast all']
the responsibility upon the authuri-*
ty which controlled their acts. Nev-'
ertheless, they strictly fulfilled their
duty and reported all the delinquents.
Although the impetuous zeal of
many believers caused them to ex-
pose diemseivcs willingly in order to'
invoke the Blessed Virgin In the
place of her apparition, nevertheless
the jurisprudence of M. Duprat,
whose fine of fi\T: franc-s could be
raised, as we have explained, to enor-
mous sums, was sutHcient to terrify
the great mass. For most of them,
such a condemnation would have
been utter ruin.
And yet a great number endeavor-
ed to escape the rigorous surveillance
of the police. Sometimes the faith-
ful, respecting the barriers where the
guards were stationed, came to the
grotto by sc<Tct paths. tJnc of the
number watched and gave notice of
the approach of the police by an ap-
pointed signal. It was with the ut-
most difScuity that the sick could be
transported to the miraculous foun-
tain. The authorities, being notified
of these infractions, doubled the num-
ber of sentries and intercepted all the
paths.
Still, many swam across the Cave
to kneel before the grotto and drink, at
Our Lady of Lturdes.
\
the holy fountain. Night favored such
infractions, and they multiplied con-
tinually ill bpile of the vigilance of
the police. ThcinBuencc of the cler-
gy was greatly lessened and almost
compromised on account of the rea-
sons which we have set forth.
In spile of the cfibrls which they
made to carry out the orders of the
bishop, the priests were powerless
to calm the general aj^ilation or to
cause their flock to respect the arbi-
trary measures of the civil power.
" Wc ouglit to respect only that
which is respectable," such was the
revolutionary motto which every-
where found echo. 'I'hc personal
ascendency of the cur6 of Lourdes,
who was so universally loved and
venerated, began to give way before
popular irritation.
Order was threatened by the very
means that were iakt:n to maintain iL
The people, wounded in ihcir most
cherislied beliefs, wavered between
violence and submission. While on
one hand petitions to the em])cror
were signed in all parts demanding
the withdrawal of the orders of the
prefect in the name of liberty of con-
science, on the other hand the planks
which closed the grotto were several
times torn off during the night and
thrown into the G.ive. Jacomel
vainly strove to find out these be-
lievers, so wanting in respect for the
civil power as to abandon them-
selves without shame to a crime hith-
erto luikiiown to our laws, nocturnal
prayer with trespass and breach of
enclosure.
Sometimes they prostrated them-
selves at the slakes which formed the
boundary of the forbidden ground — a
mute protest against the measures of
tlie government, and a mute appeal
10 Almighty God.
On the day which saw the sen-
tence of the tribunal of Lourdes set
aside by the court of I'au with re-
ference to several women who were
prosecuted for innocent conversati
about the grotto, and two others w
were acquitted, then an enor
crowd gathered around the si
they shouted victory, and passed
barriers in compact masses with
a word in answer to the cries and
forts of the police. The latter,
concerted by the recent check
Pau and overpowered by the mul
tude, gave way and let the to:
pass. *i'he following day orders
remonstrances from the prefect ca
to comfort them and to prescribe a
stricter watch. The force was in-
creased. Threats of dismiss.Tl were
bruited by tlie agent of the gove
ment, and vigilance redoubled.
Sinister rciwrts of imprisonment
absolutely false, but cleveriy ci
laterl, were readily accepted by
multitude. Tlic real penalties not
being sulhciciit, it was necessary to
rcsott to imaginary ones in order to
make a stronger impression on the
souls of the faithful. By such means
they succeeded in hindering for
time any renewal of the open infi
tions of the law.
Occasionally, unfortimate victims
of blindness or palsy from a dis-
tance, who had been abandoned by
the physicians and whose ills God
alone knew how to cure, would come
to the mayor and entreat him with
clasped hands to give their lives one
List chance at the miraculous spring.
The mayor was inflexible, showing
in his execution of the prefect's or-
ders that cncrg)' of detail by which
feeble natures so often deceive them-
selves. He refused in the name of
the superior authority the desired
permission.
I'he greater number then went
along the right bank of the Gave to
a point opposite the grotto. Jlcrc
on certain days an immense throng
coUectedt beyond t)ie reach of the
ment \
not ■
f to
r to
the
;ans
Oiir La4y of L&urdes.
prefectoral power ; for the land be-
iongc{l to private parties, who believ-
ed th:it the beuc<Jii:tiun of Heaven
would lall upon the footprinls of the
jiilgrinis. an«t gladly permitted ihem
It) kneel upon their land, and to pray
with eyes ttinied toward tlie plate of
the appaiitton and the miraculous
fuuntain.
About this time, Bcraadcile fell sick,
affected by her asthma and aiso fa-
tigued by the number of visitors who
wished to see and speak n'iih her.
In hopes of quieting souls by re-
moving every cause of agitation, (he
bishop availed himself of this circum-
stance tn advise Bcmadette's parents
to send her to the baths of (Jauterets,
which axe not far from Lourdes.
It would serv-e to withdraw her
from those conversations and in-
quiries which served to increase
popular emotion. The Soubirous,
alarmed at her stale, and observ-
ing the bad effect of these continual
visits, cx)nfidcd Hernadette to one of
her aunis who was about to go to
Cauierels, and who undertook the
care and expenses of her little niece.
The cost of such a visit is consid-
erably less at that time of the year
than any other, as the baths arc al-
most deserted. The rich and privi-
leged come later in the season.
Here, as an invalid seeking repose
and quiet, Bernadeltc uscti the waters
■^ir two or three weeks.
As the month of June draws to a
close, the fashionable watering season
begins in the PjTcuees. Bernadettc
returned to her home at Lourdes.
And now, tourists, bathers, travellers,
\ and scientific men from a thousand
different parts of Europe began to
arrive at the various ihennal stations.
The ruggcil mountains, so wild and
lonely during the rest of the year,
VOL, xiii. — «6.
IV.
were peopled with a throng of visit-
on; belonging for the most part to
the higher social class of the great
cities.
Hy the dose of July, the Pyrenees
Ijccame suburbs of Fteris, London,
Rome, and Berlin.
Frenchmen and foreigners met in
the diniug-halls, jostled one another
in Uic salens, ramhied among the
mountain-paths, or rode in evcrv di-
rection, along the streams, over the
ridges, or through the flowery and
shaded valleys.
Ministers worn out by labor, de-
puties and senators fatiguecl by too
much listening or speaking, bankers,
politicians, merchants, ecclesiastics,
magistrates, writers, and peoi)Ie of
the world, alt came to provide for
their health, not only at the famons
springs, but ill the pure and bracing
mountain air, which gives energy to
the pulse and fiUs the mind with vi-
gor and activity.
This motley society represented
alt beliefs and disbeliefs, all the
philosophic systems, and all the
opinions under the sun. It was a
microcosm. It was an abridged edi-
tion of Europe — that Europe which
I*rovidence thus wished to place in
presence of his supcrn:itural worki.
Nevertheless, as of old in Bethlehem
he showed himself to the shejihcrds
before his manifestation to the Ma-
gian kings; so at Lourdes he first
called the humble and the poor to
behold his wonders, and only after
them the princes of wealth, intelli-
gence, and art.
From Cauterets, from Bareges,
from Luz, from St. Sauveur, strangers
hastened to Lourdes. ITie cily was
hllod with rattling coaches, drawn,
according to the custom of the coun-
try, by four powerful horses, whose ^
harness and trappings are of many
colors and adorned with strings of
little bdU. The greater proportion
Our Lady of L&urdcs,
of the pilgrims paid no aUention to the
barriers. They braved the law and
went into the grotto, some out of
locives of faith, atid others led by
mere curiosity. Bemadcltc received
iimuroerablevisits. Everybody wish-
ed to sec and could see the persons
who had been miraculously cured.
In tlie sahm at the baths, the
events which we have recounted form-
ed the universal topic of conversa-
tion. I.itde by little, public opinion
^began to be formed, no longer the
opinion of an insignificant nook at
the foot of the Pyrenees, and extcnd-
ling only from Bayonne to Toulouse
por Vow, but the opinion of France
{and Europe, now represented among
' the mountains by vi&itors of all class-
i.es, of ever)* intellectual shade, and
from every place.
The violent measures of Baron
Mass)', which vexed curiosity as much
as piety, were highly censured by
all. Some said that they were ille-
gal, others that they were misplaced,
but all .igrecd that they were utterly
jnadefiuaie to suppressing the pro-
Bdigious movement of which the
Ito and the miraculous spring
the centre.
ITie eWdences of this total ineffi-
riency drew ujwn the prefect severe
rilicism from those who shared his
)iTor of the supernatural, and who
fftt the start would have loudly ap-
lauded his jwlicy, Men in gener-
I, and free-thinkers in particular,
Judge the acts of govcmmwit rather
|by their results than by philosophic
)rinciples.
Success is the most certain means
„of winning their approval; failure, a
fofold misfortune, since universal
llame is added to the humiliation of
feat. M, Massy was subject lo
lis double mishap.
There were circumstances, how-
ever, which put the r.cal of the po-
lice and even the official courage of
rude test lUus-
violated the en*
M. Jacomct to a
trious personages
closure.
What was to be done in such, em-
barrassing cases?
Once they suddenly halted a Etnin-
gcr, of strongly marked and power-
ful features, who pas!ied the st.-ikcs
with the manifest intention of going
to the Massabicllc rocks.
" You can't pass here, sir."
'* Vou will soon sec whether !
or cannot pass," answered the stran-
ger, without for a moment arresting
his progress towards the place of the
.ipparition.
"Vour name? 1 will enter
complaint against you."
" My name is Louis VeuilJoi,"
plied the stranger.
While the process was being drawn
up against tlie celebrated writer, a
lady cTosscd the limits a short dis-
tance behind him, and went to kneel
before the planks that shut up tfac
grotto. 'JTirough the cracks of the
palisade she watched the bubbNng
miraculous spring and prayed. \>Ti3t
was she .isking of God ? Was her
prayer directed towards the past or
the future? Was it fw herself or
others, whose destiny had been con-
fided to her? Did she ask the
blessing of Heaven for one pcnon
or for a family ? Never miml I
'1 his lady did not escape
watchful eyes of him who represent-
ed at once the prcfectoral policy,
magistracy, and Uie police.
Argus quitted M. Veulilot,
rushed tow.irds the kneeling figure.
*' Madame," said he, ** it is not
permitted to pray here. Yon are
caught in open violation of the law;
you will have to antwer for it befi
the police court Your name?"
'* Certainly," replied tlic lady;
am ^fadame rAmindc Bruat, gover-
ness lo his highness the Prince I
penal."
Our Lady of Lourdts.
409
I'The terrible Jacomet bad, above
\Si things, a respect for ihe social
hierarchy and ihc powers that be.
He did not pursue the proch-vcrbal.
Such scenes were often renewed.
Certain of the proih-rerlMtux fright-
ened the afjenls, and may possibly
have frightened ilic prefect himself.
A deplorable state of things : his
orders were violated with impuni-
ty by the powerful, and cruelly
maintained al tiic expense of the
weak. He had two sets of weights
and measure!).
T.
The question raised by the vari-
ous supernatural occurrences, by the
apparitions — true or false— of the
Blessed Virgin, by the breaking out
of the fountain, and by the real or
imaginary cures, could not remain
for ever in suspense. Sucii was the
conviction of everybody. It was
neces:»ary that the matter should
be submitted to severe and compe-
tent inquir)*.
Strangers, who spent but a short
n in the place, who had not
witnessed from the 5rst the loiracu-
us events, and who cculd not form
conviction from personal know-
ge, as could the inhabitants of the
rounding country, amid llie vari-
s accounts and opinions that were
be heajd from all quarters, were
aiiiuiuus in their astonishment at
; apparent indifference of the cler-
And, while they blamed the
opportune meddling of the tivil
wer, tliey also censured the pro-
nged inaction of the religious au-
ority, personified lu the bishop.
The free-thinkers, interpreting Uie
esitation of the prelate to (heir own
vantage, fell confident of his final
rdict The partisans of Baron
assy began to aimouuce an en-
^k Str
tire accord between the sentiments
of the bishop and those of the pre*
feci. They cast the entire responsi*
biltly of the violent measures u^joa
Mgr. Laurence.
"The bishop," they said, "might,
by a single word, have put a stop to
this superstition. It was only ncecs-j
sary for him to dehvcr his judgment!
on the matter. But in default of hia.J
action, the civil auUtority has beea^^
forced to proceed."
But in view of the evidence for
the miracles, the faithful consider
the final judgment as certainly ix-\
vorablc to their belief. Moreover,
great number of strangers who hat
no conviction nor party prejudices,!
sought to be relieved of their unccr-
ta'mty by a definitive examination.
" Of what use," said they, '' is re
tigious autiiorily if not to decide sue
matters, and to fix the faith of those
whon) distance, or lack of documents,*!
or other causes, prevent from exam-
ining and settling the question for
themselves?'
Continual demands reached th(
ears of the bishop. Tht.* murmur of J
the crowd was swelled by the voice
of those that arc usually styled the
"enlightened class," although their
lesser lights sometimes cause them to
lose sight of brighter ones. Every-
body demandctl a formal inquest.
Superniiiural cures coniinucd tc
manifest themselves. Hundreds of
authentic affidavits of miraculous
cures, signed by numerous witnesses,
were daily received at the bishop's
palace.*
• We firiil tn a Idler of Dr. Doiou*. who had
rollowcd closely Uic coune of eventa, a lUl of Um
railoui chrnnic malailin ot whu:h be lotiKca
the extnwMlloary cure by the water of the
grtiUo.
"UcDLiotial headache; vrciltim* of »i{l]'. itoi
aurntii: i;hrociic iieuiatebt; panial and Rcneril
I>atalysb: cbionk itteuoiaiinn ; p^irtUI or c^d-
ctal debility of the svstcin ; debility o( eartvtiiHtl-
hood IniheiecaKealbeliealincacliouwasMsiM)-
lien, lUatmaiiy Mhottad not prariotuly IcIlcTGd
On the (6th of July, the Feast of
Our Lady of Mount Carmc!, Berna-
dettc heard again within hcriclf the
voice which had been silent for some
montliii, and whch no longer catted
her to tlic Massabielle rocks, then
fenced and guarded, but to the nght
bankofthcGavclo Oic meadow where
the crowd knelt and prayed beyond
reach of ptvih-vcrfniux and annoy-
ance of the police. 1 1 was now eight
o'clock in tlic evening.
Scarcely had the child prostrated
hereelf and commenced to recite her
bends, when the divine Mother ap-
iwared to her. The Gave, which sep-
arated tier from the grotto, hail no
existence for her ecstatic vision. She
saw only the blessed rock, quite
close to her, as formcTly. and the im-
niflciilatc Virgin, whose sweet smile
cunfirmed all tlic past and vouched
for all the future. No word escaped
her heavenly tips. At a certain mo-
ment slic bent towards the child as if
to take a long farewell. Then she
rc-eniercd paradise. This was the
eighteenth apparition : it was to be
the last.
In a different or opposite sense,
Itrangc facts now took place whicJi
it is necessary to notice. On three
or four occasions, certain women and
children had, or pretended to have,
visions similar to those of Berna-
deite.
Were these visions real ? Was dia-
bolical mysticism endeavoring to
mix with the divine in order to
trouble it ? Was there at the bottom
of these singular phenomena a mental
derangement or the ill-timcd trickery
of naughty cluldrcn ? Or was there a
hostile hand secretly at work pushing
Id Uui tcAlliv irf turli curtta man Rvrad tO ftccrpt
Uicm u n%\ imJ uicontntuMc.
'PlfmK*nrtbefpin« ; Icuronlwa, util «th«r
r«*e« of inimcn ; chtnnic mtUrlici of the di-
_ MivE urguis; wbUfnctians of the lircr. Mid
bUft.
"Sorc-ihroal: Attiatm fran le^ItoMt oC Uu
uitkalat nen-CT." Mc, ew.
fonvard these visionaries in order to
cast discredit on the miracles at the
grotto ? Wc cannot tell.
The multitude, wh<»e eyes were
tixed on all the det<iila, and who
eageriy sought to draw conchistons
from what they akcady knew, were
less reserved in their judgment.
The supposition that ihe fal>c \^
ionaries were incited by the police im-
mc<iiately took possession of the
public mind as being very consistent
with the policy of the authoiities.
The children who pretended to
have had visions mingled their ac-
counts with most extravagant incohe-
rcncics. Once they scaled the barrier
which enclosed the grotto, and, under
pretence of oftering their services to
ihe pilgrims, of procuring the water
for them, and of touching their beads
on the rock, they received and ap-
propriated money. Strange to say,
jacomet did not interfere with their
proceedings, although it would have
been quite easy to have arrested
them, lie even affected not to no-
tice these strange scenes, ccstasieA,
and violations of the enclosure. From
this surprising behavior of the
shrewd and far-iagfated chief, every-
body concluded the existence of one
of those secret jilots of which the
police, and e*-en the administration,
are sometimes thought capable.
" Baron Massy," so they said,
"sees that public opinion is with-
drawing from him, and, convinced
that open violence is insufficient to
put a stop to these events, has sought
to dishonor them in principle by en-
couraging the false visionaries, fuS
accounts of whom we shall soon sec
in the joumak and the official ic>
ports, fs/ffit ciHpnxiisty
Wliate\*er might have been Ihe
truth of these suspicions, ywrhaps fn-
correct, such scenes could not btrt
disturb the peace of souls. The
cur6 of I-ourcles, moved by thcie
Our Lady of Ldurdes.
F405
scandals, iromccliately expelled the
prerended seers from the caiechsstni,
and declared that, if similar occur-
rences tuok place in the future, he
would nut rest until he had excused
their true instigators.
The position and threats of the
cure produced a sudden and radical
effect. The pretended visions ceo^d
at once, and nothing more was hcanl
of them. 'X\\xy Had only lasted four
or five days.
M. I'cynimalc notified the bishop
of this occurrence. M. Jaromct, on
hij part, addressed to the authorities
an exaggerated and romantic state-
ment, of which we will have future
occasion to speak. This audacious
attempt of the enemy to destroy the
true nature and honor of the move-
ment only added to the reasons
which called peremptorily for action
on the part of the bL-.hop. Ever>'-
thing seemed to indicate tliut the
moment fqr interference had come,
when the religious authority should
set about examining and giving sen-
tence.
Men of distincrion in the Catholic
worli-j, such as Mgr. de Salines, Arch-
bishop of Auch ; Mgr. Thibaud, Bish-
op of Monipellier; Mgr. dc Gars-
gnics. Bishop of Soissons; M. I^uis
Vcuillot, chief editor of the Utivers ;
and persons less wiilely celebrated,
^ut of national reputation, such .is
de Ressegnier, formerly a deputy ;
Vcne, chief engineer of mines,
inspector-general of thermal
Iters in the P)Tenees; and a great
imber of eminent Catholics, were
that time in the country.
Alt had cxammcd these extraordi-
lacts which form the subject of
ir histor)' ; all had inierrogateil
trnadetle ; oil were either believers
' strongly inclined w believe. They
It of one of the most venerated
&hops, that he was unable to con-
st Uie emotion awakened by the
n^f statement of the little seer.
Gazing upon the open brow whicli
had received the glance of llic incfia
ble Virgin Mother of God, the prelate
could not restrain the first movement
of piety. The prince of the church^
bowed before the majesty of tl;at^
humble peasant.
'* Pray for mc ; bless me and my^l
flock," he cried, choked with emo-^
lion, and sinking on his knees.
" Rise : rise I my lord I It is yout
to bless her," said the cure of Lourdea
who was present, and instantly seized^
the bishop's hand.
Although the priest had sprung for-]
ward ipiickjy, IJcrnadctte had already 1
advanced, and, all abashed in her hu-
mility, bowed her head for the bless-,
ing of the prelate.
The bishop gave it, but not witK-.^
out shedding tears.
VI.
The entire course of events, the
testimony of such grave men, and
their evident conviction after exam-
ining, were facts which made a lively
impression on the clear and sagacious
mind of the Bishop of I'arbes, Mgr.
Laurence thought that the lime had
now come to s[>eak, and he came-j
forth from his silence. On July sS,]
he published the following order
which were immediately knownl
throughout the entire diocese, am?
produced intense excitement} for
ever}' one understood that the
strange position which be had hith-
erto assumed was now about to'
have its solution :
"Okdkr 07 His Lukdsjup the BtshoI
OF TaRBES, CONSTITenUG A COMMIS
510N TO IlKPOUT ON TUB Al'TIIE!*
CITY AND NATCKE OV CKKTAIS FAC1
Wllini HAVE. POK SIX MONTHS. BKf
takim: tlace ox occastos ok a %%i
IIR rRETENDED APPAKITIOM OF Tl
AIOG
Our Lat/jf of Lourdts.
Blessex> Virgin* in a grotto srrv.
ATKD WEST OF TUB TOWN OF I.OURPES-
•' Be rt rand-Severe' I Jurence, by the mer-
cy of Ciod iind llic apnsiulic favor of the
Huly Sec, Bisho]) ot Tatl>e«.
" To the clergy and faithful of nur dio-
cese, hculth und benediclic-ii in our Lord
Jesus Chrisi.
" Facts of grave importance, and inti-
maiely coniicclei^ wiih leligior. have been
occurring at Lourdcs since the i-Icvcnih
of last Kcbiuai)'. Tlicy have slitieii our
whole dloccsc. uud their fame lia» bcvn
ic-cchoed in foreign parts.
" Ilcrnndette SotibirouS. a j-Oung girl
of LourdcK, fouileen years of age, has
bad visiuns in ihe Masxitbielle grollo,
tittiatcd west cf thai town. "Die Blessed
Virgin has appearciJ to her. A fotiiiuin
lias liscii nn lie spot. The water of this
founiain, having been drunk or used as a
wash, has operated a great number nf
cures, which arc consideird mirHCulous.
Many persons tuiTc ronit; fruni parts of
our own and from iieiglihtiiiiig dioceses
to sick. At this fountain, (he cure of vari-
ous diseases, invoking the Imniai'ulaic
Virgin.
"The civil power has been alarmed by
ibis. The ecclesiastical authority has
been urged by all parties, since the
month of March, to make some decla-
ration concerning this improvised pil-
grimage We hare delayed, u;> lo the
;iiesenl time — believing that ihu Hour
ra9 not come for us to deal siicccssfuMy
rtth this matter, and also thai, to give
''due ■••eight' to our judgment, it would be
necessary to proceed with wise modeia-
tion. to distrust the prejudices of die first
Ldays of popuUr enthusiasm, to allowagi<
lUon to quiet itself, to give lime fgr re<
"dcction. and lo procure light for an atten-
tive and clear Invcsiigaiion.
"Three classes appeal lo our decision,
but with ditfercni' views :
" First are those who, refusing nil ex-
amination, see in the events at the grotto,
and in the cures atliibuted lo its water,
only superstition, iugglcrj-, and deceit.
" li is evident that we cannot, A prii>ri,
share ihelr opinion without serious ex-
amination. Their journals have, from
the Stan, cried, and loudly too, supersti-
tion, fiaud, and bad faith. 'I'hey have
aflirmed that the afl'air of the groilo has
had its rise in sordid and cuiltycupidiiy,
and have thus wounded the moral sense
of our Christian people. The plan of de-
nying cveryltiing attd of accusing intCB-
linns secins lo us very convenient for cut*
ting olf difficulties; but, nn the other
hand, %'ery disloval to sound ren'ton, and
more apt to initate than to convince. To
deny The possibility of supernaittial facts
is lo follow a superannuated school, tuab-
jurc Christianity, and to proceed in the
ruts of tlic infidel philosophy of the last
century. We. as Catholics, cannot take
counsel in such a mailer with those who
deny God's power to make exceptions to
bis own laws, nor even join them lo ex-
amining whether a given fact is caiural
ot supernatural, knowing in advance that
they proclaim the imposslbiliiy of the su-
pernatural. By this, do wo shrink from
thorough, sincere, and tonscientJous dis-
cussion enlightened by advanced science/
By no means. On the contrary, we desire
it, with all out heart. We wish iliese facts
lo be submitled to the severest tests of
evidence compatible with sound philoso-
phy, and, accordingly, lo detcrtnine whe-
ther they aie natuial or divine, that pru-
di'nl men, learned in the sciences of mys-
tical theology, medicine, physics, chemis-
try, geology, etc., etc., be invited to the
disrussinn, in order thai science shall be
consulted and givu hci sentence. And
we desire, above all, ihai no means be
neglected to ascertain the truth.
" Arolher class neither npproee not
condemn the events which are every-
where recounted, but suspend their ji)d|;-
mcnl. Before pronouncing definitely,
they wish to know the views of com-
petent authority, and earnestly aak for
them.
" Finally, a third and verp numerous
class have become thoroughly, though
perhaps prematurely, convinced. They
impatiently look to the bishop lo pi<>-
nounce immediately on this grave aflair.
Although the>' expect from us a decision
favorable to ihcir own pious seniiinent^
we know their obedient spirit well enungh
to be aftsuted that they will agree with our
judgment, whatever that may be, as soon
as it is known.
" It 13, ihereTore, to enlighten the piety
of so many thousands of the faitliful, to
correspond wiih an urgent public appeal
lo settle the uncertainty and quid the agi
tation of souls, that we yield to-day l» in
stances repeated and continued, from al'
part*. We desire light on facts in the high
est degree important to the faithful, ihr
worship of the Blessed Virgin, and religion
itself. To Uiis end vrc have resolved u
Our Lady of Leurdes.
40;
tnstiltile in our diocese a pettnaneni com-
mission for ci^Ileciing and icpoiling upon
the facts wliici] liavs occuircU, and which
may hctKAUzt occur, at oi concerning tlio
grotioari.iitir<jL-&, in order to make known
titeir cliatict«*r and supply u& with the
nions indispensable to arriving at a true
jwlgmcnL .
"WlIKREFOElE,
"TIic holy notnc of Cod havinf been
Invoked,
" We hare ordered and hereby order as
follows :
"Art I. A commission is hereby insti-
tuted in the diocese of Tarbcs, to examine
the fotiowinif points:
" r. Wlicthcr cures have been worked
by drinbinj;. or by bathin^f wiili the water
of the grotto of Lourdes; and wiictber
these cures can be explained nnturallyor
■re lo be atliibutcd to something above
nature.
"a. Whether the Tislons which arc said
10 have been seen by the child Bcraadcite
Soubirous hare been real ; And, in the lat-
ter casir. whether they can be explained
caturally or arc 10 be InTesicd with n
•upernaturjl character.
*'5. Whether the object which is said
10 have appeared maitifesied Its inten-
tions to the child ; whether she has been
cbar|;ed to communicate them, and to
whom ; and what were the said iaten-
tions or demands.
" 4. Whether the founlain which is now
running in the grol to existed before the
alleged visions of Bcmadclte Soubiruus,
"An. II. Tlio comtni^iiion will present
for our consideration only fads esub-
llthcd by solid e\'idcnce. concerning
which it will prepare miriuie reports
containing its own judgment on Ltie
matter.
"Art. III. The deans or the diocese will
be llic principal correspotideals or the
commission.
" t. TIk-v are desired to call attention
to (acts which have taken place in (heir
respective deaneries.
"a. The persons who arc allowed to
testify conci;rning such acts are:
"3. Tliuse who, by their science, can
enlighten the commission.
" 4. TliQ phy'^icians who have had
charxe of the sick before their cure.
" Atl. IV. After having received no-
tices, the commission will proceed to
examination. Evidence must be rcn-
undcr oath. When iaresiiga-
tioni refer to localities, at least two
members of the commission must risit
the spot.
"Alt. V. We earnestly recommend the
commission to invite to its sessions men
well versed in the sciences of medicine,
physics, chemistry, geology, etc., in order
10 hear them discuss the diStculiics which
may arise on points familiar to ihcm, and
in order to Icurn their opinion. The com-
mission will neglect no mezns of acquir-
ing light and niriving at the truth, what-
ever that may be.
"An. VI. TIic commlcsion shall b«
composed of nine members of our chap-
ter, the superiors of the great and littJc
seminaries, the superior of the mission-
nrics of our diocese, the cut6 of Lourde«,
and the professors of dogrcaiic and moral
theology and physics of tlie great »cmi-
niry. The professor of chemisicy iu our
little seminary shall be often consulted.
" Art, VII, M. Nogaro, canon-.irch-
priest. Is hereby named president of the
commission. The Canons TabariCs and
Soul£ are named vice-presidents. The
commission will appoint lor itself a sccre-
tari-and two vice-secretaries from its own
number.
"An. VIII, The commission will im-
mediately enter upon its labors, and meet
as often as it shall deem necessary.
" (jivcn at Tarlcs, in our episcopal
palace, under our sign and seal, ar.d the
countersign of our serrclaiy, ]\i\'/ a3,
tSsS.
'■•!• BKitntAi«D-Sie.
" Bishop of T.iTbe«.
" Qy command, FoL*xi:AL?r.,
" Canon -r-ecTctary."
His lordship had scarcely issued
this order when he received a letter
from M, Rouland, Minister of Public
Woi^ship, entreating hiiu lo interfere
and arrest the movement.
In onler to comprehend the full
meaning of this letter, it will be ne-
cessary for us to turo back a short
distance.
VII.
Whetheic the police or administra-
tion had incited tiie false visionarie*
or were ihc innocent victim!; of nni-
versal suspicion, it is impos^ble to
un
know with certainty; it is btill more
impossible to establish eitlicr opinion
by authentic documents. In such
cases the proof, if there be any, is
always ik'stroyed by interested hands.
There arc, consc(|uciilIy, no oUicr
means of getting at tlie truth, except
the general appearance of things and
the unanimous sentiment of the con-
temporary public, sometimes assured-
ly just, though often tinged by passion
or infected with error. In view of
this thaoiic state of the elements, the
historian can only relate facts both
authentic and alleged, express his
own doubts and scruples, and leave
the reader to determine upon the
most probable explanation.
Whatever the cause or hidden hand
might have been which pushed for-
ward two or three little ragarouflins
to make seers of them, M. Jacomet,
M. Massy, and his friends felt bound
to magnify and spread iheir silly story.
They endeavored, to attract the atten-
tion of the people, and withdraw it
from such grave events as the di\-ine
ecstasies of iternadette, the bursting
forth of the fountain, and the miracu-
lous cures nhich had laid hold of
popular faith. When the Liatile had
been lost on one point, these able
strategists sought to lure the enemy
on to a field surrounded by ambus-
es and mined in advance ; in
lort, to make a divcriiofu
'I'he sudden disappearance of the
false visions and visionaries before
the threatened scrutiny of M. Peyra-
male upset, for several days at least,
the fond lio|>cs of the free-thinking
strategists. 'I'he common sense of
the public remained firin on the true
ground of controversy, and did not
pennit Itself to be deceived. The
enlightened intellect of Minister Rou-
land did not fare so well. What fol-
lon's will explain how this indepen-
dent spirit was overthrown.
MM. Jacomct and Mossy were
striving against a iriumphanl and ir*
resistible force, and taxed the utmost
resources of their genius to make out
of these slight cvenu a final pretext
for repairing their losses and reassum-
iug an otTensive part. They sent to
the Minister of Public WorUiip an
exaggerated and fantastic account of
these diildish scenes. ^^^
Now, by an illusion barely conceiid^H
able in a politician acquainted with
ordinary practice, M, Kouland placed
blind conlidence in their official re-
ports. He was not witliout faitl
although injudicious, one may sa
in selecting the object of his
The philosopher Kouland had
faith in Our Lady of Loiu-dcs assert-
ing herself by cures and niiracl
but he had perfect faith in M
andjatomel. These two gcntletn
made him believe that, under
shadow of the Massabielle roc
children nfticiated as priests, that t
people, represented by creatures
(lishoneM life, crowned them wi
laurels and tlowen;, etc, etc
They did not disguise the usdi
ness of violent measures against thi
general excitement of spirits. Accor-
ding to their account, material (o
was vaiK|uished and the civil autb
ity completely brought lo nnu^t
The religious authority atone coul^
save the day by energetic acli
against the popular belief. Dcspez
ate as to their own straits, and lit
considering the dignity of a Christi;
bishop, they presumed to think thai
strong pressure from the upper height*
of the administration could force
Mgr. Laurence to condemn what hod
transpired and lo follow their Aiews,
Accordingly they signifie<l lo the
minister their judgment that llie so-
lution of all UiDiculties would Itc the
direct interference of the prelate.
This was to push his excellci
in the direction towards which,
is well knoan, he naturally indiai
Our Lady of Lourdes.
409
L
viz., to mix himself in relidtious <iues-
tlons, and to foster the desire of mnlc-
ing out a programme for the bishops.
The mini:.ltr, although he had
once been pn>curair-^<ncrxdy did not
think of asking how it was tliat the
police had not prosecuted in the
courts the profanations which they
reponed. The strange abstinence of
the magistracy in view of theprctciKl-
cd diMjidcrs did not occasion him the
slightest suspicion.
Accepting with more than minis-
terial candor the romance of the po-
lice and the prefect, and imngjiung
that he saw the whole truth ; more-
over, bcUcving himself nothing less
than a theologian, am^l, Ijccause Min-
ister of PubHc Worsliip, something
more than an archbishop, M. Rouland
Bcttletl die whole affair in his cabinet,
and wrote to Mgr. I^urcncc a letter,
in all respects a worthy mate of the
one he had formerly addressed to the
prefect, and which we have cited. It
was strongly impregnated with the
same official piety, and whilst we
read it to-day by the light of true
history, we cannot restrain a smile
at the manner in which rulers arc
sometimes hoodwinked and mocked
by their inferior agents. Indeed, it
is not without a sad irony that one
sees the following letter written by
the very minister who, in a short
time, was to sign the permission to
build a splendid church on the Mas-
ftabielle rocks in eternal memory of
the apparition of tlic Blessed Virgin
Mary :
"My lord," wrmtc M. RouUnJ, "ihc
rcccni advice which I liavi: tccfivtsj atxHit
ibat atfair ;*t Lourdcs seems 10 tnc calcu-
lated 10 ainict dccplj- tlic heart* ul nil
Blncetely religious men. This blowing
of rosaries br childica, these pulilic deiii'
onsirations in the 6tsi ranks o( which
arc lo t>c seen women ol duubtlul charac-
ter, thi4 coronation ol the visionatlcs.
and oilirr grotesque ceremonies which
parody die ritei of religious wotsbip, will
rot fail to open a Crcc avenue of aiiack to
Protesiani and oilier joutnAls, unless the
central autliuiily iniericrcs 10 tnodcraio
the ardor of polemics. Such sc-imlalous
stones degrade rdiKion in itic eyes of
the people, and I ft-el it my duty again 10
call your most serious attention to them.
. . . Thc&e dcejily to be tcj^tettcd
demonslr»lions seem 10 me of such a char,
acter as to summon the cierR>' from tlia
re<iervc which i| has hitherto mainiainod.
Un ihis point I can do no more than 10
make a prcsstnf appeal to Uic prudcoco
and firmness of your grace hy Jtmanding
1/ yeu ■(»» «*»/ thiftJi it ptvptr to txhakt f-ui-
HeSy juffi /"v/aniiy. Receive, cic.
Ttie Uioiiui o( ruttlic Instructiuti and WanJilp,
"KoULAhU."
VUL
This missive reached Mgr. Lau-
rence just after he had issued the or-
dinance already known to the reader,
and had appointed a commission to
examine the extraordinar)' works
wrought by the hand of God.
Although singularly astonished and
indignant at tlic fantastic account so
gravely offered by the good minister
as the truth itself, nevenht-lcss, the
bishop answered his letter tn measiir-
etl terms. >V'iihout expressing a com-
plete judgment, in order not to hasten
a premature solution of llic matter,
he rehabilitated the facts which had
been so sh.imefully misrepresented.
He set forth with great frankness the
line of conduct which he and his
clergy had pursued, tuitil events had
got to such a pass that it was neces-
sary to interfere and order a commis-
sion of inquirj'. To the minister,
who, without knowledge or examina-
tion, had said. " Condemn," he an-
swered, " I will examine."
*' Monsieur Ic Ministtc," wrote Ihe pre-
late, "great was ray amazement on lead-
ing your tcllor. I also am uifuiined as
to Mrhat lakes place at Loutdcs. and. as
a bishop, deeply interesied in reproving
alt thai can harm tcllgion and the taiih-
fut. Now, I can assure you that no such
scctics as you describe exist, and, if Uicio
4IO
Our Lady of Xj}urdts.
have been any occurrences worthy vt re-
gret, ihcy have been imnsitory and have
Icic no trices behind thctn.
" The facts lo whkb your excellency
alludes transpiicd after the gtuttu was
shut up, and after ihe first wct-k in July.
Two or three children ol LourJcs pre-
tended to have visions, and behaved ex-
travoganily in the streets. The Krutio
being then sliul up, as I have said, they
fuiiod means (o ^l into it, and to ofler
their sciviccft to \-isilors slopped at the
barricades, in order to (ouch their chap-
lets on the rock inside the ftroiio, and lo
appropiialc tho olTurinfts rcccircd from
them. One of ihcm who was most re-
markable fur his eccentricities was a
choir-boy in the church of Lourdes. The
cur& rebuked and drove him ont of the
iairtkixmt. and excluded htm from the
»crcice of the church* 7'he disotdcr
was only tranMtory. and amounted only
10 the luiscluef of a few boys, which ceas-
ed as soon as it was reprehended. Such
arc the facts which oxfrualom persons
have niagniiicd into peinianeni scenes.
" I would lie much gratified, M. lo Min-
fstrc. if you would seek a fair slatemeni
of what has occurred fioni honorable
persons nlio have remained here for some
litne in order to make pcT»onal observa-
tions of places, and (o interrogate the
child who is said to hare had Ihe vision.
Such are Mgts. the bishops of Montpel-
Iler and Sot?>»un8. Nfgt. the Archbishop
of Audi, M. Vfine. itispecior of thermal
waters. Madame I'Anitralo Bruai, M. L.
Veuillot. etc.. etc.
"The clergy, M. le Ministre, have up
to this time maintained a complete re-
scivo with trgatd lo the occurrences at
Ihe giutto. The clergy of ihc town liavc
shoM'n a most aUniUablo prudence. They
have never gone tu ibe grotto to rivo cre-
dit to the pilgrimage, nor, on Ihc other
lian<l, favuted the measures of the adrai-
nisirjiiuo. Xvvcithclcss, thry have been
repiesenteil to you as encourai^ing super-
stttluo. I do not accuse the head magis-
* Every one wtU ander^anil the tvwrve which
ptevERLi the Itlttiop Irotn ntcntiualitK Ihc unk«r-
h1 MitpUion ftt Lourdos. C«ut«rtu, Hftr^cs.and
Tubes, 1^ ilic MTcrH •rllon of itie police In the
BOWirul the riti una lies.
ll wuuM ha<ro Wen snTriewhit dlfllcnll for the
prcbiic to cif ■" t^^ ■"'■>'*''' ; ''The pretemteJ
Maudat, wtiicb %uu Umvnl and nacmry ciul of
tXa natural propnrilon lo ihc point of msking It
a pure romance, is nothing more nor leas tlian
yamscU In lh« pcrwnt of jronr sgAol*,"
led
is«d^
i
Icitc of the deparlinent, whose intonti
have always leen good ; bul in this
tvr he has had ati exclusive con&de
in his subordinates.
" In my reply to the prefect, dated iiib
o( last April, which has been submitted^
to your perusal. 1 ollcrcd my hearty o
currencc with the magistrate in. order
bring this affair la a happy conclu&i
Dul I have noi been able lo do what
desired of me, namely, to condemn fi
Ihe pulpit, without examination, ioqui
or apparent reason, the persons who
lo piay ai the grotto, and lo fuibid all
ptoacli lo ii, especially when no disotdi
had l>ccn itoiiced, although on ce
days the risifnrs amounletLlo thousan
Moreover, while the church has al
some motive fur Iter prohilnlions. atkl
while 1 myself was not suHicicntly polled
as lo facts, I was alsa certain that auJ!
the gencial exirlteincnt my words woul
have passed unheeded.
"The prefect, during Ihc council of it-
vision at Lourdes, on May 4th. caused.
Ilie chit-f of police to remove ihe religi
emblems left at the gtotio. and, in an
dress to the mayors of the canton, sia
that he had taken this measure by ag
mcnt with the diocesan bishop, an asacr-
tion which was repeated a few day&afi*r-
ward by the official organ of the ptelec-
ture. I was informed of this measura
only by the journals and the curA qf
Lourdes.
" 1 hastened lo write to the latter ts
cause the pielcct's order 10 be respected.
1 made no complaint At thai lime or after-
ward of liaving been in-idc an apparrnt
part^ 10 a measure of which I had been
left in ignorance. AlthouKh nunK-roue
letters were addressed to luc cnlroaling
me to disclaim any sh.iro in it, I hava tv
fraincd from adding any difficulty lo ibe
situation.
" Afict the religious objectsh.idbi'enri'-
moved from thegrotio. we might have Imp-
ed to see the number of visits diontniih,
and the pilgrimage, soinconsideratel^ im-
piovised, brought to an end. It was nui
so, however. The public rightly or wrune-
ly pretended that the water from the
grotto worked m.-irvollous cures. Tha
concourse became more numerous, and
crowds came frooi the oe^faboring d«-
partmcnts.
" Un the 8lh of June, the tnavor of
Lourdes Issued n piohibiiion kTbidding
all acress to Ihc grutto. This was stated
to be >•> ll>c interest of religion and fub
Our Lady of Lourdcs,
411
welfare. Although religion mlghi
ire been cncouragcii by u ; and. again,
llhough the bishop hsd not been con-
iltcd, he published no rcclamailon
linst ihcsc assertions ; he kept sflcnce
>r reasons above Mated.
" You s«e, M. Ic Mlnisire, by these dc-
Ills, that the reserve of the clcr/^ has
not been complcie in (his matter ; it has
been, in my judgmcni. prudent, Wht-n
able, I ha»c lent my aid to the measures
o( ihc civil aulhoiily, and, if lliey have
not met with success, it is not the bishop
who is lo blame.
" Today, yielding to the petitions which
hare been addressed me from all quar-
ters, I have concluded that the time has
come when I can intvrcM myself to good
purpose in this aShir. 1 have named a
commission to collect the elements ne-
cessary for me to form a*dccisionon a
question which has moved the whole
country around us, and which, judging
from reports, seems likely to interest the
whole of France. I am confident that the
faithful will receive it with submission,
since they arc aware that no effort will
be spared to get at the triiili. The com-
mission having been at w«rk for some
days, I liavo determined to render my or-
dinance public by h.iving it ptinted, in
hopes that it ux-xy help to calm spirits un-
til the decision shall haw been made
known. I shall soon have the honor of
sending your excellency a copy.
■• I am, cic ,
*■ B. S., Bishop of Tarbes."
Such was the letter from Mgr. Lao-
rence to M. Rouland. It was clear
and decisive, and left nothing to be
said by either party. The Minister
Public Worship did not reply. He
intercd liis former silence. This
IS verj* wise. Perhaps, however, it
rould have been wiser for hiiu never
have come out of it.
IX.
At the very moment when Mgr.
Laurence, in the name of religion^
l^rdered an inquiry into the unwontwl
Bvenls which the civil authority had
'condemned and persecuted and wisli-
6ii tu JCKct a priori, without conde-
scending even lo examine; on the
very same day on which the bishop's
letter was mailed for the niinLsier, M.
Filhol, the illustrious professor of the
faculty of Toulouse, delivered the
final verdict of science on the water
from the grotto of Xx>urdes. The con-
scientious and perfectly thorough la-
bor of the great chemibi reduced to
nothing the uBicial analy:iis of M. La-
tour dc Trie, the expert of the prefec-
ture, about which llarun Massy had
ni.ndc such a noise. M. Filhol tes-
tifies as follows :
" I, the undersigned, Professor ai
Chemistry to the Scientific Faculty of
Toulouse, Professor of I'h.-irmacy and
Toxicology to the School of Medi-
cine of tl:e same city, and Knight
of the Legion of Honor, certify that
I have analyzed the water from a
spring in the neighborhood of Lot
dcs. from this anal)'sis it appears
that the water of the grotto of Lonrdes
is of such composition (hat it may
be considereti good for drinking pur-
|>osc.s and of a character similar to4
that which is generally met with
among those mountains whose soil is
rich in calcareous matter.
" The e.xtraotiiinafy effects ichieh are
said to httif been protiturd by the use
of this ivaler eanuot, at ieast in the
preiait state of sdcnce^ be ex/>liiined by
the nature of the salts whose existenee
in it is detected by analysis. •
" This vater contains tto active sub-
stitnee eapable of giving it marked the-
rapeutic qitaiities. It can be drunk
without inconvenience.
" Tot;LOi;sE, August 7, 1858.
"(Signed) FiLHOi_"f
* teller from M. Fllbol to the Mayor of
Unutitri, liuisriilliii); li» luilyals.
t Wo K'^'c compleie dcUiU oT tha «na1f«Ucon-
talncil In iho rcpott of M. Filliol. The <mlncat
cbemiit oiDtiauesi
I <;ritily la luvlnx obuined tlia roUowttiK
miiLls :
rHVSICAL AND OdCANtM-imC mOrUtTIItl or THIS
wATai.
H 1» da*t» col or iflM, odwlwi; ithuae d«cU
412
Our Lady of Lourdcs.
'I'hus, an the pseudo-scientific sraf-
folding, on which ihc freethinkers
and wise counsellors of tlie prefect
had painfully buill ihcir theory of the
fxtraordinar)' cures, on the exami-
nation of this celebrated chemist
toppled and fell. According to true
science, the water of the grotto was
by DO means mineral water, and
c<t usie. lu deaiity li Kmrccty freatcr ibwi
Uu of (UttUkil wkter.
CMKuicAL ntorHrrtMk
TIm water '>r Ihc k^ n<to of Lourdes ads u fol-
luwii, H'itti le^Kcati:
Wilh Kill 'Jimlm't «/ TtrmMl.—\\ b«comc)
blue.
Limt «Pji/»-.— Thft mjxtuis becumn milky ;
la exceu cf the water of groUo TcdiMolrca ttte
predpltaie fin) rormed.
Smftttdt. — It becotnes veiy cloudy.
CAl^riiit e/ ttarium. — 'Sa ftpfMieol Ktloil.
Jfiiriiu !>/ .Si/tvf.— SliaW white |>rccipttAte.
whirl) partly dbiM'lvcs in nllric acid,
Px*iat* a/ .4 HiM^a/it.— Scarcely any sen^iibte
■ctlon.
SabmlUcd to llie action of heal in a gUw retort
conmunicatinc with ■ receiver, the water yiekl-
cda saa partly Mbsurbed by )id4r^w. The jior-
llon tbul left uoditiSol vc<t wu! panl>- al>*uitic<l
by plloiptiorus; linaliy.ihcto remained ■ cbm-
oiis resiiluum ikibk-ki^'iik all ilie propcritci of
nitrogeo. h\ Itie ume liaie ttiat tlilii Kan mbs ilLs-
engtKcd. ibe walct wac ^Ushtly ctoudiifl and prc-
clphaicd a white •Icpu'^li, tllfhtly linked viilk
red. TieaKrd wilb hydruchloiic a<:t<l, Ihb ile-
posil wa* dii«oUcd, pTudticiiiK a lively cSere»-
Kcncc.
1 talurated (he add anlutiun wiih an cxctm of
ammcnia: thi« leajrmt caii«f<l the precipitation
of Mveial light flakes ufaredilikh colur. which I
cxrcfully ««|4nited. These flatten WAtlicH with
dlwilleil watrr I treated wiih caustic pulaih.
whicl) tuok nuihins fnim lUeia. I washed tlie
lUhesaKtlii, and dtMoWed them in rhlorhydtic
aciil : then I further diltiteil the aolulton with
wnlei, ami aiiliaiiitcd it In the ailion u( several
leaiccutt, whoM elleclt I will proceed to indU
catc:
Vfllfw Cy*»l4* «/PvtMttf»M mud /cm.— BliM
preripUate.
/I MOMviii.— Reddish blown precipitate.
/';tq via.— Principally black.
.C*//^*-C>*iii(V*fl//'<'rfl*»/i'"'-RI''(»^-red color.
The lii|uid. separated from the flaky deposit,
gav* with oxalate of ammonia an ahunOxnl white
precipfcace, llavini; aeparatcd tUii prrcipiiato
by a filter. I threw photpliate iif atninnnia Itilo
the clear liquid ; Ihb reateoi detcnntOMt tho
formation oi a acw wblM pracipllKM.
I eraporated to dryoMa fin ntreaortbe water,
arid treated the dry reidduum wtth a (mall quan-
tity of dhlilled water in order to dinolve the
■olubte salu. Tbe ■olution thui obtained wa«
Uttoed blue by red llm:tiire nf turnnl. I aK'^B
evaporated Die aululiun ihua obtained, and pour-
ed alcohol oset the dry rekiduura ; this beloe (ct
on Arc. gave a p«1c yellow flame, such a> b pro-
duced by saitt of Boda. I again diaaolved tta«
had no healing property. Neverthf
le-ss, it did heal. Nothing was noi
left for those who had so rashly pt
furwarU imaginary explanations, hi
the confusion of their attcni|
ami the impossibility of withdrawinj
their public acknowledgment iha
cures had been effected. Falsehoc
and error were taken in their oi
net.
rcsidtttim In a few drop* of dlultled water, a;
ftiiacti the vtliilinn with cfalnlidc uf platlna; •'
alight canary -co lured prcupitate wks lotioed
the mixture.
Having; aridulated (wo litrtt of the water
the erutti> of Lcurdo* wlUi vblurhydrk acid,
eraporBted it todrynett.and found tb«r««bli>i
taken by the aciduinietl water to be but
tlissuU'eU. The ijikululrle part pieaented all
Rppcarancc of iliica.
I siihinlttcd to rraporaiioa ten litf*t of \
water <A the srulla uf Lourdes, In which I fuu
a very ptire<rtrl>uiiale o( jMlaiaa bail been pr
vicuHly diMolvctl. The remit of the cvai<orat
was mitiilencd with hnillnc alrnhol. and. *gal
eraporated to dryneM, the re«ldiiuu) waa heat
toatlull rc(t.
The produrl uf this npeiaiJon was diSMtlre^
ancrcuidlns. In a few drop* uf dhaQled water,
and mixed »ilh a little Glaich paale. CuefalW
treaUnn thia mixture with wcakir chloratail
water, I law ihc liquid uke a blue tinL
SutnoilSed tu djstllblii>n, the water nf the Krol
of I.ouid» glin a kli|>bUy aUiallne dbiilled pr
dutt.
Knm thcKe facta it follow* that the water of
grtrtio uf l.uiirdc!> huldH in auluiiuat
I, Oxyifcn.
1. Niimgcii.
,1, Caibrinic add.
4- CnrbcitiBmof lime, oTnnpiesIa.aadatnefl
of carbonate of iitMi.
;. An alkaline carboitato or itlkatc. cUoridaa
uf puiaKkium and vodluoi.
6. Traces ol sulpbates of potaua and kkIi.
1. Trace* of Nmanonia.
8, Traceiof liMJIne.
The luanlitatlre analysis of this water, mad*
accordtDc to the ordinary metliMla, gWcn the IM'
lowini; leMlts:
WaMi, 1 Ulograiana.
Carbonic arid
Oiyf:en .
Nitron en .
Ammonia
I
Carbonate of Lime
" Magnesia
*' Iron Uiecs.
Soda
CUorlde of Sodium
" Poutalum traces.
Sllkalc of Suib, aed irac«i of SiU-
L-alc ot Polana .... »ai6
SulpbalesoirotaunandSuda, traeca.
Iodine .... "
King Cor mac's Choict, 413.
KING CORMAC'S CHOICE*
A LEGEND OF THE BOYNB.
Beside the banks of Boyne, where late
The dire Dutch trumpets blared and rang,
'Mid wounded kernes the harper sate,
And thus the river's legend sang:
Who shall forbid a king to lie
Where lie he will, when life is o'er?
King Cormac laid him down to die;
But first he raised his hand, and swore :
" At Brugh ye shall not lay my bones :
Those pagan kings I scorn to join
Beside the trembling Druid stones,
And on the north bank of the Boyne.
" A grassy grave of poor degree
Upon its southern bank be mine
At Rossnaree, where of things to be
I saw in vision the pledge and sign.
" Thou happier Faith, that from the East
Slow travellest, set my people free I
I sleep, thy Prophet and thy Priest,
By southern Boyne, at Rossnaree."
He died : anon from hill and wood
Down flocked the black-robed Druid race,
And round the darkened palace stood.
And cursed the dead king to his face.
Uptowering round his bed, with lips
Denouncing doom, and cheeks death-pale,
As when at noontide strange eclipse
Invests gray cliffs and shadowed vale ;
* According to the old Irish chrontcles, Cormac, King of sll Ireland, renounced the worship of
idols about two centuries before the airlTal of St. Patrick, kavlng recelrcd in a tI^od the promiae
a the true faiUi.
414
King Cormacs Choice.
Aiyl proved with cymball'd anthems dread
The gods he spumed had bade him die :
Then spake Uie pagan chiefs, aiid said,
" Where lie our kings, this king must lie."
In royal robes the corse they dressed,
And spread the bier with boughs of yew;
And chose twelve men, their first and best,
To bear him through the Boyne to Urugh.
But on his bier the great dead king
Forgot not so his kingly oath;
And from sea-marge to mountain spring,
Boyne heard their coming, and was wroth.
He frowned far off, *mid gorsc and fern,
As those ill-oincncd steps made way;
He luuttered 'neath the flying hem ;
He foamed by cairn and cromlech gray;
And rose, and dro\s-ned with one bUck wave
Those twelve on-wading; and with glee
Bore down King Corniac to his grave
By southern Boyne, at Ro&snatee 1
Close by that grave, three centuries past,
Columba reared his saintly cell ;
And Boj-nc's rough voice was changed at last
To music by the Christian bell.
So Christ's true Faith made Erin free,
And blessed her women and her men ;
And that which wxs again shall be,
And that which died shall rise again.
He ceased : the wondering clansmen roared
Accordance to the quivering strings,
And praised King Cormac, Erin's Lord,
i\i»d Prophet of the King of kings.
Ai'BREv DE Verb.
THE APOSTASY OF DR. DOLLINGER.
The formal and public act of re-
nunciation yf ihc Catholic iaJth by
Dr. UuUingcr which liaa been looked
for as a probable event for many
Dionthti past, has at length been
made. In itself, &uch an act cannot
bu regarded by any sound Catholic
as of any moment whatever to re-
ligion or the church. It is oiily one
suicide more, which destroys an indi-
vidual, but does not hurt the stability
of the church, whose life is in Gud,
and, therefore, immortal. It may
have more or less of accidental im-
portance, however, on account of its
effect upon certain persons who are
weak or ill -instructed in tlie falUi,
und the use which may bcniatlc of it
by the enemies of the church. We
think it proper, therefore, to make
some explanations concerning the
past and present acts and opinions
by which Dr. Dollingcr has gradually
but surely approached and hnaily
reached his present position of open,
declared rebellion against the infalli-
ble authority of the Catholic Church.
Dr. DSIlingcT has been living, until
a recent period, upon the reputation
which he had acquired during his
earlier career as a professor and an
author, supported by his high rank
in the church as a mitred prelate,
and in the stale as a member of the
Bavarian House of i'eers. His great
intellectual gifts and extensive learn-
ing in the departmentof history have
never been questioned, and he was
deservedly honored through a long
course of years as one of the chief
ornaments and ablest advocates of
Ihe Catholic religion in Germany.
The relative su]>criority very com-
monly assigned to him, however, we
arc inclined to think, is oidy imagin-
ary. Even in history he has met
with some ver)' severe defeats from
antagonists more powerful than him-
self, and ill philosophy and theology
he has never shown himself to be a
master. He is now an old man,
seventy-three years of age, having
spent above forty ye^rs of this pe-
riod in his professorial chair at the
Vniversity of Munich. During the
earlier part of his life, as is proved
by unimpeachable testimony, he was
a strict UUraraontane in his theolo-
gy. The gradual progress by which
he went slowly do«n the declivity
towards his present position we con-
not pretend to trace accurately, li
is certain, however, that no public
expression of opinions having a hete-
rodox tendency, on bis part, excited
any general notice before the year
iS6i. Even then, although the mur-
mur of dissatisfaction which has been
growing louder ever since began to
be heard, and the sure Catholic in-
stinct began to make its wounded
susceptibilities known, the substantial
orlliodoxy and loyalty of Dr. Dollin-
gcr were not questionod or even
doubted. This is proved by the lan-
guage used by the editor of Ver
Kalholik at that time, in which he
says that the book which had
given offence, namely, the celebrated
" Church and Churches," *' is imbued
with the genuine color of sincere
Catholic faith and immovable fidelity
lo the cliurch and her supreme heiuV^*
From that date to the present time,
■S<« ib» ucood volume of ibUpcriodlckl fat
iKi, Bad kIm tlie number for Morcb, i5;o.
416
The Apostasy of Dr. DoUUtger,
these first indisiinct intimations of
what now appear? .is a fult-blown
herei-y can be seen in tlieir successive
stages of clearer manifestation in the
writings and acts of Dr. Oiillinger.
The language used by him is ambig-
uous, and generally capable of being
understood in a good sense, and his
steps are cautious. There is nothing
to compromise him seriously, before
fltc time of the intrigues wliich
went on under his direction for the
purpose of defeating the Vatican
Council. Looking back, however,
upon the dark ways in which he has
been walking, and the dark sayings
which he hxs been uttering, in die
light which his present open decla-
ration of rebellion casts behind him,
ever>*thing becomes clear and appa-
rent to the day. There is a continu-
ity and a logical sequence manifest in
those ambiguous utterances, when
explained in a schismalical and heret-
ical sense, which lliey olhcr^^ ise couM
not have. The acts and expressions
of Dr. Dbllinger's disciples in Ger-
many, Fnince, and Kngland appear
in their coherence and in their rela-
tion to the instruction which they
received from their master. More-
over, a scries of historical facts, in
connection with the University of
Munich and with Dr. DolHngcr him-
self, show themselves in their proper
bearing ; and among other things of
this kind, the secret end and object
of the famous scientific congress of
Munich become perfectly manifest.
In a word, Dr. DoIHnger has had an
idea which has gradually supplanted
tiie Calliolic idea in \\\% mind, and
for the sake of which he has at last
sacrificed the last lingering remnant
of honor, conscience, loyalty, and
divine grace in bis soul, and stooped
so low as to WTite his name at the
bottom of that long and infamous
list of traitors and heretics against
whom none have ever pronounced
sterner sentence of condemnation
than himselC This great idea lias
been nothing less than the reunion
of Christendom on a basis of cotnprt)-
mise between the Catholic Church
and the Eastern and Western sects,
excluding the supremacy of the Ko-
man Church and rontiff. This is no
new idea of Dollinger's. The only
thing which was new and original in
it was the particular scheme or plan
of operation for carrying it into effccL
Kven this was not originated by Dbl-
linger himself, but first planted in the
mind of Maximilian II., King of Ba-
varia, during his youth, bySchelling.
When this able and enterprising
prince ascended (he throne, he un-
<lcrtook the extraordinary task of ef-
fecting a universal intellectual and
moral unification of Germany, of
which Munich should be the rtiffi-
ating centre. The union of the diffe-
rent religious confessions formed a
principal jjart of this plan. More-
over, Germany was to become the
mighty power, after being united in
herself, to bring all the rest of Chris-
tendom into unity in a perfect Chris-
tian civilization, whii;h would then
extend itself triumphantly through the
rest of the world. Tlie great lever
by which this mighty work was to
be accomplished was to be a society
of learned men and able statesmen,
directed by the sovereign authority
of the king himself. The gathering
point for these learned men was nat-
urally the Universit)' of Munich, and
from the Chan's of this university
would proceed that teacliiug and
influence which should train up a
body of disciples ready to sustain
and carry out in their various j)rofes-
sions and posts of influence the grand
project concei%'ed in the philosophic
brain of Schelling and eagerly adopt-
ed by his royal pupil. As a matter
of course, those professors of the
university who were thoroughly loyaJ
ite Apostasy of Dr. D&lfingrr.
417
to Rome must cither submit to the
royal dictation or be removed. Phil-
Hpps and several other disiinguishcd
professors sacrificed their places to
their conscience. DoHinger submit-
ted. This was the fatal rock on
which he split, the one which has
couscd injury or total shipwreck in
ever>' a^e uf the church to &o many
eminent ecclesiastics. It was necessary
to choose between unconditional loy-
alty to the spiritual sovereignty of the
Tope, or subser^'iency to the usurpa-
tion of the temporal prince. This
was the real question from the outset,
and hence iJr. Dollin^er's utter
abjuration of the Papal supremacy is
hut the last logical consequence of
this weak yielding at the bet^inniLg.
Bossuet yielded to l,ouia XIV. in a
similar manner. But Bossuet was a
thoroughgoing theologian, priest, and
bishop. He yielded against the
grain, and his heart was always Ro-
man and on the side of the Pope.
Therefore Uossuet only marred but
did not destroy his character and
]rk as a great bishop and a great
iter. His Gallicanism is only a
igle Haw in a majestic statue. But
in the case of Ijollinger, the Ger-
man, the ambitious scholar, the couit-
ier has predominated over and fm-
ally cast out entirely the Catholic,
theologian, and the priest. He
act been a passive tool, but a
St active and energetic master-
workman in carrying out the plan of
Schclling and Maximilian. Never-
theless, he has been cautious, secret,
and indirect in his method of work-
ing, not attacking openly, but art-
fully undermining the citadel of the
(aith, throwing out hints and scatter-
_ing seeds which he left to germinate
other roinda, in his published
)rks, and chiefly intent upon pri-
vately initiating certain chosen per-
sona into his doctrines. In this way,
a subtle and deadly poison has long
vou xiii. — s7
been spreading its baleful influence
ninung a certain class of intcllectuaL..,
Catholic young men not only \tki
Germany, but also in France and
England. 'I'hank GihI ! this secre
poisoning by conccale^l heresy ha
been stopped. The poison is not
openly exposed to view, and advert
tised as a pleasant refrigerant 01
gentle jmrgative medicine, but
likely to deceive no one who is
good faith, far its color, taste, anc
smell betray ii ; and whoever hasi
made his head dizzy for awhile by<
hastily swallowing a few drops b/ij
mistake is likely to be Uebly cautioi
for the- future.
We have already described in ge-i
neral terms the Munich here.fy, but.J
wc will make a more prciise andij
analytical statement of its principal.
component elements. As we havci
already said, it proposes certain prin-,
ciples and methods for the recon--^
struttion of Chrisieudom. First, the
Catholic Church must be reformed
in doctrine and discipline. Tbe^
(J:^cuinenical Councils as fur back as.,
the Seventh are to be set abide. Thi
authority of any CKcumenical Council
is only final in so far as it xa a wit-
ness of tlie traditional belief of the,
whole body of the faithful. The au-,
thority of the decisions of the Holy.
See must be set aside, and the su-^
premacy of the Sovereign Pontiff be
reduced to a mere patriarchal prima*,
cy. The state is completely supreme .
and independent. Sacred antl secu-,
lar science are exemi)t from all con-
trol except that of the dogmas of
faith. When the Catholic Church is
puri6ed in doctrine and discipline^,
the other portions of Christendom j
arc to be united with it in one grand j
whole, combining all that is good in
each one of them, and itself more]
perfect than any. The supreme and^
ultimate judgment in regard to reli-
gious dogmas is in the universal^
4t8
The Apostasy of Dr. DaUitigrr.
Chrislian sentiment or consciousness,
ctiliijlitened and directed by men
of sciaice and learning.
To certain minds, there is some-
thing specious and high-sounding
about this theory. It is, however, a
mere Russian ice palace, which melts
when the direct rays of the sun fall
upon it. It is essentially no better
»han the doctrine of Huss and Lu-
ther. It is very nearly identical with
that of Dr. Puftey. It is old Protest-
antism revamped, and varnished with
a mixture of rationahsm and oriental-
ism. The supreme authority of the
Holy Sec being set aside, and the
decrees of general councils submitted
to the judgment of the great body
of the clcrjiEy and people, where is
the rule of faith ? Pure Protestant-
ism gives us, in lieu of the infalli-
ble teaching authority of the living
church, the Bible, interpreted by the
private judgment of each individ-
ual. 'ITie Munich theory gives us the
Bible and apostolic tradition, inlcr-
ptcted by the pubbc judgment of the
aggregate mass of the faithful. But
ho*v is the indivi<]ual to determine
what that judgment is ? The histo-
rical and other documents by which
the common and universal tradition
of all ages can be ascertained
are voluminous. Siloreover, it is a
matter of controversy how these do-
cuments are to be anderatood. Only
the learned can fully master and un-
derstand them. The common people
must, tlierefore, be instructed by the
learned. But the learned do not
agree amoug themselves. What,
then, is left for the individual, except
a choice among these learned doctors
or among several schools of doctors
which one he will follow ? This choice
must be made by his private judg-
ment, and, if not a blind following of
a leader or a part)*, it must be made
by a careful examination of the evi-
dences proving that this or that man,
I>r. Dailinger, for example, thoroug^lj
understands the Scripture, the Fa
thers, and ecclesiastical history,
truly interprets them. Is there ani
hope of unity by such a method
Is there any hope of any individi
even, arriving at certainty by it ?
is a return at last to the old rrotesc-<
anr principle of private judgment
with a substitution of something
more difhcult than the Bible in place]
of the Hible which Luther substitute
c«j for the churcK
pTAciically it amounts to this; Dr^
Dullinger is the greatest and
of men ; he knows all tlungii. Take
his word that sn much and no more
is the sound orthodox doctrine hai
ed down from the apostles and
licvcd in ?.\\ ages, and you are rig
Let the Pope and the bishops and
whole world believe and obey
Dollinger. It is Luther's oUl sayio)
repeated by a man of less strcngt
and audacity, but equally absurd an<
insupportable pride. SU vo/ro, sic
beo: itet pro rations vdunfas.* Piu»
IX. and the bishops in the Vatic
Council, so far from complying will
the modest desires of Dr. U51linger|j
have condemned the very mdicj
idea of his heresy, and all other
sies cognate with it, have crushed hi
conspiracy, and blown away ii
thin air the painted bubble of a
formed Catholic Church, and a
union of Christendom on a basis
compromise. There was no alter
tivc for Dr. Dollinger and his parti-
sans except submission to the
of the council, or to the anathci
by which they were fortified,
pie time for renection and dclihcra.«
tion was allowed him, and now, scvcn^
months after the solemn promulga-i
tion of the decrees of the Council of
the Vatican, he has dehberatcly and
* Thus I wtn. ihut I coamuid i let nv wRl
lUad fur ■ rvUMi.
Thf Apostasy of Dr. Do/Un^i-fJ^
4t9
coolly refused submission, thereby
openly and manifestly cutting him-
self off from the communion of the
Catholic Chuttili. His tnanncr of
doing it ij a si;;cial illustration of the
ridiculous attitude which a man of
sense is often driven to assume when
he has given Himself up to the sway
of pride. He desires the Archbishop
of Munich to permit him to be heard
in his own defence before a council
of German bishoiw, or a court form-
ed from tlie Cathedral Cliapter. If
this is to be considered as an appeal
from the Council of the Vatican to
another tribunal, whose decision he
is willing to submit to as final, noth-
ing can be more absurd. An a[ipeal
from tlic supreme tribunal to an in-
ferior court is certainly something un-
heard of either in civil or canon law.
The dogmas denied and rejected by
Dr. Dollingcr have been thoroughly
examined and discussed in a general
council. Judgment h.is been pro-
nounced^ and the case is dosed for
ever. Tlie Archbishop of Munich
and the German prelates are boun<I
by this judgment, have .assented to
it, and have proclaimed it to their
subjects. They have no authority to
bring ii un<Icr a new examination, or
reverse it, in a judicial capacity. If
they sit in judgment on Dr. Dollin-
gcr, or any other individual impeach-
ed of heresy, that judgment is their
paramount law, according lo which
they must decide. The only ques-
tions which can come before them in
such a else are, whether the person
who is a defendant before their court
has contravened the decisions of the
Vatican Council by word or wTiting,
and whetlicr he is contumacious in
his error. U can scarcely be suppos-
ed that a man who refuses submis-
sion to a general council and the
Holy See could have any intention
or disposition to submit to a national
cotmcil or an episcopal court l*hc
only alternative supposition is thatl
he desired to prolong the conirover-i*
sy, to gam time, to inflame the
minds of men, to create a party and
inaugurate a schism. Really and
truly, his demand amounts to this ft
" The majority of the bishops of th(
Catholic Church, having been misled
by their theological instruction, have
made an erroneous decision in .i mat-
tcr of dogma. I therefore re<]uest ihtf'l
bishops of Germany lo permit me to
give them better instruction, and per-
suade them to recall their adhesion*
to that decision. If that cannof^
ha done, I request the Archbishopil
of ^tunich to do me that favor.'**!
The silliness of such a demand is
only equalled by its eftrontcry. Dr.
Dollinger must be very far gone in-1
deed in pride to fancy that the .■\rch-
bishop of Munich or the German
prelates could think for an instant of
making theinsc-tves his docile disci*
pies, or entertain the thought of fol-
lowing him into schism and heresy.
It is an act of parting defiance, the
impotent ge.sture of a desperate man,
whose last stronghold is crumbling
nnder his feet, but who prefers to be
buried under its ruins rather than to_
repent and return to his allegiance.
The appeal to German nation:
sympathy and prejudice is worthy of'
a man whose worldly and solfish
ambition has extinguished the last
spark of genuine Catholic feeling in
his bosom. It is a cry for sj-mpathy'
to the bad Catholics, the Protestants,
and the infidels of Germany. It is a re-
petition of that old saying of Caiphas
against Jesus Christ, " The Romans
will come and take away our place
and nation." Nothing can be more
unhistorical than the assertion that
Papal supremacy wrought division
in the past German Empire, or more
contrary to sound political wisdom
than the assertion that llie same
threatens division in U»c German'
420
Th€ Apostasy of Dr. DoUinger,
I
limpirc of the present. Martin Lu-
tlicr howed the dragon's teeth from
which sprang civil war, disastrous
foreign war, internal disscniiiun, and
alt the direful inLsenes which have
come upon Germany Mnce his inaus-
picious rebellion against the Holy
Sec The so-called Reformatioii
lunicU Ihc Protestant princes against
the Knifjcror, stirred up the revolt of
the peasants, inspired the treachery
which opened the gates to Gustavus
Vasa, and insiigatctl that alliance
with Louis XIV. whicli lost Lorraine
and Alsace to Gcmiany. Tliat infi-
del lihcralisra which is die Ic],^ttimatc
offspring of the revolt against Rome
is the most dangerous internal ene-
my which the present empire has to
fear. It is summed up in the list of
errors condemned by I^ius IX. in his
Encyclical and Syllabus. On the
contrar)', the complete restoration of
Catholic unity and Papal supremacy
in Germany would bring back more
than the glories of the former em-
pire, and renew the epoch of Char-
lemagne.
As for the vain and feeble effort
©f two or three cabinets to prohibit
the promulgation of the decrees of
the Vatican Council, it is too nbsunl
to argue about, and too harmless to
excite any alarm or indigtiattun.
Neither is ilierc any danger that Dr.
Dollinger's iipostasy wiU cause any
serious defection among the Caiholic
pcoplc of Germany. The professors
•f the University of Munich have
been appointed by the king. Some
arc rrotc&tanii, others are infidels,
and others have been hitherto Cath-
olics in profession, but followers of
the heresy of Janus in their heart,
'llicrc arc many Liymen and some
dcrgymcn of the same sort among
the professors of Germany, and a
certain number of persons in other
walks of life, whose faith has been
uudcnuiaed and corrupted. We Itave
always expectetl that tlic CouncU oE
the Vatican would cause a consider-
able number of defections from the
communion of tlic church. liut
wc have no expectation that this dc>
fection of individuals will consoUdate
into a new concrete heresy. John
Huss and Martin Ludier have cx-
luiistcd the probabilities of pseudo-
orthodox reformation. Its race is
run. Tlic time for heresy b past
Organized opposition to the Catholic
Churclt in these days must take a
more consistently anti -Christian form.
Pius I X. and Garibaldi represent
the only two real parlies. DulliDger
is nobody, and lias no place. 1*hat
a great many haptixed Catholics have
locally renounced the faith is un-
doubtedly true. But the Catholic
people wlio }>Ull retain the principles
and the spirit of iheir traditional faitli
arc with Pius IX. This is true of
the Bavarian and other Gennan pop-
ular masses, as well as of the people
of other nations. The German pre-
lates, the clergy, the nobilliy, are
strong and enthusiastic in their al-
legiance to the Holy Sec. The or-
thodox theologians and savants con
wield the ponderous hammer of
science with as much strcngdi of aim
as any of the scholars who have
been fostered in tlie sunshine of
royal favor. The boast made by
Dr. Dollinger at the Congress oi
Munich of the pre-eminence which
Germany will gain in Catholic theol-
ogy and sacretl science will prubolily
be in part fulfilled, though not in the
sense which he had in his mind. It
will be fuhilleil, not by men who bid
a haughty <lcfiance to the saints and
doctors of the church, who uttct
scornful words against the scholars
of other nations, who are gf^verncU
by narrow-minded national prejudice
and unreasoning obstinacy, and who
arc faithless m iheir allegiance lu
their spuitual sovereign, while ibey
The Apostasy of Dr. DdUingtr.
are semlely obsequious to a tcm[)0-
ral monarch. Ii will be done by
true, genuine Calholics, the legili-
uiatc: ofl'spring of the great men who
founded, governed, taught, and made
illustrious the old church and em-
pire of Germany in past ages.
'Ilic gist of the entire quarrel of >
Dr. Dbllinger mih the Archljishop
of Munich consists in an .ippcal from
the suprenne authority in the church
lo the principle of private judgment.
In form, it is an appeal to the Holy
Scriptures and the Fathers, but this is
only an appeal to Dr. Dollingcr's
own private interpretation of the true
sense of Scripture and the Fathers.
It is the same appeal which heretics
anil schi<;matics have m.ide in all
ages : Alius, Nestorius, I'elagius,
Huss, Luther, Cranmcr, Photius,
Mark of Ephcsus, the Armenian
schismatics of Constantinople, and
td! others who have relieved against
(he Holy See. It is the essence of
Protestantism, and in the end trans-
forms itself into rationalism and in-
fidelity. The ancient heretics, the
Oriental schismatics, Anglicans, Lu-
therans, Calvinisis. Unitarian!!, all
have a common principle, all are
Protestants. Thnt principle is the
right of private judgment to resist
the supreme authority of the Catho-
lic Church. So long as private
- judgment is suppowrd to be directed
by a supernatural light of the Holy
Spirit, and to possess in Scripture and
tradition, or in Scripture alone, a
positive revelation, I'rotcstantism is
a kind of Christianity. When the
nalur:d reason is made the arbiter,
and the absolute authority of the
doctrine of Jesus Christ as taught by
(he apostles is denieil, it is a ration-
alistic philosophy, which remains
Christian in a modified and general
sense omit it descends so low as to
become simply unchristian and infi-
del. The Catholic principle which
3
is constitutive of the Catholic Church
as a bo<ly, and of each individual
Catholic as a member of it, is the prin-
ciple of authority. There is no log-
ical alternative between the two. One
or the other must be final and su-
preme, the authority of tlie church
or the authority of the individual
judgment. If the authority of the
church is supreme, no individual or
aggregate of individuals can reject or
even question its decisions. It is the
Catholic doctrine that authority ii
supreme. The church is constitute
by the organic unity of bishopt
clergy, and people, with their Head,
the Bishop of Rome, t)ie successor of
St. Peter. He is the Vicar of Christ,,
and possesses the plenitude of apos-
tolic and episcopal authority. His
judgment is fmal and supreme, wheth-^'
er he pronounces it with or without
the judicial concurrence of an cecu-
menical council. This has
been the recognized doctrine an
practice of the church. Itisnothin
more or less than Papal supremacy
as existing and everywhere believed
as much before as after the Counci
of the Vatican. The word "infalli-
bility," like the words " consubstan-
tial " and " transubstantiation," is only
the precise and definite expression or
tliat which has long been a dogmi
defined under other terms, and al-
ways been contained in tlie universal
faith of the church Based on Scripture
and apoi-tulic tradition. The firsf
Christians were taught to obey im-
plicitly the teachings of St. Peter an
the apostles, because they bad
ceived authority from Jesus Christ,
l"hcre was nothing said about infalli-
bility, because the idea was sufficient
ly impressed upon iheir minds in i
more simple and concrete form
Their descendants, in like mannerj,
believed in the teaching of the suc^
ccssors of the apostles because the^
had inherited their divine authority.
re-
422
Tlt£ Apostasy of Dr. DoUinger.
Wlioevtif separated fi-om the Koinan
Church and was condemned by the
Kdiiian PoiuifT was at once known
to have lost al! aulliority to teach.
The teachinjj of tlie bLshops in com-
munion with the Roman Churrh^and
approved by the Roman PontiiT, was
always known lo be the immediate
and pracliLal rule of faiih. \\"lio-
cver taught anything contrary to
that woH nianilcsily tii error, and,
if contumacious, a heretic, who
must be cast out of the chutch,
however liigh hi& rank might be.
Moreover, the Kuman Pontiff decid-
ed all cuntrovcr&ics, and issued bis
doguiatic decrees to all bishops, who
were required to receive and promul-
gate ihcm under pain uf cxcoramu*
niration. 'lliis unconditional obedi-
ence to an external aulliority evi-
dently prcsup|Hu>cs Ui;it tlie authority
obeyed is rendered infallible by the
supernatural assistance of the Moly
Oho^. Hence, the express and ex-
pliul profession uf tlic infalitbility of
the chiu>:h as a dogma oi raiili has
l>ecn univcr&al ever since it has
tteen made a di&tinct objectof thought
and exposition. It is nothing mure
ihau a distinct expression of one part
of the idea that the church has divine
and supreme authority t<> teat h. uitlia
corTes|KM]ding obligation ou the ('.lith*
ful to belic\'e her teaching. In like
manner, the divine and supreme au-
tbohly of the IN>pc to teach incloiles
and implies infallibihty. as the vast
majority of bishops and theologians
ha\c always held and laugKt. I'be
errnnei-tus opinion tliat the exprc^&s
or tacit acquiescence of the bisboips is
ncccssar)' to the bnality uf pontifr-
cal decrees in matters pertaimng to
fiuth and doctnnc. «as tolerated by
Ibe HoH Sec ttntfl the de&nitioos of
:: il of the Vabcan were pfo-
x\. 'I'be intalhUlity of the
chun.h Itself produces this a|[reaneM
of the episcopate «ilh tt& head. Id
fact, therefore, and practically, tl
pontifical decrees were always si
mittcd to by good Catholics, ai
the Holy See did not formally ai
expressly exact any more than tbii
as a term of Catholic couimunic
Dr. DoUinger and oUiers of the san
stamp look advantage of this loler
tiun uf an illugic.il and erroneui
opinion to undenuinc the doctrine
Papal supremacy and the auUiciril
of t£cumenicil cuuncils. The Pu[
cannot possess the supreme pow(
of teaching and judging^ they ar^
cd, without infallibility. He is n<
infallible, therefore, he is not
prcme. Moreover, the only certs
criterion by which we know thai
council is arcumcoical is the sant
tion of the Pope. If he is not uif
liblc, he may err in givmg this sac
tion. Thus, Uie vns,)- was opened
dispute the authority of Uie Coi
cits of 'I'rent, Latcran, Florence, eb
and to rtp up the whole texttire
CaUiolic doctrine, just so far a:. »u!f-'
ed the notions oi thcM: audacious
uinovaiors. Hie event h.t<: pm^t
how opportune and ncccssar) i
that d^tinct and precise dcbnit
of the infalhbility of the Roman Pc
tiff which has fur ever shut out ihc
possibility of sheltering a fundamc
lal heresy like th:it of l>otlingcr
hint! an ambiguous exptesMon. Th<
is now no more chance for evadii
the law and remaining ostubibty
Catholic The law bdearaud
All dogmatic decrees of ttie Fo{
m.itle with oi without hi< get
council, are infallible artd invlc
ble. OrRe ra^c, no pojjc or
cQ can rere.'sr them. There ii
choice left lo the preiues
enforcing them oo ihctr clergy
(«oplc. No cks]pnnin hokb hts
sition, and no one of the £xithfiil
cntisletl to the saciaiDent&, oa
ochcr Knns than entire soboii
aod <rf>ediefkoe. Tlus b the
The Apostasy of Dr. DoUinger.
423
principle, that the church cannot err
in faith. She has declared it to be
an article of faith that the Roman
Pontiff, speaking ex cathedrd as the
supreme doctor of the church, is in-
fallible. It is therefore a contradic-
tion in terms for a person who denies
or doubts this doctrine to call himself
a Catholic. We cannot too con-
stantly or earnestly impress this truth
on the minds of the Catholic people,
that the rule of iaith is the present,
concrete, living, and perpetual teach-
ing of that supreme authority which
Christ has established in the church.
We believe, on the veracity of God,
by a supernatural faith which is giv-
en by the Holy Ghost in baptism,
those truths which the holy church
proposes to our belief. The church
can never change, never reform her
faith, never retract her decisions, ne-
ver dispense her children from an ob-
ligation she has once imposed on
them of receiving a definition as the
true expression of a dogma contain-
ed in the divine revelation. To do
so, would be to destroy herself, and
fall down to the level of the sects.
The idle talk of writers for the secu-
lar press, whether they pretend to
call themselves Catholics or not,
about the church conforming herself
to liberal principles and the spirit of
the age is simply worthy of laughter
and derision. No Catholic who has
a grain of sense will pay any heed
to opinions or monitions coming
from such an incompetent source.
The church is the only judge of the
nature and extent of her own pow-
ers, and of the proper mode of exer-
cising them. The pontif)^, prelates,
pastors, priests, and theologians of
the church, are her authorized expo-
sitors and ioterpreters, her advocates
and defenders. Those who desire to
be her worthy members, and those
who wish to learn what she really is,
will seek from them, and from them
only, or from authors and writings
which they have sanctioned, instruc-
tion in the true Catholic doctrine.
The unhappy man whose defection
has called forth these remarks has
lost his place in the Catholic hierar-
chy, and henceforth he is of no more
account than any other sectarian
of past times or of the present.
The ecclesiastical historian will re-
cord his name in the list of the
heretics of the nineteenth century,
and his peculiar ideas will pass
into oblivion, except as a matter
of curious research to the scho-
lar.
434
False Views oj Satntship.
FALSE VIEWS OF SAINTSHIP.
We oflen hear the saints spoken
of as men of another race and sta-
ture llian ourselves, splendid master-
pieces of perfection meant to be ad-
mired from a distance, but certainly
not to be copied with loving and,
minute care.
Now, this is A mistake — the most
fatal misukc for ourselves; for we
thus tic down our faculties to com-
monplace life, and refuse to give
them the wider scope that nature
hctscif meant for ihcir exercise; the
moat unfortunate mistake for religion,
because in making her heroes inac-
cesablc and almost unnatural, we de-
ter otlieis from laudable efforts, and
attach to our faith the stigma of pre-
sent sterilit)-.
Not only can each one of us be*
come a saint, and tliat by a simple
and ordinar>* course of lite, but the
amoniicd saints themselves bear vit-
ncB that they reached heaven in no
odier way, and attained their crowns
by no other means. The saint, be
aswed of it. is the truest gentleman,
the pleosjntcst companion, and mort
faith^l incml
He is no mocoae misaDthrope, do
diseiKhantcd cynic; be is a man
vith all the tutural fecHags of ho-
■uky, all the anuable tnits of good-
feHinnlup,aJl the wuncless graces of
good sociecy. There is bo plearing
axMfniy of homaa imefcoin^ do
cabonal exchange of honaa icotk-
BNMs»ao hxriiJess rebuntioa of a
iciMd aiiDd. that need be famga
to ttiDaM«,aDd a stfUger lo hn
Iwut.
Alt ncn |)riae hopBraadilnSg^l-
it:
ness and vivacity ; they admire s|
strong will : love of nature and nrt|I
s)-mpathy with suffering and will
{Kiveriy, zealousnvss in the cause
learning, arc all passports to the
favor, aud incline them to seek tb<
friendship and tru^t the advice of
those in whom these qualities shine.
Now. if we show llicin that canon-^
i/^ saints and great men well knoi
in the annals of tlie church have al-
ways been distinguished by thesftl
trails, will they rcluiie to admit thai
tlie more a man loves his God,
fitter he is to win human sympathj
and command himian imitation ?
The saints have not seldom
unfairly treated, and chiefly by thi
ovcrzcaious biographers ; for thdr
hohness has been distilled into such
ethereal and miraculous abstiacliofls
that we DO more dream of giaipiog
it OS a means of encouragement than
ve do of seiziag for nounshmeac iq>*
on the sumfflcr dowb wluse loMif
shapes entrance oat eyes in the west*
cm heavens.
Every one of the sainta bad an in*
dhridaal character, tooching wc«k-
nesses of disposittoo and tanocait
partialities of nature. Every one of
them vent to hea\-cn by a separate
road, and his ^Moaky of buonn
and nanna] cfaaracttr alooa dtMi^
nined that road. Some were kingi
and cnperant, pciacei and popc^
and great men of the oanh; they
had to war soft garments ud 9*
nunc robes, and spend much tunc in
thediipUyihcvanttreqved. Now,
■MHJ ■BKIimiMKMS pSMDS WVMid
have «s bebne that sack dbfplqr ia
^ktamtAf ana ■ ttaf
False Views of Saintship.
4n
in under no circumstances be al-
lowable. The church thinks other-
wise, and more generously, and has
canonized ihcse men.
Some were beggars or servants,
mechanirs or husbandmen ; pajwcd
their days In menial pursuits, and ap-
parently had their minds occupied
only by the sordid necessities of their
humble degree. Many presumptu-
ous people like to tell us that ser^■ile
work deteriorates the mind, thai beg-
gary is invariably a criminal state,
that poverty dwarfs the understand-
ing and harden:* the heart. The
church thinks otherwise, nnd more
charitably, and tJicsc too she has ca-
nonized.
Again, some were statesmen and
lolnis, and the wranglings of courts,
the tumult of embassies, the disputes
of universities, were the daily atmo-
sphere they breathed. Some officious
persons tell tis plainly that solitude is
the only nurse of holiness, and that,
with these surroundings, it is impossi-
ble to live unbewildered by the world's
noise and untainted by the world's
corruption. The church thinks oth-
erwise, and more liberally, and has
ionized these men also.
No station in life >t> too low or
too higli for God to look upon, and
^^^ercforc not too low nor too high
^B^ God's saints to thrive in.
^^rThe secret of saintship lies in the
^^Dwer of a man tu fashion his sur-
roundings, and mould the circum-
Ianccs attendant on his lot in life,
|] he makes them into a ladder
herewith to climb to heaven.
^Suppose a man is bom lo high
estinies, and a great fortune : ihey
are ready-made instruments in his
hand for the glory of God and the
good of his neighbor. I-ci him re-
collect iljat Jesus was of a royal race,
Kd was \Hsitcd by Eastern kings.
Suppose, on the contrary, he is
m poor, and sees no means of fu-
lure advancement all his life :
again are his weapons chosen fori
him to fight the good fight Lei,
htm remember that Jesus was bom
in a stable, and lived in a carpcntcr'A'j
shop.
If a man is clever, tiilcllectual, to^,
Icntcd, hb road to heaven lies in the
good use he makes of these gifts of
mind; if he is clieerfui, good-humor- 1
ed, well-bred, his road to heaven lit
in the charitable use he makes uf his
natural attractiveness; if he is plac*j
ed in circumstances that grievously^]
try his temper and his patience, long-
suffering, resignation, and gentlencs
will be the evident (jath fur hiiu ; if
surrounded by difficulties and occu-
pying a responsible posiiinn, discre-*
tion and delicacy will be his appoint"
ed road.
There is no forcing the spiritual'
life ; it grows out of the natural life,,
and is only the natural life, shorn of 'J
self and self-love, supematuralized.
I,i^- is a battle; we all have to
fight it, but even in a material com-j
Itat, what general would arm all hii
soldiers alike? .Are there not caval-^
ry and infantry, lancers and ritleraen?"
Do not some wield the sword, other
man the guns ? So in the conibaC^
wliosc jiromiscd land is paradise ; wc
fight each with diverse weajKms, andii
our one thought should be, not tO'
envy others their arms, but do effec-
tual service with our own. Men figl
one way, women another. IJoth cai
fight as well ; but only by using tlieii
own weapons.
There is .in old French fabic thi
speaks of the frog who sought to^
swell him.self to the size of the ox^i
forgetting that ho could be as happjr-j
and as useful in his small fish-pond aaj
the larger animal in his spacious me&^3
dow. He wouM not be a frog, but?]
of course he (ould not become an ox, 1
so he died of his effort, and the worid'i
counted one worker less. Just so do
^
Faise Views of Saintsk^.
some of us act when wc sigh over tlie
life of some great saint of old, and,
putting down the book in sentimental
admiration as barren as it is use-
less, cry out. '* If only /could lie an
Augustine, a Theresa, a Thomas Aqui-
nas !" 'i'o such might we answer :
*• Do you know why they were
saints? Because they acted up to
the lights they had. \iyou act up to
your inferior but no less true tights,
you loo will be a S'lint." If Augus-
tine, and Theresa, and Thomas Ai|ui-
nas had spent their lives in sterile
sentimentality, calling upon the dead
saints before them, where would they
have been, and who would haw
heard of Uicir names ? At that rate,
there would have been no saints at
all after the twelve apostles, and even
they would have sat down in proiit-
less discouragement because their
holiness could not equal that of the
Son of (rod I
Did not the Creator say to all
things living, vegetable or anim.il,
" increase and multiply," and " Let
the earth bring forth the green herb,
and such as may seed, and the fruit-
tree bearing fruit after Us kind" ? In
that one commandment lies the se-
cret spring of the energy and fruitful-
ness of every created thing, spiritual
no less than temporal. Let each one
of us bear fruit aceordtng to his ktnt/,
and God will t>e satisfied. Augustine
and Gregory, Thomas and Bonaven-
ture, Francis of Assisium and Francis
of Sales, Charles Uorronjeo and Vin-
cent of Paul, Philip Nen and Igna-
tius 1-oyoIa, were men, very «*•'/,
and, had they not been men, they
cotild not have been saints. Wo
mean, their sanctity would have been
other than it actually was ; it would
have been even as the holiness of
the angels the uniem[Ued steadfast-
ness of pure spirits Had they been
bom as the Blessed Virgin, immacu-
late iu tlie very initial moment of ex-
istence, they would not have been t\
saints they arc, the imitable, hi
weakling beings we yearn over
love with a natural and sympathc
love.
Nature, whatever people may
of her, is not contrary to grace :
in this sense at least, that ihc is
6eld, and grace the plough,
plough does not alter the eartii
furrows ; it only prepares it, stirs
turns its better biirface uppenuoa
and displays its richest loam to
ccive the grain. As neiUier rain,
dew, nor manure can turn one
into another, so can no eflbrts
overstrained piety, no devices of
bilious perseverance, re-create
soul and portion it anew. As Gc
made us, so we suind : by
thought, we cannot add lo our st
ture one cubit, neither can wc force
foreign growth to bloom on the Ion
lying lands of our snul. Onesoit
grain grows best in one sort of caiti
Would any husbandman dream
planting the nTong grain in it ? Gc
is a husbandman, and shall he
less well than mortal man, and shj
he endeavor lo force one soil to U
ilie crop it cannot nourish ? No, no]
God gave us one nature as well
the graces he plants therein, and
may trust lo hiin to see the harv(
reaped. It is men, it is ourselvei
who interfere with our sowing ar
reaping time; it is ourselves, who oiUt]
biliously seek to grow grain we
never rear, or it is ollieni who moli-^
ciousty sow tares in a soil Uiey too
quickly overrun. Then the world
will .see in us her saints, men going^j
simply through the round of theirj
daily duties, very unostentatiously,!
very quietly, never boasting, because]
to have time to boast they mus
needs leave oS their work ; nevccJ
lamenting, because to lament they]
would have to leave off their prayer;'
but letting their nature fill itself to
New Publications.
427
the brim with God, and, when it is
full, letting it quietly overflow to their
neighbor.
That sounds very simple, does it
not ? Yes, because everything that
belongs to (}od is simplicity itself,
and the more simple a man is, the
nearer God he is.
All the great men and women
whose names stud the calendar of
the church owed their greatness to
their simplicity, and the words of the
greatest saint that ever lived, the
words of her, were they not the sim-
plest ever found on record ; " Be it
done unto me according to thy
word " ?
Samts of our timid generation,
saints of our half-hearted century,
saints of our hitherto barren civiliza-
tion, start up, and fill the plains and
the valleys of all lands, fill the offices
of the city and the homes of the
citizens, fill the church, the courts,
the universities, fill the lowly serried
ranks of the poor, fill the more bur-
dened and more responsible phalanx
of the noble and the rich !
NEW PUBLICATIONa
The Life of St. Thomas of Aquin. By
FatherVaughan,O.S.B. London : Long-
mans, Brown, Green & Co. Vol. I
For sale by The CaihoUc Publication
Socieiy, New York.
This is a good stout volume, like
St. Thomas himself. It is a book
for its outward appearance such as
we seldom see. We have many well-
printed books, but this one is re-
markable for its large, clear type,
which makes it pleasant and easy
to read. The subject is one of the
greatest interest and importance.
The life and times of St. Thomas
have a peculiar charm about them,
aside from the history of his genius,
and of his philosophical and theolo-
gical system. The two together
make a theme which far surpasses
in grandeur and attractiveness even
the history of the majority of great
saints. St. Thomas is the great doc-
tor of the church. His intellectual
sway is somethingwithout a parallel.
The study of his works is on the in-
crease, and he is likely to acquire
even a greater and more universal
sway than he enjoyed before the Re-
formation. We have never before had
a really good biography of St. Tho-
mas in English. Father Vaughan has
taken hold of the work with zeal
and ability. It is only half publish-
ed as yet, but the first volume pre-
sents so large a portion of the angel-
ic doctor's life before us that we
can estimate its value as well as if
we had the whole. An analysis of
some of the principal works of St.
Thomas is given by F. Vaughan, and
he endeavors to present to the rea-
der a picture of the times when he
lived, as well as to describe the
events of his personal history.
Every student should have this
book. It is indeed a wonderful
thing to see such a specimen of
genuine old monastic literature is-
suing from the English press. It
makes us hope that England may
yet become once more the merrie
Catholic England of the olden time.
Mv Study Windows. By James Russell
Lowell, A.M., Professor of Belles-
Leltres in Harvard College. Boston :
James R. 0%ood & Co. 1871.
Met with in the pages of a review
or magazine, Mr. Lowell's prose is
438
New PxtbHcaiians.
always sure lo be more or less plea-
sant reuding. His wit. his rctinc-
nient, and 3 certain something which
we arc only unwilling to call his de-
licacy of appreciation, because, in
spite of his fjcnerally acknowledg-
ed merits as a critic, he seems to us
not always perfectly reh'ablein that
capacity, always find him witling'
and amused readers. Ilut when he
shuts up too much of his work at
once between a pair of covers, and
fpvcs whoever will a too easy oppor-
tunity of comparing him with him-
self, we doubt whether even his ad-
ntirers — a class in which wc are nut
unwilling lo inchide ourselves — do
not find him a little wearisome, and
discover in him a poverty of supgcs-
lionand a tintidilyuf tbuught winch
gibbet him as a book-maker, al-
though, being in a measure counter-
balanced by an abundance of lighter
merits, they would have left hii)i
an easy pre-eminence over most of
his contemporaries as a magazinisl.
Nor. if wc may for once adopt a
method of criticism from which our
author himself is not averse, and
trust our inslinct to read between
the lines, is Mr. Lowell altogether
free from a suspicion that such may
possibly be (be case— and lh.Tl. as
aficcltng his own culture and habit
of mind also, it was a far-reaching
mistake in our Puritan ancestors to
cut themselves (|uile asunder from
the traditions of the past before
tiiey came here to establish free
thin king and free religion along with
a free government. However it
may be with government, neither
thought nor faith seems to flourish
well without having its roots in
the past. Like their tninscenden-
talist sons, our New EngLind proge-
nitors were themselves " Apostles
of the Newness," and simply ante-
dated them by u few generations in
the experiment of throwing over-
board agrcatdeal of valuable freight,
and trying to right themselves by
laying in a supply of useless ballast.
The sentiment which they dignified
by the name of trust in Providence
appears nowadays under a less equi-
vocal disguise as self-reliance; anSj
while it produces certain easily ap-[
preciabte results both in society and
iiteralurc. it makes instability, a
want of solidity, and an absence of
gcrminativc force permanent cha-
racteristics of both of them. Nol, ,
however, to make an essay on
sufficiently suggestive topic, but to
confine ourselves to the particular-
matter in hand, it is perhaps Mr.,
Lowell's thin'skinnfdneis as an au-
thor, and a characteristic modesty
as to the value of his utterances,
none the less apparent for being put
carefully out of sight, which gi\*e'
him. to our thinking, his best claim
to the liking of his readers— white
at the same lime it rs a modesty so)
well jusliticd by the actual state of
the case as to explain wliy it is Ibat:
one is always more ready to accepti
with satisfaction what he has to sajT^
about an author whose claims havo,
been tested by more than one gen**
er.ition of critics, than to trust him
for a thoroughly reliable estimate of^
a literary workman of to-day. Eveoi
in the former case one inclines to
believe that he m.iy sometimes feel '
a just preference for bis own opin-
ions in contradistinction to those of
Mr. Lowell— who is not. for instance,
likely to elicit much intelligent sym-
pathy with his verdict on the poeti--
cal merits of the "Rape of the'
Lock." By far the plcasantest por-
tions of the present volume arc the
tlirce opening essays, in which Mr.
Lowell quite forgrts that he is a
critic, or. at least, that he is a critic
of books. The essays on Carlyle
and Thorcau contain also a good
deal of sound, if not particularly
subtle, criticism ; and in general, al-
though the book does not show Mr.
Lowell in his most characteristic
vein, it pleases us all the better on
that account, as giving us what sub-
stance there is in his thought, with
much less than ordinary of the
technical brilliancy which wea-
ries quite as often as it enter-
tains.
New Ptibiications.
Dios AND THE SiHVLs, A Classic Chris-
tina Novel, by Miles Gcr^ild Kcon,
Colonial Secretin'. Bcrmiid;!, aiittior
of " Harding (he Money- Spinner," etc.
New York : Catholic Fublic»lfon So-
ciety. 1B71. I vol. Bvo, pp. 224
DioH and the Si'fy/s is a work of
uncommun merit, and may be class-
C(]. in our opinion, wilh Fabiota and
Caliisia. which is Ihc hislicst coni-
pHinent wc could possibly pay to a
romance of tin; early period of Chris-
tian history. The Dion of the story
is Dionysius the Areopagite in his
youth, and before his conversion.
The Sibyls are introduced in refer-
ence to their predictions of a com-
ing Saviouf of mankind. The ob-
ject of the author is to exhibit the
fearful need which existed in heath-
en society for a divine inter\-ention,
and the general, widespread desiie
and e3^pccl.^lion of such an event
at the lime when our Lord actually
appeared on the earth. This is doae
by means uf a plot which is woven
from the personal history of u ne-
phew of Lcpidus the Triumvir, a
young Roman noble of Greek edu-
cation, and an intimate friend ol
Dionysius, whu came to Rome with
his mother and sister at the close
i>f the reign of Augustus, to claim
the sequestrated cslatcof his father,
one of the generals who helped to
win the battle of Philippi. The ap-
peal of the youiig Faulus ^milius
Lepidus to Augustus at a time when
the tatter was visiting Ihe wealthy
Knight Mamurra at his superb villa
at Formire, and a plot of Tiberius
Caesar to carry off Agatha, the young
man's sister, afford an occasion of
describing the principal persons of
the Roman court. This is done in
a graphic and masterly manner. The
represenUtion of the aged Augus-
tus is something perfen in its kind.
The portraits of Tibcrins. Germani-
ctis. Caligula, then a child, the royal
ladies, Sejanus the Prxlorian pre-
fect. V'ellcius Patcrrulus.Thellus the
chief of the gladiaturs, and a num-
ber of other persons representing
various classes of Romans, arc ad-
mirably and vividly drawn. The
breaking uf the ferocious Scjan
horse by the young .-Emitius at the
public games of Kormia; is a scene
of striking originality and power.
Tiiccampaign of Gcrtnanicus against
the ((ennans is also well described.
In fact, Mr. Keon ntakes the old
Roman world reappear before us
like a panorama. He shows himself
to be a thorough and minute classi-
cal scholar and historian on every
p.igc and in every line. But beyond
and above nil this, he exhibits a
power of philosophical reasoning,
and an insight into the deepest sig-
nilicance of Christianity, which ele-
vate his thrilling romance to the
rank of a v.*ork of the highest mo-
ral and religious scope. The Ac-
s»:ripliun uf the demons by the L;idy
Pl.mcina is an original and awfully
sublime conception surpassing any-
thing in the Mystique Diaboli^ue of
Gorrcs. The author's great master-
piece, however, is the argument of
Dionysius on the being of One God
before the court of Augustus,
piece of writing of which any pr(
fcsscd philosopher might be proud.
The hislon' of Paulus j'Emiliui
who is really the hero of the worl
brings him at last to Juda:a at tli<
time of the nmrder of St. John Ih)
Baptist, and the closing scenes u{
the life of our Lord. This gives th<
author the opportunity of dcscril
ing a momentary glimpse which th(
brave and virtuous Roman was fa-
vored with of the form and counte-
nance of the Divine Redeemer, as
he was passing down the Mount of
Olives. Mr, Keon undertook a dif-
ficult task, one in which many have
failed, when he ventured on intro-
ducing the augustfigurc of our Lord
into his picture. Wc are fastidioui
in matters of this kind, and not easf-l
ty satisfied hy any attempt at givinj
in language what sculptors ant
pointers usually fall short of express-
ing in marble and on canvas. Mr.
Kcoii's bold effort pleases us so
much that wc cannot help wishing
he would try his hand at some more
430
NhO ^bticatiarts.
sketches of the same kind. Wc
should like to see some scenes from
the evangcJic.nl history and tht Acts
of ihe Aprjstles produced under an
ideal and imaginative farm with an
ability equal to that which our au-
thor has displayed in liis pictures
of the Augustan age. The success
of Rcnan's I -if t of Jesus is due not
SO much to the popularity of his de-
testable and absurd theories, as to
the attraction of his theme and the
charm of a vivid, lifelike represen-
tation of the scenes, manners, and
events of the period when our Lord
lived and taught in Judxa. A simi-
lar work, produced in accordance
with the true ('atholic idea of the
august, divine person of the S<m of
God made man, would do more to
counteract the poison of the infa-
mous infidel literature of the day
io the popular mind than any grave
argumentative treatise. We pro-
nounce Mr. Keon's Dion omt th< Si-
fy/r without hesitation to be a dra-
matic and philosophical master-
piece, and tt'C trust that he will not
alloK' his genius t» lie idle, but will
(five us more wnrks of the same sort.
Whether the vitiated tiste of the
novel-reading world will appreciate
works of x> classical a stamp, we
are unable to say. But all ibusc
who relish truth conveyed through
the forms of the purest art will
thank Mr. Keon for the pleasure he
has given them, if they shall, as wc
did, by chance take up his book
and peruse it attentively, and will
concur with us in wishing that a
work of so much merit and value
might be better known and more
widely circulated.
LiTEKATiRE AND I.IFK. Edwin P. Whip-
ple. Enlarged Edition. Boston : James
R. Os|:ood & Co. 1671.
The essays contained in this vol-
ume are ten in number: Authors in
their Relations to Life ; Novels and
Novelists; Wit and Humor: The
Ludicrous Side of Life : (rcnius ; In-
tellectual Health and Disease ; Use
and Misuse of Words ; Wordsworth ;
Bryant; Stupid Conscr^-allsm ant
Malignant Reform.
Of these the first six were originat-^
ly delivered by Mr. Whipple as pupa*j
tar lectures many years ago, ant
were collected and published in iJ!4gw]
The last four articles arc later"
productions of the author, and are
first published together in this eii'^
l.irged edition of his early work.
In a somewhat extended notice'^
of Mr. Whipple's essays on the " Lit-*'
eraturc of the Age' of Elizabeth""
more than a year ago, wc pointed
out some of his excellences and de-j
fccts as they appeared to us. Boilt;
are perhaps even more apparent in*
this book.
Us style is marked by thalconi-|
mand of expression for which the
author is ahvays so remarkable, and'j
is at the same lime clear, pointed^!
and unaffected.
Yet the essays sometimes bear|
marks of the object for which tbey^
were written, and one cannot helpj
wishing that the author had nt
been so evidently restricted in thti
materials he used and in the charac-^
tcristics of his style by the necessi-i
ty of their adaptation to the audi-
ence of lecture-goers to which they
were addressed.
The distinctively critical essaj
are the best, and it'is in literary cri-
ticism that Mr. Whipple is alway*^
must at home.
His appreciative estimates of the:
genius of Dickens and of Words-
worth have, we think, been very sel-
dom equalled in force and justice by
any of the numerous criticisms of
those authors which have beei
published.
Those who are familiar with Mr.
Whipple's essays wilt l>e glad to see
them republished in so elegant and
convenient a form, and those who
arc nnt cannot now do belter ttuui'
to make their acquaintance.
Fifty Cathouc Tracts ox varwdsSpiu
jFJrrs. First Scries. Now York : Tlie
Cnlhollc Publication Soeicty, 9 Warren
Street. 1871
Niw Publicittwns,
43T
Tlie wisli so often expressed of
secinp "The Catholic Tracts " in a
book form has been met by this
volume. The variety of its con-
tents makes it nbook for circulation
iimonf? all cbsse:! of society. Short,
popular, and conclusive answers
;ire K^veii on questions of the day.
inakiit^ it of great value as a work
of actual controversy, while not a
few uf the tracts arc instructive and
devotional, rendering it equally jm-
portant to Catholics.
The volume is printed on good
paper, and its price brings it within
the reiich ofevery one. Wc recom-
mend it to the attention *f clerK>--
nicn, and the confraternities, sodali-
ties, and Rosary societies, as a book
for distribution among a read-
ing and thinking people seek-
ing after religious truth. We give
the preface entire :
"In ihe spring of lB66, the Catholic
Publication Society issued its first tract.
Since that lime it has published fifty
tracts on diOtrrctii subjects. More than
two and one h.ilf millions (3,500,000) of
these short and popular papers have been
said and circulated. This is suilicient
evidence of their value and popularity.
"Some of the ablest writers in our
country have conitibuied to ihts work.
Aldiough Wc have never j>iven the names
of the auihors, wo fed at libcity to say
that eminent ptctaics and Irnrned thca-
logians— men who have a vorld-wide ic-
putatlon — have written many of these
Uacls. A \¥c!l-wrincn tract often costs
more labor than an essay or an article
for s magazine.
"Nor have these ttacts been wntien
and circulated without good effect. Wc
know of Protc$tanis converted and re-
ceived into the church by their means.
Countless prejudices against our reli-
gion have been removed, even when per-
sons have not l>ccn led to become Caiho-
lies. Their minds have been thus ptc-
parid for accepting the truth at some
future day. In addition to thi«, wc must
Tcmemher ihat many of the tracts nre
written for the instruction of Calholtcs.
Numerous letters from those in charge
of hospitals, asylums, and prisons, in va-
rious sections of our country, bear testi-
mony to Iheir value in this respect.
" An objection is sometimes made to
the word ' tract.* We do not aliogethcr^
like the word ourselves. If aof frieni '
can suggest a better, we will chcerfull)
adopt iL Until then, vre must coniinu«^
to use it. Surely Catholics have a rigl:
to any word in the Knglish language,-
Sometimes an objection is made 10 th«'
tract form of publication. Tho^e who I
have scruples on this score are icllevcd^
by the publicallonofihi^ volume. Th<
tracts now form a book. No one caal
fairly object to the inatler it contains.
"We trust, therefore, that ihey vrht
find bi^nefil from this lillle volume oii
tracts will endeavor to increase its cii
culalion. To the clergy wc recommend^
Tract 50 as one intended to place bclori
them u practical method of circulatini
Citholic literature among their people>
We CiUinot close without expressing th«.
strong desiie to see this volunin sprcaif
over Ihe length and breadth of our land.*
MKDITATtOSS ON THE LirANV OP Tl
Most Holv Virgin. By the Abbi*^
£atthe. Translated from the French
by a Daughter o( St. Joseph. Phila-
delphia: P, F. Cunningham. 1871.
This handsome work supplies a
want long felt. It contains medi-
tations on each phrase of the LitanjTi
from the Kyrie eUisen to the A^nui
Dii. These meditations are of sufil
table length for May devotions, andj
an: admirable for their solidity nt
less than for their piety. The AbM
Barthe is an honorable Canon of
Rcdcy (France): and wc cannot Hai'
better than quote the letter of hit
bishop, lie says : " I rejoice that sj
priest of my diocese ... ha
given to learned and Christian^
Fr:ince a work which will be widel]
diffused, and which will make Ihi
august Mar)' lovort, admired, and'
venerated in these lines, when, more''
than ever, ive need to place onr^j
selves under her glorious protec-
tion."
There are also lettersof commen-
dation from Cardinal Giraud, Arch-
bishop of Cambria, and his gr.nce thi
.\rchbishop of Paris, to which ii
added the approbation of the Bisho]
of I^hiladclphia.
few
fications.
May this " Monument to the Glo-
ry of Mary" Us it is called^ meet
in this country* with the circulatioti
it deserves, mid be the means of
sprcadins: wide and deep the love
and worship of her whuse Immacu-
late Conception is our patronal
feast
Tire WoNDCKs OF THE IIeavcvs. Hy
Cnniillc Klammaijun. From the
French, by Mn. Nonnan Lockycr.
With lorty- eight Jllustnitions. N«w
Yoxk ; Cbailcs Sctibnet & Co. 1871.
To those who take a delight in
reading about the planets and stars,
this work will prove both instruc-
tive and inlcrestinK. The illustra-
tions are vciy hne, and the work is
got up in unifoTin style M-ith the
other volume of "The Library of
Wonders." noticed in these pages
before, of which it is one of the se-
ries.
Thecla ; or. The Malediction. By Ma-
dame A. R. Dc LnGtaogo. I vol. izuio.
Now York : P. OStiea.
This is an interesting story de-
scriptive of a family living in the
Roman province ofCappadocia in the
fidh cenluty, giving quaint pictures
of life in those early days, and love-
ly glimpse!* of the natural beauties of
the country. The object of the tale
Is to illustrate the special judgments
of Almighty L>od on disobedient chil-
dren and an overindulgent parent,
who out of a weak fondcss put
no restraints upon her children in
their youUi. The terrible retribution
that follows a parent's curse, and the
remorse and bitlcincss of heart that
niust Ik the portion of neglectful pa-
rents, are well portrayed by Madame
Do La Grange. The volume will be
an excellent addition to our Sunday-
school libraries.
We would suggest to the publish-
er the propriety of a thinner and bet-
ter paper. It docs not look seem-
ly to priat books 00 common paste-
board.
Thk Tiieolocv or riiR Pakables. _
Father Coletidgo, S,J. Wiih an Ai
r.-iitscincni of ihe Paretics, by Fi
llici Saltncron. London: Hurni
Oaies^ Co. For sale by The Caifac
t'C Publication Society.
This is a papcrof no great leof|fth|'
but of great scr^-icc to the cause of
faith, it is in ever>' respect worth]
of the pen ' of Father Colcri<Jg«-1
He sets before us the parables it
quite a new light, as meant to tcachi
us the ways of God to men. Why]
our Lord chose the parabolic fornii
of teaching and why he said %o mud
about hi9 Father are shown Wrth-
great force and clearnos«
NjLTirnAi History or New Yoik. Pi^(
ueoMroLOCV. Vol. iV. Pan. L AIb>^1
ny : Printed by C. Van Bctubuysca A_
Sons. Mxrch, 1867.
Thisisa continuation of Professor
Hall's able researches on the fossils
of this state. It contains descrif
tions and figures of the Ur.ichiopo-]
da of the Mclderberg. HatniJtOf
Portage, and Chemung groups. The
plates are admirably executed, like
those in the previous volumes, and
the name of the author is a ftufiU
cient proof of the accuracy and va-<
lue of the descriptions which tbe^3
illustrate. The work is a solid nnd
\^Iuable contribution to science.
Mocs REOurxo.
Prom ]9MM MrRTMv A Co., BalUnorci TW^
CIUM'« Prarc/ ud Hrnn RooV. For ih«
or Calhalk SuDi-Uir KrhixJa.— The ICftptetl
A Diamt ia Three Adv Tr««dai«d mm tt«
Frcoch bv Ja.B«» Kckoc Paper.
Frosi J B. UrnxroTT A Cii.. PUtoMpUft. P^a
Tbr Vkrcinu h'omc. A HawJboafc of Tr«T^
In XItk^kU- Ry £ A PonuC ■ (oL
fMpct.-ltMtotr of FIocnIb ftsB te PtilM
T*rT by Pflacc d« Leoa ta is». to tb«
■r tk« FI«Ua Wu IR t««i. Bv
FakbuUnL 1 r«L mm«^— TW Cv
lt«lbnulloau4lt>ThMln«T: m Ki
Hinary mk \Mummt «k tfc> £«M««lk>lL»i
UKnaCbordL By CteriM P. Knoih OD.
1 nt. ttv.
Hi.
IRISH
Towards the close of the year
^1645, the venerable oratoriaii. Fallier
eiLT francls Scarampo, who had
nt two years in Ireland on a spe-
iai missiou front tlie J loly See, was
rmitteil to resign hU position and
turn to Rome. He was accom-
nicd (hither by five young students
hose relatives desired that they
ould complete their theolof^ical
dies in the colleges of the Etemil
jty. Of these, the most distin-
ished for early proficiency and
;entlcnes5 of disposition was a yoiiUi
lamei] Oliver Plunket, then in his
lixtcenth year, having been born at
Loughcrew, county of Meath, in 1629,
a near niativc and protege of the
Bishop of Arrlagh, Doctor Patrick
unket, and closely connected by
les of kindred wiUi some of the
noblest f.iniihes of Ireland, and with
many distinguished ecclesiastics at
. home and on the Conlinent. Father
Scarampo had borne himself so
isely and with so much charity and
screlion while in Ireland, that his
purture was regarded as a public
misfortune, and his retiring footsteps
were followed to the sea-coast by
thousands of pious and grateful peo-
ple ; and, though his humble spirit
would not allow him to accept the
distinguished post of Papal Nuncio,
and so remain among them, he never
reawd to remember their hospitality
and long-suBcring and to befriend
their cause at Rome upon all oc-
casions. On the young men en-
trusted to his care he bestowed every
possible favor, and especially on
young Plunket, in whom he took a
fatherly interest up to the day of his
untimely dc;)th on the plague-strickeu
Island of St. Bartholomew, even to
the extent of defraying that student's
expenses for the Arst three years of
his novitiate.
Soon after hts arrival in Rome,
Oliver Plunket entered the Irish
College of thai city, then under the
charge of the Jesuit Fathers, and
fur eight years devoted himself with
great industry and success to tlie
study of philosophy, mathematics,
and theology, subsequently attending
itercd, wvBnIiaK In Act at Caogmm, tn Vbt yMr (Sjt, hf ttmr. t. T. Hsciua, In Ika OlBm at
Ibv Ubntl&a or CansTCM, U WubiaKbMi, O. C.
the usual course of lectures on can-
on and civil law iii the Roman Uni-
versity. I'rex'ious to his appointment
to the See of Armagh, the Rector of
the Irish College, in response to an
enquiry of tlic Sacred Congregation
of Propaganda, presented the follow-
iag honorable testimony of the char-
acter and abilities of the future I'rt-
mate:
" I, the nndersigned. ctnlty ihat itie
Vtiy RevMcntI Dr. Oliver PInnkvt,
of tlie ilioccse of Mc-iih, in the pro-
vince of Aimftfili, in IrcUtuI, !« of
Cailiollc parem^^EC, tlc^centleij frum
an illustnouA family ; n:\ lite falhcr*s
«i(le, from the ma» illuMrious Eails
of Fitijijal ; Oft the nmtlirr's side,
from the moM tlluMiious KaiU of Ro»-
cominon, being Also connectcil tiy liiilh
with (he intiii illustrious OHrer Piunkct,
Baron o( LuuOi, liist nohlcman of ihc
diocese of Ariii-igh ; an4 m this our
Irish Cdllecc hr dvvalt-d himself with
such ardur to philosophy, thvolog}-, and
mathemutics. that in ihc Roman Cctlrgc
of the Society of Jesus he was justly
ranked amonfc the foremost in t-tlcnt,
diligence, nnd progress in his studies;
these speculative studies being com-
pleted, he pursued viih abundAnt fruit
(be course of civil and canon Iaw un-
der M,itIc Anthony dc .Miriscotii, Pro-
fessor of the Romnn S.ipicnza, and ever>'-
where and at all times he was a model
of gentleness, inlcgrtty, and pteiy."
Having at length received his or-
dination in 1654. Dr. Plunktt was
obliged by tlic rules of the college
cither to proceed forthwith on the
Irish mission or to obtain leave from
his superiors lo remain to further per-
fect his studies. Mc chose the latter
course, and at his own request the
General of the Society of Jesus, to
whom he applied, permitted him lo
enter Sm Girolamo dclia CharitS,
where for three years he quiedy de-
voted himself to the accumulation of
knowledge and the duties of his sa-
cred calling. Marangoni, in bis life
of Fatlier Cacciaguerra, speaks of
Doctor Plunkct's conduct while in
that secluded retreat in the following
eulogistic terms :
"Here it is Incredible with what seal
he burned for the aalvallon of souls. In
Ihc house JtMlf, and in the city, h«
wholly devoted himself 10 devout exer-
cises ; fie4]uently did he risit the sanc-
tuarici »lcc[ted with Hie Mood of 90
many m,tnyrs. and he nrdcnltjr sif bed fop
the opportunity of sacrificing himself for
the salvation of his countrymen. He.
moreover, fretiucnled Ihc Hospital of
Santo Spirito. and employed himself
e\'cn in the most abject ministrations,
serving the poor infarm, to the cdi^caiion
and wonder of the officials and atsisiants
of that place."
The disturbed condition of his
native country has been alleged as
the cause of Dr. Plunket's delay in
Rome, and this In itself wouki be
sufficient reason, if we reflect thai at
that time the soldiers of Cromwell,
were in full [nasesaion of every nook
and comer of it, and that hundreds
of priests, left -without congregations,
were obliged to fly for their lives to
the Continent, or to seek refuge in
mountains and morasses ; but it is
more than probable ihal the young
ecclesiastic had an additional mo-
tive for remaining longer in the
Holy City, and, having a forecast of
his future eminence in the church,
and of the vast benefits he was
capable of rendering to the cause
of religion and bis counlrv-, desired,
as far as possible, to qualify himself
for the glorious task to wliich he was
afterwards assigned at ihe fountain-
head of Catholicity, before under-
taking a labor which he must have
knoHn would be accoin|ianicd by
many trials and dangers.
But even from die seclusion of San
Girolamo his fame as an accoinplLsh- •
cd and profound scholar soon spread
10 the otiter world, and in 1O57 Dr.
Plunket was appointetl professor of
theology and controversy in the Col-
lege of the Proi^aganda. a jiosition
which he belli with great credit for
twelve years, until his departure from
Rome. Though thus occupied in
the responsible and lahoriuus duties
of his i)rofessorship, he was also con-
suitor of the Sacred Congregation of
ihe Index and of other collg^cg.^tions.
In tlic performance of the high tnists
thus imposed u]xfn hint, the young
professor was frequently brought in
contact with many of the most exalt-
ed ]jersonages of the Roni.in Court,
some of whom subsequently filled the
chair of St. Peter, from all of whom
he experienced the greatest kindness
and repeated proofs of affection, as
he frequently mentions with gratitude
in his correspondence. Still the con-
fidence Te|KJscd in him acd the coni-
paninnship of so many holy and eru-
dite men failed to satisfy thetra\'ings
of his soul or reconcile him to his en-
forced exile. Of a highly sensitive
and even poetic nature, his ])atriot-
ism and attachment to his family
were second only to his love for
learninji and religion, and his mind
was constantly tormented hy the ac-
counts daily received in Rome of
the barbarities practised on his com-
patriots and co-religionists by the li*
ccntious soldiery of the F.nglish Com-
inoDwealth. In writing to Father
Spada, in 1656, on the occasion of
the death of his friend and counsellor
Father Scarampo, he exclaims in
the bitterness of his spirit :
"God alone kaows how afflicting his
dMili is to mc. especially ai tl»e prcseni
iim<;. whi*n all (tcland is overran and laid
waste bv lieiesy. Of my rulaiions, some
ate dead, oiliershavcticcn sent into exile,
und all Iicland i^ reduced to cxireme
misery; tins overn-livtmcd me wi'li an in
expre«Mble $adnes«, (at I am nntr depriv-
ed of father and af friends, and I should
die through grief \vcie I tint consoled by
the consideration Ihal I have not atta-
getlirt lost Falhirr ScaTa(n(tii ; for I may
say that lie in pail remains, our |;(iodGiMl
having retained your leveiencc Jn life.
who. as It is known to all, were united
with him in friendship and in charity and
in disposition, so 9* even to desire lo
be his coiiipanioii in death, from which,
though God preserved you, yet he did
not deprive you of lis meiit."
But, notwithstanding his own af-
flictions, he was ever ready to succor
by his blender purse and powerful
influence such of his destitute young
countrymen who sought an opportu-
nity in Rome to procure an educa-
tion, of which they were so systema-
tically deprived at home ; and it was
doubtless from a just i>erceplion of his
great repute and thorough acquain-
tance with ecclesiastical affairs In
Rome thai, in the early part of 1669,
he was rc(iucsted by the Irish bishops
to act as their representative at the
i'apal Court, an office whirh he
cheerfully accepted and filled to the
entire satisfaction of bis venerable
constituency.
But he was no't long allowed to
occupy tliis subordinate position in
conotLtion with the church in Ire-
land, nor even to retain his chair in
the Propaganda. Me had now en-
tered on his fortieth year, his mind
fully developed and stored with .ill
the sacred and profane learning bt;-
litting one called to a higher de.stiny,
and his soul imbued with a real so
holy and so far removed from world-
ly ambition that no temptation was
likely to overcome his faith, and no
persecution, no matter how severe, to
shake his constancy. He was there-
fore appointed .\rrhbishop of .Armagh
and Primate of all Ireland, to suc-
ceed Dr. Kdmond O'Reilly, recently
deceased tn Paris. Like the great
apostle of his countr)', of whom he
was alwut to become the spiritual
successor, he had spent a long pro-
bation in the society of men remark-
able for the purity of their Uvcs and
tlie extent of their knowle<1ge, and
09 St. Patrick longed to revisit the
436
Ah Irish Martyr.
bnd of his adoption, he also yearned
to be once again among the Irish
people. Yet his appointment to the
primacy of Ireland wxs neither sought
nor anticipaletl by Dr. IMunket at
this lime, as we learn from a letter
from the Archhisho]) of Dublin to
Monsignor Bahicsclii. Secretary of
the l*ropaganda, in which he says:
" Ccrininly, no one could be appointed
l>L-itlcr suited ihnn Dr. Oliver Plunkct,
whom I myicif would have proposed in
\\\v first ijiiict, were il not that lie had
wrillcn tu me. xiaiinf; his desire not to
enter fiir Komeyesm in the Itish mission,
uiiitl lie ftliouh] hnve completed some
worlvA whicli he was [)[e(>atiD|{ (or the
press."
The names of many clergymen
distinguished for piety, devotion, and
learning had been forwarded to
Rome, from which to select a fitting
successor to Dr. O'Reilly ; but, white
their various merits were under dis-
cussion, the Holy Father, Clement
IX., it is said, simplified the matter
by suggesting Dr. Plunket as the per-
son best qualiScd to fill the vacant
see, and to govern by his experience
and force of character the hierarchy,
and. through il, the pricsthootl of
Ireland. The views of ihc Pope met
with unanimous approval, arnl, the
selection being thus made, it was out
of the power of Dr. Plunket. no mat-
ter how diffident he miijht have been
of his own abilities to hll so elevated
a pQ-sttion. to decUne. We have
seen how this important ilctision of
the Sacred Congregation was viewed
by Dr. Talbot, of Dublin, and his
opinions seemed to have been shared
by all the bishops and priests in Ire-
land. Dr. O'Molony, of St. Sulf.icc,
Paris afterwards Bishop of Ktllaloc,
writes:
"Yon have already Ixid ihe fonnd«-
IkMt of our edifice, erected the pilUrs.
Had given shepherds lo Iced the dwcp
»nd the Umbs ; but, now ihal ihe worti
should nnt reinain impeifect, you hare
Clowned thu (dilict^, untl ptoviOed a [cas-
tor for ihc p;«ston ihcinselve*. appoiai-
ing the Aichbishop of .^nnaeh. for [| is
not of the diocese of Armagh alone that
be tins the administimiion, lo whom the
priniac)- and guacdianihip of all ttcland
lit cnliusled. One, iherefoie, in a thou-
sand hnd To he chosen, nulled to bctr to
great a bunlen. Th.it one too ha»e
(bund — one th.m whom none oiber beitcT
or more pleAsin^; cnuld be luitni) ; widi
whom (ihni your wise &ulicituJe (or our
disitiicled and nfTlirted country sbnuld
be waniinR in nothing) you ba»e been
p1r.i«ed to Associate his sulTra^ati o(
.'Krdagli, a raOst worthy and grave man."
The Bishop of Ferns, also, in
addressing the Secretary of the Sa-
cred Congregation, says: "Applaud-
ing and rejoicing. I have hasten-
ed hither from Gand, to the Most
Reverend and Illustrious Intcmun-
zio of Belgium, to ix-tum all pot*
sible thanks to our Holy Father,
in the name of my countrymen, for
having crowned with the mitre of
Armagh the noble and distingui:
Oliver Plunket, Doctor of Theology
and Dr. Dowley, of Limericl:, aiji
" Most pleasing to all was the ap-
pointment of Dr. Plunket. and
doubt not it Mill be agreeable to
government, lo the secular clergy,
to the nobility."
These warm expressions of esteem
and regard, if known to the new pri-
mate, must have inspired him with
renewed courage to accept the grav
responsbilities Imposed upon h
and tmly, if ever man required
support of friends to nene him
encounter dangers and iinbeord-of
opposition, he did. But he seetns to
have had within himself a coinage
not of this world, but superior to all
eaaMy considenuions. It is record-
ed on the very best authority that,
when about to leave Rome^ be was
ihos accosted by an aged
" My lont. rou are no* going
re oC^H
isheH
»gyi^^H
rem
pri-
rith
1
ng <^|
shetl your blood for the Catlioltc
ihh." To which he replied, " I am
inworthy of siir.h a favor; ncverthc-
^Icss, aid me widi your prayers, that
this my desire may be fulfilled." •
►The condition of the country' to
rhich the primate was hastening ful-
justified this pruphecy. It was lo
'the last degree forlorn and full of
disco 11 rAgcmcnr. 'i'hc sutferings of
the Irisli people ai this period defy
descriplion ; and were it not that we
have before us ihc penal acts of par-
liament, numerous authenticated state
pa]jers, and the publisheti statements
of some of the highest officials of
the crown and the agents of the
^Common wealth, wc would be inclin-
d to believe, if only for the credit
>f human nature, that the relation
)f the atrocities at this time perpe-
ratcd by Knglish authority on the
Catholics of Ireland was the work
some diseased mind that delighc-
d iu horrors and revelled in Ihc con-
.•mplation of an imagiricry paiide-
ionium. Tiic Tudon: and the Siu-
irts a* persecutors of Catholics were
enough, but their incRcctuat
Sres paled before the cool atrocity
ind sanctimonious villany of the
)llowers of Cromwell ; men, if we
lust call them such, who, arrogating
themselves not only ihe honorable
tide of champions of human liberty,
lut claiming to be the exemplars of
all that was lefl of what was pure
and holy in this wicked world, per-
petrated in the name of freedom and
stigioii a series of such deeds of
larkness tliat not even a parallel can
found for them in the annals of
the worst davs of the Roman empe-
>rs. So deep indeed has the detes-
tation of the barbarities of Cromwell
taken root in die popular mind of
fircland, that, though more than two
centuries have elapsed since his
death, hb name is as thoroughly and
as heartily detested there to-day as
if his crimes had been committed in
our own generation. Previous to
the Reformation, though wars were
frequent and oftentimes bloody be-
tween the English invaders and the
natives, they were generally conduct-
ed in a certain spirit of chivalry an<l
with some degree of moderation,
which usually characteriKe hostile
Catholic nations even in times of
the greatest excitement. Churches
and the nurseries of learning and cha-
rity were rcsiKrcted, or, if destroyed
through the stem necessities of war-
fare, were apt to Iw replaced by oth-
ers. But the followers of the new
religion knew no such charitable
weakness, for from the first iliey
seemed actuated, probably as a pun-
ishment for their sin of wilful rebel-
lion against the authority of God's
law, with an unquenchable hatred
of everything holy, and a craftiness
in devising measures to destroy the
faith and pervert the minds of the
Catholics so preteniatumi in its in-
genuity that we can only account
for it by supposing it the emanation
of the enemy of mankind. That
any people stripped of all worldly
possessions, debarred so long from
religious worship and the means of
enlightenment, outlawed by the stj-
called government, ensnared Isy the
spy and the magistrate,, and grounil
to dust beneath the hoofs of the
trooper's horse, should not only have
preserved their existence and the
faith, but have multiplied amazingly,
both at home and abroad, is one of
the most rcniark.ible incidents in all
history, as well as one of the strong-
est proofs of the enduring and un-
conquerable spirit of Catholicity.
'I'here were probably at ihw time
in Ireland nearly n million and a
half of Catholics, though Sir William
Petty estimates their numl>er at about
^
433
An Irish Martyr.
i,;ioo,ooo; the native population
having been fearfully rcducetl by the
late war aiu) the pestilence and la-
mine which succeeded it, by the emi-
gration of forty or fifty thousand
able-bodied men to Spain :uk1 other
countries, and by the deportation of
an equal number of wumtn and chil-
dren, as slaves, to the West Indies
and the llritish settlements on our
Atlantic coasL Vei, notwithstand-
ing the immense loss of life occasion-
ed soon after by the Williamite war,
the constant drain on the adult male
(Kjpulatton in the latter part of the
seventeenth and the first half of the
eighteenth centuries, to fill up the
decimatetl ranks of the Catholic ar-
mies of Europe, amounting, it is said,
10 ihrec-quarters of a million, the
periodical famines to which the pea-
santn,- were constanUy exposed, and
the grei^t (amine of i S46-7 and
184S, fthlch swept away at lca*t two
millions, tlie Irish Catholics of to-
day and their descendants in all quar-
ters of the globe number at least fif-
teen million souls. It is a singular
anil intcrestinjf fact that the Irish
Catholics resident in London out-
number the entire population of the
dty of Dublin ; that in the cities and
to«-usof England and Scotland there
arc more Catholics of Irish birth than
existed in every part of the world
two hundred yean ago; and (hat.
w hilc the children of St Vatrick. count
nearly five millions on the soil which
he rodeeined from paganism, many
more millions of them and their de-
sccmiants born witliin the present
cciKury are planting the cross of
Christ everywhere in America and
Australasia. This indestructibility
of the Irish race seems to have rais-
ed an insunnountable baxricr agiunst
the designs of the rcformerii. James
I. having planted part of Ulster
with some succei«, the Loug Parlia-
mcot dcCenntncd to follow hts exam-
ple on a more comprehensive scaleJ
and to utterly exterminate the i»co-!
pie who persisted in adhering to their]
ancient faith. Accordingly, in 1654,^
all Ca.tholics were ordered uiulcr iImsJ
severest penalties to remove before &)
certain day from the provinces of V1-'
stcr, Leinstcr, and Munster, and take
up their abodes in Connaught, tlie least
fertile .nnd most maccessiblc division
of the island. In their front n strip
of laud some miles in width, follow' ,
ing the sinuosity of the sea-coast, andi
another in their rear along the linej
of the Shannon, were reserved fo
the victors and protected by a cor-'
dDn of military posts, the penalty^
of passing which, without special li-
cense, was death. Thus enconijiass*
cd by the stormy Atlantic and the
broad river, with an inner belt of
hoistilc sctUements, it was fondly hop-
ed that the remnant of the gallant
Irish nation, amipletely set>regatvdj
from the world, would speedily pcr-|
Ish, unnoticed and unknoirn, amoitgj
the sterile mountains of the west«J
A more diabolical attempt on tbc
lives of a whole people t$ not to be
found recorded in cither ancient c»ri
modem history-, and, to do but jus-i
tice to Uie canting ianatics who con-|
ccivcd tlic plan, no means were leftj
untried to carry it out to a successful.
issue. But Wondcnce, with whose
designs the Cromuellions assumed
to be wc^l acquainted, decreed other-
wise, and no sooner had iheir leader ,
sunk into a dishonored grave,
the legitimate sovereign been restor-j
cd to tlie throne, than every part of
the country sw.irnicd ag.iin with Ca-
tholics, who seemed to -ipring. as if
by magic, from U« ver>- soil. The
people, it was found, had actually
increased io numbers, and the clergy,
who it was eupposed had been ef>
fectuolly destroyed by expatriation,
famine, or the sword, stilt amounted
IO ox-er sixteen hundred seculars ftod
regulars, as dei,'Oted as ever to the
spiritual iniert-sts of ttu-ir flocks.
Tlie restoration of Charles 11. in
1660 was haik'd by the Catholics as
a. favorable oracn. They had faith-
full)' supported his father, and had
lost all in defending his own cause,
and hence they naturally expected,
if not gratitude, at least simple jus-
tice. Uiit Charles was a true Stuart.
Opposed to persecution from a con-
tttitutional love of case and pleasure,
as much as from any innate sense of
ritfht, he had neither the capacity to
plan a reform nor the manhood to
carry out the tolerant designs of oth-
ers. He was, moreover, weak-mind-
ed, vacillatiog. and insincere, more
disposed to conciliate his enemies hy
gilts and honors than to rewanl his
well-tried friends hy the commonest
acts of justice. The greatest favor
ihat the Catholics could obt:iin was
a toleration of their worship in re-
mote and secret places, and even
this qualified boon was dependent on
the whim of the viceroy, and was
noon wiilidrawn at the command of
p.irii.iment.
But the evils of the English Prot-
estant system did not stop here. The
death or involuntary exile of most of
the Irish bisliops and the dispersion
of the clergy created a relaxation of
ccdesiastiriil discipline, partiruLirly
among the regulars, and the impossi-
bility of obtaining proper religious iu-
.struction at home, and the dil^culty
of procuring it cl.<icwhcrc, necessarily
lowered the standard of education
among the priests of all ranks. Left
for the most part to their own guid-
ance, and only imperfectly trained
for the ministry, many friars, partic-
ularly of ilie Order of St. Francis, s*)
illustrious for its many distinguished
scholars and eloquent preachers,
were disposed to rebel agamst their
superiors when Uic least restraint was
placed upon their irregular modes of
living, and some were found ba»
enough to lend the weight attache*!
to their sacred calling to lurther the
designs of the worst enemies of their
creed and countr)-. Ormond and
other so-called statesmen, while avow-
ing unqualiGed loyalty to their sov-
ereign and a secret attachment to the
church, were insidiously betraying
the one by placing him in a false
position before Catholics and Prot-
estants, while vainly endeavoring to
strike a blow at the other by using
these apostates to create a schism in
her ranks. In the latter scheme they
signally failed, and their defeat was
mamly due to the untiring energy
and profound foreughtof tlic Arch-
bishop of Armagh during the ten
years of his administration. The
very announcement of Dr. Plunkel's
appointment seems to have struck
terror into the secret enemies of the
church in Ireland, and to have given
new hope to the friends of religion.
This event occurred on the f)th of
July, 1669, when the bulls for hi* con-
secration were immediately forwarded
to the Iniemunzio at Brussels. Dr.
Piunket was desirous of receiving the
mitre in Rome, and even made a
strong request to be granted that
privilege, but the prudential motives
which induced the Sacred Congrega-
tion to select Jlt-lgium in the first in-
stance still remained, and the favor
was reluctantly refused. As his first
act of obedience, the archbishop
bowed cheerfully to this decision,
and after presenting his litOe vine-
yard, his only real propertj', and a
few books to the Irish College, he
bade a final adieu to his Roman
friends in the following month, and
commenced his homeward journey —
his first step to a glorious immortahly.
He arrived during November tn the
capital of Belgium, and was cor-
dially welcomed by the IntemunEio,
who was not unacquainted with his
An Iris A Martyr.
extensive learning and unaffcctcJ
piety. At the re^iuest of that pre-
late, the Bishop of Ghent consented
lo uilininUler consecration to Dr.
Plunkct.and ihe solemn ceremony was
duly performed on the 30th of No-
vember, in the private chapel of the
episcopal palace in that ancient city.
Dr. Nicholas French, Bishop of
Ferns, one of the few persons pres-
ent on the occasion, thus describes it :
"I present a concise narraiivc of Oic
consrcnitioiior the most illusirious Atxh>
bishop of Arnuigh, His cucctlcncy ihc
Inu'rnurisio wrote n]»si kind letters to
the blsliop of lliis diocese lequcsiing liim
lo perform it, and lie moBt rcndily acqui>
cKcd. But I. on tcceiring this news.
set out at ofice lor Brussels to conduce
hither his Grace of Annaffli, bound by
gntiiude to render liim iliis homsRc. A
sliglil fever seized our excclicnl bishop
on the Saturday before the ■IVcniy-fourtli
Sunday after I'cntccost, whicti had
been fixed for Or. Plunkci's conse-
cration ; wherefore that ceremony was
deferred till the first !^unday tn
Adveni, on wliich day it was de-
voutly »nd happily performed in the
capclla of the palace, u-iilioui noise, and
with closed doors, (or such was the de-
sire of the Archbishop of Arm.tf(h. Kc-
mainlnfr here for eif;hi days after his con-
secration, he passed his lime in despatch-
ing letters and examining my writings."
After this short delay, the Primate
continued his journey, stopping long
enough in London to see his friends
at the Knj^lish court, and lo present
his crcdcnliaJs to the Queen, who
was a devout Cathohr, and who re-
ceived him with great cordiality.
He had also leisure to become some-
what conversant witli the poUcy and
views of the leading public charac-
ters in the Knglish capital, and lo
study the workings and temper of the
patUaracnt. After a tedious ami
fatiguing journey, he at length landed
in Ireland, in March, 1670, having
been ab.sent from that country a
quarter of a century, where he was
joyously received by his numerous
relatives and friends. Great was the
change which had been wrought in
his life during those twenty-five years,
but, alas! how much greater had
been the alteration in the circum-
stances of his countrymen. As a
lad he had left them in the full en-
joyment of Iheir religion in almost
ever)* part of the island, their nobility
in the pos.session of their estates, the
peasantry' and farmers prosperous,
the clergy respected and freely obey-
ed, and all full of hope for the future,
and sanguine of yet attaining their
independence. As an archbishop
and primate, he returned to find no-
thing but desolation and ruin, sorrow
and dejection. The nobility lud
either been banislied or reduced to
the condition of mere tenants on
their own i»roperty, so that only three
Ciilholic gentlemen in the pro\-incc
of Armagh, which embraces eleven
dir>reses, held any real estate ; the
original cultivators of the soil who
hod been spared by the swonl and
had not been transported or com-
pelled to emigrate were formed into
bands of plunderers, .ind infested the
highways under the name of A)n>j,
while such as rcmaine^l of the bish-
ops and clergy were to be ftinnd
only in bogs and mountains or in
the most obscure portions of the
larger towns and cities.
Undaunted hy the scenes of woe
antl destruction around htm, the Pri-
mate, like a diligent servant of God,
had no sooner set foot on his native
soil than he proccedtxl to Ihe per-
formance of liis pastoral labors. Wri-
ting to Cardinal Barberini, iVolector
of Ireland, an account of his journey
from Rome, he says :
" I aficrwardfi arrived in tteUnd in ibi
monih of Maich, and haiicned imtne-
diaifly to my rciidi-nce ; .tnd I held two
synods and two ordinations, and in a
month and a-)ial( I idministercd con-
firmailon 10 taoie thun ten thousand per-
Ah Irish Martyr.
44'
'tons, ihough ibroughaui my provinco I
'ibink ihcre yet lemain more ihan fifty
.thousand persons to be coafinncd. I ro<
I marked ihrou^fhout llie counrr>', wbcr-
'ever I weni, tli^i for even- hereiic ihen:
'nre twenty C:Liholic8. Tlie new viceroy
^1k a mail of great moderation ; hs tvilf-
'ingly Tccutvesibc Catliolics, and hcirc-tis
privately witb tlic cedes ins tics, and pro-
mises llicm pralcctiuli wliilc llicy attend
tu ilicir own (unciiuns without intriguing
in the afTnits of govemmcnl."
The nobleman here alluded lo was
Lord Beirkeley, who held ofiicc in
Ireland for a few years, and under
whose politic an<i tolerant, if not
vci^' sinrcrc, administration the Ca-
tholics enjoyed at least comparative
security. Personally, he, as well as
his successor, Lord Essex, entertained
a very high respect for the primate,
on<l treated him with great kindness,
when it was ]iossil>le to do so with-
out incurring the displeasure of the
ultra- I'rotesLint faction. Indeed,
Archbishop Plunket, well aware of
the difiieulties which constantly be-
set his path, ami feeling the futility
of defying; the government authori-
ties, set his mind from the first to
concJiate those whom he knew had
the power lo thwart or second his ef-
forts, withoi:t yielding anything of
his cpisco])al dignity or compromis-
ing his character as an ardent patriot.
His long prob.itionary course in
Rome and his intimate association
with so many of the best and most
accomplished minds at the Papal
court must have eminently qualified
him for dealing with the leading Bri-
tish officials in Ireland. In his vo-
luminous corrcipotidcTicc with the
Holy See, he frequently alludes to
his interviews with the lord-lieute-
nant and other noblemen, and to
the judicious use he was able to
make of his influence with them for
the bcnetit of his Ir^s fortunate or
more deinonatralive brethren in the
ministry-. In a letter addressed to
Pope Clement, dated June 20, 1670,
he says :
" Our viceroy is a man of great tnodc-
la I ion and equity: he look*' on the Ca-
tholics with licncvolcncc, and treats pri-
vately with some of the clergy, c^liurtint;
ihcra lo act wiih discretion ; and fcr :hls
purpose he secretly called mc to bii pre-
sence on many occasions, xnd promised
inc his a-ssisiance in correcting any mem-
bers of the clerg>' of scandalous life.
I discover in him some spark of rcIif;ion,
and I find that many even of the leading
members of his court a.rc secretly Catho-
lics."
Again, lo Dr. Brennan, his succes-
sor as Irish agent, he writes :
" In the province of Armagh, the clersy
and C.itholics enjoy a perfect i)eace. The
Earl of Charlcmont, being friendly with
me, defends nic in cvcrj' emergency. Be-
ing once in the town of Uungannon lo
administer confirmation, and the govern-
or of the place havinjf prevented me from
doing so, the carl not only severely re-
proved the governor, hut told ine to go
10 bis own palace, when I pleased, 10
fiive confirniaiion or to say Mas* ihcrc if
I wished. The mngisiraic of the city of
Armagh, having made an order to the ef-
fect that all Catholics should accompany
him to the heretical service every Sunday,
under penally of half-a-crown per head
fur cacli lime they would absent them-
selves, I appc.-iled to the president of the
province against tlits decree, and be cin-
celled it. and commanded that neither
clergy nor Catholic laity should be mo>
lesicd."
It is not, however, to be suppos-
ed firom these isolated instances of
toleration that the new piimate was
allowed the full exercise of his func-
tions in the land of his nativity, and
where his flock so vastly outnumber-
ed their opponents. On the contra-
r)', wc Icam from a letter of Lord
Conway to his brolhcr-in-law, .Sir
George Rawdon, that even before
Dr. Plunket reached Ireland orders
had lieen issued by the lord-lieute-
I
442
Ah IrisJi Martyr.
nant for his airest as being one of
" two prrsons sent from Rome, that
lie lurking id the country to do mis-
chief;" anJ even when lie had taken
pu^casioii of his see, his labors for
the most part were perfurmed in se-
cret or in the night time. This was
mure parliciihirly so after 1673, when
the persecution was renewed against
the Catholics, that we have his own
authority and that of his companion
iti suft'ering, Dr. Brennan, Bishop of
Watcrford, for saying Uiat at the
most tetiipL'sluous times he was oblig-
ed to seek safety by tlight, and fre-
quently |o eipose himself to the hor-
rors of a nortlierii winter and ahnobi
to star\'atiun in order to be amid his
jfcopic, and ready to administer spi-
ritual consolation to them.
"The viceroy," he says, writing in Jan-
uary. 1664, *' on ihc luth ot lIicrcat>outs
o( this month, published a further pto-
clnmaiion lliat the registered clergy
should be ircaicd wiih the greatest rigor.
Another Liit secret order was given to
all ihe magistrates and shcritTs th»t the
detectives should seek oui, both in the
cities and ihroughoul the country, the
other bishops and regulars. 1 and my
companions no sooner received intulli-
getice of this than, on iho iSth of this
month, which was Sunday, after vespers,
(jrins the Icttivil of tlic Chair of Si. Pe-
ter, we deemed i( necessary lo take to
our heels: the snow fell heavily mixed
with hail-sloncs, which were voiy hard
and large ; a culling; north wind blew in
OUT fiices. mid the snow and hail beat so
dreadfully in our eyes that lo the present
we have bt^^n scarcely able to see with
them. Uficn wc were in danger in the
valleys uf living lust and sufTocated in
the snow, lill at length we arrived at the
house of a reduced gentleman, who had
nothing to lose; but for out misforitinc
lie had a ■tlranger in his house, by whom
we did not wisJi to be recognized ; hence
we were placed in a large gariel without
chimney and without Arc, where we have
been during the past eight days. May it
redound to the glory of God, the salva>
lion o( our soulK.and (ho flocks entrusted
to out charge !"
So great indeed was the daii(
of discovery at this time, and
watchful were the emissaries of tl
law, that he was compelled lo wi
most of his foreign letters over tf
assumed signature of " Mr. Thomas
Cox," and was usually addressed hj
that name in reply. He even t<
tas that he was sometimes obliged
go about the performance of his
tics in the disguise of a cavalier wit
cocked hat and sword.
Dr. Plunkct is represented by
contemporaries as a man of delit
physical organization, highly scn»itii
in his temperament, and disp(
naturally lo prefer the Mrctu-siun
the closet to the excitement and I;
moil of the world. The contrast
twecn the scholastic retiremeni
which he had spent so many yej
of his life, nnd ilie circumstances
which lie now found himself
rounded, must have bftrn indeed siril
ing, but like a true disciple he
not hesitate a moment in entering
his new sphere of usefulness. Sh(
ly after his arrival in Dublin, on t|
lyih of June, 1670, he cilled logcl
er and presided over a general synt
of the Irish bishops, at which sci
ral imponant statutes were ps
as well as an address to the new vice-
roy declaring the loyally and ho-
mage, iu all things temporal, of tt
hierarchy of Ireland to the reignti
sovereign. Two synods of his m
clergy had already been held, ai
in September following a provinc
council of Ulster met at Clones ^'ht(
not only rcatfirmcd the decrees
the synod of Dublin, but enact
iiuny long required reforms in die
pHne and the manner of life of the
clergy. In a letter from the asset
bled clergy of the province of A
date October %, 1670, and adi
cd to Monsignor Baldeschi.ihey
speak of the untiring labors of th<
metropolitaD :
An Irish Martyr.
" In the diocese of Arma^li, Kilmorc,
Cloghcr. Dcrry. Down. Connor, and Oio-
more, alihoucli far »ci)ara(i;d Tioin i-ach
oiher, lie administered coiifirfiiaiirtn to
rhous:mds in the vrouds and niotmtiiins,
heedless ol n-irids and laiu. Lately, loo,
he achieved a >vork from which greai ad-
vanugevrill be derived hy tlie CailioUc
body, lor There vrcrc many of the nwrc no-
ble families who had lost their properties,
and, bcinft proclaimed outlaws in public
edicts, were subscqucnllyjiuilly of many
outrascs; those by his admonitions he
brought back to a better course ; he more-
over obtained pardon for their crimes,
and not only procured ihls pardon for
ihcmseU-cs. but also for their tcceivcrx,
and thus hundreds and hundreds of Ca-
tholic families have been freed from immi-
nent danger to their body and soul and
properties."
lint the good pastor was not con-
lenied with these extended labors
aiwong llie laity. To make bis re-
f^jnns periiianetit and beneficial, lie
felt that he should commence with
the clergy, who as a body had al-
ways been faithful to their sacred
iruat. but, owing to the dislurbcd state
c'f the country for so m.^ny years past,
had Iwen unable to perform their al-
lottc<I duties with that exactness .ind
jiunctualiiy so desirable in the pre-
sence of a watchful and unscrupu-
lous enemy. He therefore ordained
many younji; students, whom he found
riuah6cd for the niiniiitry, and, taking
advantaj(e of the tem[>orary cessation
of espionage consequent on the arrival
of I,or<l Berkeley, he established a
coliegein Prngheda, in which he soon
had one hundred .md sixty pupils
and twcnly-five ecclesi.istics, under
the care of three learned Jesuit fa-
thers. The expenses of this school
he defrayed out of his slender means,
never more than sixty pounds per
annum, and frequently not one-fifth
of that sum, with the exception of
150 scudi (less than forty pounds
sterling), annually allowed by the
Sacred Congregation of Propaganda.
When, in 1674, the penal laxvs were
again put in force in all their original
ferocity of spirit, the colk-jje was of
course broken up ; but Dr. Plunket in
his letters to Rome was never tired
of impressring on the minds of the au-
thorities there the necessity of aftbrd-
ing Irish students more ample faclU-
tics fur aftbrdiog a thorough ctluca-
lion. His suggestions in regard to
the Irish Coflcge at Rome, by which
a larger number of students miglit be
accommodated without increased ex-
pense, though not acted ui>an at the
time, have since been carried out,
and it was principally at his mstance
that the Irish institutions in Spain,
previously monopolized by young
men'from certain dioceses of Ireland
only, were thrown open to all.
In the latter part of 1671, wc find
Dr. Flunket on a mission to tlie Hebri-
des, wliere the people, the descend-
ants of the ancient Irish colonists,
still preserved ihcir Gaelic language,
and received him with all tlie grati-
tude and cnthuiiiasni of the Celtic na-
ture. In 1674, notwithstanihng the
storm of persecution then raging over
the Uland, he made a lengthy tour
through the province of Tuaai, and in
the following year we have a detail-
ed report of his visitation to tlie
eleven dioceses hi his own province,
every one of whiuii, no matter how
remote or what was the personal
risk, he took pains to inspect, bring-
ing peace and comfort in his foot-
steps, and leaving behind him the
tears and prayers of his apprccialivc
cbiltiren.
If we add to thismultiplicity of oc-
cupations the further one of being
the chief and almost only regular
correspondent of the Sacred Congre-
gation of Propaganda in the three
kingdoms, wc may presume that the
primate's life in Ireland was fully an<l
advantageouiily occupied. The num-
ber of his letter? lo Rome on every sub*
k
444
An Irish Martp'.
Ject of importance is immense, when
we consider ilie difficulty and danger
of communication in those days. He
was also in constiint correspondence
with London, I'arls, and Ilrusscls,
and, though he sometimes complains
of the weakness of Im cyesi(;ht, caus-
ed doubtless by exposure and change
of chmntc, he frequently regrets more
his poverty, which did not enable
him to pay the postage 'on alt occa-
sions. At one time, indeed, he avers
that all the food he is able to pro-
cure for himself is ** a httle oaten
bread and some milk and water."
TIic last important act of the pri-
mate was the convocation of a pro-
vincial s)'nod at Ardiiairick, in Au-
gust, 1678, at which were present the
bisltops or vicars-general and apos-
tolic of all the dioceses of Ulster.
Many decrees of a general and special
nature were there passed with great
solemnity, and upon being sent to
Rome were duly approved. Il was
u|>on this occasion that the represen-
tatives of the suffragan diocese of
Armagh, deeply impressed and edifi-
ed as they \iere by the labors and
sanctity of their archbishop, address-
ed a joint letter to the Sacred Con-
gregation, eloquently describing the
extent and good effect of his constant
solicitude for his spiritual charge.
•• Wc ihcreforc declare (say those ven-
erable roen) ihxi thc»forcMiicl Most Illus-
Itious MciropoHLtn lias labored much,
exercising his incrcd funciions not onty
in his own but niso In other dioceses: du-
ring the Iaic persecution lie ab.indoRed not
Ihc Duck eDtnistcd to him, though be
was exposed to ciiietnc danger of losing
Ills life ; he erected «chQol.«..'ind prorldcd
nustcrs and teachers, that the cletyy and
vourh might he In«inicted in Itleraturc,
pifiiy, cases of conscience, and other
mallcis cclaiing (o their ollite ; he held
two pfOTiiicial councils, in which saluiary
decrees were enacted for the reformation
of morals; he. moreover, rewarded the
good and fiunished the bad, as far as cir-
cumsunces and the laws of the kingdom
ailowtd ; lie labored much, and oot
without praise, in preaching the word
oi 0(h1 ; he insiiucied t(ic people by
wuid and example; he also exercised
hospiialiiy so as to cxciie the admi-
raiiuu of all. altliough he scarcely re-
Luivcd annually two hundred crowns
trotii his diocese ; and lie performed all
other things which became an arch-
bishop and mctrnpolitan, as far as ibef
could hu done in Ibis kingdom. In fit
to our gcc-^t service and consolation,
renewed, or mihcr established am
at great expense, correspondence *■
tlic Holy See. which, for many years
fore his arriral.had become extinct. \
all which things wa aclcnoivlvd|;e 011
selves indebted to bis Holiness and
your Eminences, who. by rour aoliciiui!
provided for us so learned and vigil:
itieiropoHtan. and wc shall ever pmy llM*
Divine Majesty lo prcscr\-c his holinei
and youi Kmiaeoccs."
FTad (he distinguislicd body oi
clesiasiics who thus voluntarily t<
fie<l to the merits of their atchbish*
anticipated the awful catastrophe
was soon to remove hira from
and from the world, they could
have epitomized his career tn ni<
truthful and concise language
the benefit of posterity. 'I he en<
however, was now at hand. In the
same year that the provincial synod
was held, the persecution against tl
Catholics, intermittent like those
the early ages of the church, broke
out with redoubled violence. Forci
to the most extreme measures by tl
|iarliamcnt, the English court sent
the strictest orders to Ireland |q,
have arrested and removed from tl
country the entire body of the bis
ops and the clerg>'. The statute
zd KlizubeUi, declaring it prxmt
uirt or imprisonment and conliscatic
for any person to exercise the au-
thority of bishop or priest in her do-
minions, was revived, and liberal re-
wards for the discovery of such of-
fentlcrswcre publicly offered, to stim-
ulate the energy of that class o£i
spies known as " priest-hunU
Aft Irish Martyr.
Dr. Talbot, Archl>iHhop of Dublin,
was arrested and thrown into prison,
where during a long confinement he
languished and finally died. Dr.
Creagh. Bishop of Limerick, the
Archbishop ofTuam, and several of
the inferior clergy, were also iraprii-
oncd and subjectcil to many annoy-
anccs and indignities previous to
being expelled the kingdom. Dr.
Flunket, wlio hoped that the storm
would soon blow over, while pru-
dently seeking a place of safety in a
remote pan of his diocese, frequently
avowed his determination ne%'er to
forsake hU flock uDlil compelled to
do so by superior force. learning,
however, of the dangerous illness of
Ills rclaiivu .md former patron. Dr.
Patrick PJunkct, he cautiously left
his concealment, and hastened to
Dublin, to be with the good old
bishop during his last moments, and
it was in that city, on the 6th of De-
cember, 1679, that he was discovered
and apprehended by order of the
viceroy. For the fin^l six months
after his arrest he was confined in
Dublin C.^sile, part of the time a
close prisoner, but, as the only charge
openly prcfened against him was, to
use the expression of one of his rel-
atives, " only for being a Catholic
bishop, and for not having abandoneit
the flock of our I^rd in obedience
to the edict published by parlia-
ment," and as the punishment for
this at the worst was expatriation,
hLs friends did not fear for his life.
They were not aware then that a
conspiracy had been formed against
him by some apostate friars under
the patronage of the infamous I-^irl
of Shaftcsbur>', the leader of the
English fanatics, with the object of
accusing him of high treason, and
thus compassing his death. On the
24thof July following, he was sent un-
der guard to Dundalk for trial ; but so
monstrous were the charges of treason
against him, .ind so llioroughly was
his character for moderation .and
loyalty known to all, that, though the
jury consisted exclusively of Prot-
estants, his accusers dared not ap-
pear against him, and he was con-
sequently rcmittetl back to Dublin.
Rut his enemies on both sides of the
Ch.innel were thirsting for his blood,
and, in October, 1680, he was re-
moved to London, ostensibly to an-
swer before the king and parliament,
but, actually, to undergo the mock-
ery of a trial in a country in which
no offense was even alleged to have
been committed, where the infamous
character of his accusers was un-
known, and where he was completely
isolated from his friends. The result
could not be doubtful. Without
counsel or witnesses, in the presence
of prejudiced judges and perjured
witnesses, and surrounded by the hoot-
ing of a London mob, he was found
guihy, and, on the 14th of June,
1681, he was sentenced to be exe-
cuted at Tyburn, a judgment which
was carried out on the nth of July
following, with all the barbaric cere-
monies of the period. During the
trial ami on the scaffold, his bearing
was singularly nol>le and courageous,
so much so, indeed, that many who
beheld him, and who shared the
violent anti-Catholic prejudices of
the hour, were satisfied of his perfect
innocence. He repeatedly and em-
yihatically denied all com|iltcily in
the treasonable plots laid to his
cliarge, but openly <leclared tliat he
had acted as a Catholic bishop, and
had spent many years of his life in
preaching autl teaching God*s word
to his countrymen. His life in
prison between the passing and the
execution of the sentence is best de-
scribed by a fellow-prisoner, the
learned Benedictine, Father Corker,
I
who bad the privilege of being with
htm in his last hours. In his nar-
nuivc. he says:
" Hi- cuniinually endearared to Im-
prove itn<l advance liicnscif in ilic purity
of liivitit; love, aind liy consequence also
in contrition for bis iins past ; of hi* de-
ficiency In both which t)iii humble soul
coraplnined to mc as the only tliiiiK iliat
troubled him. This love had cxiinguisli.
cd in him all fear of death. Pfrftilaikari-
tax /otiii tui'/ii/ tinifntni .' a lover (eai^lh
not, bill Tcjiijceth at ihc approach of the
bvloved. Hence, the joy of our holy
m.-iily( s.ceiiicd still to increase with ]ii$
danger, and was fully accomplished by
an assurance of death. Tite vcty nij^ht
before he tlied, being now. as it were, at
heart's case, he nvni lo bed al eleven
o'clock, and slept ijuielly and suundly
till four ill the ntutning, at which time
his man. who Ijy in the Toom with him,
awaked him : so little concern had he
upon his spirit, or. rattier, so much had
the loveliness ol the end bcautiiicd the
horror of the passage to it. Alter he
ccrt.iinly knew that Uod Alm'gbty had
chosen him to the crown and dignity of
martyrdom, he continually studied hour
to ditesE himself of himself, and become
more and more an enlire and perfect ho-
locaust, to which end, as he gave up his
soul, Willi all il« faculties, to the conduct
of God, so, for God's sake, he resigned
the care and disposal of his body to un-
worthy mc. etc. But I neither can nor
dare undertake to describe unto you the
signal viilucs of this blessed inartyi.
There appeared In him something be-
yond cxptcssiun-^soRicthing more than
human ; ihc most sav.igc and hard-hean-
ed people were mollified and alleadcred
at his siKtat."
About two ycara aflerward, this
pious rlergymcn, upon being liberated,
disinterred the body of the late pri-
mate, and had it forwartlcd to the
convent of his order at Lambspring
in (lerrnany; the trunk and legs he
hart biiriwi in ihe rhurchyard attach-
ed to that institution, and the right
arm and head he preserved in sepa-
rate R-liquaries. Ilie fanner is still
preserved in the Ucneillctinc Con-
vent; the latter is in Uinidalk, in the
Convent of St. Catharine o( Sienna,
a nunnery founded by the iavorite
niece of the martyred prcLite.
l>r. Plunkei's judicial murder was
the source of great grief to the
friends of the church throughout En-
rope, and even many contcm|KiraiT
Protestant writers exprcwtd their re-
gret at his unmerited suffcnngs, while
the unfortunate agents of his death,
becoming outcasts and wanderers, {ge-
nerally ended their lives oo the scaf-
fold or in abject poverty, l»emo.ining
their crimes, to the pity arul horror
rjf Christendom. The mctiior)' of Dr.
PlunketTOOe of the most Icatncd and
heroic of the long line of Irish bi-
shops, is sacredly and loving presenr-
ed in his own country and in the
general ann:ils of the church ; and let
us hope, in the langiuigc of the Rev.
Monsignor Momn, who has done so
much by his researches to per])etuate
the name and fame of his gloriotu
countrym.in, " th.it the day is noi
now far distant when our Inng-alflict-
cd church will be consoled wiih the
solemn dcclaniljun of the Vicar of
Christ, that he who, in the hour of
trial, was the pillar of tlic house of
God in our rountr)*, and who so no-
bly sealed with his bloofi the doc-
trines of our faith, may he rankcJ
among the martyrs of our holy
church."
I
Mary CHfford's Prot,
['0 IV. •' ""A
/ I.
447
MARY CLIFFORD'S PROMISE K£?T.
was the day after a slorm. Tlie
moniiiiK had been coul, almost cold;
banks vi cloui! were piled up on Uic
boruon ; the summits of Ihc Triendly
Fr.incDiiiaswcrcshroudtnJ; the White
Mountnins wcvc invisible^ and the
wind whistled and howled, reminding;
one of "the melancJioIy days" lo
come. By afternoon, however, there
was a <:liange. Every cloud had
magically di<inppcarc<l, the wind had
gone down, fields and young maples
seemed to have renewed their early
green, and evcrj'ihing stood out in
citfnr relief, bathed and sleepe<l in
September sunshine. Not a red-lct-
tci day, but a golden day ; one to be
^^jcm erabcred.
^K I believe I shall remember it all
^^■y life, even if there should be days as
^Bright and far happier in store for me.
^^T was in an open buK^y with a gentle-
man named Mr. C!rey, I driving and
he calling my attention lo one thing
^^^r anotlier, and both of us rcjoic-
^Hjg in a light-heartcfl way in the
^^un, and sky, and yellow leaves, and
roadside trees la<len with crimson
L y^ums ; in the guKIcn-rod, and pur*
r ''pic asters, and the bee-hives, and pic-
taresque, bare-footed, white-headed
children ; and in ourselves and each
other, and in our youth and strength;
and in the sunny present, and die
mysterious, enchanted future.
" I never knew the aninjal go so
well before," said Mr. Grey ; " you
seem to understand how to make
him do his best. Only remember
that the faster we go, the sooner we
shall gel home. Will you not sacri-
fice your fiuicy fur fast driving, to
my enjoyment of the drive^ Give
me time to realize how nmch I enjoy .
it."
" You always seem to feel as if
stopping to think abont it 'will make
tilt time go slower," I said.
*' It does to me, I assure you, at
least at the moment. Yet I do not
find, in looking back, th.it this past
month has flown any let>s fast, for all
my little arts to detain it. Here
comes the stage, crowded as usual,
inside and out. 1 wonder whether
we make a part of the picture to
them, and whether they will rcmem-
ber us with it ? The mountains be-
fore them — look back, Miss Cliffonl,
and see ; that crimson maple on yourJ
side of Che road ; and this green hill'(
with its firs and rocks on mine."
I laughed. '* I don't believe lh<
will ever think of us agaii:."
" Then they are not appreciativfli]
Don't think I mean lo take any o(
their supposed notice to myself, ex-]
cept so far as I am with yoa. To'^
mc, all the rest, all that we can see
and admire, is the frame, the setting
as it were, lo your face. It has beei
so ever since I came here."
1 found this somewhat emb.irrassing^j
of course, though Mr. Grey spoke in
a simple, mattcroffact way, that
had the effect of veiling the compli-1
mcnt. He did not seem to expecl
an answer, and continued, "That]
reminds me of *In Memonam.' Da
you recall the lines about the ' dif-
fusive power ' ?"
" No ; I iton't know what you mean.
Repeat them, won't you ?"
" 1 have no doubt you will find
44S
Mary Cliffords Promise Kept.
ihctn t'ntniliar, yet I will repeat them,
t)cc8u»c 1 like ihrm w much." And
1 lie reriicd clu-ftc lines which I write
down, because ihcy bring before inc
fthc wbule Kcnc, nnU I seem to hear
pjigain the low voice and the appre-
riating acTL'tit with which he spukc :
" Ttiy vntcv In on tliB rolUnt air ;
1 km lli«< wlicfa lh« wMera tun:
Tfco« MdinUM Ift ihe Hilns «ua,
AiiiJ In ll>c M-ltinc tliou ail Inlr.
" Wtiat alt llioH. Ihrn ? I caunol Rucu;
Itui, IbauRb I MCtu In aUr mid dower
To (mI tbc« •■»>« diffiiktve ti'vrer,
t ilu nnt tharclura lore lbc« Icm.
" Mr Invo Invulvn Iho lura bcfofO ;
My l'>vo li ira>«r (latalon now ;
Tlio<iitlt mliMl witM.inH amlnitiurt tliou,
1 arviii iki \\i\9 ihcc mwto and xwmk.
" Vm n9 th-m atl, I'mI cvei nlah ;
1 h«^ " 1. 1.1 I ir)iiTvc,
I pi <ilb tliy voice;
I alull » : ' ihouttlt I ilk."
*■ Can you imagine feeling so about
my one ?" asked Mr. Grey,
** I CAii ininpne i(. Do you sup-
)m; th.it Mr. TL-im)'»oii's friend w:is
rally &o nuich to him ?"
" iNcrluiK." he wid gravely. " 1*11
fit you. Miss Cliflbrdv what I think
L«Uni[ that. It is not nght to feel so
[•bout anybody, bccauw that is ex-
ictly the way we ought to feci about
»oil. I>on't you see that it is? If
r%cr>lhinp uiiiiiulcil us of him, it
rould be jusi nght."
*• I can't believe it would be possi-
to make CkkI ki petsonal to us.
Vc think naturally of what we kikow
8CCD. not of whM ve men:-
m."
" Ah ! but God aiy be * posoftal
us* as you say. Yoq forget dui
is Dear us. with us and e^TD m us.
tt vouiM be tbe ooly wajr, it stems
me, of Wving lum with oar ouad,
«Nd.»d sirenfth, hecsose ve
it Ikclp lorsoc aB Hm hensj a
evciTtlM(. Just «s TcanyaoB sajrk
lliere was a bough of deep-red
loaves overhead, and I looked long-
ingly at it, for they were just the
color that 1 liked to wear in my hair;
yet I did not want to ask for it, lest
Mr. Grey should think that I had
not been attending to him. He must
have- seen the look, though, for he
jumped out of the buggy and ran
up the bank to get the branch. I
Mopped Ihe horse, thinking, as I
watched the capturing of the prize,
" I might have known my wish would
be anticipated. Evcr>' one but he
waits to l>e asked and thanked."
When he came back, I told him I
was tired of driving, and a^ed hi
to take the reins.
"May I spin the drive out?"
asked. " You are not in a hurry to
have it over, arc you ? Do you
know it is the only lime wc have
ever driven together ?"
'■ Why, I thought we had taken
great many other drives. What
you thinking of?"
*' Wt have driven often, u jkmi
say, with i>artics of other people, b*t
have wc ever taken a drive by onr-
selves before ?"
" No,"* I returned; "yoq arrrighL*'
" It is a part of the mholc,' ooo-
tinued he. " 1 hive been in s kind
of dream ftv a month. I dread ike
awakening, though ei-crytfung rv>
minds mc of it now. It lot bcctt a
new experience to me. this bo m fe g
with other people aod scdqg tkea
so £am3tar1y. Tkcre ii no way of
gettios izklo essy and fticBdy rcb-
tioBft villi cdicfs IB a vctjr sheet
apace of taoe so cftctivc «s tfcB;
«»d,as tbe bo m e i wa d hi l is innm d
to be a trrt pte»qBl one; I kara
esyoyrd tkc op triMU M gRatly;
Iboiq^ it B sOMfe to dnik Am I
ee aar tt «■
H
* 1 oQ are iciIt tot
Mr. Gcrr,' I s^ i
Ifary Oij^ord's Promise Kfpt.
r" Then I am never to see you again !
i am glad you have given me warn-
^ing, or J might have inviled you to
visit us in Huston, next winter."
" You arc kind, very kind," he an-
swered hastily; "nothing would give
me greater pleasure than to meet
you, but I shall not be in America
next winter. I hope to be in Rome."
" Really !" I exclaimed. " Why
are you going to Rome ? To be a
priest ?"
" No, I am not so fortunate as to
have that vocation. I am going
abroad to try to find a wife, singular
as it may appear."
"It does seem strange that a man
with such strong American feelings
as you should wish to have a foreign
ft-ife."
" I want to marry a Catholic," he
said, switching off the lops of the
goldcn-rud with the whip.
" .\nd are there no Catholic wives
to be obtained here ?" I asked, smil-
ing.
'* No doubt ; though I have not
yet found the one I am looking for.
Among converts there are girls who
suffer for iheir failli, who are called
uiKjn to m.ikc sacrifices, to lose posi-
tion, and the approbation, even the
affection, of their friends. ' It is so
odd !' they say, * so unnecessary, to
break away from early associations,
and from forms of worship which
have been sufficient for all their
friends — and very good people too —
and embrace a foreign religion.'
Haven't you heard such remarks?"
I acknowlcdgcfl that I had, add-
ing, " And I don't wonder at it."
" Among these brave girls," he
continued, not noticing my remark,
" one meets heroism, fervor, and a
practical recommendation of the re-
ligion for which they are proud to
suffer ; but \ also want to see what
I shall find in other countries — wo-
men who have grown up in a Catho-
VOL. XIII. — 29.
449
lie atmosphere, and acquired their
failh unconsciously, as the breath of
their lives. These have developed
into beautiful forms of grace and
piety, as delicate as Howers, and,
like them, breathing innocence and
purity such as no other education
can give or even preserve."
" Do you mean to say that inno-
cence and purity cannot be found
among Protestant girls ?" I asked
sarcastically.
" 1 am sure I hope they can," he
answered earnestly ; " yet do not be
offended if I say, not in the same
degree. You cannot conceive, Miss
Clifford, of llie bcauly of a sou!
which has been guarded and sustain-
ed &ora infancy by the graces and
sacraments of the church, and has
kept its baptismal whiteness without
stain. It is not often found, even
within tlie church, and is, 1 believe,
nearly impossible outside it."
^ I hope you'll find this angel next
winter. Please let me know when
you discover her, for I should like to
see her."
He was silent, and as I was think-
ing about a good many things, we
drove on very quietly for some time.
It mny seem strange that I should
remember so well what Mr. Grey
said to me that golden September
afternoon, anil as I think I know the
reason of it, I will write it down as
frankly as I have written the descrip-
tion of our drive so far, and as I
mean to put down all I recall of it
to llie end.
Mr. Grey had boarded for a montli
in the same house with me and my
sister, and a dozen other people, all
of whom we met for the first time.
My sister and I were the only per-
sons whose society he seemed to seek,
and as she, not being strong, was ob-
liged to keep quiet, 1 had seen more
of him than any one else. He was
vcr)- {jolite and pleasant to every one.
t
I
s\ai\ (he whole hoi»chold liked him;
yet he never talked lu the other la-
dies a* he did to inc, nur paid tliciu
tii0 umc watchful little attentions.
He thought me pretty, .-ind had a
citrioui, unconticious way o( alluding
(o it that did not seem ofTcnsive like
conunon (lattery, and there was a dc-
hcacy nnd .ijiprcnntion about his
treatment uf mc that was original
H iind very, very pleosont.
True, he was a Calliolii:, and a
very devout one, having his religious
Imokx and papers always with him,
and talking of hi& faiih with real en-
joyment to any one who showed tlic
uiiallcst interest. Rose, my sister,
had talked with him once or twice,
and to her he very soon expressed
hi* di»ap[irovHl of marriage bctw-ecn
Catholi*.-^ and non-Catholirs (as he
called them), and dcclorctl his deter-
mination never to marry at all if he
could nut have a Caihohc wife.
Rom iMd ulludeU to this in my pre-
iirrm, lo he knew chat I under-
stoiMl what his intentions were. On
HCCOuiit of this under^i.mding, Uiere
Wtt more lV«dom and less constraint
fn out intcrvour&e than would othcr-
wbe twvc iKxn ; and as he \m a
llt>Lilnl^ and an e<ducalrd one, I
mnd (TMt pleasure in bcins with
hin «nd in hn qrtnpatfay. Hb at-
mw jWum^Ot Uiom^btriM, and
woe »M ontjr acceptable to
nch bM to liM Aon Mooth I bid
cowe to < w pB> u i^MA nsn more
th«a I wu arae of. fcit;gcttiBg dnt
mhaa dicy ceaseil it voold be bard-
« farmcibaB jflbad oevcrreoBT-
f^lbCNL
Me. Gk7 bad acrcr cafted to ae
ttmAf !■ tktwvrAat be dU *at
aHBwMM^ am Dccane i OMagpa ■
■nsmI I bare been afak lo vaoB
«bM be «MJ <n Morif bis wiy
" X have thought a good deal of
yuu lately, and of a feeling I hav
had about you from the first— as ifii
were a great merit in you to be
lovely, and sweet, and charming, an
that any one who felt and appreciat
ed your loveliness as I have owed
you a kind of debt, as it were, which
it would be an honor and a liap
ness to try to pay."
H'\s face was turned from me, and
he trailed the whip-lash in the road,
while I, leaning back, could not help
looking at him, and, because I
not know what to say, I laughed.
He continued; "Yet nith that
thought came the realization of its io-
justice ; for you cannot help your
prcltincss, and you are clever because
it is natural loyou; and I thought,
* Now, if I am just, I shall [lay my
debt not to her, who did not make
herself, but to God, who m^de her.
I shall love not only the beauty, but
also the Giver and Pofeclcr of it'
Would not tliat be better. Miss Clif-
ford ?"
" Yes. I suppose so. I uodcistand
what )'ou mean. Only, then, why
have you been so good to me ?** I
had tu look away, for my voice cnm>
bied and my eyes were saddodf Ml
of tean.
" Why ? Becagc it has made ■«
h^^, nnd I ban been ns^nst ; fae-
aase I bare said lo myaeIC * Hub k
« dvem — n svect ind
draftK. Soon I shall wake
bnck IO real hSe; fee the
mc be weak and o^ iL* *
Tbc gbfy of ibe aaadanc n dc^
|""^ft B)e bms WM ■ sets sbn-
tbe Choline nyn «ck no
Ur.Cmeg
vnfVed
I iuntm b uul em. I
laboiMacndk.
I
Mary Cliffords Promise Kept,
45 »
of the talents. It has always per-
plexed me. Will you tell me if you
think I have a talent, and what I am
to do with it ? I don't want to bury
it in the ground."
" Your talents are clear enough, I
am sure," he answered. " Your pow-
er of pleasing and making yourself
lOvcd is one."
" And what am I to do with it ?"
" Why, do good with it. You
have done me good."
" Ah ! but that is because you are
good, not because I am," I said sadly.
" I am not good, though perhaps
the reason why you have done me
good lies more with me than you.
I don't suppose — foipve me for say-
ing it — that your beauty was given
you only to win men's hearts, because
that does not make them happy, or
belter."
" You are thinking, I suppose, of
Mr. Falconer. I am sure I did not
want him to fall in love with me, and
make such a fuss. It was very un-
comfortable."
" And don't you think you might
have helped it ? Really, now, Miss
Clifford ?"
" Well, yes, I might perhaps have
stopped him if I had been rude and
disagreeable to him."
" I don't believe you are ever that
to any one. You try to please every-
body."
" There ! that is just it !" I exclaim-
ed. " Why, isn't that using my tal-
ent, taking for granted I have it ?
What ought I to do with it ?"
" I know what a Catholic girl
would think of, because Catholics
are taught in all things to acknow-
ledge God, and to refer all to him.
Think what this gift of beauty is —
the key to all hearts ; it challenges
and receives love as soon as seen.
Don't you feel instantly attracted by
a beautiful face, and turn with plea-
sure and affection toward the posses-
sor, before she has given any evi-
dence of other claims to be loved ?"
" Yes ; and for a person who can't
help wanting to please and to be
loved, it is an aidvantage, isn't it ?"
" It is more than that, it is the gift
of God; and therefore intended for
good. The saints were in the habit
of saying, ' God created all this beau-
ty in order to lead me to love him.*
Now, if a woman thinks of this, she
will not prize her beauty for the pur-
poses of vanity, but to lead her ad-
mirers to something higher than her-
self. I grant you this is not common,
nor would a woman think of it, un-
less she had been taught to think of
God as the first principle of her life.
But I will not preach any more."
" You remind me of my little ' Mrs.
Barbauld.* How long it is since I
have thought of it ! ' The rose is
beautiful ; but he that made the rose
is more beautiful than it. It is beau-
tiful ; he is beauty.' "
" I have been unusually serious,
perhaps because I have felt the end
of the dream drawing very near. lam
going away the day after to-mor-
row."
The sunset clouds had faded away,
and the stars were coming out above
our heads. We had reached the top
of one more long hill, and there was
the little meeting-house before us,
and we saw beyond our own white
cottage, with a light in the parior-
window, showing that tea-time was
passed. Mr. Grey spoke again.
" Have you enjoyed this drive ?"
" I have very much."
*' Have I said anything to hurt or
offend you ?"
'• No, indeed, Mr. Grey. On the
contrary, you have given me some-
thing to think about. No one ever
spoke to me in this way before."
" And do you think you shall be
likely to remember this afternoon ?
and with pleasure ?"
4$»
The Present and the Future,
** I ihall not be likely lo forget ii."
" Well, then, 1 have an odd fancy,
and it is this. 1 want you to pro-
mise mc, arti.T I have left this beau-
tiful \t\m:e and you, that you nill
write a descri|)tton of tim drive, ss if
lo au unknown third person, with the
tletaitu and necessary explanations.
I will do Uic same. Then, if we
niMt again, you cin read mine and
I youri, if we like, and look back lo
this time. Will you promise ?"
I considered a minute, and then
nd, " t think I can sec that surh
description will not lie an easy
thing to mc ; yci, if tt is your wish, of
courae, Mr. (Ircy. 1 promise."
" Wc may meet after many years,
you an old lady and I an old
man ; and these nccounis will bring
lack to us this perfect day, and
that we have seen and felt."
I looked at him andsmiled. " Ml
Grey, I have been invited to speni
a year abroad with some fricndfl
;inU my father says I may go if
choose. We may meet next winter^
in Rome."
And in Rome we did meet, st
enough — that Rome to which ",
roads lead." I began to take oni
of those roads soon after Mr. Grey'l
departure. I found it a rood "
plain that a fool could not err there-)
in," a " path of peace." And wh{
we stood side by side in the Rome]
of tlic Seven Hiils, he made up
mind to share the seventh sacrs
with a " convert girl."
THE PRESENT AND THE FUTURE.
TKUCKATVlk r«OM •tMU ** UStT*.*
great ami puolitl arc the suf-
kfs «ad teiTor oov weighing upon
the iMtiom of Eurofc that, settiiig
every other subject aside, it is toward
that the mind ikecesaarily turns, and
we win accordkAgly lay before o«r
readers the dee|>ly rooted cooTidiatts
WT entertain, not acrdy m i t faf cc
to the rear goiw br, but to that o*
whk-h w are jmt cntetisg. These
coMrictioitt take vKhn (bev scope
inS pvnCBt MMM oCfilocMiie ana
AameftJ c oo di ri o Bcf £Mra|»c, and a
fcfpp that I iiMiii beTtryftrdiatat
BviwiiMioriharMbyectt^all vr
to dfacn t Or.
for the treatment of both, dovid
be thereb}' excee<&ig the hmtt oTi
obligatim as jounuHsts? Nothing'
is easier, twihing tnore afrccabic
o« case, than to satisfy both the
and the other. For, tf we pboc be-
foic ovr neadcis our rvA
the present and future of the Cbcv-*
tian natioitt of Euope^ we shal be '
at Oe same tiaie ddteiag and !
fying the pciac^ fidd o(
I «21 then exaauM into ifae sea*
Mosof the ptcMBt cottdMKwaf riM
diBch axsi of dnbatiD^ toa I ■■I
do so vidi a niad as fae i
kom miliar I mtA AcbertoT
gam la«B of birtorr. 1 «
The Present and the Fnturc,
453
' vor lo trace out the path which ideas
and facts mu!>t follow at no distant
, period. My words wiil indeed be
addressed m an especial manner to
the true children of the clmrch, but
I do not doubt that they will indi-
rectly reach some who are removed
and even separated from us. Neith-
er do I deny that I am animated by
the hope of helping to sustain the
courage of my brethren, so that each
one may be able to say to himself,
Modkajitid ^uarr dubiiasH.
II.
Towards the close of the year
JS69, and ihe commencement of the
year that followed, two solemn utter-
ances resounded through Europe and
agitated the nations of the universe.
The first of these proceeded from the
Roman Pontiff, the convener of the
Q^cumeuical Council ; Uie other was
Ihe cr\* of modem civilization, pro-
claiming its own power and its ideas
of universal progress. Both utteran-
ces were of solemn im|Mjrt, but the
one was in contradiction to the other.
, The first, or that of the I'ontirl, mth
all the weight of his divine authority,
laid open to view the true principles
'of the other, and strove to reclaim it
to Christ with the new and more
effulgent light of truth and the more
'ardent fire of charity. Such words
^ought indeed to have found an echo
[•nd penetrated through every fibre
\vX the universe, for they were in sub-
^ stance the language of love; from
love they came, antl to love they
tended. Had they thus been accept-
ed by the nations, we should not
have had now so many sulTerings to
undergo, nor been menaced by a fu-
ture still more calamitous. The oth-
er utterance, that of modern civiliiia-
lion, inspired by the idea that it was
an invincible and independent power,
spumed the thought not merely of
supernatural aid, but even of super-
natural authority. Moreover, in proof
of its power, it collected then under
distinct heads all the evidences of
the progress of the present age, prof-
fering them as an infallible guarantee
of new and sliU greater progress in
the immediate future. Tliousands
listened with credulity to such lan-
guage, and, opening their hearts to
glorious dreams of the future, exult-
etl over the hopes they had conceiv-
eti with a joy whose folly was unques-
tionable, though it would be hard to
pronounce whether it proceeded most
from impiety or pride. It is, howev-
er, a satisfaction to speak with bold-
ness and candor, calling things by
cheir right names : such joy was fool-
ish, because it was at once both
proud and impious. Tlie words of
the Supreme Pontiff were derided, and
nbuse and calumnies of every de-
scription were heaped with a lavish
hand on the acts of the (Ecumenical
Council,
Now^ assuming the active opposi-
tion of these two powers, what con-
scfjuences must result from it in the
domain of facts ? The problem is
unquestionably an important one, and
we must treat it by first going back
and tracing it downward from first
principles.
m.
The decree of the Pope when sum-
moning an Gixumenical Council
may be defined as the supreme exer-
cise of his authority ; and the coun-
cil so xssemblc<i is the greatest and
most universal act of the jwwcr of
good with which tlie church has been
invested ; she who is the City of God,
yet a pilgrim upon eanh. Reason-
ing on these same questions, a year
ago, I recoHect having thus express-
c<l myself: " .Assuming that the life
of the Catholic Church is (harity
•
454
The Present and the Future.
I
both in its source and its organiza-
tion, and that the Papacy is the cen
tral 5cat of clianty; what, then, is the
(Kcuraenicol Council, that supreme
act of the Papacy and the church ?
The answer is not di/hcuU : it is the
supreme act of charity peculiar to
Catholicity, and Is therefore that pow-
er of supernatural love whicli is alone
strong enough to combat with and
put to flight the gigantic and many-
sided egotism of the times we live
in.'*
Now, such an act of tins all-pow-
erful chanty did the churcli initiate
on the 8ih day of December, 1S69 —
a day lliat will live for ever in the
memory of posterity, and never fail
to be spoken of wiUi blessings. To
the eyes of Catholics, the Council
of ihe Vatican appeared — and such
it is — a new and living fountain of
hope. It seemed as if U^c yearnings
of three centuries ami many genera-
tions were at last to be gratified by
this council. It seemed, in a special
manner, as if the tendencies and
wants oi the nineteenth century con-
verged toward this council, like rays
to a common centre. And here, the
better to undci^and the truth of
tlicse sentiment'^, we trust it will not
be unacceptable to our readers if we
Uy before them what wc ourselves —
partakers in and witnesses of the uni-
versid conscience— published on the
very ilay on which the CEcumenical
Council c^Kned in tlie Vadcon :
** And, Jn iniih. whai is ilie rounril iu
relaliun to ibc ninciccnih century ? U is
ll)c (Icsiic of all. A sonirllitni* lungrd ami
Slfhcd (mi \>y all niitiJs anJ all hr^ttlK,
rtie klc»l eA tlit noblest and most |r«'np-
nus »Epintloni ttut noir a»srM ifacd
swajr orer tho spirit of ntMn. Nor is It
that oiilv, but it IS likrwiM wbu was
aeciln] to m«et the most ur^ni uml wiilo-
sprcad want of our afo. tl will Jt>iibtt«4S
appear stnnice to veijr miny that ihr
cnuad) stioulil be stjitcil lli« dMlf« «(
all men. but such is aav«nbol«M ika
fact : consciously or uocoaicioui
longed for It : all. iltos« who bail
those who cutsc it, those who believe
it and those who despise it. Ycft. all ;
who exalts our age. and he who bcwatt
its errors, he whose hcan is rejuiced. and
he who sheds tears over the cvrnis of]
our century; princes and people, tL
priesthood and the laliy. religion an^
civilltation, failh nnd science. Assured^
ly, were .->nr additional proof necetsii
to demonsir;tie to ctHivictiun, by the
dcnc« of rcitsun aitd lirstury, ibai the Pa
pitcy is Ihe heait of humanity, the licai
in which nil Ihe aspirations of hununit
conveige and unite, hote would be k\
pTOuf in the Mimmons (hat convened Ihi
Clvcuincniail Council. Tor. from Ihe va
rious and oppusiic judgments pal
upun oiii age, some in adulation, othci
in bl,imc. one ihiny is evident, and
agree in admitting it. that the lentlendc
of our age are directed by a twofold %\
traction toward union and liberty,
guiding influences arc in iheroscU
most powerful, noble, and es..ilicd.
cause they mirror the infinite, n*>Mitul(
nnd supreme unity of God. I.ilcrty ls.1
the image and proof of the Infinite
ing, for ha alune is truly free. an<l
spirit which tends by love toward him tl
adorned with liberty, and possesses
power of reducing its fire will to
Vnion Is the shadow and effect of
divine ttnion, brratise (he one God, OB
Truth, one Good, one Beauty, can aloi
sweetly and strongly bring into acror
tlio wills and undeiM3ndiitg» of men
and cause them to hariDonir-e in llie limit
leas rani^c of space, and the vicissltad^
and diversitr nf time."
Now, two such qualities and ten-
dencies of humanity, acting in an e»l
pccial manner, or, in other wordi^
more powerfully and universally
ever Ueforc. rule over and cxidt ot
age. He who should say that
two tendencies, naturally common 10^
all men, all uii»e&,aad all places had
become tbc passions of the age, and
even MS most ardent passions, wonU;
express out ideas on this subject, .
give an adei.|uate descripboa of till
times in which we live.
Libcny, then, aod uaigo.
The Present and the Future.
455
from every quarter, the thought,
esire, hope, strength, and occupa-
>n of all intellect, of all classes, of
r-cryiliing tlutt belongs to man, from
ic hLghciit to the lowest. Trades,
)uaine&3, and commerce cry aloud
)r liberty, and for union with liberty.
rhc free co-operation of the indus-
it arts and workmen's .societies, of
xicties of merchants and banking-
houses, are ideas and facts so com-
mon in these days that the dominion
of the two tendencies referred to
above is clearly made mamfetit in the
lower order of civilization. And this
^order, quickened by such ideas and
laking use of such aids, becomes the
istrumcnt of new liberty and still
reatcr union. Thus, tlie poHTr of
team triumphing over the obstacles
' matter, and the speed of electricity
overcoming the resistance of space
id time, favor the free expansion of
ition toward nation, and make, I
light aiDiost say, one single society
It of the most distant nations.
Rising from this lower order of
nvilizacion, the industries of every
tind, to what is far nobler, that of
;ieace, we observe tlie same aspira-
ions, perhaps more universally dif-
jsed and more |Kusionate in degree
>warU liberty and union. Freedom
thought, freedom of education,
cedom of speech and of the press,
to be the idols of the day ; for,
strange to sny, freedom of the iiitel-
ectual life is deemed by very many
lot as the dowry of science, but the
jndamental principle of all human
istruction. There exists, also, with
lis desire for intellectual freedom, a
iving after union. Scientific con-
ges, cither general or confined to
>rac particular branch of knowledge,
irceed each other at no distant in-
rals, sometimes in one place and
jmdimrs in another, so as to unite
men of intellect whom distance of
^^spaoe had kept asunder. The hte-
rary jouroals, whose number iJt so
great as to excite amawment, have
become the arena for the free dlfiii-
sion of thought ; Ihey keep alive the
work \ii the scientific congresses, and
spread its knowledge — spreading it
iu such a manner as to complete the
intellectual union of the human race,
by making the speculations of the
great men of science familiar to the
most ordinary intellects.
Turning our gaze from the indus-
trial and intellectual to the moral
life, that is to say, to the life of socie-
ty, the two aspirations appear strong-
er and more manifest ; so strong and
manifest that we might be tempted
to call them insane and mischievous.
To the cry of liberty, the civilised
nations of earth respond with trans-
port, and rise in rebellion against
whatever can be shown to be in any
way opposed to freedom. Never in
previous times were such social
changes witnessed, so unexpected, so
general, so profound, and carried
through with so much enthusiasm, as
those just enacted and initiated with
the cry of liberty. The political
organization of nations, the adminis-
trative control of provinces and mu-
nicipalities, have all been regulated
by the principle of free election,
freedom of vole and opinion. The
slavery of man to man, a lamentable
relic of paganism, has been alwHshed
in many places by legal enactment,
and is universally looked on with
more repugnance than heretofore.
After the hard-fought battles iu North
America on the question of slavery,
the negroes there have been raised
to the dignity of lireemen.
No less vigorous and resistless has
been the tendency toward social
union. The principle of nationality
has traversed all Europe with the ra-
pidity of lightning, kindling as it pass-
ed the minds of men, exciting and
agitating them in a wonderful man-
456
The Present and the future.
I
ner. Even as we write, the cry for
unions still more comprehensive — the
union of races — strikes ujkju our cars.
It is, then, an indisputable fact, a
fact whose e\-jctence is cle.ir to all
and is admtttoct by all, that the as-
pirations of our age are towards
union and liberty.
Wc shflll therefore hail the council
05 the final goo) of these aspir^uons
of tlic human race. And yet, in say-
ing this, we have not stated all that
the council implies; for it serves
also to satisfy an cueniially human
want that etiuals those twofold aspira-
tions, or, to speak more corrccdy, is
still stronger and more universal than
ihey. What, then } Shall it be said
that the aspirations and wants of (he
human mind ore not directed to the
some object ? Most assuredly ; the
end, but not tlie immediate object is
the same. 'Iliey procee<l from differ-
ent mtpulses: the one arises from the
tendencies of the age, but without
any regard to the good or evil quali-
ties tahcrent in such tendencies; the
ocbcr is chc resub of m ¥ioe that mod-
ifies siu] oocnipts such teiide&cics. a
«ice that nuy pro>-e fatal to natioDS,
alhiring them by the cry of libeity
and unioB to lUverjr and desolatioo.
Hk want «<e refer to argnes a vice
to be corrvctcd, on iaStmitr to be
Iwnkiij. ft danger to be shvuwd, cx-
pms it OS we «^; bnt lei ns aot
doqr tlw bd. a aoM ad aod 1
«M,fcrwliicfa the commA
a sorangB asd nosl
IfHMdl]^
BH«tet,il«a be asked, is lUi
ladow far Kbcny and lina, and
i* Ae M^aociaai of 'aasfcont;^-* v^c^
lioB absoloM aad mimmA, thai has
cfo^ rti itioa of
ife. IV bcttBt. bMvrcr. t»
ation, not the existence of such
vice, but the cause that produced '%{
wc must trace the question back
its source.
'i'hc fundamental dogma of \hi
Protestant Reformation gave birth
the same instant to a double nega
tion — the rejection of liberty aiid
union— so that the servitude of il
human will and indivitlualLsro wei
exalted to the dignity of a principU
It seems like a contradiction that tl
l)asis of Protestantism, namely, pi
vate interpretation, which is the
jcclion of a supreme authority, shouU
have led in its consequences to
itudc. But the contridirtioti dt&ai
|>ears when we reflect that so
cessary is authority to man that h(
will bow to fatalism or force tf he has
no legitimate authority to which
turn. History bears evidence thl
two centuries and a half of debosii
servitude and cruel scpoiatians
lowed. Such a long period d sli
ber auist necessarily have
awakenii^ ; for the innate
of humanity may for a time
faint or donnaat, but tbey
be extingnabed. Uoreorcr*
tbey, for any length of
cbeidkcd in their BSivnl
this necessity grows to g^antic
pottioa s , till it sweeps be&re it
"hrfaflr &e a trmt^m^ in in
tnovsGOvae. Such am the
be cifMctcd* and wbi^ real]^^
place, at the doae of the
ceaxmef. But the niad
having boa scdnocd hf Ae
tnaof the Re
of libertf and wion ■■> «f necesitf
itffcCTittdeeeMal pJiwinitj . l^civ^
Ibrcw UbestT and mkm, vhen il^
iisiiaiJ
And, in truth, atheism and panthe-
ism — two systems that harmonize be-
cause they arc convertible — have pc-
nctraied into ami made conquests in
every condition of life. Kourierism
and the abuse of industrial unions,
while rejecting authority, have touch-
ed materialism on the one side and
communism on the other, and are
the atheistic and pantheistic forms of
labor. Freedom of speculation, by
spuming at every authoritative princi-
ple, has ended in rationalism ; the sys-
tematizing of science has fallen into
jtanthcism or syncretism ; rational-
ism and syncretism are the alhewtic
and pantheistic forms of the intel-
lectual life. The modem code of
morality and justice, by stripping lib-
erty and the brotherhood of mankind
of legitimate authority, have ended
in naturalism and soriahsm, the athe-
istic and pantheistic forms of society.
Now, these two vices, atheism and
pantheism, the leading errors of the
day, have changed the universal
movement toward liberty and union
into matter for the deepest and keen-
est sorrow. In the midst of the im-
mense riches that our age has been
accumulating through its free and as-
sociated industries, there seems to be
nothing that man touches that can
cheer or console him in the solitude
of his heart, and. free lord a*, he is of
matter, yet he feels himself its slave,
because he has made it the grave of
his noblest aspirations. It might al-
most be said that m.itter, subjugated
in so many ways by the liberty and
union existing among men in these
days, was secretly tyrannizing over
ami dividing them, denying man's
a'Jthority over it because man has
himself cast off the true and supreme
authority raised over him. In the
same manner, in the life of thought
all our knowledge is felt to be, as
was said of old, but vanity, antl a
vanity that crushes and keeps us
asimder from one another. Many'
yes, very many, agree in crying loud-
ly for liberty and tlie union of intel-
lect, but theirs arc merely outward
words — words which do not respond
(o the real life of man's intellectual
pow crs. VVe shall proclaim openly that
it is a falsehood, and a falsehood by
which man stnves to deceive himsell^
and, if possible, conceal his sorrow.
Without fear of error, we can say
that modem science tyrannizes in
secret over the intellects of men, and
divides thera, becruse liberty and
the union of intellects rejected or
rather usur^icd the supreme control
over the minds of men. Rationalists
and pantheists cmnot deny this; we
appeal to the truthful testimony of
their own consciences and of histo-
ry; we appeal to the candid avowal
of Frederick Schelling. Is it not
true that, beneath the pompous ap-
pearances of Uberty and union, the
inner powcRi of thought are under
the grievous yoke of so-called sys-
tems, and, in addition, are slavi
and tormented by secret and coik-^
scant doubts ? Is it not true thati
great differences exist among men of (
intellect, who reject to-day what wa«ij
believed yesterday, and that there is
no agreement whate\'cr in the great-'
est and most important principles ?(
To sura up: the inlcllectua! life of
the nineteenth century has neither in-
terior hbcrty nor union, because with
Protestantism it has denied the prin«.j
ciple which could alone give freedom-
and unity to the minds of men,
this denial is the only instance of that]
hbcrty and union of which it makc*>^
so great a boast.
Neither in regard to tlie moral andi
social life of nations is the case
any way different. From the atheifr*!
tical liberty of an independent moral*
ity hxs resuhed the interior servitude
of tiic will, which means the truly
despotic empire of passions most tie-
4S8
The Present and the Future.
grading to Uie mass and the indivi-
dual and the despotic atheism of
states. And from the ixmthei&tic
union exhibited in the practice of
centralization and the theory of so-
sialism, there resulted a sanguinar)-
rar in the heart of Christendom: a
rar of ibe stale with the church, of
Ac people with monarchy, a war of
everything in subjection against
everything in authority. Hence we
see in the most civilijicd countries
the despair oi its noblest citizens,
men like the younger Brutus and Ca-
to ; hcQcc the despondency of the
higher station, blended with scorn
and indignation ; hence the frantic
aims of the populace breaking forth
into rebellion ; hence the enormous
standing armies ; hence amidst Uic
shouts for hberty and fraternity the
nations are arming, and every citi-
xen is ciirulled a soldier.
If sudi, then, is the condition of
the age and the ferment in the minds
of men. if such is the condition of
the populations, what, let us ask, is
at present the great, the urgent want
of mankind ? To contradict the sen-
tiinent of union and liberty would be
madness; to contradict the atheism
of hberty and the pantheism of un-
ion is wtMfom and true charity, and
therein safety is to he fouttd; for,
tdce away pantheism from union, and
otihetsm from liberty, there will rc-
nwm union and true liberty both
exteriorly and interiorly. And as-
suming Uiat the deadly principles of
atheism and panlhetsw sprang from
Prutcstanti^mi, which rejected the Pa-
pacy, the supreme personification of
power, the return to autliority, the
tiue and only sooroe of libeny ooil
imion. is tlie great and universal
want of the present age.
Ito nCiifj so great a want* Uie
City of God, exercising the most per-
feci act of its power of goodness
love, convoked the Council of the
tican. But in opposition to tlie Cityt
Cod in its exercise of this supreme
of love and goodness, stands the
of Satan, which has alwa)-s com!
ed it. and will continue to do so
the end of time. It wai>, thcrirfai
an easy matter to predict that
City of Saian would assuredly
fordi its utmost powers of evil
opposition to Uiat supreme cflt>rt
the church of Christ. Such a
cluuun would be warranted bath
reason and history. Hy reason,,
asmuch as humanity mar ncU
Ukcned to a batde-tield, wherein
powet^ of good and evil contend
mastery, (iUsebood, and truth,
old Adam and the new, C^ain
Abel, Satan and Christ, so that a st
of warfare may be said to be the
of tliis life ; and as no real
can be made but as the
hard-won victory, it iollows
ly that our own age, being sut
to the same law, must pass
a terrible conQicL History
evidence to die same cfiTect, how
critical times the whole powcfs
evil rose up in terrible conflict agatt
the great undertakings of the cht
And I will add that as the wort of I
Vatican Council was to bring to
in a special maimer the naturalism <
modem ci^-ilication, which
its origin from atheism and
tsm, and a&erwards to
and exhibit in a clearer light the
preme authority of the Fope,
on the other hand, modem cii
tion had to pat £onh all the
it deri^-ed from naturalism to
the Papacy.
All this might have been and
foretold. Two periods are to
distinguished iq the brief c)
of the Vatican Council: they ai
those which cocTCSpood to the ti
The Present and the Future.
459
^sessions irhicli the Pope presided over
person. The first was directed
^speci.-illy against those moostcr erroni
from which naturalism springs; the
L-cond, alter not a hasty but a long
ind comprehensive discussion, de-
rced Uic universal supremacy of the
Jlpapal authority, the supremacy of
,his tcauliing, that is, the infiallibtJily of
bthc Pupe, when he speaks (to use
■ the languai^c of tlie schools) ex cathe-
You niigiit have said, ihen, that
le great taxk of tlie council was
ided. and time will perhaps show
[/that you would not have judi^Gd
Isamtss.
However, the City of Satan was
'meanwhile no idle spectator, but ex-
[uened its powers in many and various
m-ays, yet so that it may be said with
ith that two of these corresponded
lingularly to the two important pe-
iods of the council. In the first
since, there was witnessed a great
ul portentous gathering of frec-
lliinktrs from all countries of the
fieartli. and lo this was assigned the
Utlc of Antktmncily to signify in the
lost open way possible the war
fUrhich the naturalism of the day is
r!iiraging against the church and the
^Papacy, liut this gathering failed
acc-ompUsh anything, so that, as
ras justly said, the infant cries of
le new-born Art/koumii v,cxc also the
ist gasp of its mortal agony. In
iin, besides, were all the efforts of
ie irTL-ligious press, its sarcasms and
calumnies ; in vain the intrigues of
Sntichnstian diplomacy. In vain,
IAoo, was that last effort, those ap-
peals of discord flung into the camp
Oi the assembled bishops. Nor do I
fcsay all when I affirm that sudt guilty
< €lforts accomplished nothing against
i'lhe council, i might have added, and
J do so without hesitation, that ihey
additional lustre on it. For, tl'
i.lhey prove nothing else, they prove
[.at least these two truilis: lirst, that
.the efforts of the world and hell
shall not prevail against the church;
et pvrta inferi non prevalebunl adver-
st/s earn,- secondly, that the freedom
and fulness of discussion that took
place in the council before defining
dogmatically was greater than its
adversaries expected or even desired.
A new proof, were any such needed,
that the church of Christ is neither
an opponent nor a wcakcncr of thc
powcrs of human reason, but is the
harmonizcr of the human element
wiih the divine, of science with faith,
of liberty with supernatural autho-
rity.
This was the first great effort of
the adversaries of the council, but
there soon followed a second. Peace-
ful opposition having failed, it was
easy to foresee that motlern civiliza-
tion Avould change its mode of war-
fare, and instead of moral force would
call to its aid physical force and vio-
lence. But for this it was necessary
that some opportunity be given, and
the invasion of Kome by ruffian
bands as contemplated was too ha-
zardous an undertaking, so long as
the French eagle c;ist the shadow of
its protection over ihe Vatican. The
opportunity wanted was not long in
presenting itself. Strange coincidence t
At the very time when papal infalli-
bility was added to the dogmas of
faith, and almost on the very day,
war broke out unexpected between
l''r.incc and Prussia. How Satan
must have exulted with ferocious joy
at that ternble hourl Such a war
seemed to supply his city with the
means of renewing its assaults on
the City of God.
The i'russian minister Bismarck, the
chief representative of mwlem civili-
zation, had been for a long time in i los-
est alliance with the double atheism
of authority and modem liberty, that
k to say, with the autocracy of Rus-
sia and modern revolution, which Iwih
desired the triumph of the German
arms. In consequence of this alii-
4&>
The PrntHt and the Future.
ance, France came single-handed
into the contest, while Prussia drew
Itwith her all Germany. The North-
ern armies won astonishing victories,
and their allies shared in the advan-
tages of them. Preponderance in ihc
Kast was again made practicable to tlie
Jieism or auihority, and the atheism
liberty took possession of Rome —
Lome Itoro whose walls, through a
blunder or a crime, the French gov-
cmmcDt had withdrawn its troops.
As a consequence, the Pope was
stripped of his temporal power, and
the council suspended.
This was the result of tlte war
against the Papacy ; this was the
crowning effort of the City of Satan
against the City of God — an effort in
relation to which modem dvilixation
showed more clearly than before
both its character and the end at
which it aimed. .\II the organs of
the press tliat have sold themselves
to tlie false spirit of tiic age — and their
number is \'cry great — alt with imani-
tnity of sentiment and in one chorus
extolled the shameful outrage to the
skies, and made it tlie subject of a
senseless triumph. And what de-
serves notice, in as far as it goes to
show the truth of our opinions^ is
that all pronounced this exploit as
the greatest victory of modem ci\-tli-
xation against Catholic superstiHon
and the theocracy of the nitddk ages.
Was It a real victor)* ? And will
it be lasting ? Will it be in our |>ow-
er» reverentially and with due timidi-
ty, to withdraw a Uttk the veil that
cm-era the designs of Providence in
reference to these facts, and pndict
the fiiiure? lite answer to these
qucsboas cannot be briefly given,
and iniat tbcrribre form the snlqcct
of a foiwc attkfe. Nevenfadess, to
cioae this anick and prepare the
nindK of oar readers fcr vhal is to
faUow, I tiiink it necessary to draw a
coadiniott from the maitets disans-
cd, and it n this : thai our bretfaren
ictkm
i
in the failh have no reason in
wodd to be astonished at tlic
events h-ippening in these ti
Such things were nccessarj- — so
essary were they that we oursetves>
year ago, ventured to predict this
contest, when the political a
sphere was still unclouded, and
around breathed an air of pc.
" This new year," said we on the
day of January, 1870, " will be do
less ODC of the roo» memorable of
recorded in history. In it, not t<
ages, but two great eras
and trace broadly their dsstinctkin
one from the other — an era that
closing, and one that is about to
gin. .^nd in this same year, a mo
lous struggle will correspond to
meeting of tlie two eras — the stmggk
of two contrary principles which aia
at the conquest of the human race.
The twoerasare, that of Proicstoii!
religious and civil, and that of
tian revival in all the orders
relations of the Catholic Ch
The two principles are egotism
charity — egorism, which begoC
animates Protestantism, aitd
which is the life of Catholicity."
conflict, fierce, terrible, and
underdiSerentformSiWasa neccssii
why, Uien, be astonishod that
was to take place has really hapj
ed y Is not the spouse of km
rtfouud her irtJA ku saamt
sent fonh to combat? Had
conflict not taken place; wc
have been tempted bo say that
would be neccssar)' to call in q
tioD the great law of human htsi<
— p rwgn u 4h r mi g h mjftru^.
A«ay, ttacm» with asi
irikid wootd be faly \ Away
rajD feais ! The cfaorcb has con
ed and overcone all the moral
broochc to bear against tbe
aoddKoouDcd, umI ibdl it
be&iR fame force ? Is ool the
victorr a nott oenain pledge of
secoad?
One Saturday evening in June, the
Seaton mail-coach, with two passen-
gers, drove out of the city of Bragon
on its way eastward. Both these
passengers n'crc gentlemen, and Iwth
young. One «'3S large an<l light-
complexioned ; the other, slight and
dark. The large one had a hard,
white face, whose only expression
seemed to be a fixed determination
10 express nothing. Such a look is
provoking. Let us read a littte of the
man in spile of himself People
have no right to shut themselves up
in that way. One would say imme-
diately that he is what is called a
very good man, one of those good
men whom we praise, and avoid :
that is, he does not o^end against
the decalogue nor the revised statutes.
But there is a law radiant with a
tenderer glory, dropped, verse by
verF*, through the Scriptures, taught
t:onstandy by the church, attested to
human hearts by the ver>' need of it,
and that law he keeps not. One
wonders at such a man, and, in
softer moods, lancies pitifully that he
aches under that icy coating, and
that down in the depths of his heart
.■wrac little unfrozen spring perpetual-
ly troubles his repose by its protest-
ing, half-stiflcf] murmur. One is also
exasperated by him. " In his socie-
ty," as Miss Clara Yorke said after-
ward, '* one's thoughts and feelings
become all puckered up." He is in-
deed a powerful moral astringent.
As if conscious of our observation,
he turns stiffly away, and looks out of
i\c window at his elbow, entertaining
his mind with a view of the .spideffl
that hang from the beams of the
covered bridge through which they
are driving. We arc not to be baf-
fled, however, but can pursue our
scrutiny. He has large, heavy white
hands, his broadcloth is of the finest,
and in the breast-pocket of his coat
is a manuscript sermon. He would
like to have us listen to that sermon,
hut will not.
Hie gentleman who sits at this
person's lefl is as different as could
well be. He has a thin face, a long
nose inclining slightly upward to-
ward the end, and haggard, bright
eyes. His forehead is high, and all
the hair is brushed straight back
from it, and falls on bis neck. He
has a small mouih.with lips so \'i\'id-
ly red that ihey seem to be painted.
In his breast-pocket is a ImtUe of
laudanum, which seems to be very
much at home there.
llicse gentlemen had never met
before they stepped into the coach
together ; and it would be safe to
say that they had no ardent dc^'i^e to
meet again. 'ITiey were very slow,
indeed, to improve the opportunity
afforded them to fonn an acquain-
tance, and probably would have
maintained a very formal demeanor
toward each other, had not circum-
stances forced them into a most tm-
dignified intimacy. TIktc had been
a succession of pouring rains, and
the roads were frightful, heavy with
mud, and full of piifalb. After the
coadi got out of the town and into
the woods, their situadon became
463
Tht House of Yorke.
very tj^ing to the passengers. To
say nothing of the pain of bumps
and bruises, iheir dignity and sense
of propriety were constantly being
outnigeit by their being thrown into
each other's anns, or having their
heads knocked violently together.
Under such difTiculties, silence be-
came impracticable. Apoloi;ies be-
came necessary, and exclamations ir-
repressible. He of the sermon never
said anything worse than " Hless me I"
but the other had occasionaUy to
stifle an ejaculation which would not
have been so pleasant to he:ir.
The coach was due at Seaton at
four o'dock in the moruing; but as
hours passed, and still their motion
wu chiefly lateral and perpendicu-
lar, tlieir prompt arrival receded
from a probabihiy to a possibility,
and thence became imposable. They
had started at nine o'clock; and at
three of ihc next morning they yet
lacked nearly a mile of naclrmg the
half-vay house where they were to
change horses. Atthatjiointoneofthe
wheels suddenly slipped into a deep
rat The four steaming horses strain-
ed and tugged bll chey started the
coach, when it immediately gare a
lee- hifch , and went into a hole at
the other side. At the saae mo-
nm^ lonetlung. wtiaterer it is which
hone and carnage together,
and the qua dru pe ds suited
[«ff on their own accoonl, Icaring^ the
and the bipeds to (aOoir at
leisnre. Th« driver, having
' icins i& his hands, vas of ootoae
off the bos ; bed the road re-
eeircd him soAlr. The pssKogcrs
and have uflercd no damage, b«t
that the tall one, having , carioady
ipi, the unpccsBMn that ihcy
bring mi awar with taoMdkd cH
.JOB^ied o«( oTdie coadiwiA
hatte this dncxctiaD. Tte
he sank into was die m ftooi
the fttiM whcd liad Janbea
drawn, and the result was thai
emerged upon the road side in a de-
plorable masquerade, being rlad io
a complete domino of wi:ll-mixed
clay and water. Moreover, his
was quite severely sprained.
•* VouTl ha%'e to walk to the
way house, gentlemen," the driver
said, calmly wiping the mud from
hb face. He had been over tl
road too many times to be much
lurbcd at any mishap of the ki
Having spoken, he shouldered the
mail-bags and started in advance.
It wa5 full three minutes before the
other passenger appeared, and, when
he did. his face was perfectly grave,
though vcrj- red. He threw a Uan-
kct he had found inside out into the
road, and stepped on to it. He aeu
reached in anid got a cushion,
which he completed the bridge a(
the mud, then walked over ihein ai
unstained as QtKcn Elizabeth ova
Raleigh's mantle, and stcppeil dry-
shod in the neatest of boots oa lo
the rim of the dcUcate tuam thsK
spread its carpet all along the road-
side under the tiecs. Having J
ed safely, he turned toward
panion, who was trying to wji
self in a brook and smpe bt«
with sbcfcs. **I should adi
sir," he said, ** to cotne ti^l
thehotaevasd get aoomptctei
of cfachmg. It is oscLcs to tcf\
clean those."
The other was speechlesK.
seemed too nradi stupefied todoi
thi^ mote than obey.
Mocmng was jast breaking, dmd^,
less and bCTiRif J. the fotot wasi
with Jane, and tfamrgh it cunld
hcwd the dfah ta^heer of
While iBttt travcUers had Ifaroagh
atcbt been racked and
consrioas oaly of misery and
sM aiouDd ncB nitwc had
in Bcr lowaiDC& and puiAv, with 1
bNQS mecn* nestled, nef flowus *
The Hoitse of Yorhe*
463
her streams crystal -clear.
T%iBhr TDiw! had been like a foul
thread woven across a heauiilul vreb.
When ihcy reached the half-way
house, the tall traveller was in a per-
fectly abject slate. His pride had
quite disappeared, his dignity was no-
where to be seen. He allowed him-
self to be arraycil in a suit of rough
farming-clothesa good deal loo short,
in which he beheld himself without
.-I smile, and httmbly begged his
fellow-traveller to bear a message
from hini to his expecting friends in
Seaton. Not only his toilet, but his
spraine<1 ankle would prevent his
proceeding on his journey for some
hours at least. His name was Con-
way ; he was a Itaptist minister, and
was expected to preach in Seaton
that day. Would the gentleman Iw
so good as to send word to the
church, as soon as he arrived, that
their looked-for candidate had met
with an accident ? He was not per-
sonally acquainted with any one in
Seaton, therefore could not direct
him, but presumed that the driver
could.
I'hc gentleman with the bright
eyes cordially promised, then asked
for breakfast and a clothes-brush, and
the other withdrew to rest.
"There's not time to cook any-
thing but coffee and fish," the land-
lord said. " Passengers never stop
here to breakfast; and the driver is
going on in fifteen minutes. But 1*11
ilo the best I can for you."
In ten minutes all was ready. The
traveller brushed his clothes scrupu-
lously, combed his hair back in a
silken wave, bathed his face and
hands, gave himself one more look
to be sure thai his toilet was correct,
then seated himself at table. The
principal dish before him was an eel
fried in sections, then carefully put
together, and colled round the plate.
"Not much of a breakfast," the
landlord said. " But we haven't any
market here."
'* Sir ! " exclaimed the traveller in
a deep voice, " I asked for fish, and
you give me a serpent ! 1 would as
soon — I would sooner eat of an ana-
conda than an eel."
" I'm sorry you do not like it, sir,"
the man rcplie<l. " If we raised
anacondas here, you should have
one ; but we don't."
The traveller drank his coffee, and
found it not bad. " I will xxy to do
without snakes, this morning," he
remarked.
There were twelve miles yet to
travel ; but the road improved slight-
ly as they went on. Still it was te-
dious work ; and when at last they
drove into the town, it was past ten
o'clock, and the bells were ringing
for Sunday service.
When the coach reached the post-
office, in tiie centre of ihe town, the
traveller jumped out, and asked to be
directed to the Univcrsalist meeting-
house. ** And please send word to
the Baptist people of the accident
which befell their minister," he said.
'* It will be impossible for me to tlo
so now."
The driver promiscti, and directed
the stranger. " Go over the bridge
here, and up the hill, and you will
come to a white meeting-house with
green blinds," he said.
The traveller hastily followed the
direction, and soon came to a house
answering the description given. The
congregation were all in their seats;
and as the new-comer breathlessly
entered, he he.ird a voice from the
pulpiL " My beloved brethren," the
%*oice said, *' I am sorry to inform
you that the minister who w.ts to
have preached for us lo-<lay will not
probably come. The stage has not
come in, and has, mo<it likely, met
with an accident. But since you
have all gathered together here to-
L
4fi4
Tfu Housf of Yorkt,
day^ it seemed to me a pity thai you
should go away without hearing the
word of life. I have therefore
brought a volume of sermons by the
reverend — "
Here the deacon stopped at sight
of the stranger hurrying up the aisle,
made an awkward gesture, took out
his pocket-handkerchief, and, finally,
Idescendcd sheepishly at one side of
Ithe pulpit as our belated traveller
went up the other.
The minister sealed himself on the
red velvet sofa, which in tlie temple
occupied the place of an altar, fum-
bled a while in the hymn-book for a
I hymn he could not liml, n-i[>ed his
flieaied face, finally read at random.
I Presently there was heard from the
[gallery over the entrance the faint
log of 3 toning-fork, then a man's
'Toice feeling for the key, which he
had to transpose from S. to C. Pounc-
iog upon it at length in a stentorian
r, he aoaxcd gradually up through
It to Dcuve, the choir caught
|their parts, and the hymn began.
Unfortunately, however, in their haste
Ihcy had selected a conunoo metre
for a long metre hymn, as they
^Anovered at the end of the second
line, where they found tberaaclTCS in
jdiCficvky by reason of two sylUUcs
were tmpionded for by the
yet amid ooc v^ be k6 out.
Wide they were extrxaiiDg then-
, and fiodiBg A BMwe fttAil cone,
■uiBlcr took faraMh, Md looked
fan cw g i Bg a t wm. Toey
\attL. He bad been ts-
thu his heam« «-ere to be
jwMig, ptpg mtt Tc ^ M j ft of the
\\ sttd dMsc lodBsd Mjfdng bM
md pngnnTc. TkKf ven
«tt old aoid ■miiymit «&d
fiices struck a ciuB ihRmch
Tbcy aecoKd lo be dM £kcs
peopie who bchere that odc of
■cs of heaven caOHlb
iMkflig over dkc ukaUil haaJB-
ments and witnessiiig the tonn«nts of
the condemned, rather than of those
who hold the comfortable doctrine
of universal salvation. Stem, fateful,
stolid, ihcy sat there, not even pro-
voked to a passing smile by the Indi-
crous tontretemfs of the choir. The
minister frowned. He was tirod, he
had been irriutcd by his travel-
ling companion, and now he was bit-
terly disappointcil Seaton was a
growing town that would soon be
a city, and he had looked forward
with pleasure to the prospect of be-
ing settled there. There seemed no-
where else for him to go, and he was
not rich, and he was homeless. The
sight of this congregation, which be
saw at once he could never
himself to, disturbed him
Moreover, in his haste he had :
ten to take his rooming dose of
danum ; and, altogether, l>o( ibr s
glimpse he got of two Ekcs acar
the pulpit, he might have nurcbed
down, and left the deacon to read
many sermons as be chose.
tworeconciliDg faces belonged to
Meltccnt Vorfce and her bn»ther1
who were vtsitiBg the cKfiocnc Seattm
churches. The fair, txaoqnl
the lady, her delicate dress,
cd hands, ei-m the wreath of -
that rested oa her flaxen hair, aQ
made a pleasant pictme for the cuki-
vand gltDce that swept c»ver tt. Of
Own he saw ooly the top of the
head, aod the hand that corered
(ace. But his atmnde showed
he was faa£af a laugh; aad
body who coikld laagh m that
grttUMia vat faahB to the
eyes, la those two be ficUsBr
sympathr.
The hyam oter, the minister
a peaha aad repeated the LxmTs
Prayer.
The coa0R«MM fatcani mifa
ls&ct,tbcdia^
■^ la
The House of Vorke,
465
place, they wa« shocked that the
candidate for their pulpit should
travel on the Lord's day ; in the n,ext
place, his looks and inaniiers were
loo little like those of their foniier pas-
lor, the Rev. Jabez True; thirdly,
they had never before had the Our
Father foistcti on them for a prayer.
They were accustomed to hear a long
and explicit addre^ to tlie Deity, in
V'hich tlic'ir wishes and thoughts were
explained to hira, and their praises
and thanks duly meted out — a
prayer which they could talk about
afterward. Elder True had been
gifted in prayer, and'ftould some-
times pray half an hour without a
moment's hc«tation. It was certain-
ly a very shabby thing to put them
off with the Lord's Prayer.
Then came the sermon. Only two
persons present knew that the text
was from the Koran. It was a storj*
of a certain good man who had a
plantation of palm-trees, to which he
used to call the poor, and give them
such fruit as the knife mi^ed or the
«-!nd blew off. He died ; and his
sons felt loo poor to give anything
away. So they agreed to come ear-
ly in the morning, and gather the
fruit when the poor could Jiol know.
But in laying their plans, they omij-
tedto add, "ifit please God!" In the
night a stonn passed over the gar-
den, and in the morning it was as
one where the fruit had all been gath-
icred.
There are various ways in whicli
i-such a text could be treated. Our
speaker, changing his plan at the last
I kninute, irritated by the cold and un-
S>Tnpj.;hi2ing faces about him, and
by his personal discomforts, chose to
enforce this thought : there are those
who fhncy that all tlie fruits of grace
are Uieirs, that ihey are the elect,
and that those outsitle of their walls
shall perish with hunger while they
are feasting. Heboid, the whirlwind
vol- XIII. — 30
of the wrath of God sliall sweep away
the good they only seem to have,
and leave them jworcr than Lazarus.
It was a forced interpretation; but
the speaker was dextrous, and made
himself appear consecutive even
when he rambled most. With passion-
ate vehemence, he denounced those
sanctimonious souls who mistake a
curvature of the spine for humility, and
a nasal twang for an evidence of
grace. " I love not," he M.i<l, " those
cold and heavy souls that never take
a generous fire. One wonders If they
ever will bum — under any future ctr-
cumslauccs. They flatter themselves
that they are good and ju^t and rea-
sonable because they are emotionless.
It is not so. No heart is pure tliat
is not passionate ; no virtue safe that
is not enthusiastic. Is the diamond
lefs fine because it is brilliant ? Has
the sea no depth because it sparkles
on the surface ? Would the cannon-
ball go further (lung by the hand
tlian it does when shot from the can-
non's mouth ? Is truth always a
mountain crowned with snow? It
may be a volcano. A strong and
sweet thinker has said, ' The wildest
excess of passion does not injure
the soul so much as respectable sel-
fishness does ; ' and he says rightly.
I protest against the apotheosis of
phlegm. There are many phases
of good, and each has his way \ but,
for my part, I prefer the faults of
heat to the faults of cold. The form-
er are often generous faults, the lat-
ter never so. The faults of the form-
er arc on the surface, and can neith-
er be denied nor hid<lcn ; those of the
latter are deep-rooted, and may be anil
often arc mistaken for virtues. Who
were the great saints ? Look at the
reckless Magdalen, the vehement St.
Paul, the hasty St. J'eter. St. John
of the Cross quotes as an axiom in
theology the saying that God moves
all things in harmony with their con-
d
.-66
The House of Yorke,
I
stiiuiion; and ihc history of the
world shows that, when he ^vantecI to
kindle a graud and huly cuuflagration,
he took for workers combustible men
and women. Among the apostles,
the only one who was cold and cal-
culating enough to count money
and think of the purse when the
Lord was near enough to set all llieir
hearts ou fiic was Judas, and not
the worst Judas in the worUl either.
For since his time many a pretended
follower has weighed the Holy One
in a balance, and sold him for a
price, and has lacked the aftcr-gracc
to hang himscl£"
'* Let us pray 1"
It was only when Miss Yorke and
her brother rose, that the astonished
and scandalised congregation under-
stood that the sermon was really
over, and they were to stand up and
listen to a prayer.
The minister spoke in a voice yet
vibrating with excitement: "O Lord
God of morning and evening, of
storm and sunshine, of the dew that
bathes the violet and the frost that
cimcks the rock — God of the east
and the west, and all Uiat lies be-
tween them — God of our souls and
oar bodies, of bliss and of anguish—
O God, who aloiK rewardest failure,
who fix ihy mantle, which eludes our
grasp, gi%-cst us thy hand to clasp
— may all thy crcatores adore thee !
Our i>T.iisc goes up hke the note of
the small Uid in the branches ; but
thoa hjkst made us weak. All power
is thioel Oar bearu swell and
break at thy feet as the va\-Gs break
ttpoa tbe sboce; but thou hast set
ovr limit Space is in tbc hoUov of
thy baod I We lift oar eyes towani
tbee, and their gacc is baffled; bat
thoa, who seest all thiag^ hast
seakd their xtsaosu Glory and
hoDor and power be uato thc^ Ub-
praycrl
** And he calls that a
thought llie congregation.
" Why, it is like a CadioUc p
cr!" whispered Meliceciio herbi
er. "And he quotesSt. John of
Cross, and the Koran, and £i{e H^
mo. He must be an eclectic
ter."
The congregation went out
very glum faces, and scattered to
their various homes. Only the deacon
waitetl in the porch, as in dut>' bound,
to invite the minister home to dinner.
" I suppose you will go home with
me. Brother Conway," be said, frecz-
ingly.
" Conway T echoed the mi:
'' You mistake, iir 1 My name
GrifTeth."
I'hc deacon stared. ** We were
expecting the Reverend John Con-
way to preach to-day, as a candidate
for our pulpit," he said, eyeing Ur.
Griflett) suspiciously. " Do you cone
in his place ^"
.\n expression of perplexity,
stantly succeeded by ooe of
nant amusement, passed over
minister's tacc. Then he bccoiiK
grave. ** It seems that I have cofoe
in his place," he said, " but most tu-
wilUngly. Biothcr Conway met with
an accident which delayed him. He
sent his regrets to you by nw. and
hopes he may be here this afccmoon.
Good-morning, sir \ 1 wiU not burden
j-our hoqwtalizy to^lay,"
The deacon's £ace dcared.
was a blessed rehef to find that th^
wouki have no nratc to do with
man.
The stranger cnisse.1 Ac
to mhcre Meticeot an^ C^ stiU
gered, having ovciheatd this
satiiao. ** 1 beg fonr
said. *• Bw «ai you have the
Dcss to feeil me of what deooraioat
the duvch is in vhidi I have boen
, frecz-
unc ^H
were
Con-
lidalc
\ Mr.
co ac ,
'A
: tfi?^
U
The House of Vorkf.
the kind, I think, they call ' Hard
shclicd.' "
" God be praised !" ejnculfttetl the
tninbter, " t have got into ihc
wrong pulpit !"
Mcliccnt immediately insisted on
his going home with ihum. '*\Ve
can at least protect you from the
Hard-shells until yourown friends6nd
you," she said.
The invitation bein}; cordially giv-
en, and seconded by Carl, the minis-
ter thankfully accepted it, and they
startetl on their homeward way.
" My blunder is likely lo give great
offence to one-half the town, and
great amusement to the other lialf,"
he said, as they went along. " 1 am
truly thankful (o find a refuge from
both."
Mrs. Yorke received her unexpect-
ed guest with the greatest kindness;
Mr. Yorke, with the greatest cour-
tesy. It was one of the pleasantesl
families in the world to vi.sit. Not
easily accessible to everybody, nor
quick to form iniimacics, whomever
they did receive, they made at once
at home. There was a charming
case in their company- Your sole
reminder that they understood the
proprieties of life was the fact that
Ihey never sinned against ihcm.
Seated in the midst of the family,
who gathered about him, tlic min-
ister relate<l the adventures of the
last twenty-four hours to his smiling
auditory. Only two persons present
were grave. Kdith could yjerceive
nothing ludicrous in the circum-
stances. It was a most sad and un-
comfortable fact that Minister Con-
way should have got into the mud,
she thought ; and, a.s to preaching
in the wrong pulpit, that seemed to
her a very awful mistake. The other
solemn face belonged to little Kugenc
CIcavcland, five years old, Major
Cleaveland's youngest son. The
child was a pet of the Yorkes, and
always stayed wiilj them when his
father was away from home. He
had quite adopted them as his rel-
atives. Mr. an<I Mrs. Yorke were
his aunt and uncle. The others were
all cousins. Leaning on Clara's lap,
quite unmindful of her caressing
hanil in his hair or on his cheek, he
gazed with large, bright bhick eyes at
the minister, drinking in every word,
and thinking his own thoughts.
" Isn't your God as good as their
God is?" he asked suddenly in the
the first pause.
" U'e have all the same God, my
child," the minister replied ; nnd im-
mediately added lo the others, " I
perceive that we had better change
the subject, lest the little ones should
be scandalized. I fancy I even read
reproof in the eyes of your niece,
madam. And, by the way, she looks
like some solemn, medieval religious.'*
" It is odd she should suggest that
thought to you," Mrs. Yorke said.
" The child is a Caiholir. Come,
my dear, anrl show Mr. GrilVeth what
a pretty prayer-book you have. It
was given me by a very lovely and
zealous French lady whom I knew
in Paris. 1 thought it would do
Edith most go04i."
Edith approached the minister with
hesitation, half-pleased with him,
half-doubtful. But white he talked
pleasantly to her, glancing over
the book without a sign of pre-
judice, explaining and praising here
.ind there, her doubts were forgotten.
What the child instinctively felt was,
that the man had no religious con-
victions; but, her reason being unde-
veloped, -she could not understand
what he Inckeil When he learned
that she was half-Polish, he delighted
her by telling how, in the gloriou-i
days of Poland, when the nobles
heard Mass, they unsheathed their
swords at the Gospel, to show that
they were ready on the instant to do
I
The House of Yorke.
battle for the faith, and he promised
to procure for her a little handful of
eanh from the sacred soil of Praga.
He then repeated and transited for
her an anonymous hymn (othe Holy
Innocents, written in the fourth cen-
tury, and, at Mre. Yorke's request,
copied it into the prayer-book. It
ivasthis;
'SbItcIc, flofniDAnirnim.
l^noa Incia vpmm in linlns,
Cfciud laMcvtor MtUltt.
C«a tnibo iiuoeat«» nnu.
Vok, pr^M Chtklt vtetiBM.
Uiu inaolAtoruB Itosr,
Anm ante fp«aai. rimplka,
HiloM « coraniB tudltlt."
^^f Miss Vorke presently excused her-
^H self with the smiling anDounccment
^H that she must prepare the dessert for
^^ dinner, and CUra vmt out to gather
L flowers for the dinner-ubic, taking
^K Eagenc Cleaveland with her.
^V They roamed about the edge of
Uw woods, finding wild-roses and
vicdets ; they ventured into wet places
for the Woe fiower-de-luce ; Uwy
gatbeced. k»g plumes of fians* aad
in a dusky dobter where a brook
hid tuddcQ one of its wirulings, tbey
^^ favad a cardmal flower Lighting the
^H place like a tamp.
^^ Sutkfenly the little bof cried OIK.
and bcsan to dance abooc There
was a bof eooe away up m hk
I )ackei.bedodaRd.
^B Cbn acaicfaed faua. faol feand no-
^^ dear !" she 9mL *■ Come hoMevMW-
It B dioiMMiBn, lad yov masKhrip
Ml in iniMg.! iW inVrti Thnea
They went homewanl with their
Uiskcts of flowers, and cncountcrrd
on the way Boadicea Patten with h
baby in her arms. She bad come t
see her son and daughter, and was
trying to keep out of sight of the
front windows, where she saw a
stranger.
CUra Vorke iimnediatriy seized
upon the infant. No baby evi
escaped her caresses ; and (his ooc
the young ladics liAd taken andcr*
their especial diarge. They
plied its wardrvbe, and went to
it, or had it come to them e%'ery
week. It was a pretty child, brigbu
white, and weO-maDoered, with a
lordly air of takiag homage ■» if it
wrre due..
N^lien CUra eotcrcd the parlor, ^c
found only the gentlemea ami Edith
there; but thai cbd not prevent her
insisting on her little ooc being re<
ceired with enthosiaant She called
aneotKMi to die wooderfni dioqiied
shoulden and elbows pdBcd its cya-
Ikfa down pitfleariy to dsplay the
long Usfaes, nacnrted ks ydlov lodts
and let them creep back totti liags
wf/OBiy and crowixd it wtfli riolclB,
qnotsng Browning:
- \-WkrM HM^ oC tawai* ttt tek.
Then Ac u Mn giail dkc cfaAd i»
her tndMr. ** I have dimn ii ii_ cans
w anend to." she stid. ** «ad yoo
nmst aouae my beanty while I aa
gone. ' What Bnnt yoa do ?* lA.
lo it. of coiBBc. ' M'hat shall yoo
say?* HV. <>««■. do not be smpid'
Say w h a n Ml ym tarn ihiokaf
is nafeed «d the dMfiac's
Caoae^ Sofoae. w« hsre
I
besmpid!
Cari tookod M Ub dhtt«c wkh ^'
Tkt House of y&rke.
469
" WTial is your opinion concerning
the origin of ideas ?" abketl the youiij^
man, at length, wJOi great politeness.
Instiinily the little face brightened
with delighted intelligence; the lips
became voluble in a strange lan-
guage, nntl the dimpled hands caught
at Carl's sunny locks.
*' Oh ! for an iiuerprclcr," he ex-
claimed. " If we had an interpre-
ter, we could confound the savants.
Clara," to his sister just returning,
" what is this liiile ttTetch saying ?"
*' He is spying thai he loves cvcr>-
body in the whole worid '." she cried,
catching the babe in her amis, and
hatf-siifling it with kisses. "And,
now, please come to dinner."
" It is not a bad solution," mused
the minister, as he and Carl went out
last. " I'erh.ips love is the root from
which our ideas grow. Undoubtedly
Uie kind of ideas a person has de-
pends on the natiirc and degree of
his loving."
" Vou see th.it here we stand not
upon the order of our going," Clara
laughed back frcin the doorway ;
"or, rather, we follow the style of
ecclesiastical processions, and place
the principal [jcrson last."
There w?,s a cluster of yellow
violets by Mr. Oiiffeth's plate. His
eyes often turnsd on tliem, and
alway-.; with a grave cxpressiott
" They remind me of a brother 1 have
lost," he sr.id at length to Mrs. Yorke.
'* Philip used to paint flowers beau-
tifully, %nd a btmch of yellow violets
was the last thing he painted. If
you were not new-comers in Seaton,
1 shou'id think it possible that you
might linve seen or heard of him.
He v/ent to scliool here Co an old
minister, Mr. Itlake. the predecessor,
I Mieve, of Ur. Martin."
** i'hilip Griffelh :" Mrs. Yorke eit-
datnicd, blushing wiili surprise,
'Why, I went to school with him. I
recollect Urn perfectly. This is my
native place, Mr. Griffeth- Yes,
Philip was the favorite of every one,
teacher and pupils. He used to
help me with my VirgiL Mr. Ulake
made u* all study Latin, and the
boys had to study Greek. The min-
ister thought that no person shuuld
be admitted into j>olite society why
did not know one at least of these
languages. I recollect him, a small,
pompous man, with an air of fierce-
ness very foreign to his character.
lie wished to be thought a stern and
fateful personage, while in truth he
was the softest tnan alive. Wlien he
used to come to our house, and ex-
tend his awful right hand to me, I
always knew tliat the left hatid, hid-
den beiiinil his back, held a paper of
candy."
The discovery of this mutual friend
formed a strong tic between the min-
ister and his new acquaintances, so
that they seemed quite like old
friends. The family pressed him to
stay till evening, when they would
scud for some of his people to come
for liim; and he, nothing loth, con-
sented.
" Bui, I warn you," he said to the
young people, when they had retume<l
to the parlor, " that, unless you .illow
me to see you often, this bospifility
will be a cruel kindness, i should
find it harder to lose than never to
have had your society. I cou!d not
console m)'self with less than the
best, as this pretty rustic <hd." taking
up an illustrated copy of Mauii MUl-
Icr that lay at his elbow. " But
what a perfect thing it is !" he added.
Mrs. Yorke was just passing
through the room on her way to take
an afternoon sUsta, She pailsed by
the table, and glanced at the book.
"It is perfect all but the ending,"
she said; '' that is toopre-Raphaelite
for me. Doubtless it would have
hapi)ened quite so ; but I do not wish
to know that it did."
The House of Yorke.
*■ But should not art be true to-
nature?" asVed Mr. tlriflfclh. He
liked to liear and see the lady talk.
Her gentle ways and delicate, pa-
Uietic gra£:e, all charmed bim.
" Art should be true to nature
when nature is true to herself," she
repiltfd. '■ I am not a pre-Rapael-
ite. I believe that the mission of art
is to restore the lost perfection of na-
ture, not to copy and i>erpeiuaie its
defects. Otherwise it is not elcvat-
ing ; and what it makes you admire
chiefly is the talent which imitates,
not the j^enius which sees. I bclic%'C
that genius is insight, talent only out-
sight. My husband defines genius
as artistic intuition. >Vhy should
the {KKt have cheated us into loving
a Cair, empty shape ? If the girl had
been di.sappointed, and had lived
apart and londy to the end of her
days, the picture would have been
lovely and pathetic. But now it is
revolting." ^
*' I agree with mamma," Miss
Yorke interposed. " If Maud MQller
had married the judge, she would
never h.ive appreciated him. If she
had been capable of it, she could
not have condescended to the other
after hawngsecn him."
" I should believe,"* the minister
said, '- that, jf she had possessed true
wnhliiwpw of soul, she could not
hare so lowered ber^lf, even if she
had seen nothing better. To my
mind, people rise to their pcoper level
bjr spootaoeovB cocnbostMn, needing
noootvanJ spaik, wottkcn as well ats
men. The |>hdasQph]r of the Coouc
de GatMUis xoKf be vcty tnie «s to
gnoBKB. ^rlp^ *^ saljaundcn :
bat ior women I tUnk that such md-
ical duu^es never occur. Thai iltc^
ory bdoogs lo tbcue men wbo. «3
Mn^ downing ays, bciiexY that * 4
woman ripens, like a peach, in ibe
chcela chwtfy.' **
'*So wc bav« Jis poi tiJ of poor
Maud Mttllcr," said Mrs. Yorke. «' I
repent rqe of having been so banh
with the sweet child. Let u.*> say
that the poet wrongetl her ; that m
truth she faded away tnonth by
month, and grew silent, and shadowy,
and saint-like, not knowing what wait
the matter with her, but feeling a
great need of God's love; and to
died."
With a sigh tlirough the smile
her ending, Mrs. Yorke paired ito
l:»sly from the room. The sha
of »he vme-leaves seemed to
forward tu catch at her white
and the sunlight dropping through
turned her hair tu gold. Then
shadow ami sunlight fd) to the Boor
and kissed her loot-steps, missing ber.
Mr. Yorke was out walking abotu
his farm, inquiring of I'atnck. bow
many months it took in tliat country
for plants to get tfaansdves above
ground ; if green peas were due eaj|,
in September; if ciKumbets
not in danger of freeeiog before thrv
arrived at maturity ; if their wlwlc
crap, in short, did not promise id
give them their labor <br their pains :
and making various other depre-
cialor}* comments which his assistaiil
inwardly resented. The young peo-
ple sat in the parkir and improved
their acquainunce. Soon tikcy loiuid
lhenMri\-es talking of posonal mal-
lets and fiundy plans^ opedaUy tfa'
rrlating to OwtA.
Mi. GnSetb strongly ugied
icmaining in Seaton. **1 think
woukl far better to remain if
sfaoold conclude to ssudy Uw,"
sakL ** Yon ooidd pwsae yourstU'
aes heir witboal the <£stractiDas
a dtr bfc-. and roa could begin pnC'
ticc wiUi a cfeaKT 6ekL You woaU
at ooce be ptominrot here, but in the
ciijr tlwR «o«U be • cio«rd of able
aid nipcncBced pncbboocn in yow
way.-
***! vooU rather Lc seennd
thcT^
The House of Y^rke.
471
Athens than firat ia Eubtca,' " Carl
objected.
'* Undoubtedly I" was the imme-
diate response. " But you might
save time by tr)'ing your wings tn
Eubcea before essaying your flight in
Athens."
The sister eagerly seconded the
prn]Josal, delighted with any plan by
which they could keep their brother
with them and yet not injure his
prospects. Carl listened with favor.
His new friend had completely cap-
tivated him ; and, sure of such con-
geni-il companionship, Seaton ap-
peared to Iiim a tolerable place to
live in.
" Of coune, I am not quite dbin-
lerested/' Mr. Griffeth said. " I
want you to slay. But, also, it docs
seem lo me well. The place is pro-
mising. I am told that it has some
superior people, and that it is grow-
ing rapidly. My own coming was a
chance, and already 1 rejoice in it.
One impulse pushed roe toward the
south, another toward the north :
obeying a philosophical law, I came
east, and here 1 shall stay. I recog-
nized a Providence in it. May nut
you the same ?"
" Oh ! do Slay, Owen," Hester
said, laying her hand on ]iis arm.
" What can I do when the evening
star pleads with me ?" said Carl with
a smile. When he was pleased with
his youngest sister, he called her
Hcsper.
" And )-ou know, Carl, you pro-
mised to teach rac to spell, this sum-
mer," said Clara. " I cannot spell !"
she confessed to the minister.
" Madam, I congratulate you !"
he replied.
" But it is not ignorance," she s-nid,
blushing very much. " English
spelling is nothing but memory, you
know. Now, my memory is situated
in my hearty not my head, and it retains
only what I love or hate. You do
not expect me to be fond of voxels
and consonants, or enamored of poly-
syllables, surely."
The minister protested that he
was always enchanted to meet with
an educated person who could not
spell. It was, he said, the mark of a
mind which catches so ardently at
the soul of a word that it misses
tlie form. " I have no doubt," he
said, " that you might talk with a
person a hundred times, and compre-
hend his character perfectly, yet not
be able to tell the color of his eyes
nor the shape of his nose. You
could also go unerringly to a place
you had once visited, though you
could not direct a person there.
You do not gather your knowledge
like com in the ear, but in tlie gol-
den grain; and when anybody wants
the cob, you have to go searching
about in waste places for it."
Mr. Yorke came in, and presently
Mrs. Yorke, with a little sleep-misti-
ness hanging yet about her.
" Where have you been, auntie ?"
cried Eugene Cleveland, running to
her. lie had his hands full of dan-
delion curls, which he began hanging
in her ears, having thus adorned the
young ladies.
" I have been lo the land where
dreams grow on trees," she said soft-
ly-
"Mr. Griffeth says that I am a
little man," the child announced,
with an air of consequence. The re-
mark had been made an hour before,
and was not yet forgotten. The lad
had indeed an exceedingly good
opinion of himself, and never forgot
a word of praise.
Clara called him to her. " Vou
are no more a man," she said, " than
potato-balls are potatoes."
He sobered instantly, and went
about for some time with a very for-
lorn countenance. After awhile,
when she had forgotten the remark,
472
The House of Yorke.
I
he came back to her. " Cousin
Clara, do potato-balls ever grow
into potatoes ?" he asked anxious-ly.
In the evening the Universalist de-
putation arrived, and took their min-
ister Bway with iheni.
" Now, Pat, you marie nay words,"
said Betsey, as she saw the family
stand on Uie moonlight veranda lo
watch their ttsitor down the avenue :
" that man will marry one of the
Yorke girls."
Betsey consideretl the speedy m.ir-
riage of the young ladies a consum-
mation devoutly to be wished.
Patrick was slill smarting under the
insults offered to his garden, and
would not in any case have hailed
the alluQC< or a immster with the fa-
mily, '* Oh, boli ! rtiey wouldn't look
a( htm :" be replied crossly. " A
rogue of a uiatsier, with his nose in
the air!"
*^ I have cjncB in my bead," sud
Betsey with dignity.
** And a be<e in your bonnet," ic-
fnned ibcDUUL
BeOcy v«ikt into the boose, bang-
ed tbe door beliind her, and b^an
setting the kitchen to rights wiU)
great vigor. She swept up the hearth
so fiercely that a cloud of a^es came
cut and senled on the mantelpiece,
and put the chairs back agaioiU the
wall with an emphasis that made
them rattle.
Patrick put his head in at the
door, pcudendy keejung his body
out, and looked at her with a d^rc-
cating smile. " Now, Betsey I" he
said.
" You needn't speak to toe again,
to-night," she cadaimed, lookizxg se-
verely away from him. " Voa'^ve said
enough for one time."
" And what have I said to yoo,
Betsey ?-
She &oed him. ** I wonder if ta
your country it is coostdened a com-
pliment to teO a woman that sbc haa
a bee in her boooct," she aid.
"Ah! is that where ysa axe?"
said Pat, coming half into the roon.
** I iKk-er meant the least barm In skjt
tife. And. sore, Betsey, did yx
see a bonnet wiihooi a hf
I
V USK
CHAPTSK Tilt,
ffA
I
Obib soMDer mnrwnfc ICr. Yotie
a{]peutd al dke bicaUnmaUe with ft
very WOT Cioe. He was fatton, and
he had aoc de|>K wdL Em Hes-
ter's cooing ways fided to wu i Mtfj i
-Why, 70« are Cercnfa, ptpft,*
she said. -Yo«r hnd is hoi »d
He BMNred hkt can-
*'Vca. To« noihc
ch»n^ iinni I «f
I A^k ifeft MM km sBt «i-
alwawM^twah^: I
mfittchiaL*
Mss.YflABlcok
ooald be K inb e i &on hcf hudisa^^
bMit dkm lo be dsotalKd with any-
Ang Ac &L *We were datmb c J
by that feaiCid noise.* abe said quKdy,
tikiog her pKace at ^e table.
Owtt be^B CD laagjbL IheSoh
K» -CKMm haad- had heca ooc
ne Mght buoit. aad Ac joeog, naa
fei^J lawsdf Tciy mmA. a awacd hy
iL
*Da yo« ft
Xc.T«ikcL
The House of Yorke,
475
Father Rasle, the Catholic priest,
came here yesterday, and tliat Babel
of cow-be]Is, and sleigh-bells, and
mill-saws, and tin iruinpels, and wood-
en drums, and I koow not what clscs
was before his door. I call it a
shameful outrage."
" So do 1," Owen replied promptly,
" I ]iad no idea what it meant."
Thcyounx ladies all exclaimed in-
dignantly ; but Edith dropped her
eyes and was silent. Theology was
nothing to her, and as yet her faith
had no life in tl. She was deeply
a&liamed of that religion which all
seemed to scoff at save those who
tolerated it for her sake. Only her
promise held her to it. That the
voice of the people is not always,
is very seldom, the voice of (iad, she
could not be expected to know ; nei-
ther could she be expected to love
that church which as yet she had
heard spoken of only by its enemies.
She did not dream of forsaking the
religion of her mother; but her con-
stancy to it sci-'med to her of die
same nature as Mrs. Rowan's con-
stancy to her drunken husband.
After breakfast, her uncle bade her
dress to go with him to call on Father
Rasle. She obeyeil, though with a
shrinking heart. She had heard
priests spoken of in the street and
by the school -children with contempt
and reviling, and her impression was
iliat they must l>e very disagreeable
persons to meet. But the religion
was hers, and she mu&t stand by it,
never confessing to a doubt nor al-
lowing any one to reproach it un-
challengftl by her. And if she stood
by the religion, she must stand by the
liriesL
Father Rasle, being only a mis-
sionary there, had no house in Sea-
ton, but sloppcxl with a decent Irish
family. It was a poor place, and
the room in which he received Mr.
Yorke and his niece was as humble
as could well be imagined. But
there needed no tine setting to show
that he was that noblest "object on
earth, a Christian gentleman. His
age might have been a little over
forty, and his manner was almost
too grave and dignified, one might
think at first ; but it soon appeared
that he could be genial beyond most
men.
Mr. Yorke presented his niece, and,
before explaining their errand, apolo-
gized for die insult th.it had been of-
fered the priest the night before.
" Oh ! 1 certainly did not expect
the honor of a serenade," said Father
Rasle, laughing pleasantly. *' Uiit, if
it gratilied them to give it, I am not
in the least offended. It is, perhaps,
a loss to me that I did not care ; for
I might have derived some profit
from the mortification. On the con-
trar)', I own to you, sir, that I enjoy-
ed that concert. It was Uie most
laughable one I ever heard."
Wr. Yorke looked at tlic speaker
in astonishment. Here was a kind
of pride, if pride it could be called,
which he could not understand. In
such circumstances, his own impulse
would have been to shoot his in-
sulten down instantly. What he
despised he wanted to crush, to rid
the earth of, to si>are himself the
sight of; what the priest despised
he pitied, he wished to raise, to ex-
cuse, to spare God and the world
the sight of. it was admirable, his
visitor owned, but inimitable by him.
Not being able to say any more on
the subject, he then stated Edith's
case. " You will know what she
needs," he concluded, "and I shall
see that she follows your directions."
The father questioned his young
catechumen, and found her in a state
of the most perfect ignorance. " The
child is a heathen !" he said, in his
odd, broken English, his smile taking
the harsh edge off the words. " She
474
Tkt House of Yorke,
must study the catechism — Uiis little
one — and see how much of it she
will have to say to mc when I come
here again in a month. I will then
prepare her for her first confession,"
Edith uttered not a word, except
to answer his questions. She wxs
not sure whether she liked him or
not; she was only cettaia that he
did not offend her.
There was a HiUe more talk, then
Mr. Yorke rose to go, cordially invit-
ing the priest to visit him. As tliey
were going, " I think. Edith," he
said, '* that you should kneel and
oak Father RasIc's blessing."
She knelt at once, for her mother's
and her uncle's salEe,«ilh a murmur-
ed, " Please lu bless me, sir!" But
vhcn he had giren the blessing, lay-
ng his band upon her head, and
looking down into her face with that
expressioo of seruMu sweetneas, she
S^ ft dawning sense of iwercBceand
cco&ilttice, and pciceiTed dimly some
Mc re d ncB in him.
&e weni to Mass tlie next day in
the little cfaipel thai lud been dese-
cnted. Tfaepkt«c-franKss>fllhKi£
oa the vaUa, wish the ngi of dK
itotiQas in ibem. Tbcrewascaoagb
left lo diow bov Cbrat tbe Lord
bid saAred, aad tbis Mv iasdft vas
bat A brsbeaiiic of the origjanl tcoci.
Ur. Voiie sat oa tiM boBcb boide
b» aiKCi aad sbe «*9adi «t IcMit ot
««i viriiibe !««. Mt inibfrleiatifr-
•bMitalMM^bM^-
ed by ibc gwxvy lad «■■ ■■■
cf libose aravd bet Vbra
\ »as over, ibr pria^ «bo had
Biv. He bad SMe boab te
nade. I want you to keep it; and
whenever you arc called upon tosm-
fcr, and feel disposed to complam,
look at this, and remember that our
Lord was not even allowed to haii|
upon his cross in peace."
She took the crucifix from Iw
hand silently, and held it against
her breast as she went out. She i£il
not propose to endure suffering ; sbc
desired and looked for happiMv:
but something in thU rdic stknd
her to a strange ptty, minted witli
anger. The idea that lay behind it
was to her dim and vague ; but, fac-
ing to grasp that, she woold have
defended with her bfe tbe symbol of
that monstrous wrong and that hcar^
breaking patience. Reaching boae^
she went directly to her own cbm-
ber and hang tbe crucifix bcMUb
the picture of her £ufaer, then flood
and looked at it awhile. There m
a wish in ber bean to do iimaihaig
— to Oder some repamsoa to tbe id
Saflerer behind this image of faia-
She kned viib aoft KiK the fanfen
foot of tbe CI095, awl & uax SA
where she kjned. Sbe look it dowa,
aadpesed Ae toa^ n%e afMst
ber boaoa tS dbe ilnip fkoiaM [aer
ocd ^ sfeiaaad hro y gh t a. staia of
bbmL Tbci^ bcaziag aonihe OBC CM
bci^ she baoay m i lacaj it, aal
b i ii^ft b l as wm. dBam^ to it a pre-
deas boaqaet of iA6o»-«rases. tb«
Ciri bad piboed tba« ■ iiiim|. id
fc,a-» ii |Mr bttr. She I^hI ■*
>i lirrp irbfrwrnr nf nnf laiiiiaii
«ak «bick it «a& aiaBd.bat dov
k^aa to-
iioeddcal,-
Mr. Yorkc said, '* and I do not wish
to have that encouraged. It is not a
wholesome disposition. Her father
was a visionary, her mother was a
visionary, and she is — "
"A vision !" concluded Mrs. Yorkc,
as Kdith appeared, wiih the thoughts
of the last few hours still in her eyes
and on her lips.
About that time, CaH received a
Idler from Miss Mills which he read
many times. " You ask my advice,"
she wrote, " and you tell me that I
know better than you know yourself.
I would not claim so much as that,
but I think I may (ell you something
more clearly than you yourself per-
ceive it, or confirm you in sonic
thought which you doubt or wish
to doubt. As to your choice of a
profession aiul staying in Scaton for
the present, you might well try the
ex])eriment; but I cannot citpress any
great confidence as to the result. It
is almost a disadvantage to you that
your powers are so various. There
arc a good many things which, with
application, you could do excellent-
ly; whether you have any specialty
remains to be proved, and M'ill be
harrl to prove ; for, in order to find
that out, you must concentrate your
powers, and that you hale to do. If
this worUl were but a playground,
then you would have nothing to do
but follow in the trail of every new
beauty which calls you ; but life is
earnest, and you must work, or you
not only lose what you might accom-
jtlish, but you lose yourself. You
are one of those whom the devil finds
worth fighting for, and, lacking faith
to your armor, you h.ive all the more
need of labor. Qui hiborat omt,
might have a sort of truth even for
one without faiih.
" Let me warn you against two
dangers: one is, that you may be
injured by flatterers. Not that you
like flattery in itself, but it will soothe
your painful sense of not having
reached your own ideal. Ft will
«eem to you that your best must
have transpired at least, and that you
must have done better than you
thought. Not so; receive that sooth-
ing praise only when you have striven
hard, even though you failed, but
never when you have tried weakly or
not at all. What the flatterers like
in you is not your best, but your
worst. They have no wish for you
to rise above them ; they praise you
to keep you low.
" I warn you, too, against your
excessive love for the beautiful, in
which you arc an ultra-pagan. The
infinite beauty is alone worthy of
tiiat passion with which you seek
an<i admire; and infinite beauty is
infinite truth. Seek truth first, and
you will always be rewarded by the
vision of beauty; but, if you seek
beauty first, you will find to your
sorrow, possibly to your ruin, that it
is often but the mask of falsehood.
•' Lay aside some of your fastidi-
ousness, my dear friend, and take up
your life strongly with boUi hands.
Do something, even if it should prove
to be the wrong thing. Wrong work
done honestly prepares us for right
work. Slrengthcu your will, and be
manly, as a man should be. Disci-
pline youreelf, and you will escape
much pain and loss of time, for, let
nie assure you, Carl, you need either
an immensity of resolution or an im-
mensity of suffering.
'' My lecture is done, and I am
Minerva no longer. My thoughts
follow you with sohcitude and indul-
gence. On the night after you Icfl,
which yon spent on the sea, I went
lo the quiet chapel near me, and
placed you under the protection of
^lia Maris. liut life has waves and
gulfs more fearful than those of the
sea, and my prayers for you do not
cease with the end of your journey.
47«1
The Houst pf Yorkt\
" Look well at Robert Yorke's
child, rcmciubcrmg what the story
of my life is; anil then, if you think
thnt I could love her, kiss her on the
forehead for me, and tell her that I
semi a loving fcreeting."
Owen fohlctl the letter, and hid it
ill his l>osutn. He had lurcn walking
in the woods, and he returned thought-
fully homeward. 'I'hc afternoon was
sultry and still. The low brooks
hissed along like white flames, the
brunches ilrooped over the birds that
murmuml, and the flowers hung
wilte<t All about the house was
silent as he entered. Going through
the kitchen, he saw Betsey sjtting in
the Dottiiem window rcadiog a aovd.
Betsey was tbe xaast, roountk soul
alive, and, having got bold of Dmwd
C tffif J iti J , was oying ber eyes oat
otcr poor litde Doca. Pasaag on
to tlMsiisiag-iDoin,liefiD«Bdlusiuker
attiiig asleep in a de«p wkkcr^kair,
« copy of iKMIqev MfAd Xy'vag opcA
OA kn kace. 'llw qmet toac of the
book, fiuukttr by saaiy xeadia^^ had
«mI Us baod haddMiifed ««h tlw
be bad dosed hts cyo: *>! Imc id
Ionic mysM m a wy aaM y. k fmema
he approached her, literally to obey
the command of his friend, and look
well to see if his uncle's desencd
mistress could love his uncle's child
She was fair enough to love, for alt
the roughness of her former life had
passed away. The bloom of the lily
was in ber lace, wanned now to a
rose by the heat, and her hair had a
shine of gold.
* Dear little cousin," he said, **a
Griend of youis scads loving greet-
ing."
She sdrred, her face grew troofaled,
and she staned up « tth a cr>- : **Dk1ui
oomeback. 1 did not mean lo r^M
She sig^Md oa scemg U*en. ^^^
was dreaming that 1 had bint Dick,
and be was going avaj angry," Wk
said.
"Are yoa,tbea,9ofaodof hioir
Carl askod. seatiag bimseir by
*' O Cad r dw said came&dy.
hare no idea bov iood be t» otf*
" .\od Toa of bioL, tbca, of
said Cad.
•*Ulky, of oooner site ecbocd.
with a kmk of cnjaiae. - If X wc
u do aayihMg m Dick to aakc bn
labayipnf, 1 «Jbaold dctct Iwi^it i nn-
stK anv: 1 bai« — ^— i ban a
fesaer a^^i^. md loU ^b I m^L
bMiobea
*V«o W*cr sad Cad «sb a
«^y«.?*
"Ob vtx'dKStod
I While the great meo mho have
(Ircained of distinguishing their
names die and are forgotten, or at
least, as Juvenal said of Alexander,
become die idle theme of a rhetori-
cal recitation, those who in this world
have lived and sutTercd for God
leave behind them, through all ages,
an immortal memory.
The work for wltich each of us has
been sent into the world has been
conspicuously accomplished by the
saints. This makes them our right-
ful nvistcTS ; and, while we rarely
imitate them, we can at least under-
stand that such heroism must elevate
the soul, and we admire them all the
more that we feel ourselves unable to
follow in their steps. Nor is such a
recogniuon a useless sentiment.
From tlie mansion of glory whence
they see all tlittigb, the saints never
cease to interest themselves in the
affairs of the world, and among Uie
dogmas of the Catholic Church
which our estranged brethren have
rejected, the communion of saints is
one of the most touching and
sublime.
There is indeed bctMceu the two
worlds, visible and invisible, a strange
butundeniablecoinmuiiication. Each
of us, in investigating his own soul,
will find there certain phenomena
which have tlieir origin neither in
ourselves nor in the outer world :
sadness from no apparent cause, in-
explicable sensations of internal
happiness, bursts of enthusiasm or
tiuddcn inspirations which Flato at-
tributed to superior intelligences.
Many of us, recalling some miracu-
lously escaped danger, and profound-
ly touched by this heavenly protection,
will bear willing witness, unless check-
ed by dread of wurldly criticism, to
this iuHucnce of the saints and angels
on our human career. "The people,"
with the good sense which so happily
inspires them (at least, where the
sopliists have not succeeded in cor-
rupting them) — '* the people " believe
in it; and when the peasant or the
poor working-woman gives a name
in baptism to the child just entering
on the struggles of life, she believes,
in her simple, lucid faith, that she
is securing a patron for it. It is not
in vain, tliey say, that a young girl
is called Mary; surely she will the
more readily share in the sweetness,
the self-denial, the incomparable
purity, of the Queen of Virgins; the
name of Agnes will be a pledge of
innoceuce; tliat of ITiercsa promises
a heart of fire ; that of Cecilia, a soul
gentle yet strong, eager for harmony;
while the name of Francis recalls
heroic isolation ; those of Paul and
of John, indefatigable zeal and per-
fect charity. If it is not always thus,
it is because the human soul is free
to resist grace ; but these occasional
rebellions do not prevent a harmony
between heaven and earth as mys-
terious as it is sure.
These thoughts have frequently
passed througli our mind ; but one
day last October, while visiting the
church of St. Cecilia in Rome, they
monopolized it.
In sucli moments, we persuade
Saint Cecilia^
ourselves verj' easily that wc can
express them in writing. Vndoubt-
edty, they arc not new ; but. If the
life of this great saint, one of the
glories of Rome, is well known, it is
a stor)' which will bear repetition :
really fine old melodies never lose
their charm, and, if they thrill one
human soul with a divine emotion,
who will complain of hearing ihem
again }
HISTORY or BATVr CEOUA.
In ihc ycoj* 250 after Christ, in
the reign of Scptimns Sevems, at a
time when the Roman Empire was
still the mc«i formidable power of
ll>c wurld, there lived in Rome 3
young girl wfio will be fiunoos when
the itDpesial glorks shall be for-
gocten.
Benty, the ic fl e okm of bcarcn
in tbe buBSi covntconnce ; grace,
■WllcnOttB CnlRU wboW OCIglO IS IB-
inbto; BKXlesty, that exqdisiie rf
senre of a virpn soul ; nob&y,
pre ci o m perfnmc of ibe poM; aad,
above an, tbe power of kning, die
most oMgniftcem aDd the owsc
fo m vk M. pfctem of tl»e Ocator 10
nc crated: aH ihae gins we
vailed xk tbe daogbwr of OmSobl
It was aa Jmu iow s frafly: in ike
of dK Rcp^lie it
and
.•orhndii
tUfcFM^iiif.
jo-ibt, wbcn ttc DarcABFi w^acy
a day spent in die galiiiii of
RoMe, setting focA fttna ^be ci^
rising like a great tower, the tomb of
Coecilia Meiella. Tliere slept of yore
the long-forgotten aacestrcss of her
who will render immortal, for time
and for eternity, the name of
Caciiius.
Cecilia was eighteen. The Romaa
poor knew her charity. Often hati
they seen her in the caves of the
mart>'rs alooe, or only accompained
by a faithful servant. Her father,
although he respected her rel^oo,
did not share it : he hoped, indeed, It
a suitable lime to marry lits dau^iter
to some distiogttxsbed fausbasd, and
to see himself^ through her, live agais
in her beloved cfaiklten. Bat Cedii
had raised her beirt abov« dril
worid,and night and day prayed dat
tbe palm of v irginity she had dreia'
ed of should not be taken tfirom ha.
He whom her parents had choKa
for her seemed not nnwoft iiy aif tie
boDor. Thoi^ stOl a p*S*"i ^'*'
lenui pooeBcd ai least dkosewManl
gifts which piepare the sotil far bsA,
hope, and chuitTf tbe anperaaigal
gins of Const cracncd. Nevcrtk^
less, who can espRs the ic^n of (bt
ynnag CbriKtaa? Had not Cod
a < x e |* ed aflber heart asdkcfaadof^
feffed k? Coold a pagan nadcsCvd
tiiis nyslST, and wovid not dm
of die Bool whh an iuiiH tl r
a strange faBy |o a aHB
9tii fivvg ■ Ae weald of dtt nam?
MoR «teB oae ChhstUA 9o«l ^ tt
tbcK done daabcs. It cs htmatMe
10 bcafaMe btCac mine fiv a moral
a saoi ftee fat «ydi a voang gid
KMtawscaa Movant bendC
Gecfta Ut dbor Kn» avM acMk>r*
fc« sbe ln«d God «cl iiniatli ti»
KCi p< rf p ct WMflBMce n hbl So
1^ poaod fiarfk ber wbolc aoid ia
fvavcc, iB^ apa*i4 iB ""P^* trn*BO
■ UftaaL
m whe ^^vs af vhs ■oni^ we
band, ^he said to him in that incom-
parable conversation whose charm
has come down to us in her lift: :
"There is a secret, Valenan, that
I v/ish to confide to you. I have a
lover, an anjjcl of God, who watches
over me with jealous care. If you
preserve inviolate toy virginity, he
will love you also as he loves me,
and will overpower you with his
favors."
Much astonished, Valenan wished
to know Uiis angel.
" You shall see him," satd Cecilia,
" when you are purified."
" How shall I become so ?"
"Co to Urban. When the poor
hear my name, they will lake you to
his sanctuarj- : he will explaui to you
our mysteries."
Drawn by an unknown power, the
young man consented to go. We
know the result of this decision — his
interview with the I'ope in the cata-
combs, his conversion, and his bap-
tism. Still dressed in his white robe,
he returned to Cecilia. He could
now understand the love of the angels,
and its perfect beauty. In future, he
loved Cecilia as his sister in God, to
whom belong the heart and mind.
In those Christian ages others loved
as he did. Undoubtedly most of
them carried tJieir secret with them
to the tomb; but among those whose
genius has made them famous, Dante
had his Beatrice; Petrarch saug of
Laura: and these pure loves, un-
known lo the ancient pagans, and
scofiiird at by our modern pagans, will
remain an ornament to the soul, an
act of faith in its immortality, and
for us who read their history a breath
of heaven on cartli.
No one knows what conversation
took place, in those hours of rapture
and prayer, between this pair, whose
marriage was to be ixrrfected in
heaven ; what thanksgivings they
rendered to God, who in a moment
transforms hearts: nor would it be
easy to describe. Of all the arts,
music alone might perhaps dare to
actempc it, and the revelation would
require the genius of Handel or
Beethoven.
In his ardent zeal, Valerian, tike
Cecilia, understood the value of the
soul.
So, when the beloved brother
Tiburtius sought them, what elo-
quence they displayed to prove to
liiin that his gods were only idols!
Subdued by the mysterious charm of
the Christian virgin, conquered by
the eagerness of the convert, Tibur-
tius also wished to see the angel
who watched over Cecilia. If for
this it was necessary to be puritied,
purified he would be; and thus be-
came the first conquest of his brother,
who had besougjit God for it.
Such souls were too beautiful for
pagan Rome. In the absence of
Septimus Scvcrus, Almachius, the
governor, summoned Valerian and
Tiburtius before his tribunal, llie
two young patricians avowed their
faith in Christ, to tlie great scandal
of the worldly and prosperous. Va-
lerian went to his mart>Tdom as to a
triumph, He went to wait for Cecilia
in heaven.
Tiburtius did not forsake him. On
the Appian Way, four miles from the
city, they were beheaded for having
d.ircd to worship a different God
from those of the Kmpire. Cecilia
piously reclaimed their bodies, and
prepared to rejoin them. Called in
her turn lo answer for her conduct,
she disconcerted the judge. Before
such purity, innocence, and heroism,
entreaties, artifices, and tliteals failed;
the daughter of CasciUus, convicted
of loving the poor and a crucified
God, was instantly confined in the
bath-room of her own house, there
to be suflbcated in a hot vapor bath.
But in the midst of this fiery atmo-
Saint CeeiHa,
sphere slie remained uninjurtd. Tlie
stupefied jailers related how ihey had
discovered her singing the praises of
God. Such a delusion could but
provoke Almachius. The executioner
was summoned. Willi a Ugmbling
hand, he inflicted three wounds on
the neck of the virgin martyr, without
succeeding in severing the head.
Then, terrified himself, he fled.
Stretched on the Hags, bathed in
her blood, Cecilia lived three days.
TIic Christians gathered round her.
She was able to bid farewell to the
poor, to whom she had bequeathed
her property. Then, feeling her
strength Tail, while Urban was in
the act of giving her his blessing, she
drew her robe around her, and, turn-
ing her face away, gave back her soul
to God.
According to her last desire, the
Pope transformed the house that had
witnessed her martyrdom into a
church. The bath-room became a
chapel ; and by its arrangement bears
witness to-day to the truth of the
saint's life. One can still see the
moutli of the pipes which let in the
vapor, covcn:<t with a grating; and
on the same flags where the Roman
virgin expired, the kneeling Christian
can ponder in his heart the example
of heroism that she has given to the
world. He who has not had the good
fortune to pray on the tombs of
the martyrs cannot appreciate the
strength one finds there, or what pre-
cepts their relics give forth. The
naityis arc the incontrovertible wit-
swc»e$ of the ^-a1ae of faith, of the
power of love; and it is said that
their beatified spirits lend to lhes«
bone&i which were their bodies, »n
all-powerful eloquence.
The remains of the >*oung girl were
taken down into the catacombs of St.
CallLxtus, and remained there six
centuries. After the invasion of the
Lombards, most imhappily, all trace
was lost of them till, in Saa, the place
where tliey were hidden was revealed
to Pope St Pascal.
The long-sought coffin was placed
in the b.isiUca of St. Ceciha, which
had been repaired by the Pope's cart
It was placed under the high altar.
And even in our day the cuslodiaa
points out to the pilgrina a curiovs
fresco of the thirteenth century, rer.rf-
scnting the apparition of ihe s-iinl to
the steeping Pope. In 1599, Cardinil
Sfondrate ordered the tonab to be
opened with solemnity. To the fiat
delight of Christian Rome, the corpK
of tlie Roman virgin, respected by
centuries, appeared, miracuiottslypn-
served.
The chaste folds of her drcsi vtfe
restrained by a girdle. At her fat
were found the blood-stained docki
which had bound her wounds ; ad
her arms, thrust forward, still aevmrf
to serve as a veil. Three fingen rf
her right hand were open, only got
of the left, as if even in dying she
had wished to avow her belief iaoac
God in three persons. FifuQjr. »
that she might not give to the vnrU
her last look, but think only of Quilt
her spouse, by a supreme eftirt Ac
had turued her head aside.
Thus she reposes on her bief rf
cv-press; thus extended on tbe flagi
she had died ; and thus a great vtal
has faithfully represented her to ta
The celebrated statue of EtieoM
Mademo, I}'ing on its side, fiill of
modesty and of grace, seems tbe
dying virgin her^lf ; and the «hil^
ncss of the marble, which so i«M«lt4a
the paleness of death, adds yet aote
to the illusion. Seen in this boooceil
place, in this boose which was ik
saint's and has become God'ls tl»
masterpiece of Cttrtstian scuIpCUR;
admirably execnted and in ejujiiaK
taste, toaches the hean profbtuutK.
THE INFLUENCE OF ST. CECIUA ON
LITERATURE,
Such a beautiful story could not
fail 10 be repeated. As long as the
jierseciitions lasted, to strengthen
iticir courage, the faithful passed from
nioulh 10 mouth these details which
had been so affection alely collected.
So great, indeed, was the enthusiasm
for the memory of Cecilia that she
obtained the great and rare honor of
being mentioned in the canon of the
Mus with Saints Fclicilas, Perpetua,
Agatha, Lucy, Agnes, and Anaslasia.
nius for fifteen centuries, throughout
the Catholic world, wherever the holy
sacrifice is celebrated, her name is
invoked; and, truly immortal, each
hour, each moment jKrhaps, her
memory rises from earth to heaven
with incense and with prayer.
Her acts, chronicled in the fifth
centuT)*, have since then been the
subject of several works. We shall
only mention the Greek translation
of Himcon Metaphrastes, the verses
of Si. Adhclmc and of llie Venera-
ble Bede in Kngland, the works of
Flodoard at Rheinis, and Rhoban
Maur. Then, during that magnifi-
cent efflorescence of philosophy and
Catholic literature, we sec Victor de
Bcauvais relate the story of St Ce-
cilia;* Albert the Great, St. Thomas
Aquinas, Sl Uonaventure, preaching
several sermons in her honor. 'In
the fifteenth century, the eloquent St.
Vincent Ferrer recited her praises;
but the Reformation came soon after,
and it is only in Italy now that they
think of the glories of St. Cecilia.
In vain her history is its own de-
fence; in vain may it claim in its
favor the imposing testimony of
Christian tradition, in the East as in
the West, during fourteen centuries ;
in vain the liturgies of the churches
• In till Sffnlmm Hittorialt, lib. It., clup. ».
VOL. XIII.— 31
of Rome, of Milan, of Toledo, of
Greece, and of Gaul have inserted
in the office for the 22d of November
fragments of the text ; in vain even
the discovery of her body testified
anew to its veracity. Towards the
mi<ldle of tlie seventeenth century,
llie Jansenist school rejected it.
The historical works on the fiist
centuries of Christianity which dur-
ing the last forty years have been
undertaken in France and Germany,
by tracing out the original sources
with scrupulous care, and taking ad-
vantage of monuments, have dealt
justly with this excessive criticism.
But error is more prone to spread
than easy to uproot. Launoy, that
" great demolisher of saints," who, in
attacking the most poetic beliefs of
the faithful, strayed into the road to
rationalism, made a school. Fven
now Feller's Dictionary of Unifcnal
Biography, and, following him (for
these works usually copy each other),
those of Michaud and of F. Didot,
have repeated, on the authority of Til-
lemont and of Baitlet, that the authen-
ticity of the life of St Cecilia is ven,-
doubtful, although the arguments
cited in support of this thesis had
been successfully refuted by Laderchi
early in the eighteenth century,* and
annihilated for ever twenty years ago
by R. P. Dom Gueranger, in his ex-
cellent book on St. Cecilia.f
The touching story of St. Cecilia
must also inspire poets. Without
* Sec the nMti (if Jacqun Ladcichl In Ihe lift:
oTSl. CcriliA put)IKIiC4l by faiin, BnJ ibc tuitK lat
(i( meuoriftti which lie hucollected in her lionor.
Santl*Cfcili*. y. *tM.metar eiliitel Jacob lun
l^tdcrcblni. ■ VoIk. in 410, Kome, tfy. Ttw
work b rerf rare, but uuif be fiMtiid in iha Im-
]ieiU) Libmry, run*.
f Justice kod KDillludc obliev a> W acknowl-
cdae iho Kcml •Hraniacc vt-e luve leceived (rom
Dom (iiienn][e['itN>:>k. A& well writien ult lo
loracd, ll \f. btill (he b«xt history o( SL Ceodt*.
Bui Ihe learoeil Bcnedktlne ha* only Inurbed
•llfbtlf on Ihc fnl^nence of St. CedlU on the
fine arts, and we hare been obliged to {ill out
tlicse notes by pcnonol reieaich aud ijt>Mrvatloni
oude ia t recent journey v> luljr.
402
Saini Cecilut,
mentioning the ancient hymns to be
found in the Italian, Spanish, and
Oallii: liturgies, several poems in her
honor may be quoted. At the lime
of the Renaissance, Baptiste Spagn-
uolo nude it the subject of a real
epic poem, where we find, as in the
Jiififiil, the speeches of Venus and
Juno, and the conspiracies of the in-
habitants of Olympus against com-
mon mortals. The god of pagan
love, accompanied by bis mother,
comes sadly to Juno to complain of
the dialain of Cecilia, who wishes to
remain a virgin. Forgetting her re-
sentment, the wife of Jupiler inspires
the father of Cecilia with the idea of
uniting his daughter to a pagan.
Foiled in their attempt by the con-
version of Valerian, llie angr>' goddess
instigated Mars to suggc^it to .\lma-
chius the plin of drowning in blood
this Christian band, rebels against
the Olympian gods. Among the
nine hundred verses may be found
some fine ones, but we must confess
that these unfortunate pagan remin-
iscences, so popular in the sixteenth
century, ruin the poet's work for us.
ICappily, the Roman virgin was to
have her life, her death, and her
gtorics sung iu poems of purer in-
spiration. Angelas Tangrinus, priest
of Monte C-a&sino,* wToie on this
subject a long epitha1amiuni,'t which
lacks neither grace of expression nor
of thought.
The English poet Pope has also
written on ode to St Cecilia. The
poem IS elegantly versified, but cold
and unmarked by any Christian feel-
iitg. The classic author recalls the
magical effect of music in all ages,
nor has he forgotten the adventure of
Eurj'dice; he speaks with compla-
cency of the Styx and of Phlegethon.
of Ixion and of 3ts)-phus, of Proser-
pine and the Elysiao Fields.
feeling a pang of remorse, and
mcmbcring that he had dedicated
ode to a virgin martyr, he asse
that the |>oets must instantly aband
Orpheus and proclaim Cecilia
queen of music; for if the munci
of Thrace drew by his music a spi:
from hell, Cecilia by hers raised
soul to heaven.*
Very recently. Count Anatole de
Si^'gur has published a dramatic
poem, which seems to us the finett
homage that poetr>- has yet ofiered
to St. Cecilia. The style pure and
musical, the interest sustained and
engrossing, it merits the praises w
the best judges have bestowed on
and we should willingly quote
verses of this exquisite book,
we not prefer to leave our readcn
the pleasure of pausing it as a wh
and
i
THE INFLUENCE OF SAINT CECtLU
THE FWE ARTS.
We have seen die stotj of Sc
cilia insi>ire eloquence and
but it was destined lo exercise a
greater influence on the fine am.
There are, indeed, some genenl
rules for these intimate rtdations be-
tween art and holiness that it irottM
be well to remember. Besides, we
may say that the saints were Acn>
selves powerful artists. Win has
sought the ideal more eogeriy ihao
these indefatigable lorers of heavenly
things? But they have not coo-
tented thenisdves with seeking »•
finite beauty in an abstract fbrmj
they have endeavored, as Ua
was possible to human ireakoea»J
rcalicc it in their lifes. A% the i
4
•9c« SfUtt M'^kt ^f AUrmmif^ ft^. Oa*
" IM* fu( Mauc «■ St. C«caU's XWr."
1 1U wu dcMfmavd by Ike "AtaAtmi^ Praft-
^rte" (N«T, tM«L
t SL CttOU. m b«tte MML Br
Aaateic tf« S«ew. Om
tor cuts into a block of marble to
render it into beautiful forms, they,
with obstinate labor, have sought lo
model their souls, lo render them
more pure, less unworthy of God.
The contemplation of martyrdom, so
habitual to the first Christians, gave
(hem that serene dignity now be-
rome so rare. As a bride prepares
herself for the bridegroom, so did
tliese souls of virgins, of mothers, of
tlic young and of tlie old, endeavor,
day by day, to grow in grace in the
eyes of Jesus Christ, till the blade of
the executioner harvested them for
heaven. The soul, grow-n beautiful,
transfigures In its turn the body which
it animates, and the living mirror of
the countenance reflects strength and
gentleness, peace and ardent zeal,
purity and ecstatic rajiture. Thus
we may fairly conclude that Chris-
tianity has offered lo artists, ilirough
the saints, not only the jicrfcction of
form, but a type of human Iwauty
elevated by an cver-conslant love.
IJut why was St. Cecilia singled
out from such an innumerable band
of the beatified to become especially
dear to artists ? Many others, gifted
with all worldly advantages, in all
the radiance of youth and beauty,
died, like her, virgins and martyrs,
without attaining her distinction. We
will examine later the motives of the
musicians in taking her for their pat-
ron. As for the artists, they had no
long discussion on the causes of this
secret sympathy. Each one, when
he dreamed of heaven, iwinted Ceci-
lia, saying to himself, probably, that
there was not in the world a young
girl's face which could so perfectly
express the rapture of the soul listen-
ing to ineffable harmony.
Jt would re^juire time to glance
even hastily over the long galler>' of
pictures of which our saint has been
the subject We will only mention
the most celebrated. It is probable
that many, scattered through the
many g.-Uleries of Europe, have es-
caped us; but we wish only lo dis-
cuss those which we have appre-
ciated with our own eyes, and, also,
the limits of this article would pre-
vent our attempting to mention
all.
In order to preserve some regu-
larity in this e.xamination, and that
it may not become an adventurous
journey through all ages and coun-
tries in search of pictures of St. Ceci-
lia, we will separate these works into
tlirec classes, and, accor<iing to their
nature and their predominant ten-
dencies, we will class ihem, one by
one, in the sensualislic, rationalistic,
and mystical schools.* Neverthe-
less, we must say that here, as in
all other classification, the confines
of each class are very apt to mingle
with each other. Sometimes, in-
deed, in the same jncture one figure
will express sensuality and the others
religious emolion.t
But let us render judgment on the
entire effect of the picture and its pre-
dominant tendency. We must repeat
here that in all artistic works we note
two things: first, the idea of the art-
ist, and, in consequence, the order of
psychological effect — sensual plea-
sures, spiritual joy, or heartfelt rap-
ture — which the picture gives rise to
in the souls of those who behold it ;
* Tbk U not an arbitiary philnsuphic divwinr.
Il cormjionda to Uic tb^cauu^l<I■^e<'□gI]iMll by
the KTCNint ecniuKt ot anUquitT- or of mo*!-
etti tiincs— lluta, Atittdllc. UnKitucl. aci'l Malc-
btaiKbtf— th« wofld uf tbc senses, the wvrtd of
bnman thougbt, and tbe lUvine world.
t So tn RapbiH'H limniii pirlurr. the pearl tj
IbvgKUelvat UuloEcia; wtillo liseiar'.eiisvinbol-
URI ftnd licAvenly vciiUmcnl tempt us to tUn It
Kiaongr tbe mAstcrplecei of the nvstic school, tt
muU be cDDiauc'l Uial SL Macilalen has ■ very
mr/ify look. We knuw, alas, how Uils nuhte
form hu beon profuied by loiiie onius ; the vie-
lim, even kTler her penitence, of the Miatiial
tiiMev of the Kenai-vuiitr. she lemalneil a L-aur-
l«mi In tbe cyti of Titian aad Convfjeto; antl
the pagrant of tl>c kUtcenih century liaro turticd
our saiDt intuanviaiib lytuK in a Krotlo. orstanil-
ing vtilti only t>y Itar uuih*b oE lici long katr.
484
Saint Cecilia,
sccomlly, the exccuLion, the dex-
terity, more or less perfect, with
which the idea has been expressed,
and, consequently, the greater or
less satisfaction felt by connui:iscun>,
whom a special education has fitted
to appreciate the technical merits or
faults of a picture. These arc tw-o
widely difierent points of view; and,
to be just, one should specify from
which standpoint a picture is judged,
for it might easily happen that the
spirit of a picture would lie really
beautiful anil the execution ver)' fee-
ble ; the coloring perhaps unpleasing,
l!»e perspective faulty, or even the
drawing incorrect.
First, The sensual school. Among
the greatest geniuses, Kubens, per-
haps, falls oftenest into sensualism.
It is to Uic senses, indeml, that he usu-
ally addresses himself; hence the vi-
ndness of his coloring, ilic brilliancy
of the flesh, which seems palpitating
with life and ready tu rebound under
the critic's finger. But, indeed, except
*''i"he Descent from the Cross" and
*• The Kievation of the Cross," no-
thing could be less religious than
uiosi of his religious pictures. In
vain his "SL Cecilia" passionately
raises her eyes ; her plumpness and
her dress w^c only worldly thoughts.
Others may admire the intensity of
the tlesh tints, the lustre of the robes.
Wc think such e.xul>crjnt healdi little
suiiett to the young Christian who
watchcfl and fasted the more entirely
to give herself up to pr.iyer. As for
the pouring cherubs which frolic
Toumi her. ihcy are not adapted ftw
inspiring heavenly aspirations.
But let us look no longer to the
sensual school for a tj'pc of beauty
which it cannot give us. Let us see
how St. Ceciha has been understood
by those artists who, without trou-
bling themselves much to express
Christian ideas, have, at least, en-
deavored to satisfy the intelligence
and to appeal to the mind throD^
the eyes.
Second, The rationalistic scK
Oi all the painters whom wc
under the mime of the rationa
school (that is, spiritual without
ing Christian), liomentchino is
most celebrated, or, at least, the
who has consecrated the most
portant works to the glory of
Cecilia. His frescoes in the ch
of St. Louis des Pran^ais, ai Roi
are considered classics. There
see St. Cecilia distributing, front the
terrace of her house, her gartnents to
a crowd of poor people, who, in p
turc^ue groups, arc disputing o
them. Then, Almachius, on
judgment-scat, commandmg, by
imperative gesture, the saint to sa
lice to the idols. But she expr
with dignity her horror; and it is
vain for the priesis to ofter a goat,
and in vain incense smokes oa a
pod before a statue of Jtrpiter. H
Cecilia dies, surrounded by
women ; some watching her,
putting the blood from her wounds
into rases by tlte aid of sponges.
the meanwhile, the Pope, U
gives her his blessing, and an an
brings her, &om heaven, a cn>
and a palm. In yet another
an angei presents crowns to
and Valerian. .\nd last, on
ing is painted the apotheosis
saint supported in the arms of an
and borne to heai-en.*
But Domenirhino's picture in the
givat galler}- of the Louvre is now
generally known than the frescoes
of St. Louis. Here Sl Cecilia
standing, and white slie sings
glories of God, accompanying het'
self on a violoncello, an angel of-
fers her a music-book. Bat she does
not heed it, and nises to bearcn
tMT Lm«b* la hto (Httt bnok an lh« Uh I
«r cvkbcatad a^BMn. Sm W»
LU 410. Pul*, •!•>
4
Saint Ceciiia.
48s
leycs that seem just melting in tears.
rndoubttdiy the head is truly digni-
and inspired, but we must regret
tliat the religious sentiment is not
more manifest in this fine picture, for
without the nimbus round the head
one might take Uie saint for a sibyl.*
Guido, with his usual grace, has
represented Cecilia dying, lying on
her side, as in Maderno's statue.
She has, however, her arms crossed
upon her breast, and the head is not
turned aside ; two women staunch
her bleeding wounds with cloths, and
in the background an angel holds a
palm, which he hastens to give her.
To Annibal Carracci is usually at-
tributctl ihe St. Cecilia which u to
be found in the Museum of the Capi-
tol at Rome. At all events, one
easily recognizes, by a certain shade
of naturalism, a work of the Bologna
school. As before, the saint ia sing-
ing and accompanying lierself on an
organ ; but here, we see beside her
the Blessed Virgm holding tlie in-
fant Jesu.<; in her arms, and a Do-
minican priest— expressive faces, ap-
parently enraptui-ed with the celes-
tial concert.
The majority of French artists,
above all in the reign of Louis XIV.,
belong to the rationalistic school.
Tlicir composition is clever, tlieir
drawing correct, the style dignified,
sometimes almost theatrical. They are
indeed almost always natural, but
with ilie exception of some of Le-
Bueur's, one rarely perceives in their
works Ihc inspiration of a superhu-
man emotion. There are in the gal-
leries of French art in the Louvre
two pictures which do not contra-
dict these obser\'ations. Jacques Stel-
la, who lived during the first half of
•There aro two more pldurct of St. Cecilia
hy Uumcnii;hino. One ih iti Ihc Ko«pi|;UcMl
PalicG at Kaiac; ibe aUici wnt in EnfUnd al
th« bfiiiinnifif ^ti ihis caniury. S«« Ihc enxnv-
incs alrcaily ncDtioned in Laadon.
the seventeenth century, has left us
a St. Cecilia. She is standing play-^
ing on an organ, her eyes modesll]
lowered, while two angels are singj
ing at her side. She wears a wreaths'
of rosea in her hair ; but, more charm-
ing than inspired, resembles the por-
trait of a young girl of the age of
Louis Xlli. with a taste for music.
Mignard's picture is, however,
more celebrated. Of finished exe-
cution, perfect in detail, so that
even the glimpse of landscape seen
through the pillars of the portico is
treated with great care, it inspires
artists with admiration aibO by the
beauty of its coloring. The saint,
richly dressed, and wearing a large
turban, which gives her a very orien-
tal look, is seated playing on the
harp. No wonder that this picture
pleasetl the king, or that he desired
it 10 adorn his collection. Unfor-
tunately, all this magnificence fails to
move us. Wc see the Persian sibyl
executing a prelude to her oracles, but
nothing reminds us of Rome and the
early mart)"!?, and neither in the pit-
eous figures nor in those ujjraised eyes
can wc trace any Christian feeling.*
Third, the mystical school. Beyond
the region of the senses and of that
which usually bounds the human
spirit, opens the supernatural and di-
vine world. One cannot enter here
without a pure heart, and to enjoy
its beauty we must by prayer and
humility, those two wings of the soul,
rise above ourselves and transitory
things. Tlius the mystical school of
art, disdained by hypercritical con-
noisscurs, requires a sort of nioral
* In Ihi* t«ci)t>d Kcli'wl may b« cla«s«d lh« pic-
tures of Paul Vetonc«e and at GaluluTo In Ibe
I>re«deB Museum. As for Carta Doloe'a SL Ceci-
lia. UbCar tweeter, and (onnsUteconiwcUDClliik
hetwecrvlheraiir>n>)lvt(cu)dmysiICKtiooli. We
tiBTV not Men llie plctute, wblcll i> la Ibe Hu-
Mum at Die*acii, tiuL U hu becootfi welUknown
throagh cornirlBfB, tod bas been pHbl'talicd bj
!M:bulcerall*aTii.
486
Sainl Cecilia.
prcpartition, and might write above
iti dour, as a siluUry warning, " Let
none enter here save him who loves
God ctuircly." It is here that wc
inurt fiitrtlly seek ihc type of St. Ce-
cilia in nil \\^ >»upcmauiral beauty ; a
huinau face illtiTiiinatcd by ecstasy,
W« shall only ineiuion, for tht; sat-
Ufaction of aniiiiuaries, the St Cecilia
or Cimabuc ai the cittraiice to the
magnificent IJtfi/i (LiUcry at I-lorence.
This also ii a type of the llyi-mtine
vir^n, not however wiilioiu a certain
majesty in its siiflTucss. I-'ar more
celestial is the impression led on us
by the St. Cecilia of blessed Fra ;\n-
gelico tla Kiesolc, in that wonderlul
|)iclurt' of the " Inr.oromuionc deila
V'cruine," w hich so worthily com-
mences ibc great gallery of the
Louvre. Cecilia is in the fore-
ground, close (o St. Magdalen, re-
cogniiable by her long gulden hair.
Entirely absorbed iu the coutempla-
tiaa of Ctuisi, and indificrent to the
wortti, she turns away, so that one
seei ooly the long Une muitle and
the crowa of nues. emUcms of vw-
ginity, whkh cncircks her bead.
Ncv«nbe)«ss the kst pnAk wlach
we can ooljri^uce u is ooc viiboM
mdJMBt viib tow wd pariljr.
To the mjfSiatl scIkmI abo
be areibl c J fv« bak pktaa by
PiDlwkcMo m *e fate? ai
vladk VCR Mc^ adMMd hy Oa»
marriage with Valerian, and her fu-l
nerol ; six other scenes were painted '
by his pupils, G. Francia, ChiodarolOf]
and Asperdni. The two represent-
ing Pope Urban instructing Tiburtius,
and the virgiJi di:>tribuung her pro-
perty to Uie poor, are cousidcred
Lorenzo Ca&ta's masterpieces. But
it is to the Museum one must turn
to admire the St. Cecilia of Raphael,
one of tlie most beautiful of pictures^,
and certainly the most splendid ho-
mage olTered by art to the Roman
virgin. It was to be seen in Paris]
from 1798 till 1S15, when it wasi
taken back to Bc4ogiui ; and ii
well worth a vo)'age across the Alp&l
Inciting fall the organ she stiQ re-
tains in her hands, St. CeciUa. stands,
seeming to listen in acnasy to tbe
concert of angds, coatenplaitng iba
transporting choir, which tbe aitsA
has reremled in tbe jrmwoiiig dcica.
At her side staad Sl Jobn, 5l Paul.
Sl Magdako. and St Ai^wuk^
ai her ficet be tbe brafcm insmBBcaB I
of eoudUy nwac ApfoseaiiT- SU-fl
pbad wisbed 10 icc^ikwhtc oa 1^^
safafiine pa£e tbe k^gbett pvcDcpti if
pbikaophj-. Hcsc ■ tyiwawi by Ae
of riK seno^wfaae boB&wc ^^
btcak. aad&aeoBchcBfioK. B«
Ibis MtBiil wvdd. ^ aB^B itf *e
is s
iliadfi
Da «c
?
fmd yourself overwhelmed by a tliou-
sand cares? Behold St. Paul, the
apostle of nations, who also expe-
rienced pain, labor, shipwrecks, and
dangers of all kinds ; nevtrtlieless,
leaning on his sword, he meditates.
Finally, are you philosopher? or theo-
logians ? Behold St. John, the mas-
ter of you all. Radiant, he contem-
plates the enrapliired saint, and seems
to say, " Forget yourselves for a
space ; turn from the sound uf human
words ; like Cecilia, listen to the ce-
lesticil harmonies of the Word. Look
at this young girl. She has known
how to find love, peace, and happi-
ness." •
According to M. Passavant,t it wtis
also the history of St. Cecilia, and
not the martyrdom of St. Felicitas,
as is usually believed, which formed
the subject of Raphael's fresco, for-
merly to be atlmired in the chapel
" De la Magliano" at Trastavere.
In 1830, an unknown vandal of a
proprietor bethought himself of cut-
ting a huge gash through the centre
in order to place a " pew, where he
could hear Mass witliout mingling
with his scr\*ants !" 'Ilius mutilated,
the fresco was transferred to canvas
in 1835, and has probably been
bought by some more enliehtened
connoisseur; hut the most enthusias-
tic appreciation cannot now repair
such outrages.
Among the modems, we shall only
mention, in Germany, the St. Cecilia
of Molitor, whose attitude reminds
us much of Raphael's. Certainly it
has not the same nobility of style,
but we 6nd there the charming
grace of the DQssetdorf school. In
France, wc may mention wiih praise
the St. Ceciha of Paul Delaroche.
* RjiplucI hKi also reprcaeated Sl Cecilia beu-
'.og wiinew to rhrl« at ilic linnb, Tlib mar be
Men at \ht Museum al Napt>«. Uum Gueran-
f«rconi>tder*U)e typeof Ulu nidure far blx'^'^
ilMfKanjr of the otbcn.— C. K. Vaaarl. L U). p. 166.
t Rat>lu«ld'L'tbla, t. IL, p,t;}.
Seated on an antique chair, dressed
in a robe falling in long folds, the
virgin with one hand restrains her
mande, bordered with a fringe of gold,
with the other she touches a little
organ presented to her by two kneel-
ing angels, under the semblance of
pure-faced boys. This .sweet picture,
full of poetry and grace, is a happy
contrxst to some others, and makes
us the more regret the painter uf this
Christian martyr, so beautiful and
chaste — ^night brooding on the face
of the waters.
But of one art St. Cecilia is espc-
p«cially the patron, and that is mu-
sic. Why the Roman virgin was
chosen from so many others, would
be very difficult to explain with any
precision. The mystic sense of the
tradition which makes Cecilia the
queen of harmony is now lost, and
on this point wc are reduced to con-
jectures. Let us hope, however, that
the conjectures wc shall advance
may seem probable after a litde re-
flection.
Undoubtedly Cecilia, the daughter
of a noble family, enjoying all world-
ly advantages and instructed to please,
was taught music. \Vithout doubt,
also, she consecrated to God a talent
acquired for worldly ends ; and in
the meetings of the faithful in the
catacombs she must have taken part
in the psalms and canticles. But
the most weighty argument in favor
of this glorious patronage which the
ChrL<itian ages have ascribed to our
saint, is the sentence from her life in-
corporated in the Roman Litany:
" Cantaniibusorganis, Cxcilia Domi-
no dc;:antabat : Fiat cor mcum iin-
maculatum ut non confundar."
In Janu.iry, 1732, a Jansenist cri-
tic, otherwise entirely unknown,* re-
marked, in the Mercury of France,
** that the selection of St. Cecilia as
* Hla oamc waa M, Bottd de Toulacml, It tp-
pnus.
^
ietmi
.ealta.
the patron of music was not a gootl
choice." Indeeii, he says, a Hiile far-
ther on, "we can easily see that this
saiiU was very insensible to the
charms of music; fur on her wed-
ding day, while they played on seve-
ral instruments, she remained absorb-
ed in prayer." • Poor man ! he could
not get beyond the outer husks of
things, and the material side of art.
He did not know that elevated na-
tures naturally respond to liunian
music by prayer, lliat heavenly mu-
sic. And undoubtedly, he had never
heard those sublime melodies which
a loving soul sings to itself^ and of
which the most beautiful concerts of
this world arc but a feeble echo.
Hut the Christian people had a
belCer inspiration. They understood
tliat mu-sic, and, above all, religious
music — the most beautiful of all,
whose highest aim is to free us from
the senses and lift us out of ourselves,
in order to raise us to God — might
well be protected by this young girl,
whose soul had become like a lyre,
from which the faijilest breaiti will
wake harmonious vibrations &nd
who, virgin and martjT — while for
three days she lay on the bloody
flags, seemed in a long song of love
to render back her spirit.
In Rome and Italy, musical socie-
ties early placed themselves under
the patronage of St. Cecilia. We
find one in France, founded in 1571,
at Kvrcux, '* by the choristers ofthe ca-
thedral church, and other pious in-
habitants of this city, for the purpose
of learning music," Henry III.
gave letters patent to the "Society
of Madame St. Cecilia." establish-
ed at Paris, in the church of the
" Grands Augustins," by zealous ar-
tists and amateurs of music. Tliesc
societies disapixrarcd with many others
• DicH»»»ry */ riaim Chmnl, \a (he Tkt*t»fi-
in the revolutioiiar)* troubles, but tfieir
charitable intentions have been reviv-
ed. Every year, on the azd of Novem-
ber, the yVssociation of Musical Arliiits
gives in die great church of St. Eus-
tachc at Paris a musical mass,* wh
proceeds are destined to relieve their
sick and [Kior members. Undoubtedl/i^
one might often wish more religious
music. These pretended masses are far
too theatrical to seem much inspir-
ed when compared to the oratorios
which Handel and Beethoven have
dedicated to St. Cecilia. Nor is it
there that one could find pious medi-
tation. Nevertheless, we may still
rejoice that at a time when material-
ism has corrupted so many hearts,
these solemnities slill attract crowds.
Indeed, one may say of music as Tet-
tullian baid of Uie soul, tliat it is natu-
rally Christian. Tudraw the soul from
all that occupies it, weighs on it, and
destroys it, to sustain it by prolong-
ed melody, inspiring dreams of ia6ui-
ty, is also to elevate it above itself,
and gently prepare it for the broken
utterances of prayer.
We know, tlien, that St. Cecilia is
powerful enough in heaven to turn
an idler into yet another Christian.
Never in vain was slic approach-
ed while on earth, or her memory
celebracefl since she has reigned in
heaven. She has held her court of
htt^rateurs, poets, painters, and musi-
cians, men with impassioned hearts,
wliich she has gently drawn toward
heaven, l-'or each she has obtained
some spcci.il grace. Let others
come ; for the treasures she distrib-
utes are never exhausted.
In the early Christians who read
her hi^tor>% she inspired love of puri-
ty and a martyr's strength; to the ar-
tists who have striven ^o represent
her, she has revealed a t)-pe of beau
* At BruMck thb miLa Is sang la St. Gndule.
Disiliusioned.
4^
ty unVoown on enrlh. For the most
humble of her servants, she has
smiles which heal the soul wuiuler-
lully. Who has inspired more master-
pieces ? who has been more loved
than this virgin ? who is more alive
than she, who has been dead for six-
teen centuries ? But, martyr to love,
she died for Christ Is this really
dying?
DISILLUSIONED.
I BLUSH that I am Kngland's son t
Vet deemed her once the inviolate home
Of matchless freedom nobly won :
And little thought the hour would come,
When, freer on an alien strand,
My soul should scorn its native land.
How mocks my ear the idle song
That " Britons never shall be slaves "
Theie Britons have been slaves so long
To fraud and falschomi, fiends and knaves.
They spurn true freedom's very name,
And, self-duped, revel in their shame.
O Albion ! once the " Isle of Saints,"
The " Dower of Mary," what thy crime ?
Not sternest pen — not envy's — paints
The annals of thy gohlen time
In aught but glory. Whence the call
For such a vengeance, such a fall ?
A tyrant's lust, a woman's pride,
Could rend thee from the parent stem.
And lay thee wither'd by the side
Of barren branches— <:ur5cd with them I
Save that thy head was too elate,
What hadst thou done for such a fate ?
And oh! if thou hadst welcomed back
The Chriatless worship of the Ce^,
Thy darkness were of hue less black —
Were less like Egypt's, " to be felt " I
Twcre rather twilight of the mom ;
Another day might still be bom.
But no : more hellward yet thy fall !
To turn and trample in her blood
The Mother who had brought thee all
Thou ever hadst of highest good :
4^
Dtsiflusioned.
Behold 3 guilt — ay, dcepHer dyed
Than blinded Juda's deicidc I
And lo! a sleek usuq)er now —
Meet tool of perjured ruyaJty—
Rears shameless her apostate brow :
Her creed a sham, her claim a lie !
The children's bread no more divine,
A hireling throws them husks of swine.
This vaiuitcd cLiurch, tbcy built her stout :
And if by dint of fellest strife
She failed to crush and strangle out
Her foe's iropcri^iable life,
Twas not, I ween, from lack of force,
Or craft of state, or base resource.
Twas not itiat mildness ruled the day.
And penal codes were voted down ;
And fair the question, fair the play
From chair and pulpit, bench and crown ;
While forgery disdain'd to vie
With slander in the dextrous lie.
But more. As harlots aim to link
A sister's ruin with their own
So thou, my England, couldst not drink
'Vhc •* cup ofdeviU " quite alone,
Hut needs must press it on a shore
The riv.il of thy light before.
And Erin loathed it. There's a prayer
'Hint kept her then, and trium|ihs still.
'Twill take thee more than hate may dare
To break the Patrick in her will :
Though treachery u'os the lurking sin
That sold the soil thou couldst not win.
And what, at last, has hate achieved ?
For her, thy victim, such a name
As points — and must, to be believed —
To thy long parallel of shame:
The Isle of Martyrs — jwerlcss gem
In Rome's thick-rubicd diadem.
Nor this alone. Not vainly fled
Her patriot sons thy cruc! hand ;
Not vainly to the West were led.
Where the great future's chosen land
O'er ihralless ocean beacon'd fair,
To find God's mission waiting there.
Jm-v, 1868.
Disillusioned.
Thus, England, has tliy baffled rage
But spread the faith it sought to slay:
And lo I the nations see thee wage
The bigot's combat ev'n to-day !
They cry : " Her very pride is o'er :
The lion in her wakes no more !"
FooI^-douWy fool ! Art thou so strong
No mightier arm can lay thee low ?
If patient heaven has liiigfr'U long.
This hour thy last — for wtal or woe :
And what 'twere penance to accord,
Wilt thou but forfeit to the sword ?
Enough. My heart is too much thine
To curse thee, though I blush to own :
Too fon<lly prized thee as a shrine,
Too proudly hailed thee as a throne :
And, turning from the bitter truth,
Finds sweetness in tlic dream of youth.
For memory gathers in that dream
A fragrance as of morning dew :
The freshness of the grove and stream,
When Nature woo'd me first, and knew
So well to draw roe to her breast,
And wed me to her love's unrest.
And if henceforth I twine my wreath
To crown the land where now I sing.
Content to pray in peace beneath
The shadow of her eagle's wing ;
"Tis not that charms of clime and scene
Estrange me from thy gentler mien.
It is that truth is chainless here,
And swift her march from shore to shore;
And little need her children fear
For coming days — though clouded o'er j
For tiod must shape a gracious plan
Where truth is free, and man is man.'
W
* Though tbc abore llnc^ wrre wiltteri licfnre ibeilKe<iU)itiHt)tnenl a\ the Slalff Church la IrtlaiMl,
ihsir authoi') tn<l>eniilinn hA« hecn llttU apitm^eit by !hae extnrtcd act nf juttice. Th< mcuur« mm%
unmccompftnid by aoy aiiempt ki lEfiMiaiiitn liir lh« pau. A( Uis very least, the nli) Caihutic
cburchH Dii;$b( Inva been returned o their U«rful owneis. Aad it Uiore bdv f,\^n Loilav of full \\x\.
Uce ever betdc done or haU-doBflf Nono-«icopt la theevsnt of divine Tcc^eancc forclitKEnKUnd
tofcncc! toborgcnerouirictim ana *iii« tob« torgiroo." I^Ul. ^1.
Sir John Lubbock, though his
name is not euphonious, is, we im-
rlerstand, an English sdcntist, highly
distinguished and of no mean autho-
rity in the scientific world, as his fa-
ther was before him. He certainly
is a man of large pretensions, and of
as much logical ability and practical
good sense as we have a right to ex-
pect in an English scientist. He, of
course, adopts the modem theory of
progress, and maintains that the sav-
age is the type of the primitive raan,
and Uiat he has emerged from his
original barbarism and superstition
to his present advanced civilization
and rehgioiis bchef and worship by
his own energy and perscvtring ef-
forts at sclf-cvolution or development,
without any foreign or supernatural
instruction or assistance.
One, Sir John contends, has only
to study and carefully ascertain the
present condition of the various con-
temporary savage tribes, or what he
calls the '* lower races," to know what
was the original condition of man-
kind, and from which the superior
races startc<l on their tour of progress
through the ages ; and one needs only
to ascertain the germs of civilization
and religion which were in their ori-
ginal condirion, to be able to compre-
hend the various stages of that pro-
gress and the principles and means
by which it \\^s been effected and
may be carried on indefinitely be-
yond the point aheady rc'iched.
• /■** Ori^m */ CirilitaHfn awJ Ik* Primi'ii»f
C9Hdili«m r/ <■/«» . Mrm/aJ mmtJ Srn-tJ C**Jili0»
*/S»9Mt**. Bt Sir John Lnbbock. B^t^ H.P..
F.R.S., etc. New Vork : D. Apptetoo A Co.
•fl7U i6«M, pp. jlo.
Hence, in the volume before us the
author labors to present as a trne
picture of the present mental and so-
cial condition of contemporary sav-
ages as that of the primeval man.
He assumes that the mental and so-
cial condition is that of the infancy of
the human race, and by studying it
wc can attain to the history of •* pre-
historic " times, assist, as it were, if wc
may be pardoned the Gallicism, at the
earliest development of mankind, and
trace step by step the progress from
their hrst appearance on the globe
upward to fhe sublime ci\'iltzation of
the nineteenth ccntur>*;— the civiliza-
tion of the steam-engine, the cotton
spinner and weaver, the steamboai,
the steam-plough, the railway, and
the lightning telegraph.
This theory, that finds in the sav-
age the type of the primitive man, is
nothing very new. It was refuted
by the late .Archbishop Whalely, by
the Uuke of .rVrgyll in his /Vimts^
vai Man^ and on several occi
by the present writer in The Catuo?
Lie World. The facts Sir John ad-
duces in the support of this theorj*,
as far as facts they are, had been
adduced long ago, and were as well
known by us before we abandon*
the theory as untenable, as they
by Sir John Lubbock or any of
compeers. JTiey may all, so far
they bear on religion, be found sum-
med up and treated at length in
the work of Benjamin Constant,
Hi/ighn eomiderie dans sa Stmnf,
ses Devdoppementit ft us Formes,
published in 1832, as well as la a
mass of German writcn. Sir John
Origin of 'Civilisafion.
493
has told us nothing of the mental and
social condition of savages that wc
had not examined, we had almost
said, before he was bom, and which
wc had sii])poscd was not known by
all men with any pretension to seri-
ous studies. In fc^t, wc grow rather
impatient as we grow old of writers
wlio, because they actually have learn-
ed more than they knew in their cra-
dles, imagine that ihcy have learned
so much more Uian all the rest of
mankind. No men try our patience
more than our scientific Englishmen,
who speak always in a decisive tone,
with an air of infallibility from which
lliere would seem to be no appeal,
and yet utter only the veriest com-
monplaces, old theories long since ex-
ploded, orstale absurdities. We have
no patience with such men as Herbert
Sponcer, Huxley, and Darwin. We
are hardly less impatient of the scien-
tLsLs who in our own country hold
Them up to our admiration .ind rev*
erence as raarvcUous discoverers, and
as the great and brilliant lights of
ihe age. 'We love science, we honor
the men who devote their lives to
its cultivation, but we ask that it &<
science, not hypothesis piled on hy-
pothesis, nor simply a thing of mere
conjectures or guesses.
The modern doctrine of progress
or development, which supposes man
began in the lowest savage, if not
lower still, is not a doctrine suggest-
ed by any facts obser^'ed and classi-
fied in men's histor>', nor is it a logi-
cal induction from any class of
known facts, but a gratuitous hypothe-
sis invented and asserted against the
Biblical doctrine of creation, of Provi-
dence, of original sin, and of the su-
pernatural instruction, government,
redemption, and salvation of men.
The hypoUiesis is suggested by hos-
tility to the Christian revelation, pri-
or to the analysis and classification
of any facts to sustain it, and the
scientists who defend it are simply
investigating nature, not in the inte-
rests of science prupcdy so-called.
but, consciously or unconsciously, tu
Und facts to support a hypothesis
which may l>e opposed to boili.
Any facts in nature or in history,
natural or civil, political or religious,
that seem to make against Chris-
tian teaching, are seized upon
with avidity, distorted or exaggerat-
ed, and paraded with a grand fan-
faronade, sounding of trumpets,
beating of drums, ami waving of ban-
ners, as if it were a glorious triumph
of man to prove that he is no better
than the beasts that perish; while the
multitude of facts which arc absolute-
ly irreconcilable with it are passed
over in silence or quietly set aside,
as of no account, or simply declared
to be anomalies, which science is not
yet in a condition to explain, but, no
doubt, soon will be, since it has en-
tered the true path, has found the
true scientific mctliods, and is headed
in the right direction. Science is
yet in its infancy. In its cradle it
has strangled frightful monsters, and,
when full-grown, it will not fail to
slay the hydra, and rid the world ot"
all its " chimeras dire." But while
wc do not complain tliat your infan-
tile or puerile science has not done
more, we would simply remind you,
men of science, that it is very un-
scientific to reason from what you
confess science has not yet done as
if it had done it. Wait till it has
done it, before you bring it forward
as a scientific achievement.
We confess to a want of confidence
in this whole class of scientists, for
their investigations are not free and
unbiassed; their minds are prejudic-
ed; they arc pledged to a theory in
advance, which makes them shut their
eyes to the ficts whidi contradict it,
and close their intelligence to the
great principles of uni^'ersaI reason
494
Origin of Civilisation.
which render their conclusions vwa-
lid There are other scientists who
have pushed their investigations- as
fur into nature and history as they
have, perhaps even further, who
know and have carefully analyzed
all the facts they know or ever pre-
tended to know, and yet have corae
to conclusions the contrary of theirs,
and lind nothing in the facts or phe-
nomena of the universe that warrant
any induction not in accordance with
Christian faith, cither as set forth in
the Holy Scriptures or the definitions
of the cliurch. Why are these less
fikcly to l>e really scientific than
they? They are biassed by their
Christian faith, you say. Be it so:
are you less biassed hy your an(i-
cliri<itian uubetief and disposition ?
Besides, arc you able to say that these
have not in their Christian faiih a
key to the real sense or meaning
of the universe and its phenomena
which you have not, and therefore
are much more likely to be right
than you ? Do you know that it is
not 80 ? There is no science where
knowledge is wanting.
The unchristian scientists forget
ihai they cannot conclude against
the Biblical or Christian doctrine
from mere possibilities or even pro-
babilities. They appeal to science
against it, and nothing can avail
them as the basis of argument against
it that is not scienrifically proved or
demonstrated. Their hypothesis of
progress, evolution, or development
is unquc5;rionably repugnant to the
whole Christian doctrine and order
of thought. If it is true, Christianity
is false. They must then, before urg-
ing it, cither prove Christianity un-
true or an idle tale, or else prove
f absolutely, beyond the possibility of
a rational doubt, the truth of their
hypothesis. 1 1 is not enough to prove
that it may, for aught you know, be
true ; you must prove that it is true,
and cannot be false. Christianity is
too important a lact in the world's
hii;tory to be set aside by an unde-
monstraied hypothesis. And it b
anything but scientific to conclude its
falsity on the strength of a simply
possible or even probable hypothesis,
not as yet indeed proved, and of
which the best you can say is that
yuu trust science will be able lo
prove it when once it is out of its
nonage. You cannot propose it at
all, unless you have scientifically de-
monstrated it, or previously disproved
aliunde the Christian revelarion. So
long as you leave it possible for me
to hold the Cliristian faith without
contradicting what is demonstrated
to be true, you have alleged nothing
to the purpose against it, and cannot
bring forward your theory even as
probable, far less as scientific; for, if
it is possible that Christianity is true,
it is not possible that your hypothec
sis can be true, or even scientifically
proved. The scientists sccni not to
be aware of thU, and seem lo sup-
pose that they may rank Christianity
witli tlie various heathen supersritions,
and set it aside by an unsupported
theory or a prejudice.
Let the question be understood.
Christianity teaches us th.il in the
beginning God crcate^l heaven and
earth, and all things therein, visible
Olid invisible, that he made man
ter his own image and likeness, pi,
cd him in the garden of Eden, ga
him a law. that is, made him a reve-
lation of his will, instructed him in
his moral and religions duty, estab-
lished him in origin.il justice, in A
supernatural stale, under a su
tural providence, on the plane of
supernatural destiny; th.it man p
varicated, broke the law given hi
lost his original justice, the integrity
of his nature attached thereto, and
communion with his Maker, fell under
the dominion of the fiesh, became
iv^^l
Origin of Civilisation.
495
captive lo Satan, and subject to
death, moral, tompura], and eternal ;
that God, of his ovm goodness and
mercy, promised ham pardon and de-
liverance, redemption and salvation,
through his own Son made man, who
in due lime was bom of the Virgin Ma-
ry, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was
crurrined, was dead and buried, and
on the third day rose again, ascend-
ed into heaven, whence he shall
come a^ain, to judge tlic living and
the dead. This doctrine, in substance,
was made to our first parents in the
garden, was preserved in the tradi-
tion of the patriarchs, in its purity
in the synagogue, and in its purity
and integrity in the Cliristian church
founded on it, and authorized and
assisted by God himself lo teach it
to ail men and nations.
According lo this doctrine, the ori-
gin of man, the human species, as
well as of the universe and all its
contents, is in the creative act of
God, not in evolution or develop-
ment. The first man was not a mon-
key or a ladpole developed, nor a
savage or barbarian, but was a man
full grown in the integrity of his na-
ture, instructed by his Maker, and
the most perfect man of his race,
and as he is the progenitor of all
mankind, it follows that mankind
began not in " utter barbarism," as
Sir John asserts, but in the full de-
velopment and perfection of man-
hood, with the knowledge of God
and Providence, of their origin and
destiny, and of their moral and reli-
gious duty. Ignorance has followed
as the penalty or consequence of sin,
instead of being the original condi-
tion in which man was created ;
and this ignorance brouglit on the
race by the prevarication of Atlam,
the domination of the flesh, and the
power of Satan acquired thereby,
are the origin and cause of barbar-
ism of individuals and cations, Oie
innumerable mora) and social evils
which have afflicted mankind in all
times and places.
Now, to this doctrine Sir John op-
poses the hypothesis of the origin of
man in " utter barbarism," and his
progress by natural evolution or self-
development. But what facLi has he
adduced in its support, or that con-
flict with Chrisrian te.iching, that
prove that teaching false or even
doubtful ? He has adduced, as far
as we can see, none at all, for all the
facts that he alleges are, to say the
least, as easily explained on the sup-
position of man's deterioration as on
the supposition of progress, develop-
ment, or continuous mehoration. Some
of the facts he adduces might, perhaps,
be explained on his liypoiliesis, if
there were no reason for giving them
a contrary explanation ; but there is
not one of them that must be so ex-
plained. This is not enough for his
purpose, though it is enough for ours.
He must go further, and prove that
his facts not only may but ntusl be
explained on bis hypothesis, and can
be explained on no other. If we
are able to explain, or he is un-
able to show positively tliat we
cannot explain, all known facts in ac-
cordance with the Christian doctrine,
he can conclude nothing from them
against Christianity or in favor of
his naturalism. We do not, he must
remember, rely on those facts to
prove the Christian doctrine, but he
relies on them lo disprove it, by
proving his hyiwthesis; and if he can-
not show that they absolutely do
disprove it, or positively prove hi.s
hypothesis, he proves nothing to his
purpose.
Sir John dwells at great length on,
the real or supposed rites, forms, and '
barbarous customs observed by out-
lying savage tribes or nations, but,
before he can draw any conclusion
from them in favor of his theory of
Origin of Civilization.
progress, he must prove that they
were prirnilive. He knows ihem on-
ly as contemporaneous with what he
would himself call civilized marriage :
how then, without having Arst proved
that the race began in " utter barbar-
bni," conclude from them that they
preceded civilized marriage ? One
thing is certain, we never find them
without finding somewhere in the
world conleraporary with them the
civilized marriage. There is no his-
tory, historical intimation, or tradi-
tion of any custom or conception of
marriage older than we have in the
Book of Genesis, and in that we find
the true idea of marriage was alrea-
dy in the world at the earliest date
of hislor>-, and the vices against it
are plainly condemned in the Deca-
logue, contemporary with these very
usages, customs, and notions of sa-
vages on wluch Sir John dwells with
so mucli apparent delight, and which
are barbarous, and lax enough to
satisfy even our women's-rights men ;
and, so far as history goes, preceding
them, the true idea of marriage as
something sacred, and as the union
of one man with one woman, was
known and held, and therefore could
not have been, at least so far as
known, a development of barbarian
marriages.
The same answer applies to the ques-
tion of religion. Contem|>orury with
the savage and barbarous supersti-
tions of the heathen, and even prior to
them, we find practised in its fervor
and purity the true worship of the true
God. True religion is not develop-
ed from the impurities and absurd su-
pcrstttions of the heathen, and is by
no means tlic growth of the rehgious
sentiment becoming gradually en-
lightened and purifying itself from
their grossness, for it is historically as
wed as logically older tlian any of
them. Men worshipped God the crea-
tor of heaven and carOi before they
1
worshipped the fetbh, the elcroents,
or the hosts of heaven. Religion is
older ihan superstition, for superstition
is an abuse of religion, as the theolo-
gians say, by way of excess, as ir-
religion is its abuse bjr way of de-
fect ; but a thing must exist and be
entertained before it can be abused.
Nothing can l>e more certain than
that true religion has never been de-
veloped from false religions, or truth
from falschoof) ; for the true must
precede the false, which is simply the
negation of the true. Christianity is,
if you will, a development, the fulfrl-
ment of the synagogue or the Jew-
ish religion ; Judaism was also, if you
will, a development of the patriar-
chal religion; but in neither case a
self-development; and in neither case
has the development been cficcted
except by supernatural intervention.
It would be absurd to suppose the
patriarchal religion was a develop-
ment of heathenism, since it is histo-
rically prior to any form of heathcD*
ism, and every known form of heath-
enism supposes it, and is intclligiblt
only by it. So far was Judaism from
being self-evolved from the supersti'
tions of the heathen, that it was with
the greatest difficulty that the Israd*
itcs themselves, as their history sbows
were kept from adopting tlie idolatrjr
and superstition of die surrounding na-
tions, which shoivs that their religioQ
was not self-evolved, and that it was
above the level of the moral ancl reli-
gious life of the people. Chriirianitjr
develops and perfects Judaism, but
by su|H:matural agency, not by the
natural progress or sclf-dcvelopmetit
of the Jewish people; for if u had
been, the bulk of the nation would
have accepted it, and we know that
the bulk of the Jewish people did not
accept it, but rejected tt, and con-
tinue to reject it to this day.
Wc know, also, that the pn
of the heathen nations was vci, l;:
frigin of Civih'satiojt.
A97
from raising them to the level of tlie
Christian religion. Traces of some of
its principles and several of its moral
precepts may be found with the Gen-
tile [jhilusoplicrs, as wc should expect,
since they pertained to the primitive
revelation ; but these philosophers
were not the first, but rather the last
to accept it. Nowhere amongst the
heathen did any Christian communi-
ties spring up spontaneously or were
of indigenous origin. Christianity
sprang out of Jiidca, and the nations
adopted it, in the 6rst instance, only as
it was carried to theni by Jewish mis-
sionaries. And who were these mis-
sionaries ? Humble fishermen, pub-
licans, and mechanics. Who first re-
ceived them, and believed their mes-
? Principally the common peo-
^ie^ the unlettered, the poor, and
slaves of the rich and noble. " For
see your vocation, brethren," says
St. Paul (i Cor. iv. 36), " lliat nut
many arc ftnsc according to the flesh,
not many mighty, not many noble."
\Veie the fishermen of the Lake Ge-
uesarcth, and the slaves of the Ro-
man Empire, wc may ask with Mgr.
Kfaret, " the most enlightened and
advanced portion of mankind '' ?
U'ho d.ire m.iintain it, when it is a
question of natural development or
progress? Had Christianity been
the natural evolution of the human
mind, or the product of the natural
growth of human intelligence and
morality, we should have first en-
countered it not with the poor, the
ignorant, die unlettered and wretch-
ed slaves, but with the higher and
more cultivated classes, nith the phi-
losophers, the scientists, tlic noble, the
great generals and the most eminent
orators and statesmen, the ^/ite of
Greek and Roman society, those who
at the time stood at the head of the
civilized world. Yet such is not the
fact, but the fact is the very reverse.
ITie Biblical history explains the
VOU XIII. — ^31
origin of the barbarous superstitions
of heathendom in a very satbfactory
way, and shows us very cleady that
the savage state is not the primitive
state, but lias been produced by sin,
and is the result of what we call the
great Gentile apostasy, or f.UHng
away of the nations from the primi-
tive or patriarchal religion. When
language was confounded at Babel,
and tlie dispersion of mankind took
place, unity of speech or language
was lost, and with it unity of ideas
or of faith, and each tribe or nation
took its own course, and developed
a tribal or national religion of its own.
Gradually each tribe or nation lost
the conception of God as creator,
and formed to itself gods ntade in
its own image, clothed with its
own passions, and it bowed down
and worshipped the work of its own
hands. It was not that they knew
or liad known no better. St. Paul
has settled that question. " For the
wrarh of God is revealed from heav-
en against all impiety and injustice
of those men that detain the truth
of God in injustice. Because that
which is known of God is manifest
in them. For God hath manifested ii
to them. For the invisible things
of him, from the creation of the
world, are clearly seen, being under-
stood by the tilings that are made :
his eternal power also and divinity;
so that they arc inexcusabU. Be-
cause when they had known God,
they glorified him not as God, nor
gave thanks ; but became vain In their
thoughts, ajid their foolish heart was
darkened J for, professing themselves
wise, they became fools. And they
changed llie glory of the iiicornipti-
blc God into the likeness of the
image of a corruptible man, and of
birds, and of four-footed beasts, and
of creeping things. Wherefore God
gave them up to the desires of their
hearts, to uncleanncssj to dislionor
498
Origin of Ovxlizaiien.
their own bodies among themselves,
wfio changed the iniih of God into a
lie, and worshipped and served the
creature rather than the Creator,
who is blessed for ever. Amen,"
(Rom. i. 18-25.)
St Paul e\'idently does not believe
Sir John Lubbock's doctrine that the
race began in " utter barbarism,"
and have been slowly working their
way up to the heiglits oi Christian
civilKation. He evidently ascribes
the superstitions, and consequently
the barbarism, of the heatlicn to apos-
tasy. Sir John, of course, does not
accept the authority of St. Paul ;
but, if he cannot prove St. Paul
was wrong, he is debarred from as-
serting his own hypothesis, even as
probable. If it is po^ible to explain
the facts of the savage state on the
ground of apostasy or gradual de-
terioration, the hypothesis of devel-
opment, of self-evolution or natural
and unaided progress, falls 10 the
ground as wholly baseless. His hy-
pothesis becomes probable only by
proving that no other hypothesis is
possible.
But all the known facts in the case
are against our scientific baronet's
hypothesis. Take Mohammedanism.
It sprang up subsequently to both
Moses and the Gospel. 1 1 is a com-
pound of Judaism and Christianity,
.more Jewish than Christian, how-
ever, and is decidedly inferior to
either. How explain this fact, if the
several races of men never fall or re-
trograde, but are alwaj-s advancing,
marching through the ages onward
and upward ? Many of the ances-
tors of the present Mussulmans be-
longed to Iii^'hly civilised races,
and some of ihcm were Christians,
and not a few of them Jews. Yet
there is aln-ays progress, never de-
terioration.
But we need not go back to the
seventh teoLury. There has been a
modem apostasy, and we sec right
before our eyes the process of deiMH
rioration, of falling into barbarisn^^|
going on among those who hav^'
apostatized from Christianity,
author regards as an evidence of
lowest barbarism what he calls "co
raunal marriage," that is, morria,
in which the wife is common to
the males of bcr husband's
We do not believe this sort of m
riage was ever anything more U
an exceptional fact, like poly
but suppose it was even comro
among the lowest savage tribes, h
much lower or more barbarous is
state it indicates, than what
highly civilized Plato makes the ma-
gistrates prescribe in his imag
Republic? How much in advaa
of such a practice is the free
advocated by Mary Wolslonccraft ajxl
Fanny Wright; the recommendatkiil
of Godwin to abolish marriage and
the monopoly by one man of any
one woman ; ilian the denunciatioa
of marriage by the late Robert O
as one of the trinity of evils wht
have hitherto afflicted the race,
his proposal to replace it by a com-
munity of wives, as he proposed to
replace private property by a com-
munity of goods; or, indeed, than iw
see actually adopted in practice bf
the Oneida Community ? Sir JoK
regards the gynocracy which prev
in fiomcrsavage tribes as characteria-'
tic of a very iow form of barbarism;
but to trbat else tends the woman's-
righis mbvement in his country and
ours ? If successful, not only would
women be the rulers, but children
would follow the mother's line, not
the father's, for the obvious reoso
that, while the mother can be known
the father cannot be with any
tainty. Docs not free love, the main-
spring of the movement, lead to
this ? And arc not they who sup-
port it counted the odvooced party
;maii^^
vanq^H
love^
itioa^
>weflH
hicl^H
dren \
, DOt^J
lain-^^
Origin of Crvi/isaiiott.
499
"I
the age, and we who resist tlc-
ounced as old fogies or as the de-
dcrs of man's tyranny ?
Sir John relates ihat some tribes
arc so low in Ihcir intelligence that
they have no or only the vaguest
coiireptions of the divinity, and i>one
at all of Gotl as creator. He need
not go amongst outlj-ing barbarians
to find persons whose Intelligence is
equally low. He will searcli in vain
through all Gentile philosophy with-
out ftndtng the conception of a crea-
tive God. Nay, araong our on-n con-
temporaries he can find more who
consider it a proof of their superior
intelligent; and rare scientific attain-
ments lhat they reject the fact of
creation, relegate God into the un-
'JcnowD and the unknowable, and
ach us that the universe is self-
olved, and man is only a monkey
gorilla developed." These men
gard themselves as the lights of
eir age, and are so regarded, too, by
inconsiderable portion of the pub-
Need we name Auguste Comtc
d Sir William Hamilton, among
edead; E. I.ittrc, Herbert Spencer,
Stuart Mill, Professor Huxley,
(Charles Darwin, not to say Sir John
imself, among the living ? If these
en and their adherents have not
psed into barbarism, their science,
accepted, w«uld lead us to the
cas and practices which Sir John
:11s us belong to the lowest stage of
rbarism. Sir John doubts if any
vage tribe can be found that is ab-
lulely destitute of all religious con-
:eprions or sentiments, but, if we
may believe their own statements,
we have people enough among the
apcstatc Christians of our day who
have none, and glor)' in it as a proof
f their superiority to the rest of
mankind.
♦Se« TA* Dttttnt r/ Man hkJ StltttUm
iUiMtiftt U Sfx, by Ctutl«i Daxwin
Sir John sees a characteristic of
barbarism or of the early savage stale
in the belief in and the dread of evil
spirits, or what h« calls demonism.
The Bible tells us alt the gods of the
heathens are devils or demons. Kven
this characteristic of barbarism is re-
produced in our ctviUzed communi-
ties by spirili.sm, which is of enlight-
ened American origin. This spirit-
ism, which is rapidly becoming a re-
ligion with large numbers of men
and women in our midst, is nothing
but demonism, the necromancy and
witchcraft or familiar spirits of the
ancient worid. Men who reject
Christianity, who have no belief in
God, or at least do not hold it ne-
cessary to worship or pay him the
least homage or respect, believe in
the spirits, go to the medium, and
consult her. as Saul in his desperation
consulted the AVitch of l^ndor. If
we go back a few years to the last
century, we shall fnid the most po-
lishetl people on the globe abolishing
religion, decreeing that death is an
eternal sleep, and perpclraliog, in the
name of liberty, virtue, huinanily,
and brotherly love, crimes and cruel-
ties unsurpassed if not unequalled in
the history of the most savage tribes;
and we see little improvement in our
own centurj', more thoroughly filled
with the horrors of unprincipled and
needless wars Own any other century
of which we possess the history. In-
deed, the scenes of 1 792-3-4 are now
in process of rei>roduciion in Kurope.
We must remember that all these
deteriorations have taken place in or
are taking place in the most highly
civilized nations of the globe, whose
ancestors were Christians, and with
persons many of whom were brought
up in the belief of Christianity. Take
the men and women who hold, on
marriage and on religion, what are
called " advanced views " — free-lov-
ers and free-religionists — remove them
n
(
I
I
from the restraints of the church and
of the slate, not yet up to their stan-
dard, and let them form a communi-
ty by themselves in which llieir views
shall be carried out in practice ; would
they not in two or three generations
lapse into a state not above that of
the most degraded and filthy sava-
ges ? We see this deterioration going
on in our midst and right before our
eyes, as the effect of apostasy from
our holy religion. This proves that
apostasy is sufficient to explain the
existence of the savage races, with-
out supposing the human race began
in '• utter barbarism." If apostasy
in modern times, as we see it does,
leads to " utter barbarism," why
should it not have done so in ancient
times?
We might make the case still
stronger against the author's hypo-
thesis, if necessar}', by referring to
the great and renowned nations of
antiquity, that in turn led the civili-
zation of the world. Of the nations
that apostatized or adhered to the
great Gentile apostasy, not one has
survived the lapse of time. To eve-
ry one of them has succeeded bar-
barism, desolation, or a new people.
The Kgypt of antiquity foil licfore
the I'eraian conqueror, and the Kgypt
of the Greeks was absorbed by Rome,
and -fell with her. Assyria leaves of
her greatness only long since buried
and forgotten ruins, while the savage
Kurd and the predatory Arab roam
at will over the desert that has suc-
ceeded to her once flourishing cities
and richly cultivated fields. S)*ria,
Tyre, Carthage, and the Greek cities
of Europe and .'^sia have disappear-
ed or dwindled into insignificante,
and what remains of them they owe
to the conservative jKJWcr of the
Christianity they adopted and have
in some measure retained. So true
is it, as the Psalmist saj-s, " the wick-
ed shall be turned into hell, and all
the nations that forget God." How
explain this fact, if these ancient sa
tions could by their own inherent en
ergy and power of self-develop men
raise themselves from >* utter bnrbar
ism " to the civilization they onc«
possessed, that they could not p
sen'C it ; that, after having reached
certain point, the)' bc^an to declin
grew corrupt, and at length fell b
their own internal rottenness ? 1
men and nations are naturally p
grcssivc, how happens it that we &n
so many individuals and nations
cline and fall, through internal cor-
ruption ?
Another fact is not less conclusive
against Sir John's hypothesis, that in
all the nations of the heathen world
their least barbarous period know:
to us is their eariiest after the aposta
sy and dispersion. The oldest of
the sacrcd books of the Hindus
are the profoundest and richest in
thought, and the freest from supersti-
tion and puerilities so characteristic
of the Hindu jwoplc to-day. The
earliest religion of the Rom-ins was
far more spiritual, intellectual, than
that which prevailed at the establish-
ment of the empire and the intro-
duction of Christianity. Indeed,
wherever we have the means of trac-
ing the religious history of the an-
cient heathen nations, we lind it w a
history of almost uninterrupted de-
terioration and corruption, becoming
continually more cruel, impure, md
debasing as time flows on. The
mysteries, perhaps, retained some-
thing of the earlier doctrines, but
they did little to arrest the downward
tendency of the national religion ;
the philosopheni, no doubt, retained
some valuable traditions of the pri-
mitive religion, but so mixed up with
gross error and absurd fables that
they had no effect on the life or mo-
rals of the people. One of the last
acts of Socrates was to require Criio
I
I
Origin of CiviiisathH.
SOI
:to sacrifice a cock to Esculapius.
■If Sir John's hypothesis were true,
nothing of this could happen, and
we should find tlic religion of every
nation, as time goes on, becoming
purer and more refined, less gross
and puerile, more enlightened and
Intellectual, and more spiritual and
elevatiuj^ in its influence.
The traditions of some, perhaps of
all heathen nations, refer their origin
to savage ard barharian ancestors,
and this may have been the fact with
many of them. Horace would seem
to go the full length of Sir John's
theory. He tells us that tlie primi>
tlve men sprang tike animals from
the earth, a mute and filthy herd,
■_ fighting one another lor an ncorn or
a den. Cicero speaks somewhat to
iCie same purpose, only he does not
y it was the state of the piimnal
itnan. Yet the traditions of the hea-
Ihen nations do nut in general favor
e main point of Sir Jolin's hypo-
esis, that men came out of barbar-
m by their own spontaneous dcvel-
meat, natural progress iveness, or
idigenous and unaided ctforts. They
, according to these traditions, to
e civilized stale only by the assls-
nce of the gods, or by the aid of
issionaries or colonies from nations
ready civilized. The goddess Ceres
aches them to plant corn and make
ad; Bacchuj teaches them to plant
the vine ajid to make wine; Prome-
theus draws fue from heaven and
teaches them its use; other divinities
teach to keep bees, to lame and
rear flocks and herds, and the several
of peace and war. Athens at-
ibuted her civilization to Minerva
and to Cccrops and his ligyptian co-
lony i Thebes, hers to Orpheus and
Cadmus, of Phoenician origin; Rome
claimed to descend from a Trojan
colony, and borrowed her laws from
Athenians — her literature, philo-
>pby,.hcr art and science, from the
rear
^^trts
Greeks- 'J'he pocis paint the primi-
tive age as the age of gold, and the
philosopheci always speak of the
race as deteriorating, and find the
past superior to the present. What is
best and truest in Flato he ascribes
to ihc wisdom of llic ancients, and
even Homer speaks of the degene-
racy of men In his days from what
they were at the siege of Troy. We
think the author will search in vais
ttiTQUgh all antiquity to find a tradi>
lion or a hint which assigns the civi-
lization of any people to its own in-
digenous and unassisted efforts.
Sir John Lubbock describes the
savages as incurious and liulc given
to reflection. He says they never
look beyond the phenomenon lo its
cause. They see the world in which
they arc placed, ami never think of
looking further, and asking who made
it, or whence ihey themselves came
or whither they go. They lack not
only curiosity, but the power of ab-
straction and generalijsation.audeven
thought is a burden to them. This
is no doubt in the main true ; but it
makes against their natural progress-
ivcness, and explains why they are
not, a.s we know ihey are not, pro-
gressive, but remain always stationa-
ry, if left to tlieinselves. The chief
characteristic of the savage slate is
in fact its immobility. The savage
gyrates from age to age in the same
narrow circle — never of himself ad-
vances beyond it. Whether a irib^,
sunk in what Sir John calls " uttc
barbari.sm," and which he holds was"
the original stale of the human race,
has ever been or ever can be elevat-
ed to a civilized slate by any human
efforts, even of others already civiliz-
ed, is, perhaps, problematical. As
far as experience goes, the tendencj
of such a tribe, brought in contac
with a civilized race, is to retire tli(
deeper into the forest, to waste away^
and finally to become extincL Cer-
I
I
1
502
Origin of Civilisation.
tain it is, no instance of its becoming
a civilized people can be named.
In ever)* known ipstante in which
a savage nr barbarous people has be-
come civilized, it has Ixren by the aid
or influence of religion, or their rela-
tions with a i>eople already civilized,
llie barbarians that overthrew the
Roman Empire of the West, and
seated ihfinselves on its ruins, were
more than half Romanized before
the concjues: by their relations with
the Romans and service in the ar-
mies of the empire, and they rather
continued the Roman order of civi-
lization in the several kingdoms and
states they founded than destroyed
it. The Roman system of education,
and even tlie imperial schools, if few-
er in number and on a reduced scale,
were continued all through the bar-
barous ages down to the founding of
the universities of medieval Europe.
Their civilization was carricil forward,
far in advance of that of Greece or
Rome, by the church, the great civi-
lizer of the nations. The northern bar-
barians thalremained at home.the Ger-
mans, the Scandinavians, the Sclaves,
Mere civilized by the labors of Chris-
dan monks and aiissionaries from
Rome and Constantinople, from Gaul,
Engbnd, and Ireland. In no in-
stance has their civilization been of
indigenous origin and development.
Sir John Lubbock replies to this
as he docs lo Archbishop Whatcly's
assertion that no instance is on re-
cord of a savage people having risen
to a civilized state by its own indi-
geiious and unassisted efforts, that it
is no objection, because we should
not expect to find any record of any
such an event, since it took place, if
at all, before the invention of letters,
and in " prehistoric limes," U'c grant
that the fact that there is no writUn
record of it is not conclusive proof
that no instance of the kind ever oc-
curred ; but if so important an event
ever occurred, we should expect
trace of it in the traditio>n$ of civili
ed nations, or at least find some t
dcncics to it in the outlying sa
nations of the present, from w
it might be inferred ax a thing
improbable in itself. Uut nothing
the sort is found, llie author's
[>eal to our ignorance, and our
ranee, cannot $cr\'c his purpose,
arraigns the universal faith of Ch
lendom, and he must make out
case by poRitive, not simply tiegati
proofs. Till his hj-pothesis is p
by positive evidence, the Ihith
Chn3lcndom remains Arm, antl no
ing can be concluded agaJmtt it.
Rut bow re.illy stands the q
lion? Sir Jolm tinds in the vario
outlying savage tribes numerous facB
which he takes to be the origina)
germs of civiliz.ition, aivl hence be
concludes that the primitive c
tion of the human race was (hat
" utter barbarism," and the nation^
or, as he say%, the races, thai
become civilized, *' have become
by their indigenous and unaided cf'
forts, by their own inherent energy
and power of self-dcvelopnieni
progress." Rut the facts he allcgci
may just as well be remintscen
of a ]>aat civilization as aniici|u-
tions of a civilization not yet de-
veloped; and in our judgment — tad
it is not to-day that for the Aral we
have studied the <)uestio»~-tiicy arc
much better explained as rcinints-
cences than as anticipations, nay. arc
not explicable in any other tray.
The facts appealed to, iheo, caa at I
best count fur nothing in &vor of j
the hy]>othcsis of natural pragma
or development They do not pcov*^
it or render it probable.
He is able, and he confeaes it^ to 1
firoduce no instance of the nattnal
and unassisted progress of any race
of men from barbarism to civiliu-
tion, and even hii own facts shoir
cc be
:uDdi|^H
at u^^l
ba«e^
e m
Irf
ergy
cgtt I
ice^H
ipa-^
I
'4
Origin of Civilisation.
503
' that barbarous or sa vage tribes
arc not naturally progressive, but
stationary, struck with immobility.
Where, then, are the proofs of his hy-
pothesis ? He has yet produced
none. Now, on the other hand, we
liave shown him that, in all known
instanres, the passage from barbar-
ism into civilization has been ef-
fected only by supernatural aid, or
by the influence of a previously civi-
lized race or people. We have shown
him also that the Gentile apostasy,
which the iiible records and our re-
ligion asserts, sufficiently explains the
origin of barbarism. We have also
shown him nations once civilized fall-
ing into barbarism, and, in addition,
have shown him the tendency of an
apostate people to lapse into barbar-
ism existing and operating before our
very eyes, in men whose ancestors
were once civilized and even Chris-
tians, 'ITie chief elements of barbar-
ism he describes exist and are encour-
aged and defended in our midst by
men who are counted by themselves
and their contemporaries as the great
men, the great lights, the advanced
party of this advanced age. Let the
apostasy become more general, take
away the church or deprive her of
her influence, and eliminate from the
laws, manners, and customs of mod-
em states what lliey recain of Chris-
tian doctrine and moralit)*, and it is
plain to see tliot nations the loudest
in their boast of their civilization
would, if not supcrnaturalty arrested
in a very short space of time, sink to
ihc level of any of the ancient or
modern oudying savage tribes.
Such is the case, and so stands the
argument. Sir John Lubbock brings
for^vard a hypothesis, not original
with him indeed, and the full bearing
of which we would fain believe he
does not see, for which he adduces
and can adduce not a single well-au-
thenticated fact, and which would
not be favored for a moment by any
one who understands it, were it not
for its contradiction of the Biblical
doctrineand Christian tradition. Dut
while there is absolutely no proof of
the hypothesis, all the known facts
of history or of human nature, as well
as all the principles of religion and
philosophy, with one voice pro-
nounce against it as untenable. Is
not this enough ? Nothing is more
certain than Christian faith ; no fact
is or can be better authenticated than
the fact of revelation; we might
then allege that tlie hypothesis is dis-
proved, nay, not to be entertained,
because it is contrary to the Chris-
tian revelation, than which nothing
can be more certain. Wc sliould
have been perfectly justified in doing
so, and so wc should have done ; but
as the author appeals to science and
progress to support himself' on facts,
we have thought it best, without pre-
judice to the authority of faith, to
meet him on his own ground, to
show him that science does not en-
tertain his appeal, and that his
theory of progress is but a baseless
hypothesis, contradicted by all the
known facts in the case and support-
ed by none ; and therefore no science
at all.
Sir John's theory of progress is just
now popular, and is ])ut forth with
great confidence in ihc rcsjiectablc
name of science, and the modem
worid, with sciolists, accept it, with
great pomp and parade. Yet it is
manifestly at>surd. Nothing cannot
make itself something, nor can any-
thing make itself more than it is-
The imperfect cannot of itself perfect
itself,and no uiau can Uft himself by his
own waistbands. Kven Archimedes
required somewhere to stand outside
of the world in order to be able to
raise the world with his lever. Yet
we deny not progress ; we believe in
it, and hold that man is progressive
504
Pan.
even to ihe infinite; but not by
his own unaided effort or by his
otiTi inherent energy and naturni
strength, nor without the supcmalu-
iial aid of divine grace. But progress
by nature alone, or self-evolution,
though we tried to believe it when
u child, \vc put away when w« be-
came a man, as wc did other child*
ish things.
Thus much we have thought it our
duty to say in reply to the theory
that makes the humnn race begin
in utter barbarism, and civitizatio i
spring from natural development
evohition, so popular with our ut
christian scientists or — but for resj
to the public we would say — sci<
lists. We have in our reply repeat*
may things which we have said
fore in this niagarinc, and whirl
have been said by others, and betti
said. But it will not do to let si
a book as the one before us go um
swcred in the present state of
public mind, debauched as it is
fa!se science. I f books will repeat the
error, we can only repeat our answer.
PAU.
American tonrists make a great
mistake in not generally including
the P>Tenees in their route of Euro-
pean travel. Unless ordered there by
a physician to repair a wasted or bro-
ken-down constitution, they scarce-
ly think of visiting the most beauti-
ful country perhaps in the world.
Paris Is France, and, as the route from
Paris to Spain lies direct, tliey pass
through the Pyrenees, admire them
casually, but rarely pause to examine
their beauties and the curiosities of
the quaint old towns embedded in
their hilts. Since chances of this
nature alone led me to discover what
siiKC has remained in my memory an
exquisite picture to be revivified at
any moment, I cannot blame others
[^^ for following the usual guide-book
^ft routes of Europe, and spending their
^H money freely on places far Jess worthy
^H thar attention. After a severe ty-
^H pboid fever of ten weeks in Paris,
^t and still so feeble that I had to be
F aliiiost carried to the dtpot. I set out
^^ on the 5tli of January, 1869, accom-
panied by my nurse, to make
journey to the P)Tenees, if [wssi
in a day and a half. We left T
at 10.45 ■*-"■» ^y t^'^ Chcmin
Fcr d'Ori^ans. Resting for a fc*
minutes at the historical old t
of Orleans, Tours, Poitiers, .\ngo
Ifimc, and Livonnie, we arrived
Bordeaux at eleven p.m., where we
rem.iined for the night. Ilic n
morning at eight wc pursued o
journey, passing Dax, so celebrated
for its M-arm mud-baths, said to be a
remedy for rheumatic complaints, and
a little after one p.m. 1 found niy
friends awaiting me at P.iu. Eater-
ing one of the queer Ittile half omni-
buses that hold six people and ihctr
higgage, I was carried through the
oddest of small white streets to my
lodging in the Juran^on, near the v
of my friend.
Never shall I forget my impres-
sions while entering the room pr^
pared for me, and leaning on tlie am)
of the dear girl who with her moth
and sister bad done everything
ou^H
Pau.
5C«
my comfort. It was the Epiphany,
the day of light ; and it seemed as if
the soft suiiUght tliat shone in that
pretty room and rested on Uie fragrant
tioK'ers was to ine the foreshadowing
of a renewed life and happy future.
'Hie air was balmy as a June day,
and from my window rose the glo-
rious Pyrenees. Covered with iheir
cvcrlastinn mantles of snow, they
rose proudly to heaven, as if they
defied the clouds above thero. A
second lower range, with its varied
shades of green and the tropical
luxuriance at ils base, completed the
l)icturc. Exhausted with my journey,
my eyes filled with tears of joy at all
my sweet surroundings, I could have
begged my God there and then to let
me sleep for ever.
Day after day I walked my few
steps in my balcony and took in this
lovely picture. As yet I had not
seen the town ; my strength was in-
sufficient, and I simply rested and
recuperated. The climate seemerf to
me a strange one for invalids — a
queer mixture, as I thought it, of
flannels and sun -umbrellas. The
mornings and evenings were cold and
chilly with the air that blew down
from the mountains, and the middle
of the day, from eleven until three
o'clock, so intensely hot that it was
necessary to be well protected against
i-stroke. Still, it is the great resort
consumptives, and at almost every
one encounters the muffled-up
pale countenance of the poor invalid.
It for this one sad feature, th^ ex-
lisite scenery, the tropical foliage,
the picturesque villas, and the town
^^tself, of white hmestone, rising around
^Hih great chateau to the very heavens,
^^Mtli the merry hum of voices, that
^^keets you on every side, might well
^rnake you imagine you had at last
found the fairy dreamland — a country
that rcalixcd Uie fairy ideal of child-
id.
^aim-s
pal<
This, too, is the land of the tn»i>
badour, and the quaint wild music
chanted by the peasantry has a some-
thing about it irresistibly attractive,
something one hears nowhere else ;
now dreamy, now bright, ahnost
monotonous at times, tlien suddenly
btirsting into strains of sadness in
which the wliole depths of a life arc
portrayed. Then there is the ringing
mountaineer song, too, with its clear
and measured cadence, and a certain
bravery in its tones which could easily
foretell the difVicult mastering of such
a people, should it ever again be re-
quired.
The mixture of Spanish merchants
and wanderers among the population
gives to their porks and squares a
pretty efTect. '["hey cross liie Pyre-
nees with their showy wares, their
strings of perfumed be.ids, bracelets,
necklaces, rosaries, all made of the
wood that grows at the foot of Uieir
mcunlains. Dres&ed in their own
picturesque costumes, and carrj-ing
their merchandise of every imagina-
ble color — red and bright yellow pre-
dominating — tliey accost you with 4i
grace which renders ihem irresistible,
and you lind yourself rather poorer <
for the encounter.
I improved so rapidly in this cli-'
mate, getting wholly rid of my cough
and gaining twenty-five pountis in
litde over four weeks, that I conclud-
ed I was well cnougli to return to
Paris, and thence, after another rest
in England, home. I resolved, there-
fore, to see all that Pau ofiered to the
sight-sccr.
i drove with my kind friends seve-
ral times to and around the varied
and pretty villas: the primroses |>ccj>-i
ed at us from under the hedges, ant'
here and lliere the rarest iropicai.]
trees and plants riveted our atientioal
— and this in February, when th»!
most of the world was ice-bound.]
The saow-capped mounuins, how-
506
Pau.
ever, rising around us on every side,
would not permit us to entirely for-
get winter. The town iigelf, of twen-
ty-one thousand inhabitants, is almost
a miniature Paris, sotne stiuares du-
plicating those of the great city, »nd
the bridges separating Pau and the
ijuran^on, though crossing a much
prettier river than the Seine, height-
ening the resemblance.
The churches arc costly and beau-
tiful ; one built by the Society of Je-
sus, entirely of white marble, and
lined with exquisite pictures and
gifts of the weallhy strangers who
pass the season at the difTerent ho-
I tcis, is a perfect gem in its way.
^H 'llic hotels, the Place Royale with
^^^^its music every Thursday — weather
^^^^Blpermitung, as say our friends of the
^^^^ Central Park — where crowds walk
^H up and doKo and lif^ten to but little,
^H I imagine, are all sltracuons for the
^H health or plenstux: seeker.
^H Very odd old houses with gablerl
^^k roofs, and reminding you of Dutch
^H pictures, start out occa«>ionally from
^H among the more modem and fash-
^H ionable ones, and seem to tell the
^m story of change and decay.
^1 Not imfrequently a racrry peasant
^B wedding pany, in a whole line of
^H carriages trumpeting vigorously and
^P raising the dust, pass you with shouts,
^^ and compel your curiosity to recog-
I' nize ami salute the bride. It is said
the strangers with their wealth and
^H fashionable follies are gradually ob-
^B litcraling these good old B^mais
" customs, through the spirit of emula-
|, tion ihcy excite in a hithcno perfectly
haiipy pcasantri-. Women, however,
still walk the streets with their distafis,
I and men knit as they guide the
plough. Something of primeval in-
nocence still remains. Certainly no
country was ever moie paradistacally
formed to retain it.
My time was limited, however; I
could not stay and study these peo-
ple and their customs as I woold
have wished. I could not viiit the
great summer resort, tlie famed E
Bonnes, so beautifully nestled,
told me, among the higher l*)Ten
but must exert all the strength I h^
to see before I left the great moDU-
ment of Pau, the grand old
CHATEAU OF IIBKRV IT
irojP
on oc<
1
Thestreetascendstoit.and th „_
an arcade by stone steps to its pui,
which is now the everyday public
resort. The park extends all around
the chateau, and, crossing a pret^
bridge erected over the Rue Marca,
it continues for some miles in on oc<
namenccd walk containing two
cipal avenues; one so shaded
it is cool all summer, and the
sunny enough at any tinae lo
come and warm the poor invalid
who could Dot exist witliput his dath
walk.
We do not find here the rich
varied architecture so attractive
other imperial parks, Vasaillest
instance ; the hand of man is
placed by that of nature, but
woods of rare trees on biUs that
everywhere the exquisite
of the encircling Pyrraices are man
than compensatory for any utnissions
of art
The gate of St. Martin greets
as you eoter. Built m 1 586. il
formerly the n\ain entrance to
chateau when the drawbridge was
used. Now it leails to the Hotel de
la MoDiiaie. a dependence inhabiieO
by the subalterns and furaishcfs of
the palace. Here the money of
B^am was formerly mailc. Now we
approach a hemicycle containing twu
large vases in I^ledici form of Swed-
ish por|i>hvr>', and given lo Um cha-
teau of Pau by King Bemadottc^ who
was bom here. I'he suiue of Gas-
ton Phoebus in white marble,
m
Au.
S07
^^(
irk of the Baron of Triquety, tow-
CTS between them. He stands the
guard perpetual of the chateau.
Much of the land bdongtng to
le lormcr park has been divided
and sold, and is now the Place Na-
poleon. Vestiges, however, of an-
cient walls are still allowed to exist,
and on the left m.iy yet be seen the
remains of the Hermiuge of Notre
Dame des Bris, attributed lo William
Raymond, ravaged during the reli-
gious wars, and entirely destroyed in
'793-
At the foot uf the hill on the north
side stood also the Castet Bcziat (in
Ileamais dialect, dearest caslie). And
here let me speak of this odd native
patois. It is a mixture of French,
Spanish, and Italian, and is undi:r-
stood only by strangers who know
the three languages, yet it is eupho-
nious and occasionally dignihed.
The better class of the peasantry
speiLK both it and a pretty French.
They prolong the syllables more
than in Paris, which adds greatly to
the sweetness of the sound. This
Chateau Chere was built after the
model of the Chdteau dc Madrid in
le Bois de Boulogne, by Marguerite
Valois:
Jeanne d'Albrct made it her favor-
ite residence, and here occupied her-
self exclusively with the education
of her children, Henry IV. and Ca-
theriue, who, after the death of her
mother, made it the secret residence
of the Count de Soi&sons, whom she
passionately loved but could not
marry. No trace of this Castet Be/.i-
at exists now. But let us enter the
great chateau, and fi rst consider
•omewhat its origin. Centule le
Bicux was its founder toward die end
of the year 9S2, and his successors
continued the southern portion, but
it was not finished until the lime of
Gaston Phcebus, who completed also
^^he great square tower that bears his
UIU
name, the ramparts and para[}ets, and
the mill-lower, in ordtjr that he might
make it his residence. This mill-tower
gave entrance to the Place de la Basse
Ville, or former field of battle, where
hand to hand the armed knights de-
cided their judiciary combats. About
1460, Gaston X., desirous to give his
B^arnais people a truly royal residence^]
constructed the north and east por-'
lions of the edifice, laid out the park,
and decided that the states of B<£am
should be always represented m the
halls of the castle.
In 1527. ihe Margaret of Marga-
rets, the sister so dear to Francis I.,
becoming queen of Navarre by her
marriage with Henry II„ made it
a true palace of the Renaissance, re-
storing it entirely and refurnishing ;
it from top to bottom.
Abandoned later by Henry IV.^,,
become king of France, and despoil-
ed of everything precious it posses»-
ed by him and Louis XIII., entirely
neglected by their successors, it fell
into the hands of governors, theo
was seized by the repubUcans, who,,]
not contentei] lo sell at the lowest
price and piece by piece the lands
of the royal domain, converted into
a tavern and stables the palace that
formerly was the cradle of the great
king.
Not until the short reign of Louis
XVIII. was any attempt made to re-
store the castle to its former condi-
tion, a work soon ncglei^ted and
abandoned, but recommenced in ,
1838 by Louis Philippe, who ordered
besides tlie complete refurnishing of
the apartments pretty much as the/i
are seen to-day.
Napoleon III., however, with his
taste for the restoration of all fallen
grandeur that may rec-ill royalty or
the limpire, has done all in his power
to produce an almost magic transfor-
mation, a complete resurrection of the
old chateau, and at the present time
S08
Pm.
the woric continues under the super-
vision of the most ab!e architects.
The beautiful exicnor th.it presents
Itself so commandingly, the harmo-
ny thai prevails in ever)' part of the
building surrounding the Court of
Honor, the pretty windows opening
on the chapel, the sculptures every-
where newly restored, tlie ince-isani
labor on the southcn) portion, all de-
note the ilesire of Na])oluou to pre-
serve and embellish one of the most
precious monuments of history.
The letters ^~^ in gold are
placed in different parts of the build-
ing. To Gaston Phcebus is accord-
ed the honor of its construction.
You enter the chateau from the
lown-side by a bridge of stone and
brick, built by I^uis XV. to replace
the drattbridge that formerly occu-
pied the site of the present cliapel.
Pause OD this bridge, and look
around you. On either side is a
deep ditch which once defended the
entrance of the chateau, now a mag-
nificent avenue planted with trees
and covered with flower-beds. At
your left is the chapct, whose date is
1840. 'I'he doors and windows are
elaborately sculptured. In front, you
will notice three arcades constructed
in the style of the Renaissance, cov-
ered with a terrace and can'ed balus-
trade, which serves for the principal
entrance.
On your left and under the portico
is the porter's lodge. At the right in
the new building are the bureaus of
administratinn and service; on the
first storj', the apartments of the mi-
litary commander; on the second,
those of the register; and on the
third and last, the housekeeper's
rooms for Hnen, etc.
The Court of Honor arrests your
attention by its original form, it*
deeply gr.i*en sculptures in the nich-
es of ilie windows and doors rci>re-
senting the different B^amais sove-
UeS"
reigns, and the statue of Man that
faces the principal entrance. 1 f these
walls could speak, they would tell
how often the B^aniais people have
assembled here witli shouts of respc
or cries of vengeance, according
the qualities of their prince calli
forth the one or the other.
The towers of the chateau ajc ax
in number : at the left on entering,
the Tower Gaston Ph^bus ; at the
right, the new Tower antl Tower
Montauiet; at the lower end, the
northwest, the Tower Billt^res ; and
at the southwestern end, tbe two
Towers Maz^rcs.
The tower Gaston Ph^bus, or doo*^
jon, was called the tile tower, becaui^f
it is built almost entirely of brick.
It has a roof of slate which was car-
ried off in a terrible storm in iSjo.
A balcony faces the church of SL
Martin, where the president of t)w
states of B^am took his place to
proclaim the name of each newly
electeil sovereign.
Several illustrious personages hxft
inhabited this tower. Among othen,
Clement Marot, the favorite and un-
fortunate adorer of the Queen Ml^
garet, and Mademobelle dc Scudery,
who passed the summer hereof 1637.
Under the reign of Louis XIV.
W.1S converted into a prison of slat
and so continued until i%i2.
Each stor}' is now inhabited aixt^
richly furnished, and on the 6fth is 3i^|
terrace that commands a most im-'^^
posing view of the surrounding coun-
tiy. m
The tower Montauzet, in the Bfar-^|
nais dialect, lakes its uame from the
circumstance that only birds could
reach the top ; Montauzct meaning
Mount Bird! In truth, it has noj
suircasc, and history tells us that it
case of a sicKC the Rarrison ascended^
it by ladders, which they drew up
after thcio.
It had its dungeons, terrible welb
IT-
1
"5
P6U,
509
into which criminals were lowered.
An iron statue amied with steel
poniards received them, clasped
them in xu arms, and, by ingenious
means that the legend does not ex-
plain, murdered them in unspeakable
tortures. Henri d'Albict closed up
the entrance to these dungeons, and
they were forgotlen until the reign of
Louis XV. He caused them to be
opened, and discovered skeletonsoiid
iron chains fastened lo the walls.
The ground-floor of the tower
Montauiet formerly contained a tine
fountain. This will be replaced. The
three stories aliove arc occupie<i ge-
nerally by the domestics of the great
dignitaries of the crown.
The other towers have nothing of
interest. They are named from the
villages they face, and arc simply
advanced sentinels to defend the ap-
proach of an enemy from the Pyre-
nees.
As soon as a nsitor arrives at the
chateau, he is ushered into the wait-
ing-room called Salle des Gardes, be-
cause dming the presence of majesty
the valets waited here under the su-
pervision of an officer of the house-
hold. But little furniture is seen, a
few old-fashioned chairs surmounted
by lions and the arms of France and
Navarre.
From this room wc enter the din-
ing-room of the officers of the ser-
vice. There is nothing remarkable
in its furniture, a long and very wide
table occupying Ihe centre, and com-
fortable chairs placed against the
wall. Two statues, the one of Hen-
ry IV., the other of Tully, stand on
either side of the door, and arc sin-
gularly imposing.
We pass on to the dining-room of
their majesties. This is fir more ele-
gant. Hemish t-^pevitry adorns the
walls, which was brought here from
the Chateau de Madrid in the Bois
'le Boulogne. It represents the cha?e
in the different months of June, Sep-
tember, November, and December.^
A clock of the time and style of
Louis XIV., an<l a statue of Henry
IV. in while marble, by Franchevillc,
which is said lo be older, and to re-
present the king more correctly than
any other, are the principrJ orna-
ments.
The Staircase of Honor leads us
to the first story. It is richly sculp-
tured with astonishing beauty and
skill. Doors lead from it lo the
kitchens below, and to the different
towers.
We ascend and gain the waiting-
room. During the presence of their
majesties, the door-keepers remain
here. When tlie emperor is alone,
he chooses this for his slight repasts.
The most beautiful tapestry covers
the walls. The subjects are of all
kinds, mostly rural sc:enes, \\\ which
children or fairies prc-dominatc. The
furniture is of oak, and covered with
leather.
The reception-room, the largest
and most elegant in the chateau,
awaits us next. Here, by order and
under the eyes of the cruel Mont-
gomery, general of Jeanne d'Albret,
ten Catholic noblemen were treache-
rously murdered. The sun shone in
on us through the large bay-win-
dows, and gilded the richly orna-
mented stone chimney, and threw
the redectiou of the mouutuin-tups
across the floor. Wc stood, perhaps,
on the \Qry spot where these brave
souls had met their death .so many
years before, though no trace re-
mained of tlie horrors of that day.
Tlie guide told the story, and most
of our party passed on to admire the
tapesiry and the costly va.scs that
lend enchantment to what should be
a chamber of mourning. With aK
its beauty, 1 was glad lo escape to
the family apartment.
Here, it is said, Queen Margaret
5to
A».
presided. Her picture, and those of
.Francis I., Henri d'Albret, and
Henry JV., formerly graced the walls,
)ut the hand of vandalism, in 1793,
ircd not even them. They were
''burned with all the other pictures of
the chateau. A bronze statue of
Henry IV., when a child, which
a pretty bracket, and a table,
Jic gift of Ikmadolte. ornament the
im.
The sleeping apartments of the
emperor and empress follow, fur-
nished tastefully with Sevres china
ornaments, on which are represcnta-
of Henry IV., Tully, and the
^hdleau de Pa«, beautifully cxe-
BUled. The walls are hung with
lemish tapcstr)*; but in the bou-
tdoir of the empress are to be seen
tax pieces of Gobelin tapestry, so
'^finished that it was some time before
it could be decided they were not
oil-paintings. The subjects arc :
"Tully at the fcut of Henry IV. ;"
♦•Henry IV. at the MiUer Mi-
fchaud's ;" " The Parting of Henry
IV. with Gabrielle;" "The Faint-
ing of Gabrielle ;" *• Henry IV. meet-
ing Tully Wounded;" *' Henry IV.
before Paris."
An odd Jerusalem chest, also in
this room, is the admiration of
strangers. It is made of walnut,
inlaid M-ith ivory, and was brought
from Jerusalem, and purchased at
Malta in i8jS.
A bathroom of red marble of the
Pyrenees is attached to these apart-
ments, from which wc ascend to the
second story.
Here arc large rooms much in the
same stj'le as the others, yet not quite
so elaborate. In 184S, Abd-cl-Kadir
and his numerous family occupied
Lthis suite. An interesting model of
[she old chateau is here shown, exe-
icuted by a poor man named Saget,
who presented it to the Orleans
no doubt, another recompense, which
lie never received.
A room whose tapestry is devoted
to Psyche leads us to a cbamber
which formed part of the apartment
of Jeanne d'Albret, where it is said
Henry IV, was born, and where his
cradle is still presen*ed. The bed
that Jeanne d'Albret occupied ordi-
narily is in the room adjoining, and
a quainter piece of architecture can-
not be imagined. It is of oak, richlp
carved, covered and mounted by a
sleeping warrior and an owl, em-
blems of sleep and night. In the
inner portion, towards the wall, is
the Virgin, on one side, holding the
infant Jesus, and an Evangelic od
the other. Very rich cornices, witi
lion heads projecting and the frame-
work of the arms of Beam, coropktr
the description. How, without step*.
they ever got into those bctls is 1
mystery; the upper berth of a steaniff
is easy of access In comparison, bul
there we have always steps or under-
lierths that scn'c the same purpoce.
The cxadle of Henry IV. is a single
tortoise-shell in its natural state. It
must have been a good-sized tortoise
that gave its back to the honor, but
he roust have been a very little baby
to have slept in such a couch. The
cradle hangs very gracefully, sup-
ported by six cords and flags em-
broidered in gold, with the arms of
Trance and Navarre. Above is a
crown of laurel,, surmounted by a
white plume of ostricli feathers, and
underneath all a tabic covered with
a blue velvet cloth.
The chapel and library are ibc
only remaining objects of intcrot
The volumes of the library were pre-
sented by the emperor a short time
ago, and they are well selected.
There were formerly two chapels,
but the older one has been done away
witli. 'Ilie present one was built in
family at a very low price, hoping, 1S49, on the site of the old gale of
St. Mary Magdalen.
5"
the draw-bridge. The gate is still
preserved, and on it a marble slab
that formerly bore this inscription :
HENRICUS DEI GRATIA
CHRISTIANISSIMUS REX FRANCI-E
NAVARR* TERTIUS
DOMINUS SUPREMUS BEARNI
1592.
The interior of the chapel has
lately been restored and repainted.
It is not remarkable for anything,
however. The altar-piece is tawdry,
and not in the usual good taste of
the chateau.
We left this again for the beautiful
park, roamed through it once more,
and I took my last look at the im-
posing structure I had studied with
so much interest
I would advise all who visit Europe
to see Pau and the Pyrenees. Those
who do so will certainly say with me
that, had they crossed the ocean for
nothing else, they would have been
more than compensated.
ST. MARY MAGDALEN.
The winds of autumn whisper back soft sighing
To the low breathing of the Magdalen ;
She on her couch of withered leaves is lying —
Dreams she of days that come not back again ?
No — past and present both within her dying,
Her earnest eyes upon the page remain ;
While the long golden hair, behind her flying.
No more is bound with ornament and chain.
The storm may gather, but she doth not heed ;
Nature's wild music enters not her ears ;
Her soul, that for her Saviour's woes doth bleed,
One only voice for ever sounding hears :
" Follow his footsteps who thy sms hath bome,
And who for thee the thorny crown hath worn."
513
Memoir of Father John de Bribeuf, S.%
MEMOIR OF FATHER JOHN DE BR^BEUK, S.J.'
AuoKG the foremost and most dis-
tinguished of tlic Catholic mission-
aries of America stands the name of
Father John de Br^bcuf, the founder
of the Huron Mission. Normandy
has the honor of giving him birth,
and Canada was the field of his
splendid and heroic labors; yet the
mission of which he was the great
promoter was the prelude to, and
was intimaiely connected with, sub-
sequent missions in our own country ;
and at the time uf his glorious death,
his heaven -directed gaze was eagerly
and zealously turned towards llie
country of our own fierce Iroquois,
the inhabitants of Northern New
York, amongst whom he ardently
longed 10 plant the cross of tlic
Christian missions. His labors and
those of his comp.inions opened the
northwestern portions of our country,
and the great Valley of the Missis-
sippi, to Christianity and civilization,
and the discoveries and explorations
which followed were partly the fruits
of his and their exalted ministry and
enlightened enterprise; for, as Ban-
croft says, "the history of Uicir
l&bors is connected with the origin
of ever)* celebrated town in the
annals of French America j not a
cape was turned, not a liver entered,
but a Jesuit led the way." His lame
and Acliicvemcnts belong to alt
Aracrica, indeed, more truly, to all
Christendom. Saint, hero, and mar-
tyr as he was, his merits are a part
"Atitbotilks: T%ry*n,H KtMUmt: /rhUry
*f tAt C»tkplic Miuiani, by John G. Sbu;
Tkt Piantf^ a/ Framtt in Ikf Nrto U'erU, ftiid
Tkf JmiiU im AWU AmtHt*, br rraocil
Pulcmin : DuicroTt'i NUe^r^ a/ t*0 VmiHd
Srmtf», etc., etc.
of the heritage of the univei
church; and while his relics are
venerated on earth, and even the
enemies of our religion accord lo him
the most exalted praise, Cmtbotia
may, with the eye of faith, behold
him in that glorious and noble band
of martjTS in heaven, decked in re-
splendent garments of red, dyed in
their own blood, passing and rqiaa-
ing eternally, in adoration and thanks-
giving, before the throne of him who
was the Prince of MartjTS.
*' h lialh not pcfMicd (ram lite CKrth, thai ^M
bnve and bicb.
That ncrred the nuijt MJnu of oM «riib
■launUcnlave loiltc.
In lli« l*( Wast, wbctff. In bis pride, lln MM
Indiui diet;
Where Afrlc't d*rk.«ldnaed clulJr«M dwA
'onUi buraiiiK trepte aktet ;
'Mid NtMlbetQ soDws, Mtd whcrcKM'cr fV
Cbri>iuui Icet li«re irod,
Bnrc ncn hsrc uSercd uato dMJb. n «ft>
neuct forCod. '
While historians outside of the
Catholic Church have marvelled at
such extraordinary virtues and un-
parallele<l achievements as have been
displayed, not alone by a Xavicr.but
by the missionaries of our own Und,
and have extolled them as an hotior
to human nature. Catholics may be
excused for regarding them as mira-
cles of the faith, triumphs of ibe
church, and martyrs of religion. It
seems strange that tlie general his-
torians of the church have bestowed
so litUe notice upon the planting and
propagation of the faith in America
The history of these events presents
to our admiration characters the
roost noble, deeds the most heroic,
virtues the most saintly, lives the
most admirable, and deaths the most
glorious. WTiile the church of
Memoir of Father John dc Brebeuf^ 5.7.
513
lenca, in our day, counts her
children by millions, what more in-
spiring lesson could she place before
their eyes than l]»e history of her
early daj-s, when her priests and
missionaries were confessors and
martyrs ? Of these was the subject
of the present memoir.
John de Brtbcuf was bom in the
diocese of JJayeux, in Nonnandy,
March 25, 1593, of u noble family,
said to be the same tliat gave origin
to the illustrious and truly Catholic
house of the English Arundels. He
resolved to dedicate himself to the
LTvicc of God in the holy ministr)-,
,and, widi this view, entered the no-
.vitiate of the Society of Jesus, at
Kouen> October 5, 1617. Having
>mplcted his noviccship, he entered
ipon his theological studies. He re-
lived subdeacon's orders at Lisscux,
md those of deacon at Bayeux, in
[September, 1621; was ordained a
>riest during the Lent of 1622, and
lofl'ered up the holy sacrifice of the
jMass for the first time on Lady-day
Lof the same year. He was, though
>f tlic youngest, one of the most
Ealous and devoted priests of his
>rder, and, from tlic lime that he
insecrated himself to religion, was
jiven to daily austerities and rigorous
Hf-mortitications.
Catching the spirit of his divine
blaster, Father Brebeuf conceived an
irdent thirst for the salvation of souls,
the foreign missions became the
>b)ect of his most fervent desire.
pThis chosen field was soon opened
his intrepid and heroic labors.
[When Father Le Caron. the Re-
EoUcct missionar}' in Canada, asked
for the assistance of the Jesuits
tin his arduous undertaking of con-
[■quering to Christ the savage tribes
of Nortli America, Fathers John de
Brebeuf, Charles Lallemant, and Ev-
retnond Masse, iheinselves all eager
for the task, were selected by their
VOL. xiii.— 33
superiors for the mission. These
apostolic men sailed from Diep[>e,
April 26, 1625, and reached Quebec
after a prosperous voyage. *l'he re-
ception they at first met was enough
to have appalled any hearts less reso-
lute and inspired from above than
were tlie hearts of Father Brebeuf
and his companions. The Recol-
lects, a branch of the Franciscan
Order, who, through Father Lc
Caron, had invited them over, had
received at their convent on the
river St. Ch.irles no tidings of their
arrival; Clianiplain, ever friendly to
the missionaries of the iaith, was
aUsent; Caen, the Calvinist, then at
the he.id of the fur-trading mono-
poly of New France, refused them
shelter in the fort ; and the private
traders at Quebec closed their doors
against them. To perish in the wil-
derness, or to return to France from
the inhospitable shores of the New
World, was the only alternative
before them. At this juncture the
good Recollects, hearing of their ar-
rival and destitution, hastened from
their convent in their boat, and re-
ceived the outcast sons of Loyola
with every demonstration of joy and
hospitality, and carried them to the
convent. It is unaccountable how
Parkman, in his Pioneers v/ Frame in
the AVa" WoriJ, in the face of these
facts, relate*! by himself in cunmiou
with historians generally, should
charge against the Recollects that
they "entertained a lurking jealousy
of these formidable fellow-laborers,"
as he rails the Jesuits ; who, on the
contr.nry, were the chosen companions
of the Recollects, were invited to
share their labors, and with whom
they prosecuted with " one heart and
one mind." the glorious work of the
misbions. Tlie sons of St. Francis
and St. Ignatius united at once in
administering to the .spiritual necessi-
ties of the French at Quebec, and
5U
Manoir of Father John de Bribcuf S.%
the )a(tei, "Kty their heroic labors and
sacrifices, soon overcame the preju-
dice of their ciiL-mies.
From his transient home at Que-
bec, Fallicr Br^beuf watched for an
opportunity of advancing to the field
lOT his mission among the Intlians.
The first opportunity that presented
'itself wjs the proposed despent of
Father Vicl to 'Hiree Rivers, in or-
der to make a retreat, and attend to
some necessary business of the mis-
sion. Father Br^bcuf, accompanied
by the Rcrollcct Joseph de la Koche
Oallion, lost no lime in repairing to
the trading post to meet the father,
return with him and the e:(pectcd
annual flotiUa of trading canoes from
the Huron country, and commence
his coveted work among the Wyan-
dots. But he arrived only to hear
that Father Yiel had gained the
crown of martyrdom, togetlier with a
little (-hristian boy, whom their In-
dian conductor, as his canoe shot
across the last dangerous rapids in
the river Des l*rairics, behind Mont-
real, seized and threw into the foam-
ing torrent together, by which they
were swept immediately into die
seething gulf below, never to rise
again. Neither the death of Father
Vicl, nor his own ignorance of the
Huron language, appalled the brave
heart of Father Br^bcuf, who, when
the flotilla came down, begged to be
taken back as a passenger to the
Huron country; but the refusal of
the Indians to receive him compel-
led him to return to Quebec. On the
twentieth of July, 1625, he went
among the Montagnais, with whom he
wintered, and. for fi%c months, suf-
fered all the rigors of the climate, in
a mere bark-cabin, in which he had
to endure both smoke and filth, the
inevitable penalties of accepting sav-
age hospitality. Besides tliis. his en-
campment was shifted with the ever-
varying cha&e, and it was only his
n with
jll^B
misq^l
10 tH^
rea-
1
zeal that enabled him. amid »
sant changes and distractions,
learn much of the Indian laogui
for the acquisition of the various
Ictts of which, as well as for his
titude in accommodating himself
Indian life and manners, he was sini
lariy gifted. On the twcniy-sevcnih
of March folloM-ing, he returned to
Quebec, and resumed, in union with^
the Recollects, the care of ihc Fi ~
settlers. The Jesuits and Recoil
moving together in perfect unis
went alternately from Quebec to
Recollect convent and Jesuit rta-
dence, on a small river called
Charles, not far from the city.
The colony of the Jesuit fat)
was soon increased by the arrival
Fathei^ Noirot and Uela Nou6, wiih
twenty Liborers, and they were thm
enabled to build a residence I'or them*
selves — tlie mother house an^H
headquarters of these valioiit sol^^
diets of the cross in their long and
eventful struggle with paganism and
superstition among the Indians. Fa-
ther Br<!;bcuf and his compaotom
now devoted their labors lo the
French at Quebec, then numberiog
only forty-three, hearing confessions,
preaching, and studying the Incfiui
languages. They also bestowed
siderable attention on the cultivatic
of the soil. Hut these labors
but preparatory for others more
duous, but more attractive to them.
In 1O26, the Huron misision wa^
again attempted by Father Bi^beuC
He, together «-ith Father Joseph dc
la Roche Dallton and the Jesuit Anne
de Noue, was sent lo Three Rivers,
to attempt a passage to tlie Huron
country. When the Indian flatiUa
arrived at Three Rivers, the Ba-
rons were ready to receive Father
de la Roche on board, but being
accustomed to the Jesuit habit,
objecting, or pretending to object,
the portly frame of Father Bi
ncfifta
I C«^H
re !^^k
era. ^1
Mimoir of Fatfur John de Brebeuf, S.y.
they refused a passage to bim and his
companion. Father Noufi. At last,
some presents secured a place in the
flotilla for the two Jesuits. The mis-
sionaries, after a ivainful voyage, arriv-
ed at St. Gabriel, or La Rochelle, in
the Huron coimlry. and look up the
mission which the Recollects Le Ca-
ron and Viel had so nobly pioneered.
The Hurons, whose proper name
was Wendat, or Wyandot, were a
powerful tribe, numbering at least
thirty thousand soujs, living in eigh-
teen villages scattered over a small
strip of land on a peninsula in the
southern extremity of the Cleorgian
Bay. Otlier trit>es. kindred to them,
stretched through New York and in-
to the continent as far south as the
Carolinas. Their towns were well
built and strongly defended, and they
were good tillers of the soil, active
traders, and brave warriors. Ilicy
were, however, behind their neigh-
bors in their domestic life and in their
styles of dress, which for both sexes
were exceedingly immodest Their
objects of worship were one supreme
deity, called the Master of Life, to
whom they offered human sacrifi-
ces, and an infinite niunber of infe-
rior deities, or rather fiends, inhabit-
ing rivers, cataracts, or other natu-
ral objects, riding on the storms, or
living in some animal or plant, and
whom they propitiated with tobacco.
Father Bnibcuf had acquired suffi-
cient knowledge of their language to
make himself understood by the na-
tives, and he was greatly assisted by
the instructions and manuscripts of
Fathers Le Caron and Viel. Father
Nouc, being unable to acquire the
language, by reason of his great age
and defective memorj', returned to
Quebec in 1627, and was followed
the next year by Father de la Roche,
who had made a brave but unsuc-
cessful effort to plant the cross
among the Attiarandaronk, or Neu-
tiak The undaunted Br4beuf was
thus in 1639 left alone among ilie
Hurons. He soon won their confi-
dence and respect, and was adopted
into the tribe by Uie name of Kckon.
Though few conversions rewarded his
labors among them during his three
years' residence, still he was amply
compensated by his success in gain-
ing their hearts, acquiring their lan-
guage, and thoroughly understanding
their character and manners. So
completely had he gained (he good-
will of the Huruns, that, when he was
about to return in 1639 to Quebec,
whither his superior had recalled him,
in consequence of the distress pre-
vailing in the colony, tlie Indians
cmwded around him lo prevent him
from entering the canoes, and ad-
dressed him in this touching lan-
guage; "What! Echon. dost thou
leave us? Thou hast been here now
three years, to learn our language,
to teach us to know thy God, to
adore and serve him, having come
but for that end, as thou hast shown ;
and now, when thou knowcst our
language more perfectly than any
other Frenchman, thou leavest us. If
we do not know the Go<l thou adorest,
we shall call him to witness that it is not
our fault, but thine, to leave us so."
Deeply as he fell this appeal, the Je-
suit could know no other voice when
his su])erior s])oke ; and having giv-
en every encouragement to those
who were well disposed toward the
faith, and explained why he should
go when his superior required it, he
embarked on the flotilla of twelve
canoes, and reached Quebec on the
seventcenili of July, 1629. Three
days after his arrival at Quebec, tliat
port was captured by the Luglish un-
der the traitor Kirk, who bore the
deepest hatred toward the Jesuits,
whose residence he would have fired
upon could he have brought liis ves-
sel near enough for his cannon to
L
5.G
Memoir of Father John de Brebeiif, S.%
bear upon it. He pillaged it, how-
ever, cumpelUng the fathers to aban-
don it and fly fur safely to Tadous-
0tc. litit Fathur Ilr^txruf and his
'companions were, together with
Chainplain, detained as prisoners.
Amongst iJic followers of Kirk was
one Michel, a bitter and relentless
liugucnot, who was by his tempera-
ment and intimiities prone to vio-
lence, and who vented his rage espe-
cially against the Jesuits. He and
the no less bigoted Kirk found in Fa-
ther Br6beuf an intrepid defender
of his order and of his companions
.-ig.iirist their foul calumnies, while at
Uie some time his noble character
Ifaowed ho«r well it was mined to
the practice of Christian huntilitf and
charity.
On the occa:^iun here particnbriy
alluded to. Kirk was conversing with
the fathers, who were then his pfi-
)oers, and, «ith a maligtunt e3q)fe9-
1, SAttl:
Gc&UeaeD, tov b usiD CS i tn Ca-
nida was to ec^ what bclongrd
to M. de Caen, whom 70a dtspos-
sesscd."
** IWdoa me, sir," answered Fa-
ther B»£bc«C **we came pordy iot
tbe glorf of God, and capoaed omt-
srivGS to mrr kiod of danger id
ooavcn tbe ladiaBs.*
Here MidMi tMokc m : " Af^ ttr,
ooovect dkc ladinsl Yo« »cm^
ownaJto iiiin^
Father Bribeuf, who possesBcd.
powerful frame and commanding fi|
ure, stood unmoved and unnif
But he did iK>t rdy upon these qi;
lies of the nun, though he knew
fear, but illustrated by bis eiumi
on this as on every other occasio^
the virtues of a Chnstian and a mi-
nister of peace. With a huroili
and charity that showed how
the strong and naturally ini|
man had subdued his passiou*
endeavored to appease Uic anger of
his as^lant by an apology, which,
while it was jusilv calculated to re-
move all cause of offence, was ac-
com)>3nied with a solemn viodtcotioQ
of himself and companions firom the
unjust imptnaiion just cast opos
them. He said :
" Vou must cacBse me. I did dm
mean to give you the lie. 1 shoidd
be very sorn* to do so. The wordl
I uaed are those we use in the acfaooh
when a doobtfnl q u o ti on ii adtSDC-
ed^andtbeyacsnBoaflence. Thoe-
fare, 1 wA yon u» poidoa me."
** Bob Dtea." said Champlatn,"ytM
swear wd far a le fc tm ar !^
** I knew it,- ECfiiird Uichrl; '\
shook! be oaatcDt if 1 had
that Jcaait who ^vr rae the be
fatemygeactA*
The'MfatCHWe Uicbcl cxntBMd
in dHK «^ imeeasiB|ily to rare o««r
tbe pcctCBOBa mmllt wmcn bo apc^
npes CDMB wMMnBL ne aaed
dMMvly iftnwd ia <mc of las pa-
der Ike rada of Tiibiiiiiiii U «m
bi»
be
be
I
they ill
France.
Sad .It this interrupu'on of their
work of love among the Lenighied
sans of the Western wilds, Uie mis-
sionaries (ltd not despair, but only
awaited ihc restoration of Canada
to France in ordt-r to resume their
labors. In the volume of Iiis travels
published by Cbaraplain in 1632, js
embraced the treatise on the Huron
language which Father Br^bcuf had
pre|Hircd during his tliree years' resi-
dence with that tribe, and which, in
our own limejt, has t>een rei)ublishcd
in the Traniiutums of the Amfrican
A'lti^utirian Si>^ii'f}', as a most pre-
cious contribution tu learning.
The English govemmcnt disavow-
ed the conduct of Kirk, and Canada
was restored to France during the
year 1632. As the conversion of
the native tribes was ever one of
the leading features in the policy of
Cailiolic statesmen in the coloniza-
tion of this continent, it was deter-
mined to renew the missions which
we have seen interrupted. In select-
ing missionaries for this tasl:, the
choice fell not upon the Jesuits, nor
the Recollects, as might have been
expected, but upon the Capuchins;
jind it was only when these good fa-
thers reiirescntcd to Cardbal Riche-
Ueu that the Jesuirs had already been
labonng with fidelity and success in
at vineyard, and requested that the
issjons might be again confided to
them, that Fathers Paul Lejeune and
Anne de None, with a lay brother,
were sent out In 1632. They arrived
at Tadoussac on the twelfth of July.
It soon became Father BrebcuPs
great privilege and happiness 10 fol-
low them. On the twenty-second of
May, 1633, to the great joy of Que-
bec, Champlain returned to resume
his sway in Canada, and Father Hr^-
bcuf accom^mnied Inm together with
Fathers Mass6, Daniel, and Devost.
Though Father Brtbeur was not in-
active about Quel>ec, still his heart
longed for the Huron homes and
council -fires, and still more for Huron
souls. Shortly afterward, he had the
consolation of beholding the faithful
Louis Amantacha, a Christian Hu-
ron, arriving at Quebec, followed by
tlie usual Indian flotilla of canoes.
A council was held, sixty chiefs sat
in a circle round the council -fire, and
the noble Chaniplain, the intrepid
Br^bcuf, and the zealous Lalleraant,
stood in their midst. A treaty of
friendship was concluded between
the French and llie Hurons, and, in
confiding the missionaries to his new
allies, Champlain thus addressee! the
latter : " These we consider as fa-
thers, these are dearer to us than life.
Think not that they have left France
under pressure of want ; no, they
were there in high esteem : they come
not to gather up your furs, hut to
open to you the doors of eternal life.
If you love the French, as you say
you love them, then love and honor
these our fathers." This address was
responded to by two of the chiefs,
who were followed by Father Br^beuf
in his broken Huron, "the assembly
jerking in unison, from the bottom
of their throats, repeated cjaculdlions
of applause." The members of the
council tlien crowded round him,
each claiming the privilege of carry-
ing him in his canoe. And the In-
dians from the different towns began
now to contend among themselves
for the honor of possessing Father
llrebeuf for their respective setUe-
ments. The contest was soon decid-
ed in favor of Rochelle, the most
populous of the Huron villages. On
the eighth of August, the ctiects of
Father Br^beuf and of his compan-
ions. Fathers Daniel and Devost^
were already on board the canoes,
when .mother more serious ditTiculty
arose: an Indian murderer had been
5.S
Memoir of Father yohn dt Brebettf S.y.
arrested by order of Champlain, in
consequence of which an enraged
Algonquin chiuf declared tliat no
Frenchman should enter the flotilla.
'Hie Hurons were ready and anx*
ious to convey tho fathers, but they
feared the consequences of a rupture
with the Algonquins. The fathers
were thus constrained, to the com-
mon sorrow of themselves and their
Hurons, to behold the flotilla depart
without them. But the last scene
in this separation was yet more touch-
ing, llie faithful and pious Louis
Aimintacba, overwhelmed with sor-
row at tlic loss of the iathers, linger-
ed in their company to the last mo-
ment, humbly made his confession,
andt for tlie last time for him. this
Christian warrior received ihc holy
communion from the hands of Fatber
BrcbeuC Then, having rejoined his
companions, the flotilla quickly ^id-
ed tiom the view of those irho would
have laid down their lives to save
the sonb of thoae benighted and
thoughticg v o ya ger s.
Father BrAxafand hiscon^niom
Rtunicd to labor for a time loi^cr
unaog the Frcscfa and Indians in and
abo«t Qaeboc, wlKre (heir labors wcfc
fidl of seal and not vidMMt sicoeaa.
It was here that Father IMbnf bap-
liicd SftMMHaui, the first adolt npoo
wfaon ke uwifcu c d that sacsamenL
Wink in bcakh, SHooaMi hMl te-
qtMSted tlut he Bttbt be scM to
Fiance far tnmicliaa m the UA^
bat be ««s Mw omtakv bjr a A«ad-
lid i&DeXt wbkb ckptired baa vi
Father IMbcaf railed bia
to tbe aftxr, be uftnJ ip
far bis benett the boly sxnAoe of
the Matft in bonr of St JoMpb, the
pettOB 01 tne
'Of:
ardently and touchlogty entreated the
father to baptiie him. But the cau-
tious and conscientious priest deferred
the sacrament, to the astonishment
of the Indians, whose habit was to
refuse nothing to the sick. One of
Sasousmat's Indian friends said lo the
father, with great impati>ence : " Thoa
hast no sense ; pour a littl« water
him, and it is dooe.'* " No,"
the priest of God, ** 1 would in^
myself in rain were I ta
without necessity, an infidel jLod un-
believer not fully itkstnicted." The
patient was afterwards r^nnovcd to
the rcsidenoe of Notre L>iune des
jVnges, where be contiaued to receive
the instractiaos of the Cubcr, and
where be grew desperately lU, and
was &aaUy in an boor of danger bap-
tiled. At dicuuMoent of his decease
are^pkndentmeteofic light iUumincd
tbe death-iDom, and shone Car aroQad
abooi the coontry. There was after-
wards another adab, nanked Hamt^
a stead&st intoA of the — rmrTnaiTir.
who feu dat^cfoBsIf iD, and was
unaed bf Father Bribenf. He too
oUMle caniea cnWatiea lo be b«p>
tned. bar tbe itths M i y«. tcd iIk
cooTctt w loQg deiajis aad ptofaa-
tioiB» and fiaaftf onljr U iiuwud the
rarriTiit whca death'
Innanm aie wto i 1 1 in w b»cb
wasnftm Itei
wbcKtbe
waolia^ Sacb ettafile^ of which
tbeie aR Dot a fcwwrwnfcd ■ the
aealaad wWii M ii i f i m bbon <tf dw
Cachofcc w iiaiii— i l l, far the aalva*
ptetmfcfiiaiifdtei
tbM
of b u » u »ia> die
of
Memoir of Father John dt Brebeuf, S.J,
they penned the humble story of their
labors, to be transmillcd to their
superiors in Europe, knew not that
the same would serve a^ evidence for
their own vindication.
With the return of spring, the time
again drew near for the appearance
of the usual flotilla of Indian canoes
at the trading post of Three Rivers.
On the istofjuly, l-'athcrs Hrebeuf
and Daniel repaired to 'I'hree Rivers,
to procure a passage in the flotilla for
tlie Huron counlry, and Father De-
vost joined them in a few days. But
the canoes were slow in coming in \
the Hurons had sustained a tcrritic
defeat, losing two hundred braves,
and the gallant Christian warrior
Louis Aniautacha was among the
slain. No sooner, however, had a
few canoes arrived, than Father
Brcbcuf pressed forward to secure a
passage ; but the hostile Algontjuiii
and the cautious Huron discovered in-
numerable obstacles in the way of his
going with them, and it seemed that
he was again to be disappointed in
his hopes of reaching his beloved
mission. At length, by the influence
of the French commanders, which was
supported as usual by presents, it was
arranged that a passage should be
given to one missionar)* and two men,
and even then Father Brebeuf was
Icfk out. He thus describes his diffi-
culties: " Never did I see voyage so
hampered and traversed by the com-
mon enemy of ui.in. It was by a
stroke of licaven that we advanced,
and an eflcct of the power of tlie
glorious St. Joseph, in whose honor
God inspired me to promise twenty
masses, in the despair of all tilings."
At the moment tliat this vow was
made, a Huron, who had agreed to
carry one of the Frenchmen in his
canoe, was suddenly inspired to take
Father Brebeuf in his stead. Thus
a passage was securciL But such
were the hurry, confusion, and want
of accommodation, that the mission-
aries were compelled to leave behind
them all their effects, except such
as were nccessar)' for saying Mass.
Too glad to be admitted into this
vineyard which they had so long
sought, they cheerfully made every
sacrifice. With light and joyous
hearts and ready hands, they plied
the oar from morning till night ; they
recited the sacred office by the even-
ing fire; they nursed all who fell sick
on the voyage with so much chanty
and tenderness as to melt the hearts
of those savage sons of the wilder-
ness ; at fifty different points, where
the passage was dangerous or obstruc-
ted, tliey volunteered to carry the
packages, and even the canoes, on
their shoulders around the portages ;
and at one place Father Brebeuf
barely escaped a watery grave at a
rapid where his canoe was hurried
over the impetuous current. At
length, after much suffering, they
reached the shores of the Huron
country on tlie 5th of August, 1634.
The following description of this
remarkable journey of the fathers is
from the eloquent and graphic, but
not always impartial, pages of Park-
man's j^csuits in North America .•
" They reckoned the dtstauce iit nine
hundred miles : but distance was the
least repcllaiit feature of this most ard-
uous ioumcy. H^ircfool, lesl ttieir shoes
sltould injure the frail vessel, each
crouched in his cnnoe, lolling with un-
practised hands ti propel it. Before
iiim, week aflei week, he saw the same
lank, unkempt hair, the same lawnf
shoulders and long, naked arms, cease-
lessly plying the paddle. The canoes'
were soon sopAnled, and for more than
a month the Frenchmen r.irely or never
met. tJr£bcuf spoke k little Huron, and
could converse with his escort ; hut Dan-
Ed and Devosi were doomed to a silctico
unbrolccn save by the unintelligible com-
plaints and menaces of the Indians, of
whom many were sick with the epidemic,
and all were terrified, desponding, and
I
I
520
AffMoir of Father John ue Hrebcuf, S.T
sulleo. Their only food was a pittance
of Indian corn, ciiiihcd between two
stones and mixud with vaicr. I'he toil
was exticmc. Brib«uf counted Ihiity*
Stc poitiiKcs, wlicTc th'* canoes were lilt-
ed fmrn ilic water and carried on the
shoulders of ihc voyagers around rapids
and cataracts. More than Miy litncs. be-
sides, they were I'orccd to wade in the
raging current, pus^hing up their empty
barks, or drag^ging them with ropes, Brfe-
beuf tried to do his pari, but the boulder*
and sharp rocts wounded his naked fcrt,
and compelled bim to desist. He and his
companions bore their share of the bag-
gage actoss the portages, sometimes a
dlsiaoce of scrcral miles. Four trips, at
ibe least, were requited to convei.- (he
whole. The way i^-as through the dense
forest, encumbered with rocks and logs,
tangled with roots and undeilirush, damp
with pcipclual shade, and redolent of de-
caycd lca?es and raouldciiog wood. Tlie
Indians themselves were olten spent with
fatiEue. Uribcuf, a man o( iron frame
and a nature unconquerably resolute,
doubted if his strength would sustain
him to the {oumey's end. Ue complains
that he bad no moment to read his bre-
vianr, except by the moonlight or ibc 6ra
when ittclcbcd out to sleep on a bare
rock by sane savage cataract o( the Ot-
tawa, or hi a damp nook of the adjacent
forest
"Descendlf^ French River and follow-
ing the lonely shores of the grr.it (Jeor-
Cian Bay, the canoe which carried Bri-
bcuf at lengib nrared il« deftliiutnm. thiiiy
days arict leaving Three Rircrs. Before
him, stretched in sairagc slumber, lar the
foicsi shore of ihcHuruns. D>d his spirit
link as he approached bis drcvy booe.
opptrs<<«d with a dark futebodisf of wiux
the fnlure should bring forth> Then is
some reason 10 itdak to. Ym it «ra« bat
the shadow of f o — t; lor UsMaxv-
liae b«an had lo« ih» temm oC floH*. aad
his intnpid matmam «*• ind wldi m imI
befara ithkh doabn uaA OMtiBJatles
lied Ilk* *« Mbt* fiC Ibc aecaii« Not
ibe ftkm iihiwiiwi of ■■gMlnn, VMriar
up ilMWMdsalmxMad MMlM«A,a>«sih
bold hud MHokg so tb« eank ite Imow
iL.1 J .u ,/ «,- f -Tin 1 Vim I : \lw
was dM aoicictti fatik oKamikBd, scdaiB-
ed fnm tfw decay «f «t«Bdc^ Undlad
wilh A mm Ufc. a*d iriianilil»d to a pa*,
icnunal graoih asd frvidUacM.*
Bat FaUKrBribnTsuukdfedaot
end here, for the ungrateful Indians
who lived ti»femy miles bdoir leather
Br^beuf's destination, forgetting all
his kindness ojid sacrifices ami de
spising his entreaties, abandoned him
on this desolate shore. In this dts-
trirss, be fell upon his knees and
thanked God for all his farors, and
c^ecially for bringing him again into
the country of the Hurons. Beseech-
ing Providence to guide his stc^is, And
saluting the guardian angel o£ the
land with a dedication of himfidf to
the converaion of those tribes, be took
only such articles as he cotiltl in oa
event (Iispen.w with, and, concealing
the rest, surted forth in that vtat
wUdemess, not knowing whither his
steps nitghc cany him. Providence
guided those stepa: he discovered
the site of the former ^nllage, ToAOcll^
in which be had resided three ycsa^
and even the bUckened rulus of his
cabin, in which, fiar the same tinic^
he liad ofiercd op the Holy
but the village was destroyed uul
encampment shifted to another pi
Serikiog upon a tn&, be jdraaced fn
of hope, and soon be saddenly stood
in the midst of his Haron frtexids, in
their netk- \ilUge of Ibonatirm. A
shout of welcone from m hoDdred
voices — ^ Ecboa 1 Echoa!" — y ti c te d
the joyous messenger of salvaiioa.
He imawfaiely threw hinsclf Bp<Mi
the ho^iitilny of tiie eencnws chieC
AwaBdoay^ Craa wtsom he obuiaed
men lo go ftir his padtagcs; he tv-
tnccd his wcsry steps with thetn,aait
it was one o'clock in the aoraing
fcre all was safely lodged in the
Itgettflboauira^ TbeMhcri
Ifae i"«ti"«^ of the
canoes Aey came, tealy famd dwir
way ^so, ooe by ooe, to Ihooatna,
m great dHtrcK.
For Kaae tome tber paitoofc c( die
liberal hiinii Jilj <rf Awaadot ; hui^
Father BiOivti kmtwm daodcd
m
Memoir of Father y'o/tn de Brebeuf, S,%
521
make Ihonatiria the mission head-
quarters, they now constructcti a re-
sidence for themselves, thirty-six by
twenty-one feet, in which the centre
was their hall, parlor, and business-
room, leadiug, on the one side, lo the
chapel, and, on the other, to what was
at the same time Ititdien, refectory,
and dormitory. This rude hut — in-
deed, everything about the mission-
aries — awakcnctl the amazement of
these simple sons of the forest. They
came in crowds from all parts of the
Huron country to see tbc wonderful
tilings pois.ses.setl hy the fathers, the
fame of which had s})rcad through
the land There was ihe mill for
grindinj; corn, which they viewed
with admiration, and which they de-
lighted to turn without ceasing. There
were a prism and magnet, whose
qualities struck them with surpiisc
and pleasure. There was a ma^-nify-
ing-glaiis which, to their amazement,
made a Hca as targe as a monster;
and a multiplying lens which possess-
ed the mysicrious power of creating
instantly eleven beads out of one.
hut the clock, which hung un the
wall of the missionary cabin, was to
these untutored savages the greatest
miracle of all. 'l*he assembletl war-
riors, wtUi their wives and children,
would sit in silence on the ground,
waiting an entire hour for the clock
to strike the time of the day. They
listened to it ticking every second
and marking every minute of the
twenty-four hours ;^ they thought it
was a thing of life; inquired when,
how, and upon what it fed. They
called it sometimes the '• Day Chief"
and sometimes the "Captain," and
expressed their awe of so mystcHoiis
and supernatural a being by the con-
slant cry of "Ondakil Ondaki!!"
" What does the Captain say now ?'*
was the repeated question. The
fathers were obliged to establish cer-
tain regulations for visitors, whose
presence would have left them no
time for rest or devotion during the
twenty-four hours, while, at ihe same
time, they availed themselves of these
curiosities for attracting the Indians
to the mission cross before their door
and to tlic first simple lessons in reli*
gion. Iliey thus interpreted the
strokes of the dock : " When he
strikes twelve times, he says, ' Hang
on the kettle,' and when he strikes
four times, he says, ' Get up and go
home.' " The Indians rigidly obeyed
these commands of the little "-Day
Chief." The crowd was densest at
the stroke of twelve, when the kettle
was hung and the fathers' sagamiie
passed around ; and at the stroke of
four, all arose at once and departed,
leaving their good entertainers to say
their office and ro^ry, study and make
iwics on the Huron language, write
letters to iheir superiors, and consult
over the ]jlaiis for conduc^ting the
mission. The fathers also gave some
lessons to their Huron friends on the
subject of self-defence and military
engineering. The Hurons, living in
constant dread of the Iroquois, were
glad to learn a more perfect way of
constructing their palisade forts,
which they had been accustomed'
to make round, but which the
Frenchmen now taught ihcm to
make rectangular, with small flank-
ing towers at the comers for the ar-
quebusmen. And, in case of actual
attack, tlie aid of the four Frenchmen,
armed with arquebuses, who had
come with the miswonaries from
Three Rivers, was promised, to en-
able tliem to defend their wives,
children, and homes from the un-
sparing attacks of their relentless
enemies.
The Indian children were the es-
pecial objects of the solicitude of
these untiring missionaries. They
assembled these fre(|uently at their
house, un wliich occasions Father
L
Sa*
MttHoir of Father Jitkn 4i Bribeuf^ S.%
Br^bcut, ihe more cSecttiaDjr to in-
spire resi»ect, appeared in surplice
and barctta. The /^ter A'cster was
chanted in Huron rb)ine, into K-hich
it had been translaied by Father
Daniel ; and the Ave and Credo and
Ten Commandments were recited.
The children were examincti in their
past lessons, and instructed in new
ones, and then dismissed joyously
with presents of beads and dried
fruits. Soon the ^-illage resounded
with the rhymes of the /^ter Aifsfer^
and the little catechumens vied with
each other at home in making ths
sign of the cross and reciting the
commandments.
To the adults the fathers earnestly
announced Christ crudfied, and en-
deavored to turn their admiration
from the clock and other curiosities
of the mission house, which, as they
said, were but creatures, to the Crea-
tor, to heaven, and to the faith.
The first-fruits of the mission were
soon galhere<i; several infants, in
danger of death, were baptized, and
several adults were also admittet^l into
the Christian church through the
same regenerating waters.
But the enemies of religion and of
truth were jealously watching these
iticccsscs, and soon the fathers en-
countered the same oppo^ution that al-
ways besets theintrofhiction of Chris-
tianity into heathen nations ; that is,
the jealuuay and haired of the native
prints, or officials enhTistcd with the
matters of religion or the superjtitious
riten of the country. These, among
our American tril>es,were the medi-
cine men. These wicked sorcerers
nrcuKcd Father Br^beuf and his com-
panions of causing the drought, of
blighting the crops, of introducing
Ihe pluKue, in fine, of every e\il that
fUllicled the country or any of the
[woplr. The missionaries l>egan to
Iw inftultetl, the cross before thdr
residence was turned into a target^
and corses and imprecations greeted
them on every side. Bat the praycn
of the father^ and espcdally a novena
of masses in honor of St. Joseph,
were soon followed by copious ratos.
and the medicine- men were con-
founded, while the fathers were re-
ceived with honor and esteem. The
old and young were instructed in
the faith, catechetical t-losses were
(^)ened, and all ages and condidoai
took pleasure in contending for the
pictures, medals, and other Itctle n-
wnnls which were bestowed upOB
the studious. On Sundays^ the Indi-
ans were assembled at Mass; but. io
imitation of the custom which pre-
^•ailed in the early church, Father
Br^bcuf dismissed them at the oft^
tory, after reciting for ihcra tfce
prayers they had learawl. In rfif
aTiemoon, catechetical tnstrucdoni
were given, and all were examined
on what they had learned during the
week. In Augiat, 1635, Fatbm
Pijart and Mercier. tlicn recently r-
rived from France, came iiKo the
Huron country to join the little ns-
sionary band, who were, even after
this increase of their force, kept 000-
stantly laboring.
In April. 1636} the mhmamanm
attended the " feast of the de*d,* 1
great solemnity of the Indiansi, whtD
the Imnes of their dead are fV**
down from their aerial lombsL and,
being wrapped in the richest fan.
and surrounded with various bncfc-
mcnts, are deposited in the coaom
mound, amid th? songs, frames, sod
(lancing of the living. Fatlter Bi*^
beuf, the courageous champaon of ^
faith, seized upon this occasioo to ao*
nuunce the saving word of tnttli in
the very mtdsl of the aocieiK MBi
most cheritkhed ntes of ft kacboi
superstition, lie declared that tadt
ceremonies were utterly vain and frrit-
less for souls which, like thesovbirf
all in that mound, were lost forerer;
thai souls on death went cither to a
realm of bliss or a world of woe;
that the living alone could chouse,
and, if they preferred the former, he
and the other fathers were there to
show the way. This speech was ac-
coin[janied with a present to the as-
sembled chiefs, a means most effectual
in gaining the good-will of tlic Indi-
ans. The latter offered no opposition
to the baptism of their infants, and
expressed themselves as if well dis-
posed towards the faith preached by
the fathers. In Dctcmbcr, the mis-
sion among the Hurons was formally
coD.serratcd to the Imm.iciilatc Con-
ception. Uaptism was administered
to nearly thirty of the tribe, amongst
whom was one, a little girl, of singu-
lar interest, named Mar>' Conception.
'Iliis little child was remarkable for
her love of prayer and lier fondness
for Che niissiunarits and whatever
pertained to religion ; she ran as
gaily to catechism as the other chil-
dren to their play, and took a singular
pleasure in walking beside the mis-
sionary as he was reciting his office,
making the sign of the cross and
praying louder whenever he turned
in his walk. In 1635, fourteen bap-
tisms were reported by the fathers,
and in July, 1636, eighty-six, amongst
whom was the chief, who was sin-
cerely converted to the faith. Father
Brtbeuf made many excursions to
distant villages and families. In
October, he visited the family of
Louis dc Saintc Foi, who, having
been t.ikcn to France by the fathers,
was baptized at Roneu, but was now
grown cold in his religion. This
visit, in which Father Brtbeuf was
accompanied by Father I'ijart, rekin-
dled the ardor of the chief, and was
the occasion of annoiuicing the com-
mandments of God to all his family.
Devotion to the Illessed Virgin, ap-
pealing as it does to the best natural
feelings of the human heart, as well
as to ihehighestand purest motives of
reUgion, was easily received, especial-
ly among the Indian mothers, to
whom she was proposed for imiution
by Father Br^beuf. He composed for
them, and in their own language, beau-
tiful prayers of invocation to the
Mother of God. So great was his pro-
ficiency in the Huron language, that
he was able to attach to his relation
of this year a treatise on the lan-
guage and another on the customs
of the Hurons, the former of which
has been published in English.
It was about tJiis time that a dele-
gation of Algonquin braves came to
solicit the alliance of the Hurons
against the Iroquois. Failing to
secure their point with the Hurons,
the Algonquuis next turned to ilie
mtssionaries and endeavored to de-
tach them from the Hurons, and
oflTered, as an inducement to Fatlier
Br^beuf, to make him one of their
great chiefs. Father Drebcuf, witli a
smile, replied, that he had left home
and fortune to gain souls, not to be-
come rich or to gain honors in war,
and dismissed the negotiatore as
usual with a present.
The removal of the headquarters
of the mission from Ihonaciria to
Ossossane had been several times
mooted ; one day, as Father Brcbcuf
was travelling to visit a sick Christian,
he was met by the chief of Ossossanfi,
who so forcibly urged the change
that Father Brebeuf was induced to
promise them a compliance with what
Iiad been in fact his previous design.
A promise was readily made on the
other side that the villagers of Ossos-
sane would the following year erect
the necessary accommodations for
the fathers. When the people of
Ihonaiiria heard tliis, their chief, at
daybreak, from the top of his cabin
summoned all hi:i people out to re-
build the cabin of the black gown.
Old and young now went forth to
Memoir of Father John de Brcbeuf^ S.%
obey the summons, and soon the
work was complelwl. When the next
season for the feast of the dead came
round, a great change was observable
in its celebration, a proof of the in-
fluence of Christian sentiments with
die people. The accustomed mag-
niflccncc was dispensed with, and
those who died Christians were not
reburied, even in a separate portion
of the common tomb. The ceremony
consisted in nothing more than a
touching manifestation of the affection
of the living for their deceased friends,
and tlie missionaries were too prudent
to interfere. In order to show how
earnest our missionaries were for the
conversion of these tribes, it is worth
recording that they established a
Huron seminary at Quebec, and
during this year Fathers Daniel and
Devest dejiartcd from Huronia for
Quebec, nith several young Hurons
destined for students in this inMi-
tution. It was also during this
year that Fathers Gamier, Chaste-
Iain, and Jogucs arrived from
France, and entered this promwing
vineyard.
Sliortly after these arrivals, a con-
tagious fever broke out in the Huron
country, and several of the mission-
aries were seized with the malady.
It would I>c impossihie, within the
space allotted to this memoir, to detail
all their sufferings and privations.
The hardy Bi^beuf and the others
that were not taken down, became
the faithful and consunt nurses of
their sick companions, and, when these
were rcslore<l, the ailire missionary
band dedicated themselves to the
nursing and spiritual succor of the
afflicted people. Here, again, the
father! met with the usual obstacles
and annoyances from the native sor-
cerers, 'ilie rocdicine-mcn, in whom
the Indians liail implicit confidence.
especially in sickness, resorted to their
usual tricks, and the villages resoundeU
with lionid superstitious orgies. Many
refused to let the fathers haptucc their
dying infants. Others, however.
having seen tlie utter failure of their
sorcerers to effect a single cure, and
having observed how the Christian
baptism was frequendy followed by 2
restoration of the body also to health,
had recourse to the missionaries. Bui
in such cases their visits uf meicy
were obstructed by the in<iults, the
threats, and ill-usage of the excited
rabble. But, as Bancroft mnarits,
" the Jesuit never receded a. foot"
He pressed furward with love and
courage, fre(|uently forcing his way
to the c^juch of the dying, and en-
countering threatenei.1 death to save
a single soul. In ordcT to propitiate
the mercy of Heaven for this afflicted
people, Father Uribcuf assembled a
council of the chiefs of several villages^
and succeeded so far as to induce
them, in behalf of themselves and
their people, to promise solemnly, in
the presence of God, that they would
renounce their superstitions, embrace
the faith of Jesus Christ, conJbtm
their marriages to the Christian fttaad*
ard, and build chapeU fur the service
of the one true God, With the solem-
nity of this scene, however, pasttd
away also their good resolutions.
The Indian, ever inconsistent, except
in his attachment to his idols and hif
hunting-grounds, was soon again
seen raving at the frenzied words
and incantations of ihe sorcerer Ton-
nerananont, who professed himself to
be a devil incarnate. The plague
continued to rage ; not even the frosta^
of winter arrested its destructii
powers. Night and day Father Br
beuf and his companions were tra^
ling and laboring for those miser
and inronstant savages. 'I*hey w<
about over the countn* adininisterii
remedies for the ni.-iladies of the boc
as well .TS those of the sonl. Bc«i(
relieving many by bleeding and othi
h
Memoir of Father jtoht de Breheuf, S.y,
simple remedies, their hemic labors
were rewarded wiih other fruits far
sweeter to thciH, the baptism of two
hundred antl fifty expiring infants
and adults. The bold and fearless
advances and the devoted services
of the Jesuit filhers during this
season of disease and death miiy well
have called forth from Sparks the
remark that " humanity can claim
no higher honor than that such ex-
amples have existed." In the spring
the pestilence abated, and die usual
and regular duties and labors of the
mission were resumeij. His superior
knowledge of the language devolved
upon Father Ur^beuf the greater
burthen of instructing and calecliising
the natives. In May, he called a
council of the rhiefs of Ossossan^,
and reminded them of their promise
to build a cabin for the fathers. Tlie
appeal was responded to, and, on the
fifth of June, Father Pijart offered
up the Mass of the Holy Trinity nt
O^sossane, in " our own House of the
Immaculate Conception." On Trinity
Sunday, another happiness was en-
joyed by Father Hrcbcuf, in the
baptism of the first adult at Ihonatiiia.
This was Triwendaentaha, a chief
who had manifested great persever-
ance in his wish (o become a Christian ;
he had repeatettly requested and
entreated to be baptized, and had
renounced all connection with the
medicine-men for three years, and,
what was remarkable among the
natives, had only once during that
lime maiiifcstcd any disposition to-
wards a relapse. After prolonged
probation and careful instruction.
Father Brcbeuf baptized him on
Trinity Sunday, confcrrinj^ upon him
the Chrisrian name of Peter. The
ceremony was surrounded with as
mucti magniticence as tlie infant
church in that wilderness could bring,
and in the presence of immense crowds
of Hurons. The corner-stone of the
new church was laid on the Mime
occasion.
These consolations oi the missioti
were soon succeeded by direful cala-
mities. Sickness still lingered in die
country. Having failed by their su-
perstitious ntes to ameliorate the con-
dition of the people, the medicine-
men now accused the fathers of being
the cause of the pestilence, ami even
of having a design of destroying tlie
country. A general outburst of in-
dignation now assailed the holy men.
Everything connected with them or
their religion now became objails of
susiiicion — the pictures in the chapel,
their mission flag flying from the top
of a tree, the Mass in the morning,
the evening litany, the walk of the
missionaries by day, and especially
the clock, were successively condemn-
ed as demons, and signals of pesti-
lence and death. It was even ru-
mored that the fathers concealed in
their rjbin a dead body, which they
brought from France, and which was
now supposed to be the origin of the
infection. Go.^ded by their fears, and
incited by their sorcerers, the Indians
rushed into the missionary residence
to seize the mysterious corpse. As
superior, the principal weiglit of these
persecutions fell upon Father BrtS-
beuf, who endeavored in vain to dis-
pel such vain fears. The fathers
were insulted and threatened with
death in their own house. A gene-
ral council of chiefs and warriors
was held, in which they were univer-
sally accused of causing all the evils
of the countr>-. The courageous
Br6beuf stood in their midst to refute
their calumnies and expose their fol-
lies. Nothing could appease them.
They offered to sp;tre Father Bru
beufs life if he would deliver up tha
fatal cloth in which he had wrapi
tlie pestilence. He indignantly re
fusetl to countenance their supersti
tions by compliance, but told ther/
J
536
Memoir of Father Jokn dc Brebeuf S.J.
to se:irch his cabin and bum every
cloth if ihey thought proper. He
loUi lliein, liowcver, that since they
had pressed him so far, he would
give ihem his opinion as to the ori-
gin of iheir misfortunes, which be
then went on to trace to natural
causes and their own foolish method
-of treating the sicic, and spoke to
'them of the power of God and his
t justice in rewarding the good and
punisliing the wicked. Father Bre-
bcuf concluded his remarks amidst
.shouts and insults, but without los-
tjng his characteristic courage and
rcalmness. Despite his unanswerable
I appeal, (he assembly thirsted for the
jlood of at least one of the mission-
tiirics as an experiment, and at any
'moment one of those devoted men
flnight have fallen dead imdcr the
hatchet of some enraged savage.
Repeated councils were held, and
the deatli of tlie strangers was resolv-
ed upon. The residence was lium-
iCd, the stake prepared, and Father
Jr6bcuf led forth. Having prepar-
ed himself for death, he now, in imi-
tation of the Huron custom, gave
the usual feast, in order to show that
he did not shrink from giving his life
in testimony of Uie faith he had
preached to lliem. Just before the
moment of his execution arrived, lea-
ther Br^beuf was summoned to a
council, where, amid insult and in-
terruption, he delivered another speech
in advocacy of the faith, instead of
explaining the plague, and, by one of
those sudden changes of temper not
unusual in Indian assemblies, he was
acquitted and set free. As he passed
from the ivigwam of the council, he
saw one of his greatest persecutors
fall dead at his feot, under a stroke
from the murderous tomahawk : sup-
posing that, in the dim light of a far-
spent day, the murderer had mistak-
en his victim, the future martyr ask-
ed : •* Was not that blow meant for
me?" "No," replied the warnar;
" pass on : he was a aonrerer, thou
art not." His companions were anx-
iously awaiting the result ; and when
he walked into their ratdst, ihcy re-
ceived him as the dead restored to life.
They all united in returning thanks lo
Go<i for the safety of the >>upcrior ot
the mission, and especially for the
announcement which that apostofic
man made to them, that they might
yet hope to remain in that cuuntif,
and labor for the salvation of their
persecutors.
The firm and uncomprombingdift-
rarier of Father Brebeuf is strikingly
illustrated in contrast with the fickle-
ness of the Indians, the, diffeitOM
between faith and superstition, by aft-
other circumstance which occurred
during ilie prevalence o( the pesti-
lence. 'I"he Hurons, after repeated
recourse to their medicinc-nien, whoK
vile practices Ihcy now saw to be
barren of results, resolved to hai«
recourse lo the fathers, whom tl
invited to attend a council,
must we i\o that your God may
pity on us?" they asked of the Cl
tian priests. Father Brdbeuf
diately answered : '* Believe iu hit
keephiscomniandmenls; abjure yoar
faith in dreams; lake but one
and be true to her ; give up
superstitious feasts ; renounce your
a$.vmblies of debauchery ; cat
human flesh ; never give feasts
demons; and make a vow that,'
God will deliver you from this
you will build a chapel to offer hia^
thanksgiving and praise."
In lite midst of their sufferings
and the persecutions the)* sustaii
these heroic missionaries ceased
a single moment theu* labors of mc
cy and salvation. Tliemsclvcs out-
cast and friendless, they visited ind
nursed the sick; repulsed, tliey preis-
ed forward to the bedside of the dy-
ing; reviled for their religion.
youf
.t ^^
At^^l
rings
I R^H
J
still announced its saving truths;
ihreatencti with death, ihey bestow-
ed the bread of life eternal upon
otiicrs, even while the deadly toma-
hawk glUtcncd over their heads.
Such was the life the early Catholic
missionaries led upon our borders;
such, too, were the labors and sacri-
fices which preluded others, equally
sublime and heruic, within llie tcrri-
tory of our own republic.
Among the converts of Father
Br^beuf at Ossossan^ was Joseph
Chiwattcnwha, a nephew on the ma-
tcm.T.1 side to the head chief of the
Hurons. From the time that he lis-
tened to Father Br^beufs sermon at
the "feast of the dead," he had
been an earnest and regular cate-
chumen. He rejected the prevailing
superstitions of his race, and was re-
markable for the purity of hiii murals,
his freedom from tliecomnion Indian
vice of gambling, and for hts rare
conjugal fidelity. Notwithstanding
his virtues, and his repeated requests
to be baptized, Father Brebeuf de-
layed the sacrament, to make sure of
his thorough conversion, and, finally,
only conferred it upon him in a mo-
ment of danger. The diief recov-
ered from his illness, and, calling all
his friends together at a grand ban-
quet, he addressed them zealously in
favor of the faith he had embraced.
His failli and zeal were rewarded by
the manifest protection of Heaven
over himself and his family during
llic prevalence of the fever.
TO M COKHMVIP.
TlAKtLATSD ntOU Till nuRCR.
OUR LADY OF LOURDES.
BY H£MItI LASSERRE.
BOOK EIGHTH.
The appointment by the Bishop
of a commission of examination, and
the analysts of M. Filhol, deprived
Baron Massy, M. Rouland, and M.
Jacomot of all pretext for conhouing
violent measures, or for maintaining
about the grotto strict prohibitions,
barriers, and guards.
In justification of the restrictions
previously made, it had been said:
" Considering that it is very desira-
ble, in the interest of rfli^ony to put
an end to the drplorabk scenes now
presented at the grotto of Massa-
bidle." Now the Bishop, by de-
daring the matter to be of sufficient
importance for his mtcrvention, and
by taking in hand the examination
of those things which affected the
interests of religion, had deprived the
civil power of this motive which it
had made so promineul.
In justification of the prohibition
10 go and drink at the spring which
had gushed out under the hand of
Bemadettc, it had been urged " tliat
the care of the local public health
devolves upon the mayor," and that
this water "is suspected on good'
grounds to contain mineral ingredi-i
cnts, making it prudent, before per-
milliog its use, to wait for a scicntiSc
li
analysis to detcnninc the ;ipplication.s
which may be made of it in medi-
cine." Now, M. Filhol, by his deci-
sion that the water had no mineral
properties, and that it could be drunk
without inconvenience, had annihi-
lated in tlie name of science and of
medicine this plea of " the public
health."
If, then, these considerations had
been real reasons for tlie civil power,
and not merely specious pretexts ; if
it had really been acting in the " in-
terests of religion and ihc public
health," instead of being under the
sway of evil passions and intolerance ;
or if, in a word, it had been sincere
instead of being hypocritical, it would
now have had nothing to do but to
remove its prohibitions and barriers;
it would have only had to leave the
people perfectly free to drink of tliis
fountain, the perfect hannlessncss of
which had been attested by science,
and :o recognize their right to kneel
at the foot of these mysterious rocks,
where for the future the church was
to be on the watch.
u.
But this was not the case. There
was a great obstacle to this course,
so clearly indicated by logic ami con*
science; namely, pride. Pride was
the ruling spirit from one end of the
scale to the other, from Jacomet up
to Rouland, including Baron Massy
and the philosophical coterie. It
seemed hard to them to retreat and
lay down their arms. Pride never
surrcnrlers. It prefers rather to (ake
an illogical position than to bow (o
the authority of reason. Furious,
beside itself, and absurd, it revolts
against evidence. Like Satan, it
says, ^^Non ti!n>iiim." It resists, it re-
fuses to bend, it stiffens its neck, till
suddenly it is broken by some con-
temptuous and superior power.
There remained for tlie ofScial and
officious foes of superstition unc last
weapon to use. one final struggle to
make. Though the b.aitle seemed to
be certainly lost in the Pyrenees, per-
haps the lost position might be re-
gained in Paris, and the favor &f
public O))inion secured throughou
France and Europe, l>eforc the coV'
mopolitan asse.-nbJage of tourists an
bathers, returning home, should
pass their severe judgments on the
other side. This was tried. A for-
midable attack was m.ide by the irre-
ligious press of Paris, the provinces,
and other countries, upon the events
at Lourdes and the Bishop's ordi-
nance.
While the generals of the infid«
army engaged in a decisive combal
upon this vast scale, the duty of the
Prefect of H antes- Pyrenees, like that
of Kctlerman at Valmy, was to hoh
at all costs his line of operation, nor^
to recede a single foot from it, and
not to capitulate on any terms. Tlie
intrepidity of Uaron Massy was well
known, and it was understood thatn
neither arguments nor the most sur- .
prising miracles would prevail over
his invincible firmness. He would
stand by his sinking ship to the last
The absurd had in him an excdl
champion.
The youmal des Di'tnUs, SihU,\
Pffsse, Iitd/ptntiiirue Bfl^r, and vari-
ous foreign journals, also came man-
fully to the rescue. The smallest
newspapers of ihe smallest countries
considered it an honor to serve ia,
this campaign against the supema*
tural. We tind, in fact, among the
combatants, a microscopic sheet
called the CouranI, published at
Amsterdam.
Some, like the Prtsie^ by the pen
of M. (Hi6rouIt, or the Si^iU, byj
those of MM. BC-nard and Joi
i
attacked the very idea of miracles,
declaring tliat they had had their
day, that the discussion of them was
no longer admissible, and to examine
into a question which had already
been decided by the light of philoso-
phy was beneath the dignity of free
examen. " Miracles," said M. Gu6-
roulc, " belong to a state of civiliza-
tion which is almost gone by.
'Hioiigh God does not change, the
conception which men form of him
changes from age to age, according
to the prevailing standard of morality
and intelligence. Ignorant nation*;
who do not understand the harmony
of the laws by which the universe
is governed imagine that they sec
coDtinual exceptions to tlicse laws.
They think that God appears and
speaks to them, or sends them a
message by his angels, almost
daily. But as society becomes more
intelligent and better infonned, and
as the sciences based on observation
come in to counteract the vagaries
of the imagination, all this mythology
disappears. Man docs not on that
account become less rcHgiuus, but
more so, though in a difl'erent man-
ner. He does not any longer see
gods and goddesses, angels and de-
mons, face to face ; but he seeks to
discover the divine will as manifested
in the laws of the world. Miracles,
which at certain periods have been
necessary to faith and ser\'ed to con-
vey the most important truths, have
become in our day the bugbear of
all serious conviction." M. Gucroult
declared that, if be should be told
that the most remarkable miracle
was occurring close by his house on
the Place de la Concorde, he would
not take a step out of his way to :^e
it. " If such occurrences," added
he, " can occupy a place for a lime
among the superstitious tnimpery of
the ignorant masses, tliey only excite
a smile of contempt among cnlight-
vou XIII. — 34
ened men, among tliose whose optn>
ion is sure to be ultimately adopted
by all the worid." •
Other papers valiantly set to work
to distort the facts. Though also
attacking miracles in principle, the
Si^i/r, in spite of the enormous yield
of twenty thousand and odd litres a
day, still remained, in its capacity ot
an enlightened and advanceil journal,
at the old thesis of hallucination and
infiltration. " It seems ditficult to
us," said M. B^nard, very gravely,
" to see a miracle in Uic hallucination
of a litUe girl of fourteen, or in the
oozing out of some water in a cave."
As for the miraculous cures, they
were easily disposed of as follows :
" Hydropathic physicians also claim
to effect the most extraordinary cures
by means of pure water, but thej*
have not as yet proclaimed upon the
house-tops that these cures are
miracles." t
But the piost curious example of
the good faith of the free-thinkers, or
of their sagacity in examining this
matter, is to be found in the Dutch
newspaper which we have mentionetl
above, and whose weighty narrative
was reproduced by the l*rench jour-
nals. Let us see how this friend of
enlightenment enlightened the world
by his account of the matter:
" A new manifestation, designed to
excite and promote the fervor of the
faithful in the warship of tlic Blessed
Virgin, was imminent. The delibera-
tions of the bishops on this point had
resulted in the preparation of the
famous miracle of Lourdes. It b
well known that the Bishop of Tarbes
appointed a commission of inquir)".
The so-called conclusions of the re-
port of the commission, which is
composed of ecclesiasrics and per-
sons in the pay of the clergy, ware
• /v«w, Awir. 5>. 1*58-
530
Our Lady of Lottrdis.
prepared long before their first ses-
sion. 77ie prtUmied shepherdess Ber-
nadel/e is not an innocent peasant, but
a hii^hiy eultivaled city girl of a very
wily character y who has passed several
months in a convent, where she itfos
taught the part she was to play. There ,
ie/ore a small audience^ rehearsals laere
made long he/ore the publie perform-
anee. As will be observed, nothing
was wanting for the completeness of
this comedy, not even the usual re-
heareabt. If at any time there is a
scarcity of actors at Part&, the places
can be admirably filled from the
ranks of the superior clergy. How-
ever, the liberal press has made (he
matter thoroughly ridiculous, and it
is not improbable that the clergy, in
their own interest, will see the neces-
sity of being prudent."* The in-
formation of the journals seems
hardly to have been so accurate as
that which secured the simple failh
of His Excellency M. Ro.uland. The
public, it is evident, were treated with
no more respect than the minister.
This is too often the way in which
the opinion of those whom M. Gu^-
roult called in \Cx& article "enlightened
men," alluding, no doubt, to the tor-
rent of light thrown upon them by
the press, is formed.
Another point of attack besides the
actual events and the possibility of
miracles was the ordinance of the
Bishop of Tarbes. Philosophy,
in virtue of the infallibiUty of its
dogmas, protested against exami-
Dation, scientific study, and experi-
ment. " When some crazy perscm
seitds a paper on perpetu.-il motion or
the sc|uaring of the circle to the .\ca-
dcray of Science, the Academy passes
to the order of the day without wast-
ing time in criticising sucli lucubra-
lions. And there is no more need
of examination in the case of a sup-
posed miracle. Philosophy, in tbe
name of reason, passes to the order
of the day. I'o examine the claims
uf the supernatural facts wouhl be
to admit their jmssibility and to de-
ny its own principles. In such niaC-
ters, proofs and testimony count
for nothing. We do not discuss the
impossible, but dismi.ss it with x
shrug." Such was the cenVal idea
of the thousand varied forms assumed
by the fiery and excited polemics of
the irreligious press. Vainly did it
persist in denial and per\'ersion ; it
was afraid to examine. False theo-
ries prefer tu remain in the fluctua-
tion and fog uf pure speculation. Ity
some natural instinct oi' .le if -preserva-
tion, they fear broad daylight, and
do not dare to descend with a steady
foot upon the firm ground of the ex-
perimental method. They perceive
that only defeat awaits them there.
In this desperate struggle agaiiut
the evidence of facts and the rights
of reason, the liberal mask of tbe
journal des D/bats unfortunately icU
off, and showed che depth of furious
intolerance concealed under its phi-
losophical exterior. TUc yoNrita/ des
D^bats-, by the pen of \\. Prcvost-
Paradol, was terrified in advance at
the great weight which the report of
the commission and the dccutioa of
the Bishop were sure to liave, and
accordingly appealed to the secular
arm, beseeching Ccesar to put a stop
to the whole thing. *' It is evident,'*
said he, " that a striking manifesta-
tion of divine power in lavor of a re-
ligion makes strongly for its indivi-
dual truth, for its superiority over
others, and its incontestable right to
govern souls. It is then an event of
a nature to produce numerous con-
versions, both ofdisseuters and of infi-
dels ; in other words, it is an instru-
ment of proselytism." He showtid
also the political importance of the
result of Uie examination. " If this
I
Our Lady of Lourd^s,
531
['decision is favorable to the miracle,
it will have a tendency to dissolve
in ihat part of France the equilibrium
now existing between the religious and
civil powers. The ministers of a re-
ligion in favor of which such prodi-
gies arc authentically asserted arc
quite different sort of people from
those which the Concordat provides
for. They have a very difTercnt sort
of authority over the people, and in
ca^ofany collision they exert a very
^ftrent kind of influence from tliat
of the council of state and Uic pre-
fect"
" We have sufficiently shown," said
the writer in the D/bats^ " the impor-
tance which the decision of the epis-
copal commission at Tarbcs must
have in various points of view. Now,
there is a truth here which should be
remembcrcct, and of which M. dc Mor-
ny has just very properly reminded
the council-general at Puy-de-D6:ne ;
lhat is, that nothing of imjiortance
can leg.illy be done in France with-
out iJrevLOUs authority from the ad-
in iuist ration. If, as M. de Morny
very justly remarks, one cannot move
a rock or dig a well without the con-
sent of the administration, still less
can one without its consent author-
ize a miracle or establish a pilgrim-
age. Any one who is concerned
with religious matters, and especially
with the opening of churches or
schooU of dissenting bodies, knows
that the administration has not mere-
ly one enactment, but twenty or thirty,
which makes it nil-powerful in such
cases. The meeting of the commb-
sion of the diocese of Tarbes can be
prevented or its session can be dissolv-
ed in a hundred dilTcrcnt ways by the
Concordat, by the penal code, by
the law of 1^24, by the decree of
February, 1852, by the cenim! autho-
rity, by iJie municipal authority, by
all conceivable authorities. The de-
cision of this commission can also be
annulled by the legal apposition of
the administrative authority to the
erection of a chapel or to the distri-
bution of the miraculous water. 'l*he
same authority can prohiliit and
break up all meetings of the people,
and prosecute the originators of such
ni«;etings, etc" Having arrive<l at
lliis point, having noiitied Caesar and
cried " caveant consules," the able
writer rcsume<l, for form's sake, his
garb of liberalism. " What is our
object," said he hypocritically, " in es-
tablislilng this preventive right of the
adoiinistration ? Is it to urge them
to use it ? God forbid." And thus he
crept, by a sort of secret passage,
into the ranks of the friends of liberty.
The provincial journals echoed the
sentiments of those of Pans. The
battle became universal. The ser-
geants, corporals, and privates of Uie
literary army pressed forward on the
steps of the marshals of free thought
Tlie £re Jmpe^iaU of Tarbes charg-
ed its blunderbuss with arguments
from Paris, and fired them off at the
supernatural every other day. 'Die
little Lavedan, also, had picked up a
few grains of powder, rather damp-
ened, it must be owned, by the wa-
ter of the grotto, and did Its best,
aided, according to report, by Ja-
comet, to make its weekly penny-
pistol effective.
The Unh'trSy the t'nwn, and the
greater part of the Catholic papers
bravely met their universal attack.
Powerful ulenis lent themselves to the
ser\*ice of the yet more powerful truth.
'Hie Christian press re-eslabli:ihcd the
tacts and demolished the miserable
quibbles of philosophic fanaticism.
" Meeting with some unexplained
facts to which Uie faith or the credu-
lity of the multitude attributes a su-
pernatural character, the civil autho-
rity,'' said M. Ix)uis Veuillot, '* has
decided without information, but al-
so without success, in the negative.
533
Our Lady cf Lourdes.
The spiritual authority comes in in its
turn ; it is its right and its duty to
do so. But befurc making its judg-
inent, it obtains inforroation. It in-
lAritutes a commission, an inquiry to
examine the alleged facts, to study
them, and determine their nature.
If they have actually occurred, and
f-'ftre really supernatural, the commis-
ftion ft-ill say so. If tliey have not
occurreil, or if they can be explain-
ed on natural principles, the com-
mission will also aricnowledge that
\ such is the case. What more can our
iftdverearies desire? Do they wish
I the Bishop to abstain from this ex-
famination, with a double danger be-
kfcre him, either of failing to rccog-
jliiaie a signal favor which Almighty
•od would grant to his people, or of
'alto\s-ing a superstition to take root
I among them ?
The Bishop miKi necessarily
^Itavc observed the strangeness of this
f^nviction which had become so
irm in the popular mind, upon the
iTord of a poor and ignorant little girl ;
ic must have asked also how these
Eurcs could be accounted for. obtain-
as they had been by means of a few
[I'drops of pure water, swallowed or cx-
smally applied, . . . And if there
tave been in fact no cures, it must
ascertained why the contrary has
Ben l>ehevcd. But, supposing that
the water has no mineral ingredient,
as is said by the chemists, and that,
nevertheless, the cures are certain,
as many sick people and several phy-
sicians attest, we do not sec any diffi-
culty in recognizing in the case some-
thing supernatural and miraculous,
witli all due resp):ct to the explana-
tions of the SiHU."
The vigorous champion contended
witli all his enemies at onre. A touch
of his pen sufliced to demolish the ridi-
culous i<Ica of denying tlie possibili-
ty of miracles, and of refusing even
an examination to these stanlmg
facts which a multitude had 8C«i
with their own eyes and attested on
their knees. " If any one i>houltl
tell M. Gu£rou1t tliat a great miracle
had been worked in the name of
Christ upon the Place dc la Con-
corde, he would not go, it seems, to
sec it. 'ITiis Is prudent in him cer-
tainly, for he is delennined to re-
main incredulous; and in presence
of sudi a spectacle lie would not be
so certain of finding a natural expla-
nation which would dispense him
from going to confession. But be
would be stiil more prudent if he
would witness the miracle and be-
lieve, yielding to the testimony which
God in his mercy would thus give
him. The people, however, will not
care for his absence, and will not be
at all disconcerted to he.ir that the
thing is not at all extraordinary, and
that tliey are (he victims of delusion.
Things would take the same cfTurw
at Paris as at Lourdes ; a miracle
would be proclaimed, and, if there
really had been one, it would have
its effect ; that is, many men who
had not as yet * stntght to diian>tr iiu
(iivitu will, or who liave not yet
been successful in their search, would
know and fulfil it ; they would love
God with their whole he.irt, soul, and
mind, and their neighbors as tlietn-
selves. Such is the object which
God intends in workiug miracles;
and it is so much the worse for those
who refuse to profit by them.
" Those who reject the supernatu-
ral, said an ancient writer, destroy
philosopJiy. *11»ey destroy it indeed,
and especially since the advent of
Christianity, because, wishing to take
God out of the worid, tliey have no
longer any explanation for the world
or for humanity. As to this God
whom they exclude, some deny hi*
existence, that they may gel entirely
rid of him ; otticRi make of hiin an
inert and indiffenrnt being, haWng no-
k
thing to require and requiring nodi-
ing from men, whom he abandons lo
chance, having created them in a
freak of his disdainful ])Ower. Some,
denying him in their vcr)' aftirmation,
as if they wished to satiaie their in-
gratitude by doing him a double in-
jury, pretend to find him in all things,
which iJieory dispenses them from
recognizing and adoring him any-
where in particular. Meanwhile,
aroimd ihcm and even in tliemselves,
humanity confesses its God. 'Jhey
reply by sophisms which are far from
contenting them, by sarcasms the
weakness of which ihcy can hardly
conceal from Uieinselves, and at last
their science and reason, driven back
to the absuid, deprive them of their
eyes and ears. ITicy destroy all phi-
losophy. . . . God, taking com-
[>a&sion on the faith of the weak
which these false teachers would per-
vert, shows himself by one of those
unusual displays of his power, which
is nevertheless af/f 0/ the laws of the
world. They deny it. Look! we
do not wish to sec ! . . . David
said of the sinner, ' He haa promis-
ed himself in his heart to sin ; he re-
fuses to understand, that he may not
be forced to do well."
•* Ah ! no doubt," elsewhere ex-
claimed the indignant logician, " there
is an unfortunate multitude on whom
all these commonplaces can be |iahn-
ed off without difficully; but there
are also at Lourdes and elsewhere
some readers whose common-sense
is aroused, and who ask what will
become of history, evident facts, and
reason in such a sy-mem, with such a
determination to deny everything
without c'Xitminatiua ?
" As to preventing the episcopal
commission from acting, wc doubt if
there are any laws conferring such a
power upon the government ; if there
, it will probably wiwly ftlistain
m using itk i>ower. On one hand,
nothing could be more favorable to
superstition than to do so ; the po-
pular credulity would then go astray
without restraint, for there is no law
which can oblige the Bishop to pro-
nounce upon a fact about which he
has not been able, and has even been
forbidden, to infonn himself. . . .
There is only one course for the ene-
mies of superstition, that is, to ap-
point a commission themselves, tc
make a counter-examination, and
publish its result, in case, of course,
that the one appointed by the Bishop
concludes in favor oi the miracle.
For if it concludes that the reports
are false, or that there is some illu-
sion, this will not be neirdcd."
The Catholic press, with a reser\-e
truly admirable in the midst of the
excitement of the dispute, refused to
decide as to the actual merits of the
case. It did not wish to anticipate
the verdict of the episcopal commis-
sion ; hut confined itself to refuting
calumnies, absurd stories, and soph-
isms, to defending the historical the-
sis of the occurrence of supernatural
events, and to claiming in the name of
reason the right of examination and
freedom to ascertiin the truth, " The
event at Lourdes," said the Uniwrs,
" Is not as yet verified, nor is its na-
ture detcrmiued. It may have been
a miracle, it may have been an illu-
sion. 'I'he decision of the Bishop will
settle the question.
" For our own ]>art, wc believe
that we have answered all thnt has
been seriously or even speciously said
about the events at Lourdes. We
shall leave the matter here. It wius
not right that the press should be al
lowed to heap around these facts all
the lies it could think of; but it
would not be becoming to %\vc an
answer to tlie abundance of its scoff-
ing wor<ls. Wise men will appreciate
the wisdom and" good faith of the
chuich, and as usualj after all tlie
534
Our Lady of Lourdfs,
turmoil, truth will secure for itself in
the world itii Hltlc nucleus of adhe-
rents, ' pusillus grex,' which neverthe-
less is sufficient to maintain its osceu'
dency in the world,"*
It is obvious thai, in the great po-
lemical <iuestiDit rcganling miracles
which was being discussed on the
occasion of the events at Lourdcs,
the two sides were acting on diame-
trically opposite plans.
On the one hand, the Catholics
appealed to an impartial examina-
tion ; on the other, the pseudo-phi-
losophers feared the light. 'I'hc for-
mer said, " Let us have an examina-
tion ;" the latter cried, '* Let us hear
no more of thb matter." The for-
mer had for their watchword liberty of
conscience; the latter implored Caj-
sar to put a violent stop to this reli-
gious movement, and to stifle it, not
by the power of ailments, but by
brute force.
Kveiy impartial mind, placed by
its views or circumstances outside of
the OT/Z/r, could not help seeing
with the greatest clearness that jus-
tice, tmth, and reason were on the
Catholic side. All that was necessa-
ry for this was, not to be blinded by
the fury of the contest or by an im-
movable prejudice.
Although in the person of a com-
missary, a prefect, and a minister the
administration had unfortunately tak-
en a very decided part in this impor-
Lant affair, there ^rtill was a man of
authority who had not had anything
to do n-ith it, and who was in the
condictons of perfect impartiality,
whatever his religious, philosophical,
and political views might be. Wheth-
er there had been a manifestation of
the supernatural or not at Lourdes
made no dilTervnce in his calcula-
tions. Neither his ambition, self-
* 'riM above cxtracU src Trom the Vmirtrt, <m
\UKHn «IMC« IB AHgHtt vaA ScpWfiibct. i(s&.
love, doctrines, nor antecedents were
concerned in this question. Wtta(
mind is there which in such circum-
stances cannot be fair, and give jus-
tice and truth their rights ? People
do not violate justice or outrage truth
except when they think it advanta-
geous 10 do 50, under some strong
prompting of avarice, ambition, or
pride.
The man of whom we speak was
called Napoleon III., and was, as it
happened, Emperor of the French.
Impassible as usual, silent as the
granite sphinxes wliich watch at the
gates of Thebes, he followed the dis-
cussion, observing the turns of the
battle, and waiting for the public
conscience to dictate, as it wcic, hn
decision.
IV.
While: God was thus leaving hb
work to the disputes of men. he did
not cease to grant visible graces to
the humble and believing souU which
came to the miraculous spring to im-
plore the aid of the sovereign power
of the Virgin Mother.
A child of the town of St. Juitin,
in the department of Gcrs. named
Jean-Marie 'i'amboumc, b.id been
for some months entirely disabled in
his right leg. The pains in it bad
been so severe that the limb had
been twisted ; and the foot, turned
entirely outward in these crises of
suffering, had come to form a right
angle with the other one. His gene-
ral health had rapidly deteriorated
under this state of continual sufler-
ing, which robbed the poor boy of
his slecf} as well as of his appetite.
He was in fact sinking into the
grave. His parents, who were tole-
rably well off. bad tried for his cure
all the treatments which bad been
suggested by the physicians of the
netn^borbood, but without succeiSt
t
\
4
Our Lady of Lourdes.
They had also had recourse to the
waters of Blousson and to medicated
baths. TUc result had been almost
complete failure. Any very slight
and lemporary alleviations which
were obtained always resulted in a
disastrous rt:lapse.
The parents had at last lost all
confidence in ihc remedies of science.
Tired of medical ireaimentj they
turned their hopes toward the Mother
of God, who, it was said, had ap-
peared at the Majjsabielle rocks. On
the 23d of September, 1858, the little
boy was taken by his mother to
Lourdes, in the publiccoach. It was
a long distance, more than thirty
miles. Having reached the town, the
mother hastened to the grotto, carry-
ing her unfortunate child in her arms.
She bathed htm in the miraculous
water, praying with fervor to her who
has been plcised to be called in the
Litany " Health of the Sick." The
child meanwhile had fallen into a
sort of ecstatic state. His eyes were
wide open, his lips apart. He seemed
to be gazing at some strange object.
"What is the matter?" s-iid his
niotlier.
'• I see the good God and the
Blessed Virgin," answered he.
The poor woman, at these words,
felt a great commotion at her heart,
and the sweat stood out upon her
face.
The child came to himself.
" Mother," said he, " my trouble is
gone. My feet do not ache now. I
can walk, I know I cui; I am as
strong as ever I was."
Jean-Marie was right; he was in-
deed cured. He went to the village
of Lourdes on foot, ate and slept
there. At the same time that hts pain
and weakness ceased, his appetite and
sleep returned. The next day his
mother bathed him once mure at the
grotto, and had a mass of thanks-
giving celebrated in the church at
lourdes. Then they set out for
home; not in the coach this time,
but on foot.
When, after spending one night on
the road, they reached St. Jusim, the
child saw his father, who was on the
watch, expecting no doubt that .some
carriage would bring back the pil-
grims. Jean-Marie recognized him
far off, and ran to him.
The father almost fainted. But
his darling was already in his arms.
" I'apa," cried he, " the Ulessed Vir-
gin has cured me."
The news of this event spread
quickly enough in the town, where
everybody knew the child. They
flocked from all sides to see him." •
The sister of a notary of Tarbes,
Jeanne-Marie Mait^iOl'lJorJenave, had
become, after a long and serious ill-
ness, almost entirely crippled in her
feet and hands. She walked only
* Twenty'eighth frMit~vrrM of th« eptccopAl
eommlssloo.
The fDlIiivrlnjiii the repnri of one nfthe phjrri.
olwis ippolnLed 10 csaiiiinc this cure;
"Tbe boy Tamboutn^ at fire yejra of age.
showed ih« ^irpiom* of hip ilisc«»c in the firtt
ttaKc; rerv sbfti]' poios In tlie kiieo, duller at tbc
bi|i, A tuintair out of thu fogt, Umencas at tint.
iiftcnir«r(lf tnability m walk wlihoai gmt auffer.
inn. The dlgMtive function* became itnp«ired.
Me had a rcput:nancc to (oori, a»d licramc vary
much toiluccd. The diseaite, ExriiiK CIirotiKh itSi
fiiit period rcry lapidljr, mas lUreatealUE wooer
ot later (o put an cnil to the child's life, when the
Idea was formed o( lahlrj; him to (ho erotto of
Loutdci, where liU cure uaa eOecLc J insUnUy.
"Tba complaint of yaoag Tttatfrnrni wai of
llw aane clana* thatof RukiucI. but It nnvmore
BCTcrc, bxviruEBRcclcd one uf UiepriDclpaljuiitls.
Ita inilicaciuia wcTc already mmt dinrcfsfuc to
tha «)rei ofthc phrtician who i> able to ace what
the futurn baa In itote.
" It is, na doubt. |MmiMe to cure hip-discaM. by
the mean* and proccMCt employwl bv actence.
Natural sulphuTuua waters nn rcniLivc il ; but In
nn case K it (iiHaible lot Uiem to operate witb tlia
tapiUity ol HclOalllg.
'- loitanUnconsncn oftcUon li to much bexond
the healloff power by tnearn of wblrh auch
water s operate, that it iitay Ue aiaeitcil that there
is a feat In ibe tuprrua'.uial unit! iii all the caaaa
of immeduile cure in which a material leiion haa
baen involved. It bantly needs to be auiod that
young Tanibourn^ came to the {ruitu carried by
Ula mother, and that a fa'w momcnls aftccwaid*
ha climbed a steep alope, walked ami tan tbo r«ai
ol the day, without feellnn the least psln, and
with ai much ease ai bcfote the comlne on of th«
diaeaiae, etcT
536
Our Lady of LourdeS.
wilh extreme difficulty. Her hands,
habitually swollen, diacotored, and
aching, were almost enrircly useless.
Her fingers, bent back and sliS'. could
not be straiglitcncd, luid were eum-
plctcly paralyzed. Having gone to
see her brolher at 'I'arbes, she waj
returning home to Arras, in the canton
of Aucun. She was alone in the in-
side of [he diligence. A flask of wine
which her brother had given her
having become uncorked and over-
turned, she could not set it up or
cork it, so entirely powerless had her
fingers become.
Lourdes was upon the road. Slie
stopped there and went to tiie grotto.
Hardly had she plunged her hands
into the miraculous water, when she
perceived Uiat they were instantly
coming back to life. Her fingers had
straightened, and suddenly recovered
their Hcxibility and strcnglli. Suc-
cessful perhaps beyond her expecta-
tions, she plunged her feet in the
miraculous water, and they were
healed like her hands. She fell upon
her knees. What did she say to the
Blessed Virgin ? How did she thank
her ? Such prayers, such bursts of
gratitude may be imagined, but not
expressed in words.
She then put on her shoes, and
with X confident stqi returned to tlie
town.
A young girl was walking in the
same direction, r^imtng back from the
woods with an cnortnous bundle of
fagots on her head. It was warm,
and the poor Uttle peasant was bathed
in perspiration. Exhausted, she sat
down upon a stone at (he side of the
road, laying her too heavy burden at
her feet. .'Vt this moment Jeanne-
Marie Massot passed before her, re-
turning quickly and joyfully from the
fountain of grace. A good thought
occurred to her. She went up to the
child.
" My child/' said she to her, *' our
Lord has just granted me a great
favor. He has cured me; he has
taken away my burden. And in my
turn, I would like to aid and relieve
you."
So saying, Marie Massot to<ik up
with her hands restored to life the
heavy fagots which lay on the ground,
put them on her head, and thus re-
turned to Lourdes, whence, less than
an hour before, she had gone out
weak and paralyzed. The first-fruits
of her recovered strength had been
nobly used; they had been conse-
crated to charity. " Freely have you
received, freely give," said our Re-
deemer 10 his disciples.*
K woman already advanced in age,
Marie Capdevielle. of the village of
Livron, in the neighborhood of
Lourdes, had also been cured of a
severe deafness which had troubled
her for a long time. '* i seem," said
she, " to be in another world when I
hear tlie church-bells, which I have
not heard before for three ycarsw"
These cures, and many oihcn,
continue to attest irrefutably the
* 1V« give in thb nolo the rerun o< ihi phy^
(.-(■m cnlTuMnI with ib« MMnWtioo of thk cu*
by the Apihropal eonmlMao. Il ti reOMrtabl*
fur iti drctinupccUoo. It don aoi dan ca p«t^
nauTicf in ^trtx tit % xa Incle ; t>ut Mth a rcHrrtt
inw«i(ihinzft case ximto lite leport* In whkfe
miiaculout ^tiK% \% iecoiti»lz«U ma Kulkoritj
yet mcirc [iicaatmiibic knd c^nclunve.
■■ MUe. Muwt-Botdenavc, of Ams aKcl fitr-
lbra«, WM ftlHictad In the munUi ul -VUv, ilji.
withtiliul*d]rwkiehd«pnv«it licr Tcct ftml IiuiiIb
oFpanoTibelr power and noblliiv. H»&n2«n
wcte much benL .... Mcr btcaJ hadlo be
cut fOT ber. She weol oD Toot to tlic grotlo. Imkcd
ber haadf and fcM, Mid went awiiv cured
"Il cannot be d«il»d(bal »)! tIir/riJi*4/.*W>ia
dtcaUofu in Uii« c««e arc in Eavor ol lh« fnttfWO
Uon of »ORi« MjMrnattinil cauM ; bat •xuitalBV
It w-ltb BtlcnUoa. we ihall «ee that tbta rlaw li
oppoied bf aerani well-rouuded obtecUoos.
Tbus. th« btcmning o( Uta Uouble wai bArdlj
four moattk* before ; iu ch*racter vrai not aiarv
inc, bcinK a weakoeta of cnat-al event e. a dim*
Inittlua of enariy in ibe caisiiMx aitd ttuaf
mutclcs of the finic ^n and locc L.«t lb« aurouft
p:)w«r flow IntoUMM muKlw, undor the iaSncae*
ofa Ktmaf moral attmulu*. and iber would raa—w
Uielr (uocUoni Immcdialelr. Nnv>. may w« not
ulaitt IU thUca«a tbatth* liuRiiuUoa ma)r^*«
become exalted by tkc reltKiou* •cniimcat. and
by tbe tif>t>e of beconias Uw r«ci(iicnt of a hm
fiDin boAvau r"
«
y
direct intervention of God. He
showed his power in restoring health
to tlie sick, and it wa^ evident that,
if he had permitted persecution, it was
because it was necessary to the con-
duct of hiii designs. It rested with
him to put a stop to it, and for that
purpose to bend and use as it should
please him the wills of the great ones
of the earth.
V.
VoLF.Mics on the subject of the
grotto had become exhausted. In
France and abroad, public opinion
had passed judgment, not indeed on
the reality of the supernatural events,
but on the violent oppression to which
all liberty of belief and right of ex-
amination weK being subjected to in
a corner of the empire. The miser-
able sophisms of antichristian f^^nati-
cism and of pseudo-philosophic in-
tolerance had not held their ground
before the cogent logic of the Catholic
journals. 'I'he D^bais, the SihU, the
S^rssf, and the common herd of irre-
ligious sheets kept silence, probably
sorry that they had undertaken this
unfortunate contest, and made so
tnuch noise about these extraordinary
facts. They had only succeeded in
propagating .ind spreading every-
where the renown of a host of miracles.
From Italy, Cjerinany, and even more
distant lands, people were writing to
Lourdes for some of the sacred water.
At the Bureau of Public Worship,
M. Rouland persisted in putting him-
self in the way of the most holy of
liberties, and in endeavoring to stop
the march of events.
At the grotto, Jacomet and the
guards continued to keep watch day
and night, and to bring the faithful
up before the courts. Judge Uuprai
kept on sentencing them.
Between such a minist.-r to back
bim, and sudi agents tu carry out his
will. Baron Ma&sy remained bravely
in his desperately illogical situation,
and consoled hiniself with the omni-
potence of his arbitrary will. Con-
tinually more aud more exasperated
by seeing the vain pretexts of religion
and public order with which he had
at first wished to conceal his tntoler<
ance slipping through his fingers, he
gave himself up gladly to the bitter
satisfhctioD of practising pure tyranny.
He remained deaf to the universal
protest. To all reasoning, to unde-
niable e\-idence, he opposed his own
will ; " Such is my determination."
It was sweet to him to be stronger
single-handed than all the multitudes,
stronger than the Bishop, stronger
than common .sense, than minicles,
than the God who was manifested at
the grotto.
It was at this juncture that two
eminent personages, Mgr. de Salinis,
-\rchbishop of Auch, and M. dc
Resscquier, formerly of the deputies,
called on the Fmpcror, who was at
the lime at Hi.irritz. Napoleon III.
was receiving at the same time from
various quarters petitions demanding
urgently, in virtue of Uie most sacred
rights, the annulment of the arbi-
trary and violent measures of Baron
Glassy. " Sire," said one of these
petitions, '* we do not pretend to
settle the question as to the appari-
tions of the Blessed Virgin, though
almost all the people here, on account
of the startling miracles which they
claim to have personally witnessed,
believe in the reality of these super-
natural manifestations. But it is
certain and indisputable that tlic
fountain which appeared suddenly,
and from which we are excluded, in
spite of the scientific analysis which
asserts its jjerfect harmlessness, has
been hurtful to no one ; on the other
hand, it is undeniable that a great
number of persons declare that they
have there recovered their health. In
Oar Lady of I^urdes.
:he name of the righu of conscience,
M*liich should be intli-pciitlcnt of all
human power, permit ihe faithful to
go and pray there if they choose. In
the name of humanity, allow the sick
to go there for their cure, if they en-
tertain such a hope. In the name of
free thought, suffer the minds which
need information for their study and
cxamiiiaTion to go there to unmask
error or lo discover truth."
The Emperor, as we have said
above, was disinterested in the ques-
tion, or rather it was for his Interest
not to waste his power in fruitlessly
opposing the course of events. It
was for his interest lo listen to the
cry of souls a-sking for the liberty of
their faith, the crj' of minds demand-
ing freedom to study and see for
themselves. It was for his interest
lo be just, and not to crush, by an
arbitrary act and an evident de-
nial of justice, those who believed
the evidence of their senses, as well
as those who, though not yet believ-
ing, still claimed the right to exam-
ine publicly the mysterious occurren-
ces which were occujjying the atten-
tion of France.
It has been seen what wild roman-
ces the honest Minister Rouland had
gravely acccepted as incontestable
trutlis. 'I"hc information which his
benevolent excellency must have giv-
en the Emperor could hardly have
given the latter much light upon the
subject. The newspaper discussions,
although they had triumphantly
brought lo lighi the right of one par-
ty and the unjust intolerance of the
other, could not have given him a
perfectly clear idea of the situation.
At Biarritz only did it appear to him
in its fulness and complete details.
Na|R>leon III. was not a very tlc-
monstmtivc .stn-crcign ; his thoughts
were seldom plainly indicated by his
words; rather by actions. As he
learned the absurd and violent pro-
t^W
I m. 1
ceedings by which the minister, the
prefect, and their agents h.ad been
bringing authority into disgrace, hia
dull eye brightened, it is said, with a
Rash of anger; he shrugged his
shoulders nervously, and a cloud of
deep displeasure passed over his
brow. He rang the bell impatiently.
" Take this to the telegraph of-
fice," said he.
It was a brief dispatch to the
feet of Tarbes, ordering him, in
name of the Emperor, to rescind in-
stantly the tlecTce closing the grotto
at Lourdes, and to leave the peo
free.
VI.
Wr are familiar with the discover-
ies of science with regard to the woi
derful electric spark, which the n«
work of wires covering the globe cs
ries from one end of the earth to
other in an instant The telegraph,
as the savattts tell us, is the sai
thing as the thunderbolt. On
occasion, Baron Massy was col'
of their opinion. The iiniicrial
spatch, falling suddenly upon them,
stunned and bewildered him, as
sudden stroke of lightning woul
have done coming down upon his'
house. He could not believe in its
reality. The more he thought of it,
the more impossible it seemed fbc
him lo retrace his stq>s, to
his judgment, or to bear his
publicly. Nevertheless, he had
swallow this bitter draught, or hand
in his resignation and put far away
from his lips the sweet prefectoral]
cup. Fatal alternative ! The heart]
of a public functionary is sometimes
torn by fearful anguish.
When a sudden catastrophe comes
upon us, we have at first some difli-*]
culty in accepting it as definitive*
and we continue to struggle after all
is lost. Boron Massy did not es-
i
Our Lady of Lourdes.
cape ihis illusion. He hoped vague-
ly that the Kniperor would revoke
tis decision. In thts hope, he un-
dertook to keep the dispatch secret
for some days, and not to obey.
He wrote to the Emperor, and also
secured the intervention of Minister
Kouland, who was less publicly but
as completely .iffccted as himself by
the unexpected order from Biarritz.
Napoleon III. was as inscuable
to the protests of the minister as to
tlie representations and entreaties of
the prefect. The judgment which
he had made had been based upon
evidence, and was irrevocable. Ail
these steps had no other result than to
show him that the prefect had dared
to set aside his orders and to post-
pone their execution. A second de-
spatch left Biarritz. It was couched
in terms which permitted no com-
ment or delay.
Baron Massy had to choose be-
tween his pride and his prefecture.
He m.ide the grievous choice, and
_«'as humble enough to remain in his
'^Tlc head of the department re-
ngned himself to obedience. Ne-
vertheless, in. spite of the imperative
brders of his master, he still tried,
iflot to resist, which was evidently
■fanpossible, but to hide his retreat and
not surrender publicly.
In consequence of some official
indiscretions, and perhaps also by
:fche account of the gentlemen who
had waited on the Emperor, the pur-
port of the orders from Biarritz was
already vaguely known by llic pul>-
Uc. It was the topic of general con-
versation. The prefect neither con-
finned nor denied the prevailing ru-
mors. He instructed Jacomet and
bis agents to draw up no more pro-
(^i-v^rbaux, and to discontinue the
watch. Such a course, coming in
nnection with the current reports
as to tlie instructions of the Emperor,
ought to have sufficed (at least such
was his hope) to put things in their
normal stale, and make the prohibi-
tory decree a dead letter. It was
even probable that the people, re-
stored to liberty, would hasten them-
selves to root up and throw into the
Gave the posts bearing the caution
against entering upon the common
land and within the barriers which
enclosed the grotto.
M. M.issy was, however, mistiken
in his calculations, plausible as they
may have been. In spile of liie ab-
sence of Uie police, in spite of the
reports which were circulatir/^ with-
out official contradiction, the people
feared some snare. They continued
to pray on die wrong side of the
Cave. The trespasses were as be-
fore, generally speaking, few and far
between. No one touched the posts
or iJie barriers. The sMus quo, in-
stead of disappearing of its own ac-
cord, as the prefect had hope4l, ob-
stinately remained.
Considering the character of Na-
poleon HI., and the clearness of the
orders from Biarritz, the situation was
dangerous for the prefect, and Baron
Massy was too intelligent not to per-
ceive it. Every moment it was to be
feared that the Kmperor would hear
of'the way in which he was trying to
beat around the bush. He may well
have dreaded continually that some
terrible message would arrive setting
him aside for ever, and tuniing him
out in the cold, out from the luminous
realms of funclionarism into the ex-
terior darkness in which the miserable
unofficial world is involved.
The end of September had come.
It happened that, during these per-
plexities, M. Fould had occasion to
make another visit to Tarbes, and
even to go to Lourdes. Did he in-
crease the alarm of the prefect by
speaking of the sovereign, or did
ilie Baron receive some new telegram
■
540
Our Lady of Lourdes,
more crusbiog ihan the others ? Wc
do not know. Uui it is ccnain that,
OD the 3d of October, M. Massy, as
if struck down by some unscnn hand,
became pliable as a broken reed, and
that his arrogant stiffness was sud-
denly changed to a complete pros-
tration.
The next dayhe issued, in the name
of llie Kni]>eror, an order to the mayor
of Lourdes lo repeal the decree pub-
licly, and lo have Jacomct remove
the posts and baniers,
vir.
M. Lacade did not hesitate like
M. Massy. This issue freed him at
once from the heavy burden which
the minglttl desire of pleasing both
the prefect and the people, both the
heavenly and earthly powers, had
imposed upon him. By an illusion
very common with undecided people,
he imagined that he had always been
on thf side which now prevailed, aud
in this spirit be drew up a proclama-
tion to Uie following effect : *' Citizens
of I.ourdcs, t]tc day which we have so
earnestly desired has at last come;
we have earned it by our wisdom,
perseverance, faith, and courage.'*
Such was the sense and style of his
proclamation, the text of which is
unfortunately not extant."*
The proclamation was read through
the town, with an accompaniment of
drums and trumpets. At the same
time tlic following notice was posted
on the walls :
The Mayor of lourdes,
Acting upon instructions addressed to
bim.
Orders as Foliows :
Tlie order issued on ibe Slh o( June, 1858.
Is TCTOkcd.
Done at Lourdc», at the Maj-or's OBtee.
Oct. 5. I $5 8.
The Mayor, A. LacaoB.
* A Xt*tX |iM1 nf the p'P*^ fElalinft to lb*
At the same time, Jacomet and i
scrgenis-de-ville repaired to the gro
to lake away the barriers and posts
A crowd had already collect
there, and was incrcising every moK
meni. Some were praying on the;
knees, and, endeavoring not (0
distracted by the hubbub arou
were thanking God for having put
stop to the scandal and the pcrsec
lions. Others were standing up talk-
ing in a tow voice, and awaiting wi
emotion what was about to take plac
Many of the women were saying ih
beads. Some held bottles iu th
hands, whidi they wished to fill
the source of the fountain. So
were throwing flowers over the b
riers into the interior of the grott
But no one touched the barriers,
was necessary that those who K
publicly placed them there in opp<
sition to the power of God stioul
come and remove them publicly
submission to the will of a man.
J-icomet arrived. Although, io spile
of himself, he showed some embarrass-
ment, and though from the paleness
of his face his profound humiliation
might have been suspected, sull he
bad not, couliary to the general ex*
peciation, the dejected appeataoce
of one who had been conquered.
Escorted by his subordinates with
their halchets and pi<Jcaxes, he car
forward with a tioltl face. With
seemingly strange affectation, he woi
his fuU-drcss costume. His ]ar(
tricolor scarf was wrapi>ed around
him and rested upon his paradi
sword. A v.igue tumult, a dull mt
mur, with some distinct cries her
and lliere, was heard from the crowt,
'l*hc commissary took up his poeidooj
upon a rock, and signed to the people
that he wished to speak. Every one
IiMmiI of belmt l^l >■> ^* wchWct of ib« nftyvr* I
■llr. We cn<)«arorct1 In r>tn 10 (ct at ih«M
preclou* dncunienu. The L^catlchliiilirHf thu
Lh«r hkr« ItcBU banicil.
I
Mr^ Froude and Cahnnisnt.
541
listened. His words are said to have
been lo this effect: " My friencW, these
barriers which the municipality, to my
great regret, has ordered to put up,
are about to be removed. Who has
suffered more than I from this obstacle
raised against your piety ? I also ani
a Christian, my friends; I share your
laith. But the officiaJ, like the soldier,
has only one duty ; it is the duty,
often a very painful one, of obedience.
The responsibility docs not rest upon
him. Well, my friends, when I saw
your admirable patience, your respect
for authority, your persevering faith,
I informed the higher authorities. I
pleaded your cause. I said, * "Why
prevent them from pra>'ing at the
grotto, from drinking at the fountain ?
They will do no harm.' And thus,
my friends, the prohibition has been
removed, and the prefect and I have
resolved to take dorni these barriers
forever, which were so displeaanglo
you an<l much more so to me."
The crowd maintained a cold
silence. Some of the young people
chuckled and laughctl. Jacomet was
evidently troubled by his want of suc-
cess. He gave orders to his men to
take away the fence, which was done
•without delay. The boards were
piled up near the grotto, and the
police came at nightiUll to take them
away.
There was great rejoicing at Lour-
des. All the afternoon crowds were
going and coming oi^ the road to the
grotto. Before the Massabiellc rodc£
immense numbers of the faithful were
kneeling. Canticles and litanies were
sung : " Virgo potens, ora pro nobis.*'
The people dra:ik of the fountain.
Faith was free. God had triumphed.
MR. FROUDE AND CALVINISM.
The Robert-Houdin of modem
■ English writers, and author of that
popular serial novel grimly entitled
Tfi^ History of England, ajipcars
['to be only at home in an element of
paradox, and in the clever accom-
plishment of some literary tour d£
/ore. Calvinism .- An Address de-
livered at St. Andrews, March 17,
1871, by James Anthony Froude,
' M.A.,* is his latest performance.
Always liberal in his assumption
'■of premises, no one need be surprised
that the author should claim Calvin-
ism to have been "accepted for two
centuries in all l*rotestant countries
• N*w Yofk: Chulu Scrlbasr ft Co.
as the final account of the relations
between man and his MakcT," and
should represent that *' the Catholics
whom it overthrew" assail it, etc.
It will be news to most Prolcstantsi
Lutherans and Anglicans in particu-
lar, that Cal\inism was thus accept-
ed, and the 'overthrown Catholics'
will be not less suqjriscd. Through-
out the addres-s, Mr. Froude indus-
triously insists upon the false idea
that Luther was a Calvinist, The
statement refutes itself in its terms.
No argument is needed to show thai
Luther's {ree-will doctrine and Cal-
vin's predestination were simply ir
reconcilable. It was not skilful ir
Mr. Froude to smother in its very
542
Mr. Froude and Ca/vwism,
birth his labored vindication of Cal-
vinistic doctrine by such a presenu-
tion as this (p. 4) :
" h hs> come lo bo regafdcd by liberal
lliinkcrs as a »jrslein of UcUef incrviJ-
ible in itself, dishonoting to its ob-
ject, and as intolerable as it lias bovn
hscif intolerant. To represent man as
sent into the wotld under a cane, as
incurablj' wicked — wicked by the con-
cifluilon of bis fle»h, and wicked by
eternal decree — as doomed, unless ex-
empted hy special grace wbich he cannot
merit or by any elToil of his own obtain,
to live in sin while he remains on earth,
and to be clcmally misciabtc when lie
leaves it — (o represent liim as born
unable to keep the commandments, yet
as justly liable to everlasting punishment
for breaking them, is alike repugnant to
reason and to conscience, and turns ex-
istence into a hideous nlghlmate. To
tell men that theycannat hel p them scl ves
is to flinjt them into recklessness and
despair. To what purpose the effort to
be virtuous, when it is an effort which is
foredoomed to fail — when those that are
saved are saved by no effort of their own,
and confess themselves the worst of sin-
aets, even when rescued from the penal*
lies of sin; and those thai are lost aie
lost by an everlasting seiUence decreed
against ihera before ihey were born ?
How are we to call the Ruler who laid
us under this iron code by the namo of
Wise, or Just, or Merciful, when wo
ascribe principles of action lo him
whicli in a human father we sliould call
prepostciuus and monstrous?"
As types of Cahnnism and almoxt
perfect human beings, as men of
grandeur and nobility of character,
upright life, commanding intellect,
untainted selfishness, unalterably just,
frank, true, cheerful, humorous, and
as unlike sour fanatics as it is pos-
sible to imagine any one. Mr. Froude
names William the Silent, Luther.
John Knox, Andrew Melville, the
Regent Murray, Coligny, Cromwell,
Milton, and John Btjnyan. The
CaK-inism of all the members of this
remarkably a!>surlcd group is at least
open to serious question. As to
their superenunent goodness
almost angelic purity, it would be
easy but not a pleasant task to poti
out the refutation in their fatal slioi
comings. It may be that Crumwt
had " the tenderness of a woman "
his heart, but no testimony to supf
that assertion could possibly be pi
cured in Ireland. It may be Cl
Knox was not a sour fanatic, tha
William was all unselfishness, tl
Coligny was blameless, and
Milton's wife was mistaken in
estimate of her husband.
As to the Regent Murray, who
was told to his face by John Knc
that his religion was " for his 01
conimoditie," and whom Aytoun'
has incarcerated in the immc
amber of his verse as " the
villain ever Scotland bred "—
" KtiM lohUfAilh. s wediledptlMItt
Sull litlter to the Crown ;
Fslve (o ihe tilood. ibai in bU v«ii«
HtAtt butantf rrnawD ;
False 10 Ui liHcr. wtioai he iwors
To guard and shield from liam ;
The bc«(l of Buvy » Trlon plot,
Uul o»W once the arm '.
A verier liaav« ne'er siepp«il the «ank
Since ihb witle world bcs*" :
And fet— h0 tuMMliei (exit with Knu,
And vitlka s plou» man I "—
we are perfectly satisfied thai
Robespierre is an accomplished
Christian gentleman beside him, for
Robespierre at least never stole his
sister's jewels nor took bribes from
his countr>'s enemies.
Then we are treated by the author
to a promenade down the path of
ages, amid the wrecks of empires
and of sN'stems, and to rheturicalljr
embroiitered sketches, with mention
more or less extended of Olympus,
Valhalla. Kgyptiaa idolatry. Bud-
dhism, in which " Zoroaster, like
Moses, saw behind the physifal
forces into the deeper h\v% of rif^t
and wrong," Greek iheolr.py. the
Stoics, " the Galilean fjsh^-rmea
I
L
Mr, Froude and Calvinism,
and the lenimaker of Tarsus," and
— Isliimisni. Of all these, the last
most decidedly brings out Mr.
Froude's warmest enthusiasm, and
we And ourselves querying if it is
Mohammed's fatalism he so much ad-
mires, for the mouolheism of the
prophet could hardly be called
Calvinistic, thus making the burning
of Scrvetus a j;ratuiious waste of
cord-wood. Here wc feel bound in
justice to say that, although the men
of O.ililcc and of 'i'areus do not
appear to excite any very strong
admiration in our author, he never-
theless makes the handsome con-
cession that he is not " upholding
Mohammed as if he had been a perfect
man, or the Koran as a second
Bible," and lliat " Uie detailed con-
ception of man's duties was inferior,
far inferior, to what St. Martin and
St. Patrick, St. Columba and St.
Augustine, were teaching or had
taught in Western Europe."
The early Christian church being
essentially Cailiolir, it does not draw-
very heavily on either Mr. Troude's
entluisiasm or his adminttion, and, in
speaking of " the mystery called tran-
subsiantiation " in the twelfth century,
he makes an attempt to sum up Ca-
tholicity in a vein partaking of the
brutality with which, in his Ilisiory
of En^^hnd, he lias the cool insolence
to speak of the Catholic religion—
the religion of Copernicus, Swr Tho-
mas More, ienclon, and Dr. Newman
— as " a Paphian idolatry."
The Rcfurmalion is, of course, in-
troduced with Sourish of trumpets.
But the Refonnation was essentially
Lutlieran, and not Calvinistic. Lu-
ther himself, who was, so Mr. Ftoude
assures us, " one of the grandest men
that ever lived on earth," than whom
"none more loyal to the light that
was in him — braver, truer, or wider-
minded, in the noblest sense of the
word " — this Luther, wc say, was as
sincere a believer as Saint Augustine
in the real presence — in transubstan-
tiation, as Mr. Froude has it — a doc-
trine which, on all occasions and as
far as in hira lies, our English writer
seeks to drag in the mud. And yet
this Luther, so believing, was, Mr.
Froude seeks to persuade us, a Cal-
vinist.
Calvinism, in practice, was a lovely
thing, and Mr. Froude proves that it
was by — John Knox, whom he thus
cites; " Elsewhere," says Knox, speak-
ing of Geneva, " the word of God is
taught as purely ; but never anywhere
have I seen God obeyed as faith-
fully."
Mr. Froude is, moreover, surprised
that Calvinism should have been
called intolerant,* and sums up its
vindication thus : " Intolerance of an
enemy who is trying to kill you seems
to me a pardonable stale of mind."
In the face of this citation, it is al-
most unnccc^ary to state that the
name of Senetus does not once oc-
cur in the forty-seven pages of the
Address, nor is the slightest allusion
made to him. And if the curious
reader, unacquainted with the practi-
cal working of Calvinism in Geneva,
where God was " obeyed so faith-
fully," should inquire ho%v it was that
this perfect Christian man, Calvin,
wrote his laws in blood and enforced
them with the aid of cvetutloiieri and
torturers; how it was that he perse-
cutcd some men and, under color of
• Mr. Frouile's amuory Is Dot ftlwayi fwA
Id fais lii'tM-y t/ F.tiiand. Tol. I*., p. ¥>t, liB tells
us: "The RiililBnre nf the Ktcat luovement wu
■natched [torn tlie vontrul ut reason 10 bt BUJ*
over to Calvinism ; %.aii Citlrlniitiii, coulil It h&re
had thewofld unilcr ill Tecl, would tiKTchccnii
mtrcltouas the Imiuisitinn iiscll. The lluguc-
nol!i tind the i'uiitani, lbs Uiblc iii one liaml, tb«
■word In Ibe otber. wer« readr to Bialc« war wlUt
)it«cl and tire malnnBll wluch EurEij>e fuc ten
ceotuHc* hid held Hncd. Kiiry entounlcred
furv. fanalkUm laoalkism ; mnJ vrAtrtvtr Cal-
trim't t^irit fimilrtit*J, th* CKriitUn vferM mia*
wi/i ■ tilttrmfu exrttdingike »tim»il mailgnttv
«/ merw human tuUurt."
Mr» Ffoude and Calvinism.
law. assassinated others, he may be
reftrrrcd lo these witnesses: First.
Jeronic Holsec, exiled for proposing
"a« opinion false and contrary to the
evangelical religion." Second. Peter
Arneaux, who, for saying that Calvin
was ^*a wicked man announcing false
doctrine," was condemned to walk
the streets of Geneva in his shirt, a
lighted torch in his hand, bare-head-
ed and barefooted. Tittrd. Henri
de la Marc, exiled for saying that
Peter Ameaux was a worthy man,
and that, if Calvin had a spile against
any one, he gratified it. Fourth,
Jacques Cruet, who was beheaded
and his he-id afterward nailed to a
po«t, for the crime of being the
auilior of placards accusing the Cal-
vinists of persecution, and for proofii
of impiety found in his private writ-
ings when his house was searched.
Finally. Ser\'etus, who, for being '* a
sower of heresies," was, by Calvin's
aulhoritj', imprisoned, left there for
two months to suffer by hunger and
nakedness, and then brought out and,
at the age of forly-four years, burned
alive.
We cannot be certiin that Mr.
Froude has ever heard of any of
these Protestants martyred for their
opinions. If he has heard of them,
we presume he means to vindicate
Calvin, and to cover their cases by
the crushing statement at page
43: "It is no easy matter lo to-
lerate lies clearly convicted of being
lies under any circumstances ; special-
ly it is not easy lo tolerate lies which
strut about in the name of religion."
The passage is characteristic of
Mr. Froude's caj>acity fur ambiguity
and indirection, but he neglects to
indicate the tribunal of truth at
which these lies are ** clearly convict-
ed." It is a serious matter for a
gentleman of no particular religious
principle to say that tJiis or the oth-
er theological connction is a he
which struts about in the name of
religion; for, in the eyeof ihe theolo-
gically convicted, the most ofTcasive-
ly disgusting of all struts is the strat
of " no religion to si>calc of." More-
over, the author had better have left
unpublished the last member of
sentence we have quoted, becau
in his case, it irresistibly suggests
other phrase : '* It is not easy to
leratc novels which stmt about in
name of history."
Thus we know, as matter of
cord, that Norman Leslie pro
to Henry VIII. the assassination of
Cardinal Beaton for a sum of money,
that the negotiation, at first delayed,
was finally closed and carried out
Leslie got his money, and the cardi-
nal was murdered, because, as Mr.
Froude touchingly relates it, Hcnr)''s
position " obliged him to look at
facts as tliey were rather than through
conventional forms."
Mr. Froude presenis the hired bra-
vo of Henry VIII. ihus; " Norm
Leslie did not kill Cardinal Beat
down in the castle yonder bccanae
he was a Catholic, bul because he
was a murderer."
Mr. Froude does not appear
his writings to have an unvaryin
standard of morality. A['i)arcn
incapable of judging actions as tb
are, he measures them by his person-
al like or dislike of the .ictors. Al-
ways the advocate, never the philo-
sophical historian, he presents bat
one side of a case. Certain person-
ages in history are wiih him always
right, certain others arc nlwavs wrong.
Even the crin»es of llie former are
meritorious, or, at worse, indiUcrent,
while the indilTerent sayings and do-
ings of the latter are sins of dee|
die. We may see diis tendency e
emplified in the address before us
which seeks lo make Ciilvinism
lovely.
The author says, in plain
L<yoe for Animals,
545
that it was not more criminal in a
Calvinist to bum a witch than for
any other person to invite a spirit-
rapper to dinner.
Of course he expresses the opin-
ion euphuistically and in mellifluous
phrase, but, nevertheless, he does
express it. And that our readers
may fully understand that we do not
even unintentionally misrepresent
him, we give his words. At page
43, we read :
" In burning witches, the Calvinists fol-
lowed their model too exactly ; but it is
to be remembered that they really be-
lieved those poor creatures to have made
a compact with Satan. And, as regards
morality, it may be doubted whether in>
viting spirit- rappers to dinner, and allow,
ing them to pretend to consult our dead
relations, is very much more innocent.
The first method is but excess of indigna-
tion with evil ; the second is complacent
toying with it."
It is worth while to notice how
deftly Mr. Froude handles his posi-
tive and comparative.
For Calvinists to bum people alive
is innocent, and intercourse with spirit-
rappers is not very much more inno-
cent.
With such juggling as this of facts
and phrases, the author of Calvinism
has written his History of England,
the delight of circulating library sub-
scribers because it is " as interesting
as a novel."
And so it is, for the best of rea-
sons.
LOVE FOR ANIMALS.
" He pnTctb well who loreth well
Both mui, and bird uid beast ;
He prayeth best who lovcth best
All things both great and small ;
For the dear God who loreth us.
He made and lovcth all."
In reading the lives of the saints,
I have been particularly struck with
their love for, and their power over,
the animal world. They seemed to
live nearer the heart of -nature than
other mortals, and perceived there
diviner harmonies. Perhaps this
sympathetic relation sprang from the
belief that, as the whole natural
world participated in the fall of man,
so it has its part in the fruit of our
Saviour's Passion. At least, they be-
lieved that animals, in common with
man, received life from God and ex-
ist through him. "AH creatures,"
says Denis the Carthusian, " partake
of the divine, eternal, and imcreated
VOL. XIII. — 35
beauty." The saints respected in
animals that divine wisdom which
Albertus Magnus tells us, in his book
on animals, is to be recognized in
their instinct Dr. Newman says :
" Men of narrow reasoning may
smile at the supposition that the
woods and wild animals can fall
into the scheme of theology and
preach to the heart the all-pervad-
ing principles of religion; but they
forget that God's works have a unity
of design throughout, and that the
author of nature and of revealed reli-
gion is one."
Dr. Faber saw throughout creatioa
a threefold manifestation of God,
546
Lov<t for Animals.
typifying his being, the generation of
the Son, and the procession of the
Spirit.
Sanctity seems to restore noan to
his pritnevul relation to nature, and
give bira back the power he possessed
in Eden over the animal world. The
Holy Scriplures tell us of bciisls and
birds sent to miniivtcr to the wants of
man, and how the very Hons reve-
renced Uic prophet Daniel, Animals
were submissive to man before his
fall, and they went obcdicndy into
the ark at the command of Noah.
Such things .ire renewed and rc[ie3t-
ed in the Uves of the Christian saints.
It is not more wonderful that a raven
should bring St. Paul the Hermit
half a loaf every day for sixty years,
and a who\e one when visited by St.
Anthony, than that one should feed
the prophet. St. Gre;jory of Nazianzen
relates that St. Basil's grandmother,
St. Macrina, having taken refuge with
her husband in the forests of Pontus
during a persecution, was miracu-
lously-fed by stags. St. Uega, when
a hermitess in a cave on the Cum-
bcrLind coast, lived in supcmatnml
familiarity with the sea-birds and the
wolves of CopelftJul forest, and they
in p-irt supplied her with food. St.
Roch is usually rei>resented wiili the
dog that xised to accompany him in
his pilgrimages. When St. Roch
had ttie pbgue, the dog went dally
into the city and returned with a
loaf of bread for his master.
Among the old legends that cm*
body the jiopular idea of the venera-
tion of the animal world lor holmess,
is that of the l-light into Kgypt It
is said the lions And leo|>ards crept
ont of their Uirs to lick the Kiby
hands of the infant Jesus. When
Christians, in the times of per^cu-
tion under Uic Roman cmperurs,
were thrown to the wild beasts in
the amphitheatre, there are many
examples of these usually ferocious
animals refusing to (ouch the hctlj
victims, as in the well-knowa in*]
stances of Aiidronicus and Tar-<l
chus.
Su Blaise is depicted surrounded
by a variety of animals, such as thcj
lion and the lamb, the leopard and]
the hind, who seem to have laid aside J
their animo>)ty. Tim saint wasoblig-
cd, in the pereccution of the reign of
Diocletian, to take refuge in a rave
of the mountains, ll was the haunt
of wild beasts, whose ferocity he so
disarmed that they came every morn-
ing, as if to ask his blessing, says the
old legend. One day, he met an old
ivoman in distress for the loss of her
only earthly possession, a pig, which
had been carried off by a wolf. Such
power had St. Blaise over the animal
world, th.it when he ordered llie wolf
to bring back the pig he obeyed
Some lime after, the woman killed
her pig and took a part of it to Sl
Blaise, who had been thrown intt
prison and left witliout any food,
thereby preventing him from starv-
ing.
St Jerome is represented, in Chris-
tian art, wiUi the lion he healed, and
which remainc<I with him. The le-
gend tells us the saint made Uie lion
guard the ass that brought his fagotj
from the forest. One day, the Uon
went to sleep in the woods, and the
ass was stolen. The lion returned
home witli drooping head, as if.
ashamed. St. Jerome made him.
bring the fagots in place of the as,
which he did till he discovt-red his
old friend in a caravan of merchants,
whom he so icrrificd that they con-
fessed tlicir ^ to St Jerome and
restored the ass.
llierc is a very similar legend of
the Abbot Gcr.i-simus, who lived
near tlic river Jordan.
We are lold, in ihe lives of the
fathers of the desen, of one of them
who was carrying provisions across
Love for Animals
547
the desert to his brethren. Wearied
with his burden and the long journey,
he called to a wild ass he espied to
come and aid him, for the love of
Christ. The ass hastened to his as-
sistance, and bore the father and his
load to the cells of his brethren.
St. Aphraates dispersed the army
of locusts that threatened the country
around Antioch.
St. Martin commanded the ser-
pents, and they obeyed him.
And we read how the wolf-hounds,
hungry and fierce, that were kept for
the chase, respected St. Walburga
when she went, late at night, to visit
the dying daughter of a neighboring
baron.
It would almost seem as if these
animals recognized, as an able writer
says, the presence of Him who lulled
the tempest with a word in the souls
in whom he dwells.
Tradition records the fondness of
one of the twelve apostles — the loved
apostle John — for animals. Every
one has heard of the tame partridge
he took pleasure in feeding. He was
seen tending his bird by a passing
hunter, who expressed his surprise to
see the apostle, so renowned for his
age and sanctity, thus employing his
time. St. John asked him if he al-
ways kept his bow bent. " That
would soon render it useless," said the
hunter. " So do I unbend my mind
in this way for the same reason you
unbend your bow — to prevent its be-
coming useless." Perhaps he derived
his love for animals from his ances-
tress Rebecca, who showed the kind-
ness of her nature in offering to water
the camels of the stranger. Eliezer
saw it, and began wooing her for his
master's son.
There are numerous instances in
which animals instinctively betook
themselves to the saints for protec-
tion. A hind, pursued by dogs, took
refuge with St. Giles in his cave near
the mouth of the Rhone. The hunt-
ers, following on his track, found the
wounded beast crouching beside I he
saint, who protected him. The hind
remained with St. Giles, who fed on
his milk. This saint is represented
in paintings with the animal beside
him. " Ane hind set up beside Sanct
Geill," says Sir David Lindsay.
There is a similar legend about St.
Procopius, a hermit, with whom a
hunted hind took refuge.
As St. Anselm was riding to the
Manor of Herse, a hare, pursued by
hunters, sought shelter under the
housings of his mule. St. Anselm
wept, but the foresters laughed, and
the hounds stood around at bay. The
saint said : " This poor hare reminds
me of the soul of a sinner beset by
fiends eager to seize their prey." He
ordered the hunters not to pursue the
hare, which fled.
So a deer took refuge from hunters
in the cell of St. Aventin, a hermit
who lived on an island in the Seine.
One night a bear attacked his hut
with furious cries. The saint betook
himself to prayer, and at dawn found
the animal, subdued and gentle, lying
at his door licking his paw. The saint
saw it was pierced by a thorn, and
drew it out, when the beast went
quietly away into the forest. When
a person, who lived for a time with
St. Aventin, caught some fish, the
saint threw them back into the river,
saying: " Go, little creatures, return
to your element and food and remain
there at liberty : my element and
food are Jesus Christ, to whom I wish
to return, that in him I may live for
ever."
St. Bartholomew, a hermtt of Fame,
was so gentle in his movements that
the wild sea-birds were not afraid of
him. He allowed no one to molest
them. He tamed an eider-duck,
which daily fed out of his hand.
One day, as St. Bartholomew was
548
Lovt for Anittiah.
sitting on the sea-shore, a cormorant
pullert tlte edge of his garment nith
its bill. He fallowed the bird, and
found its ytJUiij! had fallen into a fis-
sure in the rocks. He rescued them
from danger.
St. Hclier, a hermit in the isle of
Jersey, lived for years on a barren
rrag overlooking the sea. Attention
was called (u the plate of his retreat
by the Hight of the birds who shared
the rock with him, and he was be-
headed by his pagan discoverers.
'I'he marine animals would fawn
on St. Culhbert while he was pray-
ing by uiglit <jn the island of Fame.
The eider-ducks arc called by the is-
lamlen to this day " St. Cuthl>ert*s
ducks."
St) the nuns of Whttby "exulting
told '
" Howttt-fowls' piflloiH bll,
A* over WItirbv'i l"wvit tlicy M'I.
Anil viiibtni; il<iivn. wiih fliitieriafsfiiiiit.
They Oi> ilu:i( liuuufc tu t4iu uint."
St. Serf, an old Scottish monV» had
a pet rani u-hich he had raised and
useil to follow him al>oiit. The laird
of Tillicoultry stole the animal and
*■ ate him up in pieces small" Being
accused of the theft, the laird declar-
ed on oath that he had neither stolen
nor eilcn the ram. Whca-upon, so
ruat the old legend, the ram " bleat-
ed in his waymc " ! 'Hie saint pre-
dicted that no heir bom to the e:ttatc
of Tillicoultry should succeed to his
patrimony, which prediction has lieen
verified donTt to out own time.
Ouring the last two centuries Tillt-
touliry has been in the possession of
thirteen different families, and in no
case has the heir borti to it become
the owner. LonI Colville, a distin-
guished soldier of the time of James
V'l., retired to his estate of Tilhcoul-
try to spend the rest of his Tife in
retirement. Walking on the terrace
one day, he slipped while looking up
at an old hawthorn tree, and fell down
the bank and was instantly kill
The estate was afterwards sold to the
I'Url of Stirling, at whose death it
was sold to Sir Alexander Rollo,
so it has passed fiom one family
another <luwn to our lime. In 1 83
it was bought by Mr. Stirling, w
was accidentally killed. His brot
not the bom heir, succcctled him, b
sold it in 1842 to -Mr, Anstruther, whi
in turn sold it to his brother, the
sent proprietor.
St. Richard, Bishop of Win
through excessive tenderness for ihi
animal wnrhl, hardly ever ate any
meat, When he saw any lamb
chicken on his table, he used to say
"^ We are the cause of your dcatli, ye
innocent ones. What have ye do
worthy of death?" He thought
>"rederiik Schlegcl, who remarks,
" The sorrows of beasts are certainl:
a theme f<.>r the meditations oi
and I could not agree to the justi
of regarding it as a subject unworthy
of redection, or of permitting sym
thy widi them to be banished iroi
the human breast." St. Richard
love cxtende<l to the whole natu
world. In the tin»e of his trouUci
he used to retire to Uie par;on.ige
a country* curate, not far from Wi
Chester, to find solace in communi
with nature. His friend loved
look at him walking in the gardi
watching ttie unfolding of the tlo
buds or amusing himself by buddi
and graftmg, forgetful of ihc wrat
of the king and the number of hb
enemies. A graft which the owner
rcgartled with great pride having
died, Richard rcgrafted it. It liv
and bore fruit.
Many stories are told of the love
of St. Wahheof, Abbot of Mclrtwc,
for animals, and, in particular, of his
afleclion for the old gray horse which
he constantly rode, and used playfuU)r
to call Brother Grizzle (Fratfr Fcr-
randm). He n-as even known l
M
Lovt for Animals.
549
dLsci[iline him&etf for having killed an
insect, saying he had taken uway the
life of one of God's creatures which
he could not restore. His gray horse
was well kno^-n in the valley of the
Tweed. The humble abbot rode him,
with his own luygaye and Uiat of his
few altendanls slung on before him,
including the boots of his groom.
He apiK'arcd before his kinsman, the
[Xing of Scotland, in this array.
[■AValtheofs brother wa.s ashamed of
[liim, but the king was so cdi6etl that
Ijie knelt to ask the abbot's blessing.
fvnd granted him all his petitions,
lying: '"This man hath put ail
iTorldly things under his feel, but we
ire running after this fleeting world,
[losing soul and body in the pursuit"
Suphronius, writing in a more re*
mote age, says: "Going to New
Alexandria, we found Abbot John,
who had spent eighty years in that
monastery, so full of charity that he
was [jitiful also to brute animals.
> Early in the morning he used to give
\foo(\ to all tlic dogs th.-it were in the
liuonastcry, and would even bring
un to the ants and tlie birds on the
r And, at a later day again, at Ci-
tcaux a great number of storks built
their nests around the abbey, and, on
agoing away for the winter, would
hover over tlie monks working in the
, fields, as if to ask their blessing, which
was given tlicin.
We are told in the annals of Cor-
by that the nonces had an otter
which they kept for a long time in
the refectory. And the success of
Friar Baddo in training a dog is
spoken of.
There was a peculiar breed of
black dogs in the Abbey of St Hu-
bert in the .Ardennes, called the dogs
of St. Hubert.
The birds of Croyland would feed
from the liands of St. Guthlac, the
hermit, and alight on his head and
shoulders, and the fish would come
up out of the water for the footl he
gave them.
So a white swan was for fifteen
years in the habit of coming up from
the marshes and flying around &.
Huyh of Lincoln, and then alighting
to eat from his hand, sometimes
thrusting its bill into his bosom.
This swan survived the saint many
years, hut, afler his death, retunie<l
to its old \vild habits, avoiding all
human beings.
St. Columba used to feed the sea-
beaten herons that aliglited on the
island of lona.
The sparrows would descend and
eat out of St Kemi's hand.
And the birds would hover around
the hcnnits of Montserrat and eat
from their hands.
Hugo of St. Victor shows his fa-
iiiiharily with the habits of animals
by his allu»ons to them in his in-
structions.
Digby relates that in 1507 there
was a lamb in the convent of Muri
that used to go to the choir at the
sound of the bell and remain durmg
the chanting of the divine office.
When the matin bell rang, it would
run around the corridora and knock
its heiid against the door of carh cell
till it had roused the inmate, and, nn
going to tlie choir, if it saw one va-
cant stall, it would return to tlic dor-
mitory and bleat for the missing one.
St Philip Neri could not l>ear to
witness the slightest cruelty to ani-
mals, and would caution the coaclt-
man not to run over one. And
even wild animals would respoml to
his tenderness by their familiarity
with him, and dogs would leave
their masters to follow him. Seeing
one of his congregation tread on a
lizard as he was pasang through the
court St Philip said to hira ; " Cruel
fellow, what has that poor little ani-
mal done to you ?" He was greatly
igitated at seeing a butcher wound
dog with Jiis knife, A boy having
wrought liim n bird, St. I'hitip through
pity ordered it to be let out at the
window. Sliorily after, he express-
ed regmt for having given the
bird its freedom, for fear it might die
of hunger. Louis one of his yuung
];enitcnls h.itl two little birds which
he gave .St. Philip. He accepted
thera on condition the giver would
come every day to see after them,
wishing to exert a. good in6ucncc
over the youth. One day Louis
came and found the saint ill in bed,
and one of tlie birds perched on his
face. It then fluttered around his
head, singing very sweetly. Sl Phi-
lip asked Louis if he had accustomed
the bird to do so. Louiti replied in
the negative. St. Philij) tried in vain
to drive the bird away, and tinally
had tlic cage brought, when it went
in as if llirough obeilience.
Father Pielro Consolini, of the Ora-
tory, tells a curious stor}' of a good
broiht-r who worketi in the kitchen.
In order to salisiy his devotion for
the Holy Sacrifice of the Moss, he
would put a cat upon the kitchen ta<
ble, and order it to keep watch while
he was at>sent. Then he would go
off to ihurth with a peculiar conft-
deiice in God. The cat, as if re-
iiieuibcring the submission due to
man in his primitive state of inno-
cenc«, used to mount the table us
desired, and remain there, as if on
guard, till the good brother rctunied.
Sl Anthony of Padua also was
full of love fur animals, as well as of
nature in general, as he showed by
constant allusions in h'u sermons.
He was always dwelling with dehght
a|ion the whiteness and gentleness
the swans, the mutual charity of
the storks, the purity and fra-
graiure of tlie flowers of the helds,
etc., etc. When preaching once to
sinners who lefus^il to listen to Iiim,
a-
rn
as.
he suddenly turned away from them,
and, appealing to the animal world,
asked the iish of the water to hearfc-
en to him. 'I'heold legend tcUs how
they lifted their heads lu great num-
bers tcom the water to listen to hJs
WtH'ds.
St. Bernard would deliver the bird
from the snare of the fowler, and the
wild hare from the hounds.
St. Ignatius Loyola admired the
beauty, wisdom, and power of tlic
Creator in his creatures. He was
often rapt in contemplation l>efore
an insect, a tlower, or a blade of
grass.
Sl Francis de Sales so constantl
manifests an extraordinary love of na
ture in his writings that they have been
compared to the sacred veil of Isis,
on whidi was embroidered all cncal
ed things. Here is an extract tak
at random frum his writings, whii
lose their rare Awy/w/ in translating t
'" It had been snowing, and there
was in the court, at least, a fuot of
snow. Jean swept a small space in
the centre, and scattered grain on
the ground for the pigeons tu cat.
'Ihey came in a flock to take their
food there wil}| wonderful peace and
quietness, ami I amused mj-self with
looking at them. You cannot imag-^^B
ine how much these little creature4^^|
editicd nic. They did not utter a
sound, and those who had fiaishe<l
their meal immediately made room
for others, and flew a short distance
to sec them eaL When the place
was jmrtly vaaiie*!, a quantity of
birdlings that had been sur^x^ing
them came up, and the pigeons tliat
were still eating drew up in one cor-
ner to leave the more space for the
little birds, who forthwith began to
eat. The pigeons did not molest
them.
'' I admired their charily, for the
pigeons were so afraid of annoying
the little birds that they crowded to-
Love for Animals.
5SI
'gether at die end of their table. I
admired, too, the discretion of the lit-
tle nieniliciims, who only asked alms
when ihey saw the pigeons were
nearly tliroujjH their meal, and that
there was enough left. Altogether,
I could not help shedding tears to
see the charitable simplicity of the
doves, anil the eonfidence of the lit-
tle birds in their charity. 1 do not
know \\mxx a scnnou would have af-
fected me so keenly. This little pic-
ture of kindness did me good the
whole day.''
And <tg.iin> in writing to Ma-
dame de Chanlal on the repose of
the heart on tha divine will, he
says:
•' I was thinking the other day of
what I had read of the halcyon, a
little bird that lays on the sea-shore.
They make their nests perfectly round,
and so compact that the water of the
sea cannot penetrate them. Only on
the top there is a little hole through
which they can breailie. There they
lodge their little ones, so if the sea
jises suddenly, they can float upon
the waves with no fear of being wet
or suhmerged. The air wliich enters
by the little hole serves as a counter-
poise, and so balances these little
cushions, these little barqi4eties^ that
they are never overturned."
There is in the Louvre a charming
little picture by Giotto of St. Fran-
cis preaching to the birds. The
saint's face, with an earnest, loving
expression, is looking up at the birds,
that, with outstretched necks and
half-open beaks, appear to catch his
words. The old legend which this
painting illustnites with all the artist's
vividness in presenting a story, is
equally charming in its simplicity.
It is as follows : As St. Francis was
going toward Bivagno, he lifted up
his e)'es and saw a multitude of
birds. He said to his companions :
Wait for me here while I preach to
my litUc sisters the birds. The
birds all gathered around him, and
he spoke to them somewhat as fol-
lows : " .My little sisters the birds, you
owe much to God your Creator,
and ought to sing his praise at all
times and in all places, because he
has given you liberty, and the air to
fly about in, and, though you neither
spin nor sew, he has gi\xn you a
covering for yourselves and your lit-
tle ones. He sent two of your
species into the ark with Noah that
you might not be lost to the world.
He feeds you, though you neither
sow nor reap. He has given you
fountains and rivers in which to
quench your thirst, and trees in which
to build your nests. Beware, my lit-
tle sisters, of the sin of ingratitude,
and study abv.iys to praise the Lord."
As he preached, the binls opened
their beaks, and stretched out their
necks, and llajiped their wings, and
bowed their heads toward tliu earth.
His sermon over, St. Francis made
the sign of the cross, and the birds
flew up into the air, singing sweetly
their song of praise, and dispersed
toward the four quarters of the world,
as if to convey the words they had
heard to all the world.
The sympathy of St. Francis of
Assisi with nature, both anim;Ue and
inanimate, is well known. He has
been styled the Oqiheus of the mid-
dle ages. Like the Psalmist, he call-
ed ui>on all nature to praise the
Lord : " Praise the Lord from the
earth, ye dragons and alt ye deeps ;
fire, hail, snow, ice, stormy winds
which fulfil his word, niount.iins
and all hills, fruitful trees and all ce-
dars, beasts and all cattle, scrjjcnts
and all feathered fowls,"
The very sight of a bird incited
St. Francis to lift his soul to God on
the wings of prayer. Crossing tlie
lagunes of Venice on his way lirom
Syria, he heard the birds singing, and
A
said to ht$ companions: " Let us go
and say ilie divine office in Uie midst
of our brctliTcn the birdii, who are
praising tiod." But finding they di-
verted his atteniion from ttis oifice,
he said : " My brethren the birds,
cease your &ong till we have Tullillcd
our obhgalions to (tod." The birds
ceaM:d their son^ till the suint gave
ihcm permisiiion to lesumc it.
Prcacliing tn the upon air, in the
environs of Alviano, St. Francis could
not make himself heard on account
of tJic number of swallows. He
stopped and addressed them: "My
sidtcrs the swallows, you have spok-
en long enough. It is only right
that I should have my turn. Listen
to the word of God while I am
preaching."
Meeting a young man who had
caught a number of doves, he looked
on them \\-ith eyes of pily, and said :
" O good young man | I entreat thee
to give rac those harmless birds, the
scriptural emblems of pun.-, humble,
and faithful souls, so they may not
fall into cruel hands and be put to
death." The young roan gave Uiem
to St. Francis, who put them in his bo-
som, and said to them in the sweetest
of accents : **0 my little sisters the
doves ! so simple, so innocent, and so
cliastc, why <li(l you allow yourselves
to be caught?" Me made nests for
them in the convent, where they laid
and hatched tlieir young, and became
as inme as hens among the friars.
St, Francis was often seen employ-
ed in removing worms from the road
that they might not be trampled on
by travellers, remembering that our
Divine Kedeeraer compared himself
to a worm, and also having compas-
sion on a creature of God.
He revered the very stones he trod
on, so that he sometimes trembled,
in walking over ihem, recallmg him
who is die chief corner-stone oif the
spiritual edifice
He wished tlie brotlicrs when ihe^
cut wood in the for<*st to Iravc sonic
shoots in nicmor)' of Him who wish-
ed to die for us upon the wood of
the cross.
A flower reminded him of the rod
of Jesse which budded and blossom-
ed, and whose perfume is UifiuseJ
throughout the world.
He sometimes wLshed he were one
of the rulers of the land, tliat at
Christmas he might scatter grain by ,
the wayside and in the fields,
the birds also might have ooca
to rejoice on that festival of joy.
JJelorc his death, St. Francis mi
a great feast at ChrisUuas, to which'
he invited the animals. He prepar-
ed a manger in the woods, in which
there was straw, an ox. and an &sa.
A long procession of fiiars, foUowcdj
by a crowd of people l>canng torch-*
cs and chanting hymns, descended]
the mountain. Mass was offered*
and iit. Francis preached on the butfa
of Christ, after which, fdlcd with a
holy joy, he went through the fields
bursting forth into a hymn, caUiag.
upon the vines, the trees, the lluwca
of die Held, llie stars uf heaven,
and the smi, and all his brethren aod
sisters throughout nature, to rejoice
witli him, and to unite with him iu
blessing their Creator.
A wolf ravaged the environs of Ago-
bio to the great terror of the |>eople.
St. Francis went foith armed with
the sign of the cross, and cominand-
e<l his broUier the wolf, in the name
of Christ, to do no more liarm. The
wolf, that was niakiug furiously at
die saint with distended jaws, stopped
short, and lay down meek as a lamb
at his feet. Then St Francis laid
before the wolf the aiormity of his
ofl'ence in devouring men made in
the image of GoA, and promised that
if he would henceforth abstain from
his ravages he should be fed dailjr
by the inhabitants. Ihc wolf signi-
L(^e for Animals.
553
fied his agsent to the arrangement
by placing his paw in that of St.
Francis. Then the saint took the
wo]f to. die market-place, and made
known to the people the compact he
had made. They ratified the agree-
ment to feed the wolf daily till the
end of his days, and for two years
he. went from door to door to get his
food, harming no one, at the end of
which time he died, greatly to the
. sorrow of ail,
Frederick Ozanam says in this le-
gend, which may provoke a smile :
" The animal that preys upon the
spoils and lives of men is the repre-
sentative of the people of the middle
ages, fierce and terrible when their
passions were excited, but never de-
spaired of by the church, who took
their blood-stained hands in her di-
vine ones, and gently led them on
till she succeeded in inspiring them
with a horror of rapine and vio-
lence."
St. Francis would salute in a friend-
ly manner the cattle in the pastures.
Once, seeing a lamb among the goats
and cattle, he was filled with pity,
and said to his brethren, " So was
our sweet Saviour in the midst of
the Pharisees and Sadducees. A mer-
chant that happened along bought
the Iamb and gave it to St Francis.
It was confided to some nuns, who
carefully tended it, and of its wool
spun and wove a garment for the
saint, wn-) often kissed it tenderly
and showed it to his friends. Going
to Rome, St. Francis took the lamb
with t"ra ind, when he left, gave it
to a pious lady. The lamb followed
her every^vtlere, even to church. If
she did not rise early enough in the
morning, he would strike his head
against her bed till he roused her.
St. Francis would weep if he saw
a lamb about to be killed, recalling
Him who was led as a sheep to the
slaughter, and would sell his very
garments to save it from death.
He loved the ant less than any
other insect, because it was so thought-
ful 'for the morrow. Of the whole
animal world, he cared the most for
birds, who loved him too, and at his
death joyfully sang his triumphant
entry into heaven. The larks, in
particular, assembled at an early hour
on the roof of the cell where the
dead saint lay, with songs of extra-
ordinary sweetness that lasted for se-
veral hours.
An infinite number of such exam-
ples could yet be cited, but enough
have been given to show how the
animal world lays aside its ferocity
in proportion as man returns to his
primitive state of innocence. This
is quite in accordance with our idea
of the millennium : The wolf also
shall dwell with the lamb, and the
leopard shall lie down with the kid,
and the calf, and the young lion, and
the falling together, and a little child
shall lead them.
If, then, sanctity brings man back
to his true relations to the Deity, and
restores him to his primitive relations
with nature, let us work our way
back to Kden by our purity, fasts,
vigils, and prayers.
KEUTIONS nCTWEfiX THE SUOUMATIVS
HPMKXr AKD SI USTANTlAl. CRKATION.
It will be the aim of this article
10 i>oiiu out some consequences
which result from tuc essence anil
projjcnics oi' the supernatural term,
consitlcrcd respectively to the tenn
of suljslanlial creation, 'lliey go lo
establish ihe absolute supremacy ol
the supcrnatunil term over substantial
creation. We shall give them in as
many propositiona.
is/. In the ge rural plan oj the m-
mot, the supeimttuml term in itselj and
in iti appliiiiliim, forming that part of
the <oimos which inay fie f.i/Av/ the
iUpernatural order, takci precedence of
subsUnitial creation^ or the natural
order.
This proposition is eisily proven.
The greater the intensity of per-
fection in a being, the nobler is the
being ; or, in other words, the greater
amount of being a thing contains
or exhibits, the higher is the place
which it occupies in the ordinate lo-
cation anJ hamiony of the cosmos.
The principle is too evident to need
any proof, and we assume it as grant-
ed. Now, we have shown that the
supernatural term in itself and in its
application is by far more perfect
than substantial creation ; because it
is a higher and more perfect simili-
tude of Christ and of the Trinity ; lic-
causc it is the complement and the
perfectnm of nature, and enables it
to be joined with the Theanthropos,
and tJirough him lo be ushered into
the society of the three chviiic per-
sons, fommunirating with their life,
and thus arriving at lhc{*alingenc$ia-
cal state. Consequently, the super-
natural in the cosmic plan must take
jirecedcnce of substantial tication.
and in the intention and design of
the creator must precede nature.
2</. Jlie supernatural ts the end of
substantial (reation, and third end tf
the exteiior action of the infinite.
In a .series of means co-ordinate
with each other, and ilei>cnding one
upon another in order to attain a
primary object, that which in force
of the excellence and perfection of its
nature precedes others, is to be con-
sidea-d as end in respect to those
means which follow ne\t to it in
dignity of nature; oihcrtvisc the
means could have no relation what-
ever with each other, and the phiniiy
end could not be attained. In ft
series of means co-ordination iuipUes
dependence, and this dependence b
established by ihe snpcnonty of ih«
one, and inferiority of the other.
Hence tlic su]}erior means in ll>e
scries becomes end re}i|ieciivcly to i
feiior means in the same series. No
we have demonstrated thnl the super
natural term precedes nature in ex-
cellencx' and intensity of perfection j
it becomes, therefore, in the harmony
of the cosmic jilan, the end of the
sul>stantial moment ; as the Thean-
thropic moment '\% end in referen
to the supernatural, and as God
manifestation of his infinite exrellcn
and perfections is the end of
Theanthropos, and thus the pri
end of tlie cosmic plan is obtained.
•* All things are youra," said Sl Pa
of those in whom the siipcrnatu
term is realized : " you are Christ^
Christ is God's."
I
I
I
I
«
th<
CatJtoiicity and Pantheism.
555
3//. The supernatural term is the
exemplar and type of substantial
creation.
For it is the end which detemjines
and shapes the nature of the means.
The creative intelligence of the in-
finite, by contemplating the end which
it has in view, and the essential laws
of being residing in his nature, which
is the Beings shapes and fashions men-
tally the nature and properties of the
means. Hence it is evident that, the
supernatural term being the end of
substantial creation, it stands towards
it as the exemplar and type to its
copy.
4///. The supernatural term is the
mediator betioeen the Theanthropos and
substantial creation.
This last proposition is a conse-
quence of the preceding ones. For,
if the supernatural term precedes
substantial creation in excellence and
perfection of being, if it is its end
and its type, it is evident-that, in the
general order and harmony of the
cosmos, its natural place is be-
tween the Theanthropos and sub-
stantial creation. Consequently, it is
mediator between them. Of course,
the intelligent reader will easily un-
derstand that this mediatorship is not
one merely of place and location, but
a mediatorship of action ; since the
terms here in question are all agents.
These four properties of the super-
natural moment, which, we flatter
ourselves, have been demonstrated
and put beyond the possibility of
doubt, will enable our readers to see
the philosophy of various otheE
truths lield by Catholicity, and denied
by rationalism, Pantheism, and Pro-
testantism.
And, first, the possibility of miracles
follows evidently from these prin-
ciples.
A miracle is a sensible phenome-
non superseding or contrary to the es-
tablished laws of cori>oral creation.
A body left to itself by the ordinary
law of gravitation should fall to the
ground. Suppose it should Iiover
between heaven and earth without
any support, it would present a
phenomenon contrary to the na-
tural law of bodies. It would be
what is called miracle, from the word
miror, to wonder or to be amazed,
because our intellect is always as-
tonished when it cannot see at once
the cause of an effect.
The possibility of such phenomena
contrary to the established laws of
nature has been denied by Pantheists
and rationalists, both for the same
reason, though each draw that rea-
son from a different source. The
Pantheist, who admits that the cos-
mos IS nothing but that primary
indefinite something which is con-
tinually developing itself by a neces-
sary interior movement, denies the
possibiHty of miracles on the ground
that the development of the infinite
being necessary, and being per-
formed according to the necessary
laws of being, the development must
necessarily be uniform, and the phe-
nomena resulting from it always the
same.
The rationalist, though not ad-
mitting the germinal primary activity
of Pantheism, asserts the absolute im-
mutability of the laws of creation,
and consequently cannot concede the
possibility of any contravention to the
results of those laws, without sup-
posing their total overthrow.
We hold that the possibility of
miracles follows clearly from the
properties of the supernatural mo-
ment; for, if the supernatural mo-
ment precedes nature in force of its
intrinsic excellence and perfection
of being, if it is the end and type of
the natural order, it is perfectly evi-
dent that the whole natural order is
dependent upon and subject to the
supernatural order by the law of
Cat/ioluhy and Panthtism,
%
kitranhy ; and consequently it is
cvidtfiit that the Uvvs governing the
sensible order are also dc|>eiident
upon anil subject to the supernatural
order, and must have been determin-
cil and fashionctl in sucli a manner
as 10 serve every purpose of that
same order.
Hence, if (he supernatural term, in
or^ler to assert it-self before created
apirit3, to prove its own autonomy,
its neces&iiy, recjutres a phenomenon
contrary to the established law of
sensible creation, those laws must ne-
cessarily give way before their hier-
archical superior, otherwise the whole
order of the cosmos would he ovcr-
throtv-n. This consei|uencc is abso-
lutely inevitable ; and any one who
has followed us in the demonstration
of the intrinsic superiority of the su-
pcnialural lenn over sulwanrial crea-
tion, cannot tail to perceive it. But
to make it better unilerstood we shall
enter for a moment into the very
heart of the question.
Let us take, as an example, the law
of gravitation. Why do bodies left
toihemselvcs fall to (he ground ? The
natural philosopher, wiih a look of
-profound wisdom, wtll answer at once,
because of the law of gravitation.
Now, if our philosopher claims to
give no other answer but that which
is within the sphere of liis researches,
the answer is correcl ; becaxisehia sci-
ence of observation can carry him
no further. But if by the word gra-
vitation he should pretend to give a
uttsfac(or>- ultimate reason of the
phenomenon of the laJl of iKidics,
his answer would make a metaphysi-
cian bugh. The law of gravitation!
Indeed I but what is that law ? Docs
it exist in the body, or in (iod? or
has it an existence independent of
bolii ? If it exists in the body, how
con it be a general law, when eath
body is an iiidividuum ? If it exist
in Cod, how is it broken oi altered.
or destroyed, when the phenoinenoa
of a miracle atfcrts only a particular
body? If it has an existence inde-
])endent of both, what is it ? !:» it a
god, or a I'liitonic idea, aud, it' su,
whence docs it derive Uie force |o
assert itself over liod's creation ?
'1 hese few questions, and many
more which we could bring forwai
show that to account for the fall
bodies by the law of gravitation,
to give no i)articular or satisfact
reason for tlie phenomenon.
We have already given one thcofy,
the theory of the most profound me-
taphysicians of the world, that
finite beings can act without the
of God ; that God mu«t really an4j
effectively excite them to action. aiU
them during the action until it is ac-
complished ; because he is nc
ly the first and the um\*eisal
Therefoav bodies as well as higher
beings arc absolutely dependent upoo
Gofl for their action ; and that whidtl
natural philosophers call the Liw
giavilaiiou, or any other law.
OS attraction, repulsion, and so fortlivl
in itself u nothing more than tlic a&-j
tion of God u{>on bodies. Now, '
in actiog in and upon bodies \\m
certainly a plan and an order m:i'
out in his mind, acconling to wiuLi
he acts in and directs them. Thii
order he has derived from the inlj-
nite laws of being, which are his very
essence, and consequendy, in ifau
sense, that order is subic and imoui-
table. But it must be borne in mind
that this order marked out in ihc
jiiind of God, according to which be
acts in and directs bodies, is Ar(»//4tf.
^tfhoU oTikr ej the (oimos. It is onljr
a part, a moment, and the most infe-
nor of all. Consequently, it is an
order subject to and dc[>endcnt upon
the order of the oihcr and higher
moment, and upon the universal or-
der of the cosmos. Ilcncc the ftuw^
divine essence, the eternal model and
Catholicity and Pantheism.
557
type of everything, at the same time
that it marks out the order for the
acting in and directing of bodies,
subjects it to the order of higher
moments, and to the cosmological,
universal order. In the appHcation,
therefore, of this eternal order mark-
ed out by his infinite essence, God
acts in and directs bodies according
to the stable and immutable order
proper to this moment, until an ex-
ception is necessary. But when the
order of higher moments and the
universal order demand an exception,
the order of the direction of bodies,
being inferior, must necessarily yield
to the superior, and the sensible or-
der must, so to speak, be suspended
for that occasion. We have said,
so to speak, because even then the
sensible order is not altered or brok-
en, as rationalism imagines ; it is the
application of the general sensible
order to a particular body which is
suspended. It is not the objective
order, but the subjective particular
realization of it, which is superseded.
Let us take as example the law so
ijften mentioned. The general order
established in the mind of God with
regard to acting in bodies is to make
them gravitate toward the centre of
the earth. Suppose an exception of
this law becomes necessary to assert
the supernatural order. God, upon
that particular occasion, does not
apply the general law in a particular
body, but acts in it contrary to that
law. Is the law of gravitation brok-
en or altered in consequence of that
exception ? If the law were an essen-
tial property of bodies, a natural conse-
quence of their essence, it would be.
But the law in its general and objec-
tive essence exists in God only; it
does not exist in the body ; and con-
sequently it cannot be altered by a
suspension of its application in a
given case.
Were God to act otherwise than
to admit such exceptions in the sub-
jective application of the order of
sensible creation, he would go against "
reason, and act contrary to his es-
sence J for in that case he would pre-
fer a particular and inferior order to
the general and superior order of the
whole cosmos. The true principles,
then, in the present matter are the
following :
ist. The laws according to which
bodies act and are directed do not
exist in bodies, but are an order
marked out in the mind of God as
derived from his infinite essence.
2d. This order is an element, and
an inferior one, of the universal
order of the whole cosmos, and con-
sequently, by the law of hierarchy, is
subject to that same universal order,
3d. This sensible order is always
stable and permanent in itself and
in its objective state, but in its ap-
plication to particular bodies is sub-
ject to variation whfin this variation
is demanded by a superior order, or
by the universal order of the cosmos.
The reader will observe, after what
we have said, how futile is the argu-
ment of rationalists that a miracle is
impossible because the laws of bodies
are immutable. Certainly, if the laws
exist in the bodies. But the laws of
bodies, as we have said, are nothing
more than the order marked out in
the mind of God, according to which
he acts in and directs them, and, this
%der being universal and objective,
is never changed or altered. Only
its application in particular bodies
on a particular occasion is not made,
or made in a contrary sense, because
such is the requirement of the univer-
sal order. If this be kept in view,
every difficulty will vanish in refer-
ence to this matter; for this is ex-
actly that which prevents rationalists,
from understanding the possibility of
miracles — their want of perception
that it is God who acts in every sin-
558
Cat/toiicity and Pantheism.
g!e body. They imagine a general
princi|>l(.', as if it were self-existing,
which pervades all the liodics, which
ought to be destroyed to permit the
exception. Now, this is a mere phan-
tom. It is God, we rciwal it, wlio
applies the order nKirko<l in hi.H mind
in every single body, wliich in his
iniiid i"tly is nniversal and objective-
ly immutable, but subjectively, in its
appliratlon, it need not be con-
stant, except so long as no excep-
tion is required. Our natural philo-
sophers of the rationalistic school
imagine the laft- of bodies to be a
sort of demigod, stern and immutable,
particularly loth of and averse to
being disturbed, and consequently
cannot see the possibility of a
miracle.
'I"he secoml truth which follows
from the attributes of tlie supernatu-
ral mouicm, is }i\z\. praytr gcnftms the
uithtne.
Prayer, taken in its strictest accep-
tation, is the universal mode of ac-
tioo of spirits elevated to the super-
natural moment To understand
this rightly, it is necessary to obser\e
that every moment of the action of
God, considered in its term, is pos-
sessed of a particular mode of action
resulting from and befitting its es-
sence and attributes. Thus, substan-
tial creation, or the whole aggregate
ofbeini; included in this moment, acts
OS it were by opprehmrion and voli-
Ihn. In s|):ritual beings, this mai^
ner of acting is strictly and properly
so ; in inferior bemgs. lilce the brutes, it
is less so, but bears a great rcscm-
lilance to it, for ihc animal has ap-
prehensive faculties, though want-
ing in the power of geueralizatiun
and abstraction, and confined within
the concrete and in the individual ;
and he has also instincts and ten-
dencies leading toward the object
apprehended. The vegetable kmg-
dom acts according to the same
manner, though more materially ;
it apprehends the elements ret]uire<
for its growth from the earth and thi
atmosphere, and, assimilaring thei
to itself by an interior force, is abl
to develop itself. Every one
aware lliat the general laws of reat^
ter are those of attractUyn and refml-\
smi, which bear a reseniblanci
though a faint one, to the lav of|
apprehension and volition.
Now, the particular mode of act*
ing in persons elevated to ihesuj
n;itur.il moment is by pnsyrr, whici
is composed of various elements ac-
cording to various relations uodc
which it is considered.
ll may be considered in itself, it
essence and nature, and in the
sons to whom it has reference,
persons are the infinite and the finite.1
In itself, prayer is divided into tw<
moments — a deprecatory momcnt^f
and a life-giving moment.
A deprecatory moment — becat
the effect of the prayer, resting al
lutely on the free will of the int'mite^'j
cannot l>c claimed by the finite as
right, but as an eft'ect of an infinil
goodness yielding lo a su[)plication ;i
and in this sense it implies the fbl
lowing elements on the part of
finite:
i8t. An acknowlcilgmcnt, t(
relical ,ind practical, of the inSnitei
as being the at>solutc and universal!
source of all good ; and of the a1
lute dependence of the finite upon^
the infinite in all things; this ac-'
knowleilgment arising in tlic finite'
from the consciousness and fMiliog
of its liniteness both in the natural ■
and the supeni.nlural order.
ad. A gravitation, natural and so-
pematural, on the pan of this finite'
toward the infinite, as the origto
and the preserver of the being in IxJtb
orders, as the mover of its natural
and supernatural f.iculiie^, and as the
linai complement of boilu
Catholicity and Pantheism,
559
3d. A cry to the infinite for the
satisfaction of this aspiration.
4th. A firm and unshaken rehance
of being satisfied in this aspiration,
founded both on the intrinsic good-
ness and on the personal promises
of the infinite.
These four elements on the part
of the finite are absolutely necessary
to constitute a prayer in its depreca-
tory sense ; and they are either im-
l)liciUy or explicitly to be found in
every prayer. The spirit who bows
before the infinite must acknowledge
theoretically and practically that
God is the Master and Lord of all
things, the infinite eternal source of
all being and all perfection ; he must
acknowledge and be conscious freely
and deliberately that his being comes
from God, and that that same divine
action which created and elevated
it must maintain it in existence, aid
it in the development of its faculties,
and bring it to its final completion.
He must freely and deliberately yearn
after all this, and have firm reliance
that the infinite will maintain his be-
ing, aid it in its growth, and bring it
to its full bloom in the palingenesia.
On the part of the infinite, prayer
in this same deprecatory sense im-
plies an action of God existing and
aiding the finite in producing the
aforesaid four acts necessary to con-
stitute a prayer.
If we regard prayer in its lifegiving
moment, it implies two elements : one
on the part of the infinite, the other
on the part of the finite. On the
part of the infinite, it implies a real
actual and personal communication,
a giving of himself by a personal in-
tercourse to the finite; and, on the
part of the latter, a personal ap-
prehension of the infinite, and an
assimilation of and transformation
into the infinite. We cannot refrain
here from quoting a beautiful page of
a French writer in explanation of this
last element : " When man's will, lifted
by an ardent desire, succeeds in put-
ting itself in contact with the supreme
will, the miracle of the divine inter-
vention is accomplished. Prayer,
which renders God present to us, * is
a kind of communion by which man
feeds on grace, and assimilates to
himself that celestial aliment of the
soul. In that ineffable communica-
tion, the divine will penetrates our
will, its action is mingled with our
action to produce but one and the
same indivisible work, which belongs
whole and entire to both ; wonderful
union of grandeur and of lowliness, of
a power eternally fecund, and of a
created activity which is exhausted
by its very duration, of an incorrupti-
ble ^nd regenerating element with
the infirm and corruptible elements
of our being ; union, which believed
in invariably, though conceived in
different manner by the savage tribes
as well as by the most civilized na-
tions, has been under different forms,
and in spite of the errors which have
obscured it, the immortal belief of
humanity." t
Now, we maintain that prayer, un-
derstood in all its comprehension,
besides the effect which it produces
in its own natural sphere, is also the
hierarchical superior of the action of
the whole substantial creation ; and
that, consequently, the latter must
yield to the former, whenever they
should happen to come in conflict
with each other j and thus, under this
respect, it may be said that prayer
governs the world.
This may be proven by two sorts
of argument ; one as it were exterior,
the other intrinsic to the subject.
The first is drawn from the pro-
perties of the supernatural moment.
For, if this moment is superior to
• Grig. Dt Orat.
t Gerbel, Lt Dogtnt CiMiraitMr dt la PiiU
CaikaU^Ht.
Calholiciiy and Pantheism.
liubstanLia] creation, if it is the cml
and type of it, every one can see
that the mode or acting of elevate<l
spirits — fipirils in whom the super-
natural niciiDcnt id rc3lizc<l and con-
creted — must ncre--i5Jirily precede and
be sui>crior to the mode of action of
xiibxlantial creation, and that the
biter must necessarily he subject to
the former — unless \vc aboHsh and
deny the universal law of hierarthy
presiding and ruhng over idl the mo-
ments of the cxlcnor acliou of God,
and founded on the intrinsic and re-
spective value of beings. Actio S4-
t/uilur esu is the old axiom of
ontology. If the being of tlie super-
natural moment is su[)erior to the
bcin^ of substantial creation, the motlc
of action of the hrsi mu&t also, in force
of that axiom, be sui>erior to the mode
of action of the latter. When, there-
ftire, a natural law, a law of substan-
tial creation, comes in opposition
with a true j>raycr, a prayer made
with all the conditions which its
nature requires, the natural law must
yield and give way to prayer.
The serond argument is drawn from
ibe essence of prayer as a life-giving
;igcnt. What is prayer in this sense ?
It is an actual communication of the
finite with the infinite, on actual par-
ticipation of the infinite and his at-
tributes ; it is a possession which llie
linite takes of the infinite, the appro-
prialiuit, the assilniiation of the iii^nite.
It is the finite transported and trans-
formed into tlic in6nitc. Vov in it the
mind of the finite takes hold of the
mind of the infinite, and is, ns it were,
iranvforined into it; itic will and
I'tiersy of the finite grasps the will and
the almighty power of the infinite, and
i<chanfiL'il,asit were, into it ; tlic per-
son of the finite is uuited to the person
of the infinite, and is assimilated to
him. Now, it is evident that prayer
understood in this sense is no longer
on act of the finite alone, but an act
of both tiic finite and the ijifinitc ; tt
is the re&ult of ibe energy of boiiu
Us elticacy and energy therefore must
be OS tiuperior to the energy of all
bubbtantial creation a« the infinite is
.superior to the finite. C onset |ncntly,
it is evident that when a lutural law
pregnant will) finite energy comei in
conflict lA'ith a prayer impregnated.
so to speak, with infinite energy, the
former must yield to tiie superior force
of the latter.
Prayer governs the woHd also in a
sense more general than the one we
have hitherto indicated for it. The
sum of all the actions of subsUntial
creation has been so disposed, and
is so ruled and governed, as to be
always subject to the sum of all the
actions of the supernatural momentr
and this fur the same xcoftoas 6e-
vcloped above.
Here it can be seen with how
much reason those pbilonophcn who
c.^11 themselves rationali!>is ^nccr and
wax indignant at the fact, constatM
in time and place, of the importance
which mankind has attached to
prayer for physical reason.^, oa for
rain, for fair weather, for a
vest, and the like. '1 hc)
dently how far they arc fiom uni)cr-
standing the sublime hicrardiieal
harmony of the cosmos, which the
simple ones of the earth, who have
faith in God, inslinciivtly feci and
acknowledge. Tor if God did not
create the cosmos at random without
a plan or design, he assuredly must
have followed and ntaintaine^l the
necessary relations of things. Now,
if substantial crcatbn and its mode
of action is hierarchically — that is, io
comprehension of being — inferior to
the su|>cmatural term and ils mode
of action, if the latter is the end and
t>-pe of the former, and if ihcy are
not to be kept apurl, but to be
brou^hl together into unity and har-
mony, and must thui hnnnoniously
Cathoikity and Fantfuism.
561
act, it is clear to the rudest under-
standing that Ihc one mode of action
must be subject to the othtr, and
that consequcndy, when a pr.^ycr is
in uppc>^i^iou with the realization uf
natural law, the natural law must
yield, and the prayer must prevail.
Nor will it do to say that if such
were the case the natural order
would no longer enjoy any stability
or permanence, because some prayer
or other might come continually in
opposition to it. Kor the whole se-
ries of actions of substantial creation
is marked out eternally iu the uiind
of the iotinite. Likewise the whole
, series of actions of the supernatural
moment is marked out in ttie same
mind ; they arc brought together in
beauiihil harmony in the same divine
intellect from all eternity. God has
foreseen when and how a prayer
would require the suspension of tlic
natural law, and has willed and de-
creed it, so that no suspension of
natural law, consc<)uent UfMin a pray-
er, can take place which has not
been foreseen and arranged harmo-
niously from all eternity ; and if u'e
could for a moment cast a glance
into the mind of the infinite, we
should see an infinite scries of ac-
tions of substantial creation ; an in-
finite series of actions of the supema-
lural moment ; all intertwined in a most
harmonious whole, and the different
exceptions here and there only link-
ing together the two orders, putting
litem in bolder relief, and enhancing
Ihc beauty and harmony of the whole
cosmos. The theory which we have
been vindicating explains also a phe-
nomenon so frequent and so common
in the history of tlic Catholic
Church — the saint who works mira-
cles, or the 7yuiumahtty}iS.
A saint is one in whom a ceitatn
fulness of tlic supernatural term re-
sides, and hence a certain fulness of
the partiailar mode of action belong-
VOU XIII.— 36
ing to that moment. A saint can
pray well ; therefore he can work
miracles, and does oflentimu^. Pro-
testantism has not only denied most
of the miracles not recorded in the
Uible, but has gone so far as to deny
the possibility of such miracles ever
occurring after the establishment
and propagation of Christianity, on
the plea that they are no longer
necessary. It was but a logical
consequence of its doctrine of justi-
fication. Jf man is not really made
holy in his juslific.ition, if be docs
not receive in his soul the term of
the supernatural moment as really
inherent in him, it is clear he cannot
have or possess the mode of action
of that moment, still less a certain
fulness of it. Consequently, neither
is he elevated above suhsiantial crea-
tion, nor is his mode of action superior
to the action of that same moment,
and therefore he cannot exercise a
power and an efficacy which he has
not. In other words, a :nan justi*
ficd according to the Protestant doc-
trine cannot be a saint intnnsirally,
and cannot consequently pray. And
how could ho work miracles ? It
was natural to deny such possibility.
But endow a man with Uie super-
natural term in a certain fulness, and
hence suppose him possessed of a
fulness of its mode of action intrinsi-
cally superior in energy to the mode
of action of substantial creation, and
you may suppose he is likely to ex-
ercise it, and work mir.icles often-
times.
As to the plea of necessity, it is
absolutely futile. A miracle would
be necessary even after the establish-
ment of Christianity in all times and
places, which, by the bye, has not
been accomplished yet, if for no
other reason, in order to assert and
vindicate from time to time the exis-
tence and the supremacy of the
supernatural over the natural.
<
Catholicity and PantJuism,
"
The third truth emanating from
the qualities of the sui>CTnatural mo-
ment is that those created persons
in whom the term of that moment is
realized are essentially meOiatuts be-
tween the llieanthropos and substan-
tial creation.
The principle follows evidently
from the fourtli quality essentially be-
longing to Ihe supernatural term, that
of being mediator between the other
moments, the h>-postatic and the
substantial.
For if the term of that moment in
intensity of being and |>erfection
hold a place between the other two
moments, it is evident that those in
whom the moment is realized must
hold the same middle place and be,
consequently, mediators. Hence, it
appears how the Catholic doctrine
of the intercession, and, by logical
consequence, of the invocation, of
saints, is a cosmological law, as im-
perative as any other law of the
cosmos. For what does the word
mediator mean ? Limiting the ques-
tion to location or space, it signifies
a thing placed or located between
two others; in a hicrarctiical sen-^e,
confniing the que«^lion to being and
essence, it expresses a thing in es-
sence and nature inferior to one and
superior to another; in the same
sense, confining the question to ac-
tion and devclopmenl, it exhibits a
thing in its action and development
inferior to the action and develop-
ment of one and superior in the same
to another. The person, therefore, in
whom the supernatural term is real-
ized is mediator in the sense of being
in essence, nature, attributes, action,
and development, superior to the
same things of substnutiat creation,
and inferior to those of the Thean-
thropos. Now, as the cosmos is not
governed by the Uw of liierarchy
atone, but also by the law of unity
and cumraunion, and as these Uws
imply a real and efloctive union and
communication of being and acdon
between the terms of the cosmos, it
follows th.it Ihe person in whom the
supernatural term is concreted is in rval
and effective communication with the
TheonthroiKis, as inferior, and in real
and effective communication, as supe-
rior, with substantial creation ; he is
in communication with the former as
subject and dependent, with the Utter
as superior, and with both as medi-
um; that is, a recipient relatively to-
the Thcanthropos, as transmitting
what it receives from the I'heantbro-
pos relatively to substantial creation;
both relations being exercised by the
person elevated in every sense, either
as receiving from the Tlieanthrc^ios
and transmining to substantial crea-
tion, or as representative of substan-
tial creauon before the TheantliFopos.
And as we arc speaking of moral
persons, that is, free, inietligent agents,
in what can these relations coniist
but in this, that elevated iHrrsons,
acting as mediums, may intercede
and obtain favors for creatcti persons
from the I'heanthropos, and these
may invoke their intercession iu their
behalf?
The doctrine, therefore, of the in-
tercession and the invocation of
saints is a cosmological law, rcsultiui^
from the law of hierarchy, unity, and
communion, and governing the rela-
tion of purely created persons with
those elevated to the supernatural
moment.
It must be here remarked that (he
mcdiaturship of persons elevated is
not confmed only to jwrsons in their
mere natural state, but it extends
also to persoas elevated to the super-
natural moment, because the suqjcr*
natural terra admits of variety of
degree, some persons being en-
dowed witli a certain fulness of that
moment, some with much less. 'J'hose
in whom the fulness is realiacd arc
Catholicity and Pantheism,
563
cally raediaton between the
Thcanthroiws ami other elevated
spirits possessing a less amount of
that tenn, and can consequently in-
tercede for the latter.
It must be remarked, in the second
place, that the Inw governs the cos-
mos not only in its germinal slate,
but also in its state of completion
and perfection ; and wc cannot possi-
bly discover or imagine by what
logical process Proiestantifim, which
admits this law in the germinal and
incipient state of the cosmos, denies
it lo exist between persons elevated
to the state of palingenesia and those
who are >*et in the germinal state,
lliis denial, so far as we can see,
could be supported only by the sup-
position that as soon as an elevated
person reaches its final development,
every lie of union, every bond of in-
tercourse, is immediately broken
asunder between him and other per-
sons living yet in the germinal state
of the cosmos. But how false and
absurd this supposition would be is
evident to every one who at all un-
derstands the exterior works of God.
Tlie cosmos being measured by time,
is essentially successive; in other
words, all the elements of the cosmos
cannot possibly reach ihcirfinal com-
]>1ction at one and the same lime,
the law of variety and hierarchy ne-
cessarily forbidding it. It is alwo-
lutely necessary, then, that some
elements should reach their final per-
fection first and some aftcr^vards, in
proportion as they come to take place
in the cosmos successively. If, tlierc-
fore, by one element of the cosmos
reaching its fmal development alt in-
tercourse were to be broken between
il and all other elements which have
not reached so high a condition, it
would follow that the cosmos would
never be one, never in hannony, until
all had reached their tinat completion
and the creation of more elements
entirely ceased. It would be a
continual disorder and confusion un-
til the end of the world. Now this
is absurd, since unity and har-
mony must always govern and adorn
Crtjd's works. Nor can »ve see any
intrinsic reason why it should be
broken. The only plea alleged by
Protestants in support of this suspen-
sion of all communion between the
spirits in palingenesia and those
living on earth, is th.it there can be
no possible means of communication
between them. They express this
idea commonly by saying that the
saints in heaven cannot hear our
pr.iyers. How philosophical this pica
is wc leave it to the intelligent reader
to determine. Suppose we had no
direct answer to give to this plea, the
absolute necessity of the cosmos
being one and harmonious would
make n tnie philosopher infer that
the infinite must have founds means
wherchy to keep uj this communica-
tion, though it might be unknown to
us what that means actually is.
But the direct answer is at hand.
The Word of God is essentially the
life of the cosmos. He is the type
of all the essences, of all the natures,
of all the personalities, of all the acts
composing the cosmos. The cos-
mos, in all these respects, is rcfieclcd
in the Word. " All that was made in
hira was life." (St. John.)
Now, all elevated spirits are united
to and live in the Incamaic Word,
The spirits or persons in tlie germinal
state are united to his person by the
supernatural essence and the super-
natural faculties of intelligence and
of will. This forms the essential
union between them and the Thean-
thropos. The spirits \-\ the final
state are united to him in the same
substantial sense, with the exception
that their supernatural essence has
reached its utmost completion, tlieir
supernatural intelligence ts changed
Cat/iolicity and Pantheism.
into intuition, and their supernatural
will has immediate possession of
God.
The cuns<.'<iueiic:e of these princi-
ples is that the spirits in the germinal
state produce acts of invocation lo
the spirits in the fioal state, ond these
acts are reflected or rcproduceil in
the TheanU)ropos as the type and the
intelligible objective hfc of Uic cos-
mos.
The spirits in the final state sec, by
intuition, in the Theanthroposall those
acts of invocation of the spirits in the
germinal state, and thus come tu
know what the s;>irit.s on earth claim
from them. As orator and audience,
living in the same atmosphere, can
liold intercourse with eacli other, be-
cause the words uttered by the orator
are transmitted by the air to the cars
of his audience, so the spirits on earth
aitd the sf>irits in heaven hold inter-
course willi each other, because lliey
live in the same medium.
11)e spirits on earth luaking acts
of invocation lo tlieir brethren in
heAven, these acts arc reflected or
reproduced in the Theanihropos, and
from him reverberate and reach the
eyes of the spirits in heaven living in
him, and thus they come to the know-
ledge of the wants and pn-iyen of
their brethren on carili.
But why such iiilcrjjosition of per-
sons when wc could go <lircctiy lo
the Theanthropo«? Uoes tliis not
detract from the mcdiatorship of
Christ }
Why, but because the cosmos must
be one ? Why, but because all the
elements of the cosmos mus^ com-
muoicatc with each other ? And
how can this doctrine detract from
the mediatorship of Christ when he
is made the sounx, the origin, tlic
end of everything ? If Catholic doc-
trine claimed tliis intercourse inde-
pendently of the Theanihropos, it
would certainly detract from his me-
coni
diatoiship. But do ne not establish
and centre this mcdiatorship of
saint entirely in llie Theanthrotx »?
The last truth which followsi
the essence of the supernatural
is what is called the worship of saints
This truth is not only a co^uiologic
law, but an ontological principle^ ^ii
considered in its simplest and
ultimate acceptation, it implteat
thing more- than the duty incumbeni
on every moral agent to acknowij
ledge, -theoretically and practically^
the intrinsic value of being. Sui
pose a certain being is posseseed.
hundred degrees of |>erfection, so l<
&[>eak, I cannot, without a tlal
tradiction to my intelligence, whic
apprehends it, deny or ignore it;
cannot, without a flat contradtctioit
to my expansive faculty or will, which'
is attracted by it, fail to appreciate it
practically. Now, the warship of
saints, against which I'rotcstantisiii
has written and itaid so much. i»i
founded entirely on that ontological
principle. I'he saint is poMesse^l of
a certain fulness of the R"i)ernatural
term. The supernatural intelligenc#
of other elevated spirits appn.-hc»(U-4
this fulness, and the supernatural
will of the same spirits cannot fail to
value it. This theoretical and prac-j
tical appreciation is esteem^ and
what expressed outwanlly is honor
and praise. l)y the ontological prin-
ciple of recognizing the value of bc-
iiig, llierefore, it is evident that the
Catholic theory of the worship of
saints Ls not only theologically law-
ful, but eminently philosophical.
Protestantism, in denying this wor-
sliip, follows the same principle with-
out being aware of it.
It starts from its own doctrine of
justification, which coniisis, as we
have seen, not in the interior cleans-
ing of the soul from sin and in its
elevation to the supernatural mo-
ment, but in on external applicatioo
Sayings of the Fathers of the Desert.
565
to it of the merits of Christ. The
exaraple ol ihe cJoak is most appro-
priate. SupiKise a man, all filthy and
loathsome; cover him with a rich and
splendid cloak, so as tn hide the fihh
and loailisomeness, and you have an
exLLiiiple of Protestant jusiificalioD. It
is all foreign, outward, unsubjcctivc.
Now, ^pply tlie onlological principle
of the value of being to a saint of this
calibre, and it is evident that you
cannot esteem and value him be-
cause he is worth nothing subjec-
tively, and hence the denial of the
worship of saints is a logical conse-
quence of the Protestant docUtne of
justi^cation, and an application, in
a negative sense, of the ontological
principle of the value of being?.
On the contrary, admit the Catho-
lic doctrine of justification, whereby a
man is not only cleansed from sin,
but elevated to a supernatural mo-
ment, receiving as inherent in hun a
higher and nobler nature and higher
and nobler facuhies, and it is evident
that you must acknowledge M/j,
value, esteem, and honor it.
SAYINGS OF THE FATHERS OF THE DESERT.
So that there were in the moun-
tain monasteries like tabernacles, full
of divine clioini of men singing, read-
ing, praying ; and so great an ardor
for fasting and watching had his (St.
Antony's) words enkindled in the
minds of all that they labored with
an avidity of hope and with unceas-
ing real in works of mutual charity,
and in showing mercy to those who
needed it, and they seemed to inhabit
a sort of heavenly country, a city
shut off from worldly conversation,
full of piety and justice. Who, look-
ing at such an army of monks — who,
beholding that manly and concord-
ant company, in which there was
none to do harm, no whisper of de-
traction, but a multitude of abstinent
men and an emulation of kind offices,
would not immediately break forth
intc the words: How beautiful are
thy tabernacles, O Jaccib, and ihy
tents, O Israel ! As woody valleys, as
watered gardens near the rivers, as
tabernacles which the Lord hath
pitched, as cedars by the waterside
(Xura. xxiv. 5, 6) ?
The disciple of an aged and fa-
mous monk was once assailed by
temptation. And, when the old man
saw him struggling, he said to him :
Do you wish me to a^k God to take
away this trial from you ? But he
answered : i see and consider, fa-
ther, that though I wrestle painfidly,
yet out of this labor I bear fruit.
But ask this of God in thy prayers,
that he may give mc patience to en-
dure. And his father said to him :
Now 1 know, my son, that thou hast
made great progress, and surpassebt
me.
I^t no man, when he has despised
the world, think that he h.is left any-
thing great. — From tht IJfe of blessed
Abbot Antony^ fy St. Atfianasius.
•
566 The Italian Guarantees and the Sovereign Pontiff.
THE ITALIAN GUARANTEES AND THE SOVEREIGN
PONTIFF.
AiTEft having been proposed by
the government of luly, recast by
the Chamber of Deputies, amended
by the Senate, adopted by the Cham-
ber as amended, and approved and
&igne«l by J»e King and his ministers,
the project of tlie guarantees for the
Sovereign Pontift"*H independence has
become a part of the law of the land.
We arc perfectly willing to believe
thai hismajest)-, regarding this scheme
as promising the fullest amount of
freedom it was possible to obtain
ftora his parliament for the Head of
the Church, signed it with a feeling
of relief; for if we are to credit the
rumors, more or less well founded,
one hears in Florence and in Rome,
broken tables and furniture over-
turned bore witness to the unwilling-
ness of the supreme authority tn the
state to permit the violation of the
Papal territory or to accept the ple-
biscite of the so-called people of
Rome. Not so, however, was it with
the legislators of the kingdom. To
ihein the Pajwcy has been and is a
huge incubus, that disturbs their rest,
frightens them in tlieir dreams, and
which can be got rid of in truth only
by their waking up to a sense of what
their real daty is. Tlieir aim has
been, in dealing; with it, to yield up as
little as possible of their ill-gotten
power over the successor of St. Peter,
and to secure themselves as effectually
as possible ag3in.<it the only power they
ever feared — his spiritual weapons.
This is the criterion by which we
should study these guarantees; by
the light of it we propose to examine
them, and tu discuss their pretended
advantages.
WTien the Italian govcranwn^'
hurried on by the spirit of revolution^,
seized upon Rome during the com-]
plications of last autumn that in5ure<
impunity for the momeut to the act
they found themselves face to £icc]
with the spiritual ruler of the wholaj
Catholic world, and with the fixeol
convictions or invincible prejudices
of two hundred millions of men, who
regarded the postuon in whicih the
Sovereign Pontiff had been placed as
not only against all law, but also hurt-
ful to their best interests. How were
they to deal with so delicate a ques>
tion ? The situation of Europe might
for a time delay tlie solution, but
eventually there must be .on account
given and satisfaction rendered to tbc
Catliolic world. I'hecabinethitouthft-i
only means it could hope to use with
any appearance of success, and ibej
promises of the Minister of Foreign
Aflairs, Sig. Visconti Vcnosta, served'
as a decent pretext to liberal govern-
ments not to interfere actively in the
accommodation of things in Italy.
These promises are conlaiDcd in the
despatches sent to different govern-
ments during b^t winter, and pub*
lishcd in the diplomatic documenti
laid before the various legislative
bodies of Europe during the past six
months. To do the minister justice,
he has stood out suocessfiilly against
tlie extreme radical party In parlia-
ment that oppose<l most violently
any idea of concessions such as he
had designed for the independence
of tlie Sovereign Pontiff, and his v^
peal to the loyalty c^ Italy broughl
down the applause of the house, and
effectually dcsuoycd the iaiiucucc of
The Italian Guarantees and the Sovereign Pontiff. 567
his opponents. SliU, even if we at-
tnbute lo any other feeling than fear
of fureign intervention the measures
adopted, they are not for that reason
intrinsically enhanced in value, nor
are they aiiylliing mure than the most
the Italian government is capable
or willing t9 do to protect the power
of the I'ope.
*J*hal power, be it well understood,
is in the eyes of the rulers of Italy
merely a spiritual power, for the tem-
poral, they consider, wa» annihilated
by the rannon that beat down the
walls on the 10th of September, 1870,
and by the plebiscite of the 2d of
October following. How does this
law of guarantees confirm the exercise
of that power ? We shall see by
referring to several of the articles,
not quoting the law at length, as it
has already appeared in the public
journals.
Article II. says In the last clause:
" The di<%u.ssian of religious questions
is entirely free."
Article III. says that the Sovereign
rontitr may have his guards " without
prejudire lo the obligations and duties
resulting from such guards, from the
existing laws of the kingdom of
Italy."
Article IV. contemplates the possi-
bility of the government taking upon
themselves the expenses of the mu-
seums and library of the Pontifical
palaces.
Article V. says these museums,
library, collections of art and of
uchxology, are ^*^ inalienable?*
Article \'l\\. forbids sequestration
of |>apers merely spiritual in their
character.
Article XIII. declares that the
ecclesiastical seminaries of Rome,
and of the six suburban sees presidetl
over by cardinals, are to continue
subject to the Holy See, without any
interference on the part of the ic/w-
lastii autltodties of the kingdotn.
Article XVI. says: "The disposi-
tions of the civil laws with regard to
the creation and the manner of ex-
istence of ecclesiastical institutions,
and the alienation oiT their property,
remain in force."
Article XVII. The recognition of
the juridical effects of the spiritual
and disciplinary acts, as well as of
any other act of the ecclesiastical
authority, belongs to the civil juris-
diction. Such acts, however, are
void of effect if contrary to the law
of the state or to public order, or
hurtful to the rights of private per-
sons, and are subject to the penal
laws if they constitute a crime.
Let us take a cursory glance at
these cuUings from the " guarantees,"
and see if they conflict at all with
the spiritual power of the I'onliff
Before the twentieth of September,
1870, Oie whole of the city of Rome
and the dependent proinces were
presided over in spiritual* by the
Pope, and all of tlie inhabitants were
Catholics, except a few Jews, treated
with charity, though not allowed lo
make proselytes. IJy this decree the
door is thrown open lo every sect
that choases to come and try to
proselytize the Roman people. They
must sec as clearly as we do that the
last clause of Article II. deals the
most powerful and insidious blow at
the spiritual power of the Pope in
spiritual matters, encouraging his
(>eople to spiritual defection, or at
least lessening him in their esteem as
a spiritual teacher. This is too evi-
dent to reed further dwelling on, and
we pass to the next indictment.
'I'he Pope's guards arc to protect
him and execute his orders, but in-
asmuch as they are not on this ac-
count freed from the obligations of
Italian citizens by the tenor of Arti-
cle III., it is quite easy to under-
stand how in the course of time
elements of discord may arise; and
568 The Jtaiian Guarantees and ike Soi'ereign Pontiff.
therefore, in the use of his guards
the Pope must confonu to the civil
code af tlic kingdom of Italy, or
take the consequences referred to
further on.
Articles IV. and V. regard the
library and museums of the Vatican
and of other palaces. The original
draught of tlie project declared these
coUeciions the property of the stale.
The criticism it excited on this ac-
count brought about the modilica-
tions n-c have here, which subsiilntc
inaliaiahitity for the asserted right of
proiKTty, nithout adverting to the
fact thai such a raoUificntion implies
dominion in the one making it,
while there is contemplated a jws-
siblc taking on themselves by the
government of the expenses of these
museums that certainly paints to the
same idea.
The ViUlh Article forbids the se-
questration uf papers and documents
of the ecclesiastical authorities wt-zyV^
spiritual in their nature. The infer-
ence is that auy other documents
not merely spiritual may be seques-
trated ; and, as doubts may arise,
who is to decide ? Certainly not
the church or the Pope, for he is
the accusal; there is no umpire; and
a strong [wlice force Is at the beck
of the Italian government, and the
question will be solved readily.
The Xllllh Article, rcganling the
ecdesiastioil «:minaries and cot-
leges, exempts them from the control
of the sihoiiutu aulliorittcs, but, with
reganl lu their temporal concerns
we arc told in the XVIih Anide ihcy
must be subject to tlic civil jurisdic-
tion. We leave it to our practical
men of America to say whether or
not the man who holds the pun>c-
striugs and manages the funds has
any inAucncc on the people he poys
or are pai<l through him. In the
case before us the Italian civil au-
thorities are those who pay, having
in many coses the full adraintstratioa
of the funds. We feel tempted to
refer to the cose of the Roman Col-
lege, the funds of which have been
witliheld siiKc the first of January,
1871.
The firet draught of Article XVI I.
was too strong. It said openly :
In case of conflict iMtwecn the civil
and ecclesi.isrical powers, the su-
preme civil tribunal of the kingdom
was 10 decide. This was toned
down to suit belter rather tender
susceptibilities. The result we have
in the clause quoted above, which
says the same thing in other words,
and in stninger terms, if we look to
the penal sanction referred to. Here
is the whole piUi of ilie matter. " As
long as it is [Kissible for u& to get on
without dispute," say the govern-
ment, "all well; but the moment •
question arises, we must solve it.'*
Moreover, as the legislative autho-
riries have made the law, they can
amend or alter it if they llunk pro-
per, and there is and can be no
guarantee that they will not.
Such are the disadvantages cre-
ated by the vexed project, which from
the amount of duciission it has
caused, deserves the tide of the ^mh
Antwrum uf the Italian p.iTli:iment.
There are several points in this
law which have some tide lo be
looked on as advantages, relatively
to the condition in which Lite So*
vereign Pontiff h.is Ixren placed since
the overthrow of his temporal fK>v«.
reignty. These are the mviol.abitiiy
of tJie poMMi of the ^ivercign Pontiff
the payment of the montJily sum of
fifty thousand dollars, the protection
of the Conclave as well as of ihe
Pontiff in the discharge of dutv. ihe
immunity of ecclesiastics employed
by him. the jiostal and ttlegraphic ar-
ranKcmenis, and the abohiion of the
royal * placet ' and * exequatur.' But
it is to be remarked tliat, on the fiflR
place, with regard to some the digni-
ty of the Head of the Church will
not permit him to avail himself of
them; then with refer«»ce to others*
they are imperatively wrung from the
Italtaii government by the public
opinion of foreign nations ; while,
lastly, respecting other*, the govern-
ment will always have it in their
power to exercise a sur\-eillance that
renders the concessions more or less
nugatory, and in nowise satisfactory
to tlic people of Catholic and non-
Catholic nations.
But independent of all the above
reasons, there are intrinsic motives
that make any code of guarantees
worth little more than tlie paper on
which they are indited. All arc
agreed that the Head of the Church
must be independent; the Italian
government acknowledges it, and
Catholics and non-Catholics proclaim
it throughout the world. In what
does lliis necessary independence
consist? It consi-its essentially in
being free of undue influence from
any source whatsoever. Now, such
freedom can be obtained only by re-
storing the Pope to the condition in
which he was prior to the year iS6o.
For we can imagine the several other
conditions in which the Pope might
be placed.
He may continue as he is at the
present moment
He may be the privileged citizen
of a Roman republic.
He m.iy be the sovereign niler of
the city of Rome under the protection
of die Italian government together
with other governments throughout
the world.
None of these conditioits is a
guarantee of his freedom.
In the first place, wc supiHisc him
to be in the condition in which he U
at the present moment. The reasons
wc have given above, the practical
experience had of the protection
given to the Pope and those attached
to him, the seizure of the encyclical,
and other acts of which his eminence
the Cardinal Secretary of State has
complained publicly, the subjection
a salary paid by the Italian govern-
ment would bring with it, and the
general suspicion to which his acta
arc liable, from the influence of tha
powerful government under which he
lives — all make it impossible that
this state of Uiings should continue.
Nor is it possible that ilie.Sovereigtt
Pontiff should be the privileged and.
protected member of a Roman re-
public. To tell the truth, the present
state of things is preferable to that.
Republics, and particularly a Roman
republic, are too liable to commotion,
a mob is too easily excited to vio-
lence, a demagogue is too likely to
gain great influence over this city, to
make it at all advisable that the>
Pontiff should have republicans for
his neighbors. A prince has duties
to his people, to his dynasty, and to.
other nations that check him, and
make him keep order in his realm ;
whereas the common people are re-
strained by no such consideration,
and a clamorous hostile demonstra-
tion, with a stoppage of supplies,
would very probably be the answer
to any act of the Sovereign Pontiff
that did not meet with their appro-
bation. The vicissitudes of the days
of Cola di Ricnzi are there to show
tow incompatible with the mobile
ma.sscs of a republic is the necessarily
unbending firmness of a moral ruler.
Not much happier than the foregoing
is the idea proposed by the able de-
puty of the Italian parliament, Signor
Toscanelli, who would have Rome a
free city under the sovereign control
of the Sovereign Pontiff and protected
by the Italian government. It would,
practically speaking, be impossible to
ehminate all inSuence on the part of
the government protecting and close-
The Italian Guarantees and the Sovereign Pontiff.
ly in material contact wiih the Ro-
man Curia, Even supposing that
the maintenance of the Fo)>e and his
dependents did not come from that
government, it would not be advisable
or satisfactory. In this case, the mo-
ney for the support of the ecclesias-
tical autliorilics would have to come
from foreign nations. Although this
would save the Sovereign Pontiff from
mQch of his subjection to the rulers
of Italy, it would siill leave him sub-
ject to influence of another kind very
undesirable. The point is a delicate
one, but we will treat it with all due
consideration for those concerned.
In legislating for mankind, you have
no right to expect heroic actions, and
this more particularly if those actions
pertain to the supernatural order. This
nilc is to be applied to the Sovereign
Pontift's as to ever)* one else. To
their great honor, the Sovereign Pon-
tiffs have stood nobly firm in the ex-
ercise of the duties of their exalted
state ; many a one li:ts shed his blood
for the faith, many a one has lan-
guished in chains for the good of his
flock, many a one has braved the fury
of crowned tyrants for the safety and
well-being of the church of Christ.
But above all praise as their conduct
has often l>ccn. you have no right to
put them in a position lliat requires
the exercise of such heroic firmness.
Now. wlial is the condition of a Pope
dependent on ihc precarious con-
tributions of foreign nations for his
support ? It is one in which an ex-
ternal influence is continually at work
to check him in the free and impar-
tial discharge of his duly ; it is one in
which he is continually forced to
lay aside all human considerations
of prudence and throw himself with
fulness of faith on Divine Providence.
The position is a sublime one, but
fur that very reason no man or body
of men have any right to place him
in it. If he sees lit to condctnn some
^.he« I
OS a
tba^i
I'th^
cherished opinion in u nation, tJie
people cool in their dc^'otion to hiro,
and as the contributions of which we
speak are voluntary, the disinclina-
tion to receive his decisions brings
with it a disinclination to give spon-
taneously what had been f,o given
before, and t^lc direct conse^jucnce
of every ponu5cal act unacceptable
is very likely to be a diminution
the funds that come in for tlie
port of the Ponlifl"; in fact, if
may be allowed the expression, these ,
contributions may Ik looked on as a
kind of spiritual thermometer, that
by their rise or fall indicate
wannth or the coolness of fecti
towards the Pope. In point of fiict,
it is well known that not a Cev
prophesied, during the discussions of
the question of the infallibility in
past year, that the passing of the
crec would bring about a deci
falling oft' in the J*eter Pence. N"
withstanding this, the Sovereign Pon-
tifl' threw himself upon Providence,
and his hope was not deceived. To
the honor of Catholics throughooi
the world be it said, the contribuooos
of the Peter Pence of to-day exceed
those oi all other epochs, and en
the Holy Father to administer lo
most pressing wants of the flock over
which he personally ant! directly pre-
sides. The hand of Providence is
certainly here, ^uch numiicsiatti
of Providence, however, as w« lut
said, no one has a right in legislati
to look forward to, and therefore it
is absolutely necessary that the Head
of the Church should be the sove-
reign of a small state, large enough
to save him from the necessity of tu-
telage, and yielding a yearly revenue
suflicicnt to maintain him and those
he roust have around him with tlie
decorum due to his condition. To
this it may be objected, that his sub-
jects will be deprived of many ad-
vonuges enjoyed by free natt
ove^^
prc-
c is
k
We are very sceptical about these
advantages; the progress of Rome
under Pius IX. has been solid and
satisfactory; and, ontlie other hand,
the Roman subjects of the Pontiff
will have many advantages to which
oUier nations arc often strangers: the
a<lvantage of light taxation, die ad-
vantage of laws repressing immo-
rality, the advantage of peace with
its delightful arts, the advantage of
an enlightened protection of science
and of the fine arts, and then the
great material advantage of seeing
their city the resort of the cultivated
and wealthy classes of all nations,
who flock to Rome to sec the suc-
cessor of St. Peter, and to enjoy the
gorgeous and imposing ceremonial
of the church. For far Iciis advan-
tages than these we deprived the
citizens of a portion of our country
of the great privilege of their political
franchise ; of all nations we should
be the last to find fault with the in-
fliction of a similar disqualihcalion,
of much more apparent harm than
real, and which is compensated foe
an hundredfold. And this wc say
all the more earnestly be<uiuse, in the
case of Rome, it is not the welfare of
a collection of slates that is provided
for, but the peace and good order of
all nations of the earth.
THE ROSE.
Is there any portion of mankind
that has not inhaled the sweet per-
fume of this lovely flower? From
Borneo to the ruins of the Panhe-
non ; from Kamschatka to Bengal ;
from the neighborhood of Hudson's
Bay to the mountains of Mexico ;
from Cairo to the Cape of Good
Hope, it graces the palace and the
chamber, lavishes itself fuil-lcavcd on
the processions of Carpus Christi,
and scr\*es as a pretty plaything to
the child, who cracks the swollen
petals on his innocent forehead.
Of It the Hebrews made their
crowns, and in their solemnities
the high-priest wreathed it around
his head.
When the Queen of Sheba visited
Solomon, it is said, she tried every
means to .assure herself not only of
his superior wisdom, but also of the
quickness of his perception. She
placed before hira one day two roses,
one artificial, but so well made that
she defied the king to distinguish the
false one from the real. He sent for
a bee, which naturally alighted 011
the true one, and thus, without ap-
preaching cither, was able to give
his decision.
Among the Hebrews, the bride-
groom as wcU as the bride wore a
crown of roses, of myrtle, or of olive.
Mythology assigns to the rose llie
most illustrious origin. At the mo-
ment when Pallas came out of the
brain of Jupiter, the earth produced
the rose, that delight might follow in
the wake of wisdom. White at first,
the poets have not quite agreed toi
what it owed its many-purplcd hues.
We arc told by some that llie exqui-
site Adonis was mortally wounded
by a boar, and that his flowing blood
fell on the roses, and colored them
for ever. According to others, Ve-
nus ran to protect him, and the
thorns and briers tore her lovely
skin, and the purple drops fell on a
wild rose, dyed it, and consecrated
it for ever in her honor. Such a
Tkt Rose.
drcumstance w^ scarcely necessary
to make so pecfect a flower sacred
to the gotldciis of l>eauly. Some
authon say th.it in the midst of
an Olympian ikie the goddess
Hebe spilled the embalmed vermil-
ion nectar, and tliat the white roses
spread their petals to receive the
perfume and the color.
Mythology also relates that hove
presented to Harpocrates, the god of
silence, the flower that no one had
ever seen, and that consequently
had never revealed anything. Hence
cainc tlic custom of suspending a
rose from tlie ceiling of the room
where families isscmblcd, in order
that discretion, of which it was the
symbol, might become the guaran-
tee of the sacred security of all their
conversations. Sub msa (under ihe
rose) was a proverb that signified :
Wecan speak frcely.wiihout suspicion.
Venus and Cupid were represent-
ed crowned with roses ; so, also,
Mora, the goddera of floweri, and
Conius, who presided at festivities.
Aglae, the younf;cst of the Graces,
carried the rosebud in her hand, the
attribute of youth and beauty.
The Graces, the Muses, and Dac-
chus also received thcJr homage in
crowns of roses ; their altars were
hung with garlands, and those good
old servants the Penates were some-
times decorated in like manner. Of
all the flowers, the rose was dedicat-
ed to the greatest number of divini-
ties, although nearly alt of ihcm had
some plant especially sacred.
The opening hour of day sowed
roses in Aurora's path, who at sight
of her father the sun wept tears of
joy over her favorite (lowers. So the
poets of antiquity explain the drops
of dew that tremble and scintillate
on the roses in the morning light.
The rose designates the dawn ; and,
bathed with dew, it is the emblem
of Elial pieiy.
Peace is represented holding x
rod of thorns with roses ami olive
branches, and the muse Erato, when
presiding over lyric ijoeiry, was
always crowned with myrtle luid tlic
rose.
The appearance of Christianity
gave to fhc rose another origin, and
we cite the legend. Once, a holy
virgin of Bethlehem, falsely accused
and calumniated, was condemned to
perish by tire. She prayed to our
Lord, beseeching him to come lo
her aid, because he knew she was
not guilty of what they reproached
her with. The fire went out imuic-
diately ; the burning fagots were
iransformcil into rcdrose bushes cov-
ered with flowers, and those that
were not lit into white ones. These
roses were the first ever seen, and
became from that time the flnwcr of
the martyre.
The rose appeared at a very dis-
tant e[Kx:h as the emblem of the
Virgin ; it was particularly recognix-
ed as such by St. Dominic, when he
iiisiiiulcd the devotion of the rosary,
in direct allusion to the life of holy
Mary.
Prayer a|)pears always to have
been symtralized by rosea There is
a story told of a servant who. hav-
ing to carry an immenEC amount of
treasure belonging lo his nusicr
through a wood, was there awaited
by a band of robbers. Un entering
the foreat, he remembered that he
had that morning omitted his Ave
Marias, so he knelt down to say
them. As he prayed, the Virgin
placed a beautiful garland on bis
head, to which at each Ave she add-
ed a rose. The brilliancy around
htm became intense, and the whole
wood was illuminated. The good
man knew no'thing of his beautiful
crown of roses, but the rubbers saw
the vision and let him i>a^ unhann*
cd.
New Publications,
573
NEW PUBLICATIONa
Ttu Divmx Liturgy op St. Joun Ciiity-
SOSTOM. Tianriatod hy H. C. Rama-
Dofi*. London. Oxford, and Cam*
brigc: RtTinglons. 1&71.
t This is a neat IJttle book, trans-
lated, by a Russian, from the origi-
nal Greek. The catechism contain-
ed in the front is so very ancient
and Catholic thnt it will be a diffi-
cult task indeed for (hose members
of the Protestant Episcopal Church
in England and Americn who dream
of union with Ibc Greek schism,ever
to reconcile it with the catechism
tliat begins, "What is your name?
N. or M."
There is a note at the bottom of
page 79, to the effect that, when the
priest signs the elements and says
the words, "And make this bread
to be thy Holy Body, and what is in
this cup to be thy Holy Blood," it is
supposed that theconsec ration takes
place, or, as the translator says, iran-
suhstaniiatioH. This is an error in-
vented by the modern Greeks and
introduced by one Nicholas Cahasi-
las, contrary to tlie Council of Flo-
rence and to all Catholic tradition.
For it is the universal teaching and
belief that the consecration or tran-
substantiation takes pLnce when the
priest does what Christ did, and
says the very same words that
Christ said : " This is my body ; this
is my blood." That is the /tvw of
the sacrament of the Eucharist
The ritualists object to the Roman
vestments on the ground that they
are not of the ancient shape. We
would like them to look at page 18,
and answer this question : Which is
the more like the ancient vestment
— the Roman or the Greek ? Any
candid man would answer that the
former is. The Greek chasubles are
cut away in front, the Roman at the
sides. However, wc hope that the
day will soon come when these good
people will learn that the essence of
religion docs not consist in the shaptf
of a chasuble or the cut of a cope^
but rather in a childlike obedience
to that Infallible Autliority which is
able to regulate matters of disci-
pline and wor&hip as well as to do*^
fine matters of (ailh and morals.
The Holy Cokmi'hio.n. Etc. By Ilubcr
Leboa. Translated from the French'
by M. A. Garncct Batiimore: Johq
Murphy. New York: The Catholic
Publtcati<m Society. 1871.
A delicious book for those wha
arc favored with sensible dcvotioa
to the Blessed S.icrament, white, at
the same time, it is so solid that
those who are Jess favored will find
much of it very protitable.
TlIB ItXUSTRATKD CATHOLIC SlTNDAV.
School LiUKAftV. Fourth Scries, fit
wis. New York : The Catholic Pub-
lication Society. 1871.
The contents of this series are as
follows: "Tatcsof Catholic Artists;"
"Honor O'Morc's Three Homes;"
"Sir jBIfric, and other Tales;" "Se-
lect Tales for the Young;" "Tales
for the Many ;" and " Frederic Wil-
mot."
These are vcr\* far removed from
those talcs, Stilectcd at haphazard,
too often to be met with in hbrarics
for the young which are juvenile
but in name, the compilers of which
arc apparently ignorant of the fact
that as much depends on judicious
selection as careful rejection. In
external appearance, paper, typo-
graphy, binding, and illustration, wo
have also displayed, in miniature,
the distinguishing characteristic of
the works issued by the Publication
Society, liberality of expenditure
limited only by the suggestions of
good tistc. But. while thus equal
in every respect to tho preceding
sets, and coming, too. most oppor-
tunely just in time for the annual
$74
New PitbiicatioHS,
distributions, there is to this series
one Rrciit drawback which the re-
viewer may. but our boys and, girls
certniiily cannot, overlook — it con-
tains six voUimes only; each of the
preceding sets contained twelve.
TiiK SfATK f>F THE Deao. By the Rev.
Anson Wcsi. Philadelphia: J. B. Lip-
pincall & C.Q. 1871.
The only " dead " on whose "state "
this work throws any light are those
who, like the author, arc dead to the
grace of humility. "Fathers, coun-
cils, creeds, and decrees," sjys he,
'*are of no account and of no au-
thority in establishing the doctrines
of divine truth "—(Preface, p. ii.)
••We h.ivc ignored these," he adds,
■• and have deferred to no ont " (s/'c).
And so, forsooth, his own "ipse dix-
it." the complacent " we deny " with
which he quashes an argument, *ir<?
" of account and authority in cst-xb-
lishinfif the doctrines of divine truth."
" Divine truth," indeed ! What can
he know of that, entombed as he is
in his own sctf-sufliciency?
Life or thf. Most RE^■. Oliver Plun-
KKT. By ihc Kcv. I'sitrick Moran, D.U.
8fo, pp. 396. New York : P. O'Slica.
1871.
This abridged edition of the life.
sufferings, and execution of the cele-
brated Archbishop of Armagh, taken
from the larger work of the same au-
thor published in Ireland some years
ago. will be found, from its intrinsic
tiierits and portable form, to be a
favorite and popular book among
the mass of American Catholics.
Though relating, in a concise man-
ner, the leading facts in the life of
that persecuted primate, it is neces-
sarily deficient in many of the fea-
tures which made Monsignor Mo-
ran's original mcmoirso valuable an
addition to tlie historical nnnals of
the reign of the Second Charles of
England. The voluminous corro-
spnndcncc of Dr. Piunkct with Ihc
Internunzio at HrusscU and the
Secretary of the Propaganda; his
reports on the condition of ecclesi-
astical afliairs in Ireland from 1670
till within a short time of his deatli:
and the decrees of the gcnenil and
provincial synods convoked by him,
all of which are very fully repro-
duced in the original book, arc to-
tally or partially omitted in the com-
pendium before us. Still, we are
glad to sec an authentic accouat
of the piety, learning, and heroism
of the illustrious victim of Protes-
tant intolerance placed withia tho
reach of all who reverence his me-
mory, and especially of those who
feel proud in being able to call hun
their countryman.
The Truce or God. A Tale of the EJ«ir
cnih Ccriuiy. By George H. Mtla.
t Tol., i6mo. Baltimore : Joho
Murphy & Co. 1871.
The contest between PopcGr^-
ory VII. and Henry IV. of Germany
forms the groundwork of Ibis de-
lightful story, which abounds with
interesting descriptions of feudal
times, and gives us, with charraiftg
simplicity, the detiils of the daily
religious hfc of the people of those
"dark ages," so luminous with the
h'ghtof faith.
The character of the intrepid, pa-
tient Hildcbrnnd is Hr.nwn with a
skilful hand, and reminds us that
persecution has ever been the lot of
the faithful Vicar of Christ.
The pleasing title of the book
brings to our remcnibrancc the fact
that the church of God in those
days sanctified to peace a portion of
every week, beginning at sunset on
Wednesday and continuing till Mun'
day morning. All private warfare
was forbidden during these daj-n,
under pain of excommunication.
This precept mingles with the
thread of the story, which is both
attnctivc and instructive, leaving
upon the mind and heart a most
agreciblc impression.
Tlic mechanical portion of the
book is beautifully executed, aad
we are delighted to sec that all the
books got out this season by Mr.
Murphy are in the same elegant
style.
New PubiUattons.
575
Th« Histokv or Grekce. By Professor
Dr. Ernsi Curtius. Translaied by A. W.
Ward. M.A., Fellow of St. Peter's Cot-
lege, Cambridge, and Pcofejsor of His-
(or>' in 0%vcns College, Manchester.
Vcl. I. New York : Scribner. 1671.
Every scholar knows how learned
Germans write history. Dr. Curtius
ranks with Momrasen as a historian,
and liis History of Orffce, of which
this voltimc is the first instalment,
is to be classed with t\\e Jh'story 0/
Home by the latter author. \Vc bu-
lieve that it has the adv.intaffc o\'er
it of bcinR complete, and. moreover,
its subject is even more interestinfr
to students and men of letters. It
is brouf^ht out in a style of excel-
lence similar to that of Mommsen's
///j/ort', leaving nothing in that re-
spect to be desired. VVe hope that
the demand for works of this kind
may be sufficient to induce some one
of our great publishing-houses to
favor the public with a translation
of Leo's Un fver sal History, ■>n\\\c\\ is
the masterpiece of German histori-
cal works.
MAfcrvRS OMrrrEi* bv Foxe: Bcinif Rv-
b cords of KclifiiQiis Pcrsccuitoas in the
t6thanii lyili Ccnmrics. Compiled by
1 Member of ibe Kngltsh Chjrcii. With
a Picfacc by the Rev. Fredetick G. Leo,
D.C.L.. F.S.A., Viciit of All SainlV,
LM-imbetli. London : John Hodges.
.S,o.
This is a singular and a singularly
inteiesting little volume. It is An-
glican, as the title shows: yet. strange
to say, it is made up of brief but well-
written and alTcclionatc memorials
of More, (Tampion. Arundel, Plun-
ket, and a number uf other il-
histricus martyrs of the Catholic
faith and the supremacy of the Ro-
man Church in England and Ireland.
It is a book which wc can unhesitat-
ingly recommend to Catholics as well
as Protestants, and which we should
rejoice to see extensively circulated.
Wcchcrish themost unbounded ven-
eration for these heroic martyrs, and
ardently long for the time when they
may be solemnly canonized by the
authority of that Holy See for whose
rights they suffered torments and
death. The author has our thanks
for his pious tribute to the sacred
and holy memory of these blessed
victims of Protestant English cruel-
ty. May it help to bring England to a
penitent recognition of their merits,
and bring a blessing from God to him-
self
The Aherican Annual Cvclopxoia
AND Register of Imfortant Events
OF THE Year 1870. Vol. X. New
York : D. Appleton & Co. 1&71.
This volume of Appieton's Cyclo-
pedia Iscertainly.at least considered
as a register of current events, of
unusual interest. No recent year
has witnessed events in Europe of
such importance as have occurred
in 1870; and the accounts given of
them are aufficientty full. Of course
they have been carefully prepared,
and arc interesting from the nature
of the case. So far as we have no-
ticed, the proper scope of such a
publicatinn has been well observed,
plain statements of facts being given
without comment or apparent pre-
judice. The statement of the pre-
face, however, that by the overthrow
of the temporal sovereignty of the
Pope, "liberalismand authority have
been brought to a final issue before
the world," is somewhat objection-
able ; as is also, and In a much high-
er degree, the introduction of a
portrait of the wretched man who,
unfortunately for himself as well as
others, is the nominal head of the
Italian kingdom, for a frontispiece.
Portraitsare also given of two really
distinguished and remarkable men,
Generals Von Moltkc and Robert
E. Lcc.
The results of Ihe ITnlled States
census of 1870 arc given, and full
information as to the present condi-
tion and growth of each state. The
scientific information is on the whole
valuable and accurate. In the pre-
sent intense activity of research in
this field, it is of course impossible
to admit into a work of this kind
5/6
AVai Publications.
everything of interest and impor-
tance, and nothing besides, and a
belter selection could hardly have
been msdc. The volume is very
creditable to its able and cntcrpri»-
tag publishers.
WoKr>FBS or European Art. By Louis
Viardot. lllu«irated. i vol. i6mo.
N'cw York : Charle« Scribner & Co.
1371.
We have so often spoken in praise
of the volumes of this scries, known
ns " The Library of Wondera," that it
is with regret we are compelled, as
in the case of the present volume,
to condemn any of them. But such
books as these need careful editing,
and in the vohimc before us this has
evidently been neglected: for on
page 88 we find "the idolatries of
the Catholic Church." as well as
similar expressions elsewhere, that
unfit it fur circulation amongst our
Catholic youth. Wc would most
respectfully suggest to the pub-
tishcrs a little more care in future
volumes, if they desire to have these
books placed in Catholic libraries,
or given as scliool and college pre-
miums, for both of which they are,
othern-ise, admirably adapted.
THECatbotic Publication Society
has in press, and will soon publish :
Tht Life 0/ Mather JuUa. foundress
of the Sisters of Notre Dame, fa^
tttiiinr ImtruirtioHS on Mtntal Prayer.
By Ihe AbW- Courbon. Translated
from the French, and edited by Kev.
W. T. Gordon, of the tiratory, Lon-
don. IJght in Darkmu : A Treatise
OH Ike Obuure Ni^kt of ike Saul. By
Rer. A. K. Hcwit. The lUu^trnted
Catkiilic Family Altnanaf for 1S72, A
Lift of Mciher Margaret Mary Hat-
lakan, ahridf;ed. A new edition of
Myh'us's J/istory tf EnglattJ, contin-
ued down to the present day and
adapted for schools. GaAan'j CktircM
History, a new editton, continued
down trt the present time.
The Cathi>hc I'ublication Society
will also soon publish in one hand-
some volume 7'ke Pictoriai StUt
and Ckurfh HiUmy Stariet. being a
compendious narrative of ucred
history', brought down to the pre-
sent times of the church, by Rev.
Henry Fornihy. It will be copious-
ly illustrated from designs by the
most eminent artists, and will b«
sold at a price so as to pl.icc it with-
in the reach of every Catholic fam-
ily in the United States.
We have just received from
Messrs. Murphy & Co. an advance
copy of Patron Saints, by M iss Surr.
From Tub C.ATtmvK: PvnjKATHjm Socnmr, WnP
Vurk: A History ul tha CluutMn tlouMttit
from the Original DocitmeaUL to Ibe cIom «<
tbo Council of Nuan, a.i>. i>^. Hy Chailli
Jowph Hetelc. D.D.. Biifaop of tttnUmham^
etc. Trmfalateii Ijom the bcnnan bf W. fL
CUrIc, M.A.OioD. I vol. tro.— Th« Pricat na
tbc Mltsion: A CounM of LectHrM 00 Mi*-
iloiiirr »nii Paroohlftl Dutln. Bjr PtvdwtBk
Coaoa Daklvy, M.A. 1 voL (UDo,
Pioin P. V.CvtonHOHAU. rhlUdclpUa ; Tlie Art*
of the KailyMirirn. Ry J. A.U. Vmui.S}.
FlrM Scries Bail Second Strict- a ririi^ i^oiu.
From ]. R. l.irriMCOTT ft Co.. PhOadelpklk:
Hcsp«rt>. Ry Con L. V. Tippsn.— TkMl»-
4l«WD. By lUiDvrmldA BoyU.
From Bntnon Ihra>., Kc«r Verfc : KucKIriilkNi
iMCCtiloUinCnnm Anlnurara Accoian. C«»-
pitMun ft l^ II. V. M. UoctrgUiU,
From P. O'Smb*. New Vork: The r«fcttlle
V'oiitb'K llyma Book; MnUlnlon hytatn of
tke •moot and fntiml* or the rc*r, «a4 m
cxtcnilrr colleclioa of ucie<l M»lo<ll«at *"
Trliicb are addtd an eiuy kUak V'eM>«i«, tad
Motlcti f<>r BcncdlcUoa, AmniM, wllk a
Bjirclal riew In ihp want* of CaihoUc ackooltt
by Ike Christjan Biotberi.
Fiuta Cnahi.u Sckukcr ft C«., Ntw Vorfet
CoiuRiM) Scnw In th« lloMMbolili ikMuMl
otPrKtloUHoaicwirety. By Marion HaduiC
Frmti P. J. Kbmkdt. New Voik: The Life of
Sl Mary of l^irypt ; W whkli la ad>led Tkr Lift
of St. CeclUa iDrt The Life ot St. BtWget,
From Leb ft Shu-abo, Oo«io«t: Tk< Modal
Prayer: A Couno of Ledum on ik« LAnl't
Prayer. By Geun[e i\ HalilwIK. IVD., M-
tkor uf " RcpTMCMatlve Wunco." «U.
Ffom RosKKTa D«o«.. Roalon : Ad Clcntn: Ai-
vfce to a Vnvnt Preacher. Ky Jm, Rarka',
D,D.. aathor U " Kcci Dcuii''
From r. MtiirMr ft Co , ruitintflr* : Tk* CkBd*!
PnyMUld Hywrt Hook, for Ike wt of Cafl n Hs
Saodar-fCkoaU.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. XIII., No. 77.— AUGUST, 1871.
INFALLIBILITY.
We propose to treat this topic in
a manner somewhat different from
the ordinary one, and which may
seem indirect and circuitous. We
hope to come to the point more se-
curely in this way than by the more
direct road, and to drive before us
the whole body of outlying, strag-
gling difficulties and objections. In
particular, we intend to place in a
clear, intelligible light the nature,
purport, and ground of the recent
definition of the Council of the Vati-
can, which has made the infallibility
of the Roman Pontiff an article of
faith. It is for this purpose that we
have taken up the general topic of
infallibility; and the reason for dis-
cussing this general topic rather than
the exclusive question of Papal in-
fallibility alone is, that the latter
cannot be properly explained except
in its relation to the former. The
infallibility of the church is a more
general and extensive idea than the
infallibility of the Pope. In the
order of time, it was prior to it in
the minds of the great mass of the
faithful as a certain truth of the di-
vine revelation, and it was before it
as an article of explicit Catholic
faith. The precise point which many
persons have not clearly understood
has been, how it could have been
less clearly known and less explicitly
believed by a number of good Ca-
tholics before the Council of the
Vatican than after it, especially con-
sidering its very great practical im-
portance. They are puzzled to
think that it was not an article of
universal, explicit faith always, as
much as the infallibility of the
church. Or, in few and plain words,
they do not understand how a coun-
cil could define it as an article of
faith which must be believed as a
condition of Catholic communion,
when it had not been always pro-
posed as an article of faith, with the
obligation of believing and professing
it, to all the faithful everywhere. If
it is a new dogma, how can it be a
part of the old Catholic faith handed
down from the apostles, and what
authority has a council to create a
new dogma ? If it is an old dogma,
how could the denial of its certain,
infallible truth have been tolerated,
and the judgment of a council make
this denial now, for the first time, to
become a heresy, to which the penal-
Biitered, ftccordiug to Aa of Confress, la the year 1871, by Rkv. I. T. HBCicut, la the Ofltoe of
the Llbruiut of CongresB, at WaaUngton, D, C,
578
InfaUibitity.
ty of an anathema is affixed ? The
answer to these questions is plain
enough to any one who has a mode-*
rate knowledge of the elements of
theology. No council can create a
dogma which is new, in the sense of
being a new doctrine, or a new re-
velation. The new definitions of
the C'ouncil of the Vatican are defi-
nitions of old truths, old doctrines,
revealed by Jesus Christ and the
apostles, and contained in Scripture
and tradition. But some of the
truths proposed by these definitions,
although old doctrines, and contained
in the original deposit of faith, are
new dogmas in this sense, that they
arc more explicit st;iti.-ments of truths
implicitly coni.iined in dogmas pre-
viously defined or declared, and that
they are now newly proposed under
this more precise and extended form
to the faithful, as revealed doctrines,
with the obligation of receiving them
as arlicJes of faith. The dogma of
the infallibility of the Roman Pontiff
was conlainci] implicitly in the dog-
ma of the infallibility of the church,
and in the dogma, long since expli-
citly defined, of the I'apal Buprem.i-
cy; in Scripture and tradition also;
and in the general leaching of the
schools of theology, in a more dis-
tinct and express form. Wherefore,
as we have said, it is useful and im-
iKTtanl to show how it is contained
m and related to the general prin-
ciples of the essential constiturion
and infallibility of the church, as well
as to make an exposition of the specific
proofs of its truth as a distinct doc-
trine from the Scripture, the fathers,
and the general teaching which has
prevailed in the church. In this
way, ft Catholic, to whom new truths,
or truths less clearly and ceruinly
known than others, have been pro-
po!ied as a part of the Catholic faith
by the Council of the Vatican, will
Ace that his idcoi are not changed
but enlarged, and enlarged not bjr
an addition of extrinsic matter, bul
by the growth and development
within hts own mind of the loitll
which he already possc&sed iu its in-
tegrity.
Let us begin by defining and
clearly comprehending the icftn m<
falltbility. It is a negative term in
its literal meaning. Fallible roeaos
liable to err. lofaUiblc means DOC
liable to err; and infallibility is tiie
exemption from liability to error.
When we say that the church is itt-
fallible, we say, in strictness of raeao-
iog, that the church is not liable to
err. Her infallibility is some kind
of immunity from error, which is ooc
of her essential notes. This iinmu-
nit)* from error evidently implict
some sort of unerring possesion of
truth, and therefore denotes a posi-
tive quality or prerogative, as k
frequently the case willi lemis of
a negative form. What it denotes
in Catholic theology we will explain
more fully as we proceed. The po-
sitive idea, in which tlic general
notion of infallibility has its fuuiub-
tion, is one of the first prinriplrs noi
only of Catholic theology, but of .;ll
theology and phUosophy. Tlie mi-
erring and certain possession of M>me
eternal and universal truths is, and
must be, affirmed by all who profess
that mail has or can have the know-
ledge of God and of the relation of
his own snul to him, whether by rea-
son or revelation; that is, by all
excqtt scqjlics. With sceptics wc
wish to have nothing to do, for they
are not entitled to be treated as ra-
tional beings. Ever)- rational man
will admit that there is such a thing
as wisdom, and that the wise man
possesses it, and therefore knows
something in the order of radonal
truth. St. Augustine has proved this
in a most cubtic and conclusive man-
ner in his iburt treatise, A^iimt tk*
InfallibiUty,
579
AcademkianSy the earliest of his pub-
lished works, written while he was
preparing for baptism. The wise
man, he proves, cannot have the
notion of probability or verisimilitude,
unless he has the idea of truth. He
knows, at least, that there is such a
thing as truth, otherwise he could
not afGrm in a reasonable manner
that anything is probably in con-
formity with truth, that is, appears
to be true, or resembles truth, which
is the meaning of verisimilitude.
Moreover, every man is forced to
admit the certain truth of a number
of disjunctive propositions. " I am
certain that the world is either one
or not, and if not one, either a finite
or an infinite number. Also, that
this world has its order, from a mere-
ly physical law of nature, or some
higher power; that it either is with-
out beginning or end, or else has a
beginning and no end, or had no
beginning but will have an end, and
numberless other things of the same
kind."* In the same manner, we
may say : Either the visible world is
an illusion or real; either God ex-
ists or he does not exist j Christian- '
ity is either true or false; either
Catholicity is genuine or counterfeit
Christianity ; either the existence of
God, the truth of the Catholic re-
ligion, the infaUibility of the Catholic
Church, can be proved with certitude,
or they cannot be proved. These
disjunctive propositions can be mul-
tiplied indefinitely, and they are
only different examples of that prin-
ciple of logic called the principle of
contradiction, which it is impossible
for anyone seriously and intelligently
to deny or even to doubt. Reason,
therefore, forces us to affirm that
we know something with unerr-
ing certainty, that is, that the human
intellect is at least to this Hmited
* Contra Acadtmitei, lib. Hi. { 33.
extent exempt from liability to de-
ception or error, and, so far, infallible.
The only possible dispute in philo-
sophy or theology relates to the
subject and extent of infallibility.
What tmths are known or knowable
with infallible certitude, and where
is the infallibility seated which gives
this certitude ?
Every man who affirms that God
obliges the human conscience to give
a firm and undoubting assent to cer-
tain truths, and to obey certain moral
rules, must admit that he also gives
the means of knowing with unerring
certainty these truths and moral rules.
Even the probabilist cannot escape
this. For he who would act safely
on a probable conscience must have
a reflex certainty that he does not
sin in doing so. If we are bound to
assent to truth, and to ©bey law, of
which we have only probable evi-
dence, and this obligatioo is certain,
we must know with certainty that we
are subjectively acting in a right
manner in giving our assent and obe-
dience. A philosopher who affirms
that we have certain knowledge of
this truth and this law is, of course,.
a more strict infallibilist than the oth-
er. Yet the principle is in common.
When a man affirms that God has
made a positive revelation, and that
in his revelation he has disclosed
truths and promulgated laws which
he binds the conscience of every one
to whom they are proposed to believe
and obey, he extends the principle
of infallibility much further. If I
am to believe these truths, especially
such as are above reason, with a firm,
undoubting assent, and to be held
botmd to keep these laws, especially
such as are hard to keep, the revela-
tion must be made to my mind in
such a manner as to give me certain-
ty, without any fear of error. Who-
ever admits this must assent also to
the following disjunctive proposition:
SSo
InfetUibitiiy.
Kither the revelation of God is made
known to the individuiil mind through
the medium of the Catholic Church,
or in some other way. We are not
concerned at present to prove the
"liroposition that the revelation is
made knoft-n through the church as
a metiium. Our argumcut is imme-
diately directed to those who admit
and believe it already. Therelbrc,
leaving a&ide all discussion vt'ith those
who are not Christians or not Callio-
Iic5, we merely aflinn, as a conse-
quence from what has been proved,
that the principle of infallibihty, so
far OS Christian faith is concerned, is
scatetl in the church as the medium
of divine revelation. With us Cath-
olics it is unquestioned that the church
i;i lliat visible society whose supreme
head is the Pope. Our only object
of investigation is the nature, extent,
and more precise seat of that infalli-
bility which the church possesses as
the depo^tory of divine revelation,
and the medium of communicating
it to individual minds.
The churcli is infallible. To make
more plain the meaning of this pro-
position, let us go back once more
to the etymology of the term infalli-
ble. The I-atin word from which it
is derived is JiJila^ signifying deceive.
Infallible signifies incapable of being
deceived or deceiving. The church,
as infallible, cannot be deceived or
deceive, rc5}>ccting that body of truth
which has been deposited in her by
the apostles, and which they received
from Jesus Christ and the Holy Spi-
rit. The positive and fundamental
truth ftom which this negative state-
ment of the inerrancy of the church
is derived, and which it protects, is,
that the church, as a visible, organii-
ed society, is the immediate recipient
of ft certain divine revelation, ind
the mctlium of its transmission and
communication. This divine revcU-
bon must be accepted and believed
with a (inn assent, excluding aQ
doubt, by each uidividual. It is
r<:vi:lation of dogmas and doctrine
some of which arc mysteries
reason, and of laws which are st
ly obUgatory. Each individual must
receive the faith and law from the
church, o(' which he is u membcs
baptism, with unqucsliooing
«on and obedience of the
and will. But this entire, unre^err-
ed faith and obedience could not be
jusdy exacted, unless the church were
divinely enabled to impart pure, un-
mixed truth, and to prescribe pure,
unmixed holiness to her members,
and divinely secured fiom imj
or prescribing error or sin. AuUi
rity and obligation arc corr. '
nature and extent. As is t:
tion, so is the authority. Il tlic ut»-
ligation is universal and wiibout re-
serve, the authority is sovereign and
supreme. If the obligation iv<juirc
an absolute, undoubting assent of
mind, and a divme faiih, the
rity must be infallible. Whoei
bound to unconditional assent mi
be secured in immunity from error ti
believing. IVhoever is autJiorized
command assent must be secured
immunity from error in teaching. St
prcme and. sovereign authority
teaching, and absolule obedience
receiving what is taught, require ftn<
exact> as a necessary condition,
raucy in that society which is cc
luted on the principle of th i
rity and its correlative «
The fundamental idea of the Cat
lie Church, therefore, contains in
that passive and active infalhbiUl]
which belongs to the hierarchy aa(
the faithful as composing one bet
under their liead, the Koni.in Pnntif
\Mierevcr di\']neand Catholic foiih,OT
certain knowlc<lge derived from fail
and the obhgation of nnnrservi
complete assent and obedience, ai
found, there is tlic pas^iive infallibtlE
Infallibility.
581
ty of the church. Wherever supreme
teaching authority is found, command-
ing this obedience, declaring or de-
fining this faith, or revealed doctrine,
or certain truth derived from and de-
pending on it, there is the church's
active infallibiSty in exercise. The
influence'of those gifts of the Holy
Ghost by which the church is ren-
dered infallible pervades the whole
body of the church, and manifests
itself in the most multiform ways.
The church is living and immortal.
Her life is divine and supernatural,
and its principle is faith. The faith
is, therefore, the principle of an im-
mortal life, and itself an immortal
principle within the church. Like
the principle of animal vitality, it is
found in every part of the organiza-
tion, but vitalizing each organ and
member in a different way, according
to its function. Brain, heart, lungs,
and fingers are vitalized by the same
principle, although each one fulfils
a special office. So in the church,
the supreme head, the hierarchy, the
laity, are animated by the same di-
vine principle of faith, and concur
in the general functions of the great
organic unit, but each in his own
place and in a special office. The
result of their combined and com-
plex action is the perpetuation of
the divine revelation in all times and
places until the end of the world.
We have to consider, therefore, a
great many other constituent parts,
organs, and members of the body
of the church, as well as the head,
in order to understand the relation
which the head bears to them and
they to it, and the manner in which
its special function influences and is
influenced by the other functions.
AVe can do this only in a brief and
imperfect manner in a short es-
say, but we will endeavor to touch
upon some of the principal parts
of this great and extensive subject
in a manner sufficient for our pur-
pose.
The revelation which proceeded
from the Incarnate Word of God
was diffused, in a great variety of
ways, by the apostles, and committed
to a great number of various chan-
nels for transmission through the com-
ing ages. They gave it to the faith-
ful by their preaching, they embo-
died it in the hierarchy, in the sac-
raments, in the creed, in the liturgy,
in fasts and festivals, in rites, cere-
monies, and worship. They taught
it to their companions and successors
in the episcopate in the most com-
plete and thorough manner. They
committed it to writing, in great
part, in their inspired scriptures, and
gave their sanction to other books
written under divine inspiration by
those who were not apostles. To
use a figure, there are many great
rivers by which the inspired and di-
vine doctrines of the apostles flow
through all parts of the world, and
through all the succeeding periods
of time. The great sources of these
rivers are, nevertheless, but two :
Scripture and tradition. The Holy
Scripture is infallible, as well the
Old Testament, which is proposed
anew to Christians by the church, as
the New Testament, in which the
clearer and more complete revela-
tion is contained. Apostolic tradi-
tion is infallible, and therefore Ca-
tholic tradition, which is an unerring
transmission of it, is also infallible.
The written atid oral teaching of the
appstles has come down to us by the
numerous great rivers and the small-
er numberless rivulets of Catholic
tradition, irrigating the fields and
gardens of the church, and opening
the way to intellectual communion
between different countries and cen-
turies. These streams can be traced
back to their sources by the student.
The single doctrines of faith and the-
582
JnfaUibiiity,
olog)' can be traced one by one,
and the whole body of doctrines, as a
complete system, can be followed
up, ihrougli the exposUJons, medita-
tions, and commcniaries of liaints,
doctors, and fathers of the church,
to the Holy ijcripiure. In the same
way, the student can go back to the
original tradition. He is not re-
stricted to one line of argument or
evidence, for there are many con-
verging lines, cacli one more or less
certain and sulTicient by itself, and
all, taken togctlicr, irre^iiitil)!/ and
overwhelmingly conclusive and con-
vincing. One who is not able to
make an investigation of this kind
may, ncvtrihcless, be competent to
uodenitand the general and equally
conclusive argument from prescrip-
tion. He may know enough of his-
tory to be awdre that the princi[>al
doctrines of the faith were univcrsaU
ly held In the tenth century, still
further back in the fifth, and before
that, indefinitely, without any record
of a change, or any adequate cause
for such genera] consent, except the
tcadiing of the apostles.
Not only are the Scriptures and
apostolic tradition Infallible sources
of doctrine which is unerringly trans-
mitted, but the gcncr.ll sense and be-
lief of the faithful is also infallible-
The faithful have received -iix;m the
beginning tlic teaching of the divine
revelation by a supernatural sense,
a divine gift of faith, so that the re-
velation has not remained merely
extrinsically proposed to ihem, but
also received and appropruited by
them, in a living m:inucr, through
tlie inward operation of the Holy
Spirit in their minds. This sense of
die faithful is even one of the motives
of the definitions made by popes
and councils. It was consulted by
Pius IX. when he wjs preparing lo
make his decxec respecting tlie Im-
maculate Conception, and it was re-
cognized at the Council of the Vati-
can as expressed in the numeroi
[>etitions for the definition of paj
infallibility, llie body of the faiib-
I'ul cannot lose the faith, or any p:
uf it, or enibtacc any hcre%y as be-
longing to faith. Their unanimous
consent in doctrine is an infallible
cndence of the true faith in itscl4j
and a note ol the true religion. Tht
bo<Iy of the church is immortal ii
the life of faith, and indefeasible ii
its supernatural existence, and ihcrc-
fure infallible, as well as the licad.^
It cannot separate from its head ii
doctrine. The univenol recognition^
of the Pope by the church makes it
infallibly certain that he is the tro<
and legitimate Poik:. and the uni
versal acceptance of a council
oecumenical makes it infallibly cer-
tain that it is a true council, altliougl
it be certain also, on other infaUibU
motives, that I*0])C and council
legitimate. The want of this univer-
s;il recognition caused for manyl
years the legitimacy of certain pop
lo be doubtful in a large part of]
Christendom, and of course made tl
authority of their decrees doubtful,]
and would have made the authority [
of any council convoked hy them a»|
a general council also doubtful, ie!
was the unanimous agreement uftha
whole church iu recognizing ^fanui
V. as the true successor of St. Peter,]
which gave to all the faithful ccr-j
tainty that he was their lawful heatLj
If a Catholic had no other evidence
tliat the dogmatic decree of Pius IX.
declaring the Imm.iculate Concep-j
lion a doctrine of faiih, and the tie-
crees of (he Vatican Council dcfin*J
ing the infallibility of the Pope, are]
valid and binding, except the uni-
versal profession of the Cutliful that
they believe tliese doctrines with
divine and Catholic faith, that aloi
would be sufficient to gi\'e hiro in<
fallible certainty.
Infallibility.
583
The infallibility of the church in
this general sense, which is an attri-
bute of the whole body or visible so-
ciety, includes and exacts the infalli-
bility of the teaching and ruling hie-
rarchy in a special and particular
sense, which is also capable of an in-
dependent proof of its own. The
faithful are subject to the hierarchy
and dependent on it for the sacra-
ments, for regulation, and for in-
struction. All that life which is dif-
fused throughout the body must ex-
ist in a more immediate and intense
action in its highest organs. An in-
fallible church cannot be subject to
a fallible teaching authority. The
apostles were infallible witnesses,
teachers, and judges, in respect to the
faith and everything connected with
it, as the original founders of the
church under the Lord Jesus Christ,
by whom they were immediately
commissioned. The church was
made infallible by participation with
them, as they were made infallible
by participation with Christ, who was
himself infallible as the Son of God.
The authority of officially declaring
the testimony of the church, of teach-
ing authoritatively its doctrine, of
judging in all controversies, and of
punishing all delinquents, was left by
the apostles to their successors the
bishops ; and the special authority
of St. Peter, as the Vicar of Christ,
was transmitted by him to his succes-
sors in the See of Rome. In their
prophetical office, as the immediate
organs of the revelation of the Holy
Spirit, they left no successors, for
when the faith and law of Christ
were once fully revealed, the neces-
sity of this office ceased. But their
official infallibility was, of necessity,
perpetuated in that episcopal order
which inherited the hierarchical dig-
nity and authority of the Apostolic
College, The church is infallible in
teaching and judging, as well as in
keeping and professing the deposit
of faith, and accepting what is taught
by lawful authority. Every Catho-
lic knows this to be a fundamental
doctrine of the faith. But it is the
EccUsia Docens, the church or as-
sembly of prelates, which is meant
in this proposition. There is no in-
fallibility in fathers, doctors, theolo-
gians, priests, or the faithful general-
ly, which is separate from or inde-
pendent of the authority of the epis-
copate. Even bishops who sepa-
rate from the unity of their order by
revolting against its supreme chief,
lose all their authority. No matter
how many bishops, priests, and lay-
men separate from this unity, their
whole number is of no more account
than if there were but one, since
they are totally cut off from the
church. TertuUian, ApoUinaris, Cran-
mer, Luther, the whole mass of
Oriental schismatics and other sece-
ders, count for nothing. Those who
revolt from the unity of the church
lose the grace of faith, and have no
longer any share in the church's in-
fallibility. The consent of fathers,
doctors, theologians, and of the faith-
ful is infallible, because it represents
Catholic tradition, which is itself a re-
flection or image of the authoritative
teaching of the aposdes and their suc-
cessors. There is no contradiction or
dissension possible in truth, but only
in error. In how may ways so-
ever the truth infallibly manifests it-
self, these various manifestations must
always agree with each other. In
order that the official teaching and
judgments of the episcopate may
always agree with Scripture, tradi-
tion, with each other, with the teach-
ing of fathers, theologians, doctors,
and the consent of the faithful, they
must be infallible. All alike being
infallible, they must agree. No in-
dividual, or number of individuals,
therefore, can be qualified to cite
liifattibiHty.
either Scripture or tratliiiou against
tlie iiulUorityoftlie church, any more
than to cite the authority of one apos-
tle against that of another apostle.
To do this, is merely lo oppose pri-
vate jiulguicnt. individual opinion,
to public, otficial, and authoritative
judgmcut, which is dcstniclivc of the
very principle of authority and orga-
nization. The supreme teacher and
judge must decide in all doubtful and
disputed cases, without appeal, wliat
is tJic doctrine and law, what is the
sense of Scripture, the witness of
tradition, the doctrine of the fathers,
the common belti^f of the faithful.
Froru this final and decisive au-
thority, and ih« correlative obligation
of obedience, \vc derive anotlicr and
most cogent proof, that wherever
sovereignty in the order of ideas or
doctrinal supremacy resides iu iho
church, it must- be tlicrc that the
active infallilMJity of the church is
principally seated. A supreme and
final judgment or decree must be an
infaUibte judgment It is irretracti-
ble, irrcforraable, irreveretble. The
church is committed to it, and bound
by it for ever, and that by the law of
God. Jt must be, therefore, the ab-
solute truth, and whatever tribunal
qualiUcd to pronounce it to be so,
id to exact unlimited assent and
'Obedience from all the failhlul, miist
be infalhblc.
We must be careful, however, not
to limit the authority to teach, and
to require outward obedience or even
inward assent, or the obligation uf
submission to authority, to il)c sphere
of iiiCilliblc declarations and judg-
ments. In the natural order itself,
we are frequently bound in con-
science to assent to tilings which
only probable, and to act on
te supposition Uiat Uiey are true.
Trobability is the only and the suffi-
;nt guide of life in most things.
If-evident and demonstrable truths,
of
ili<^^
and iudubitAbIc facU, are
paralivcly few in number. NSl
out a basis of certitude, there wo
be no such thing as real vtr
or probability. Dut with :
we can consiruct a great cditicc
^beliefs, opinions, and practical r
which have more or less of the
ness and stability of Ibcir fouiidai
The probability of these beliefs is to
a great extent extrinsic — that is, de-
rived from authority which in reason
and conscience we are bound lo re-
spect. It is reasonable, and it is.
duty, to receive the inatnictioa
p.irents, teachers, masters, with
cility; to respect the authority o£
learned and wise men, of tribun ~
and tA the common sense of soci
In the supernatural order it is
same. The authority of the H
Scripture is uot restricted to (
portion of its teaching which
mind perceives with an absolutt* c
titude. There is a moral i
on ever)* student of tlic S.
give its probable sense and mc;
that inward assent which corrcspo
to the degree of probability w
his mind and conscience :i[
and which may approach i.
near to certainty. It is the SAnic
with tradition, and with other so
of Catholic doctrine, such as
teaching of standard aulliors in d
malic and moral theology, the ofh
instructions of confessors, preachers^
and pastor; of the church, including
those of councils and of the Sox-c-
reign Pontiff. Under this head
to be classed the decrees of tlic
man Congregations, excepting
cases in which the Pope gives ihi
a higher sanction than the one
dinarily given. There is, tlierefo;
a wide sphere in which an authori
is exerci^ied within tlic order of i
which is legitimate, and to wtiii
deference and obedience are due, b
which is not guaranteed to have
Infallibility.
585
complete and perpetual immunity
from all error. We cannot say, there-
fore, that there cannot be any exer-
cise of teaching authority in the
church which is fallible, but only that
the church cannot be left without
any authority except that which is
fallible. To a certain extent, Scrip-
ture and tradition may be ambiguous,
doubtful, capable of being interpret-
ed differently; but we ^Smnot be left
altogether in doubt or uncertain-
ty about their meaning. Catholic
schools may have their differences
about dogmatic or moral theology,
but they cannot be altogether divid-
ed and dissentient. The common
belief of the faithful may shade oflF
insensibly, so that it is difficult or
impossible to draw a precise line be-
tween what is in itself pertaining to
faith and that which is only opinion,
but it cannot be in all things indis-
tinct and vague. The confessor, the
pastor, the bishop, the theologian,
the father of the church, may teach
something which is erroneous, but
/ this liability to error cannot be uni-
versal. The tribunals of the church,
even, may be obliged to decide upon
partial and incomplete evidence and
knowledge of the cause, and after-
wards to annul their decisions, as in
the case of the heliocentric theory,
liut these tribunals cannot be always
and altogether without a higher and
more certain rule to guide them.
There must be a supreme and sove-
reign authority in the church which
is inrallible, and which can guide, di-
rect, restrain, and correct all inferior
and fallible exercise of authority.
This sovereign authority is only exer-
cised in the declaration and definition
of doctrine in an irreversible and
irreformable manner, and with an
obligation annexed of that assent
which excludes even a hypothetical
doubt, or a right of ever withdraw-
ing or modifying assent. It is this
authority which we say must be in-
fallible. And, moreover, it is impos-
sible to conceive of the real existence
of an authority of this kind which is
not infallible. The belief of the in-
fallibility of the church was therefore
contained, from the first, demon-
strably, in the belief of the supreme
authority of the church. Moreover,
it has always been distinctly believed
and taught, as well as acted on, in
all ages, and has been explicitly de-
clared by the Council of the Vatican,
and, so far as the Pope is concerned,
defined in express terms.
This infallible and perpetual magis-
tracy of the church is exercised in
its ordinary way by the official teach-
ing of the Catholic episcopate, whose
supreme head is the Pope, and of the
priests commissioned by them to
teach. It began before the New
Testament was written, and contin-
ued for nearly three hundred years
before any oecumenical council was
held. It is a great mistake to fancy
that either the Scripture, or the de-
crees of councils, created the faith.
It existed before them, and was ap-
prehended with a vividness and dis-
tinctness perhaps surpassmg anything
which has been witnessed in later
periods.
The solemn and special exercise
of this magistracy is through the
judgments and definitions of the
Holy See, either with or without the
concurrence of oecumenical councils.
These solemn acts have had for their
first object to express in definite terms
what was always taught and believed
as of the Catholic faith, and to con-
demn all opposite errors. Their se-
cond object has been to declare and
define revealed truths contained in
Scripture and tradition, but not pro-
posed by the church as of Catholic
faith before their solemn definition.
Their third object has been to define
truths not revealed, but so connected
$86
IttfalHbmty.
with or related to revealed truths,
that they are necess-iry to the pro-
tection of the faith and law of the
church. Many of the juilpncnts be-
longing to the list tno classes, also,
are negative in ihctr form, thai is,
condemnations of heretical, errone-
ous, or othcr^viM censurable tenets
and opinions. The necessity for mak-
ing these dcfmiiioiib has been so con-
stant and frequent during the history
of the church, that the principal doc-
trines of die faith, and a vast body
of doctrine pertaining to or connect-
ed mdi it, are distinctly and expli-
citly taught in the collection of the
acts of the Holy Sec and the oecu-
menical councils. It would be, how-
ever, a most grievous error to sup-
pose that everything contained in
Scripture and tradition, much less
die whole body of truth which is ca-
pable of infallible definition, has been
exhausted, or could be expressed in
a certain definite number of propo-
sitions, to which no addition could
ever be made. The fountain is inex-
haustible. And, no matter how long
time may Ixst, the church can still
proceed to make new and more ex-
plicit elucidations and definitions of
that complete and Catholic body of
truth which she has held and taught
cither explicitly or implicitly from
the beginning. The notion that the
church is a merely mcchantr.il me-
dium, for transmitting a defmite and
precise number of propositions of
fnith, is wholly (olse. It is the no-
tion of a certain number of Angli-
cans, but wholly foreign to the true
and Catholic idea. It is not only he-
terodox, but rationally untenable and
ridiculous. Equally so is the com-
mon Protestant notion of a division
among revealed truths into two class-
es, the fundamental and non-funda-
rocntal, in the sense in which those
terms are used by Protestant theolo-
gians. Undoubtedly, there arc mys-
teries and doctrines which are funda-
iiiental in the sense that they are at
tlie ba^is of Christianity, and ro
necessary to be univcrsatly koo
and expliciUy believed than any oi
era. And, consequently, there ok
other truths which belong to the su-
perstructure, to the minor and tea
principal parts of the system, or
its finish and orn.i men lu lion,
in the sense to which we have rcfi
cncc, they arc all equal, 'lltat
there is the same obligation of
lieving any one revealed iruUi as
any other, because the authority of
God is ctpially sovereign and maje^
lie in each single inM-ince. \Vc
bound to believe, implicitly, evi
thing contained in the written n:
unwritten word of God. Whaler
the church proposes as a rcvca!
truth we are bound to believe cxpit
citly as a part of the Catholic fait
as soon as wc know it. Whatev
else we know certainly to be contai
cd in the word of Go<l, we are bo
to believe by divine faith. In
gard to all that portion of rvvcal
truth which is not thus clearly lua
known to us, we arc bound to sub-
mit our minds unreservedly to ih
decisions and judgments which th
church may hereafter make, and i
the meantime toadher>: to that whi
seems to be the truth. A Cath
must not only believe n-hat th
church now proposes to bis belief, b
be ready to believe whatever
may hereafter propose. And he roust,
therefore, be ready to give up any
or all of his probable opinions so
soon OS they are condemned and pro-
scribed by a cumjietcnt authority.
Moreover, he must believe what tKe
church teaches, not simply or chiefly
because he has connnccil himself by
his own investigations that her dcx:-
trines arc really contained in the
word of God, but bcc:iusc the in/alli.
bic authority of the church pro
Infallibility.
587
them as revealed doctrines. The
latest decisions of the church have,
therefore, the same authority as the
earliest. The Council of the Vati-
can is equally sacred with the Coun-
cil of Trent, and the Council of
Trent with the First Council of Ni-
CKa.
It is not necessary to prove to any
tolerably instructed Catholic that this
is the only doctrine which has been
recognized as orthodox, or taught
with the sanction of the hierarchy,
within the Catholic communion. It
is found in all our catechisms and
books of instruction, and preached
by all pastors. It is an amazing fact
that some ostensible converts to the
church in England, who have lately
renounced their sworn allegiance to
lier authority, have declared that
they never understood this doctrine.
This only shows the depth of the
ignorance of Catholic doctrine which
prevails among many of the most intel-
ligent and educated Protestants, espe-
cially those of the Anglican sect. Priests
educated in the faith from their child-
hood, cannot easily apprehend such
ignorance in persons who apparently
hold Catholic doctrines and are at-
tracted by Catholic ceremonies. They
may, therefore, in some cases pre-
suppose in their catechumens an un-
derstanding of the fundamental Ca-
tholic principle which they have not,
and pass them in with a superficial
instruction which leaves them as
much Protestants as they were be-
fore. It is to be hoped that greater
precaution will be used hereafter in
this important matter. It is also
true that a number of nominal Ca-
tholics, and, sad to say, some priests,
a few of whom had stood in high
repute, have recently manifested to
the world how utterly they had in
their secret hearts thrown off the al-
legiance due to the authority of the
church. But these examples prove
nothing. It is as clear as the sun
that the doctrine we have laid down
is the doctrine of the Catholic Church.
It is the doctrine of Bossuet as well
as that of Betlarmine, of Waterworth
as well as of Wiseman. No oth-
er doctrine has ever been tolerat-
ed in the church, and if any have
held or taught any other, at any
time, who have not been personally
condemned and excommunicated,
they were still only pretended but
not real members of the Catholic
communion. A most signal mani-
festation of the universal faith of the
church in this doctrine was made in
the year 1854. The doctrine of the y
Immaculate Conception, which St. \
Thomas and many other Dominican /
writers had opposed without censure,/
and which the Holy See had strictlw
forbidden all theologians to call \
dogma of Catholic faith before th 1
definition, was then proclaimed as l
dogma of faith by Pius IX. with th ;
applause of the whole body of bft
shops, clergy, and faithful. AnotheA
one has been made within the last\
year by a number of bishops, priests, '
and other Catholics, who have given
up their opinions respecting the in-
fallibility of the Pope, and have re-
ceived that doctrine as a doctrine of
faith, simply upon the authority of
the Council of the Vatican.
This remark brings us to a part,
and a very important part, of our sub-
ject, which we promised at the be-
ginning of this article to treat of at
its close, and thus give a complete
view of the doctrine of infallibility.
The definition of the Council of
the Vatican, by virtue of the fore-
going principles, furnishes every one
of the faithful with an infallible
motive for believing the infallibility
of the Pope as a dogma of faith, and
imposes the obligation of faith on his
conscience. The teaching of the
universal episcopate, in accordance
588
InfaHibiiity.
with that definition, furnishes another
equally infallible tnoitve. And so
dues the universal belief of the fatth-
fui, who receive and submit to that
infallible definttioa of (he couocil.
There is, moreover, sudi an abun-
dance of proof from the Scripture,
and the mo»c conspicuous monuments
of tradition, of the doctrine in quc»-
tian, that any person of ordinary
education is capable of understanding
enough of the evidence in the case
to make a reasonable judgment, and
might have done so, even before the
case was decided. 'ITic fact that a
small number of theologians held a
different opinion was really of no
weight at any time, considering the
vastly preponderating weight of the
judgment of all the saints, the great
majority of theologians, and almost
the entire l>ody of the bishops.
Whatever seeming probability the
opinion of this small minonly might
have had in the minds of some
having been totally destroyed by the
judgment of the coniictl, the reasons
from Scripture and tradition gain
now their full force and are seen in
their tnie light. But the purpose we
have had in view, and which we
stated at the outset, is not the exhi-
bition of these speafic proofs, but
the exposition of the relation of the
new definition to the supremacy itself
and tlic general doctrine of iniallibi-
1i^; as well as an answer to the
question, how the infallibility of the
Pope could have remained so long
without an ex]>ress definition.
In the 6rst place, as to the supre-
macy. The Pope is, by di\*ine right,
supreme ruler, supreme teacher, and
supreme judge over the universal
church, and over alt its priests and
Tncmhcrs, individually and collcctive-
ly. As supreme ruler, he must be
infallible ; nut indeed in all his parti-
cular acts, but in his principles and
Titles of government. Otherwise, he
might subvert the const itutioa of Uk
church, destroy- mural' nd
dc[K)se the orthodox I : -jk
heretics to the highest places, and
do m the Cathobc Churth *»l.j[ the
schismalical Eastern paii te
done, and what Cranmer •.ii'i ui i up-
land. By tlie very supposition, Iberr
would be no autliorJty in the church
to control him, and all tliu prelates
and Dithfid would be botitul to obey
him. i'or, if there is any authorKjr
in the diurch superior to Uic Pafol
authority, the supremacy is in that
authority, and not in the I'ope. As
supreme te.icher, he can r I]
Christian bishops, as wcJ>
in regard to the iloctrine whicii
must behcve, and bind their
sciences to submit to his teacJ
It follows from our entire forcgooi^
argument dial infallibility is ncccaary
to the posscuiun and exercise o^
such a power. .\% supreme jwtge j|
questiotis of faiUi and moralji,
dccifion must be final anil irrev^
siblc ; for there is no judge al
him except our lx)rd Jl
himself. But the final , n
which the whole Catholic Cburca
bound to accept must be infallil
Sovereignty, or the possession of the
plenitude of power, when it extends
over the realm of mind and coft-
science, exacts infallitiiiity. And this
has been most lucidly and conclu-
sively proved, during tlie recent con-
troversies, by Archbishop Dechainps,
Dom Ou^ranger, and various other
able writers.
The infallibility of the Pope is
implicitly contained in ai ■*
concluded from the infalbl .,
church in general, and of the t
ing hierarcliy in particular, in su^r-
siantialiy the same way as it is in
tlic suprcm.acy. The church is es-
sentially constituted by its fundainca-
ta] principle, which is that of organic
unity under one visible head, the
Infaltibility.
S89
successor of St Peter. The vital
force of this organic unity is faith,
and, as the body is infallible in faith,
and also governed by the head, the
head must be infallible in a higher
and more immediate sense; other-
wise, the body of the church would
be liable either to become corrupt in
faith by remaining united to a cor-
rupted head, or to cease to be a body
by separating from its head. If we
take the church as represented by
another similitude, it ts founded, as a
building, on the Rock of Peter;
that is, the Roman Church and the
succession of Roman pontiffs. The
foundation must be stable and im-
movable in faith, if the structure
resting upon it has this immovable
stability. So, also, the episcopal
hierarchy, whether dispersed or con-
gregated in a general council, must
remain in communion of faith and
doctrine with the Roman Church and
Pontiff. The Pope must sanction
their decrees, otherwise they are null
and void. Those bishops who se-
parate from the faith of the Roman
Pontiff, no matter how numerous
they may be, fall out of the commu-
nion of the church and forfeit their
authority to teach. Evidently, there-
fore, if the teaching hierarchy is in-
fallible, the rule and authority which
directs and governs it must be in-
fallible. If a pilot is placed on the
flag-ship of a fleet which has to pass
through a dangerous strait, and orders
are given to every ship to follow in
his wake, it is evident that the suc-
cess of the passage depends on the
unerring skill of the pilot. A fallible
head to an infallible hierarchy, a fal-
lible guide to an infallible church, a
fallible supreme teacher, a fallible
Vicar of Christ ! What a contradic-
tion in terms ! Who can believe that
our Lord Jesus Christ ever con-
stituted his church upon such incon-
sistent principles? The supremacy
of the Pope and the infallibility of
the church plainly cannot coexist
with each other in fact, or be united
into a coherent whole in logic, with-
out the infallibility of the Pope as
the term of union. Yet these two
doctrines have always been the con-
stitutive principles of the Catholic
Church.
It is, however, still requisite to
answer the question, how any doctrine
different from that defined by the
Council of the Vatican could have
existed and been tolerated so long
among Catholics, and how the church
could have postponed her definition
to this late period. When we say it
is requisite, we mean, merely, requi-
site in order to complete the expla-
nation we promised to make. We
have no right to ask reasons of the
church, any more than of Almighty
God, as a preliminary to our submis-
sion. We are to take with unques-
tioning docility whatever instruction
the church gives us. Yet, we are
permitted to make investigation of
the truths of our religion, in order to
understand them better, to confirm
our belief, and to be ready to answer
objections. Therefore, we reply to
the question stated above, first, in
general tenns, that the infallibility of
the Roman Pondff has always been
held, taught, and acted on by the
supreme authority itself, and practi-
cally acknowledged by all good Ca-
tholics; and that its explicit definition
was delayed until the necessity and
expediency of such a definition was
made clearly manifest, and the fitting
occasion furnished by the providence
of God.
The argument will be made more
clear if we substitute the term irre-
fimnable in the place of infallible.
All irreformable decrees are confess-
edly infallible, and the question of
law and fact is therefore precisely
this: whether the Roman Pontiff
590
U/iiy.
hare ever suflTercd tiieir dognutic
decrees to be judicially revised by
the bishops, or to temain suspcadeU
as 10 iheir couipleie obligatory force,
until tlic express or tacit assent of
the biceps had been manifested ;
and whether the church has ever re-
cognized any such right in the bi-
shops. So far as the I'opcs are con-
cerned, it is enough to refer to the
unquestionable fact that they have
expressly prohibited appeals from the
judgment of the Holy See to an
cecumenical council, from the time of
Cclesiine 1. in the fifUi century. Mar-
tin V. and Pius 11. in the fifteenth
century, JuUus II. and Paul V. in
the sixteenth century, renewed this
prohibition. Clement XI., in the
eiglitccnth century*, condemned ttic
JansenLsts, who had appealed from
the Hull Umgfmtus to a general
council, and pronounced sentence of
excommunicatjon upon all M'ho pro-
moted the appeal, unless ihcy aban-
doned it and subscribed to the Uni-
^litus. Thiii sentence was a general
one, including all npixrals from the
Holy See to an octumenical council.
It was iwcepted by the whole church,
a. small party of Jansenists only re-
maining contumacious, and has been
incorporated into the canon law.
Moreover, the Ifoly See has always
required the bishops to receive and
promulgate without any judicial
cxaminallou, and without delay, all
its dogmatic judgments ; and they
have submitted to this demand obc-
dienlly, even those who, like Bossuet.
have held GalHcan opinions. The
most iilusliiuus and irrefragable proof
of the doctrine of the universal epis-
copate on this point which could be
given, was really given at the Coun-
cil of the Vatican. 'Ilic monition at
ihe end of the constitution on faith,
which plainly declares the obligation
of entire submission to the doctrinal
decrees of the Holy See, was approv*
i
ed by the unanimous vote of all the
faihers, including those belonging to
what was called the minority, 'llie
Popes have always claimed and exer-
cised the office of supreme jadgctj
mattccs of faith, the episcopate
the whole church consenting
submitting, and all dis^iilents l»ciag
comi^elle^l to keep silence or inctir
exroramunication.
The definition o( the Council of
the Vatican has not, therefore, con-
ferred any new rights on the Sovercigc
Pontiff or enlarged their cxertive. Jt
has only made aw explicit !>utcment
that the rights always posscsosed aikI
exercised by him are decl.ire<l in the
divine revelation to belong to him
jurt tiiviHo, with the guarantee of iit-
fallibility in their exercii^e. and pro-
posed til is statement to :i '
ful with the obhgalion of i _
as a part of the Catholic faith.
It is not very difticult to give satit*
factory reasons why tliis was noc
done before. 'Ilje church does Odi
make definitions without a positive
reason. Ordinarily, she waits until
tlie truth is denied or disputed. Be<
fore the Council of Constance, or
rather the period which immediately
preceded that council, the plenary
authority of the Pope hail tioi been
called in question except by open
schismatics and heretics. We have
the authority of Gcrson, Ihe principal
author of Callicanism, for the asser-
tion that any one who had advanced
his doctrine of the subjection of the
Pope to the council before thai lime,
would liavc been universally condem-
ned as a heretic Tlie Council of
Constance was a very irregular, al>-
normal, and imperfect council, until
the election of Martin V. near its
close. It was rather a congrea or
states- general of Christendom than
a council. The reiidt-nce of the
popes at Avignon and the subsequent
divistoo of Catltolic Christendom
Infallibility.
59"
three obediences, had put the ponti-
fical authority in abeyance and di-
minished the moral force of the Ho-
ly See. The right and duty of put-
ting an end to this state of things,
and bringing the while church under
the jurisdiction of one certain and
lawful head, had devolved by default
upon the bishops, aided by the influ-
ence and authority of the princes,
and the counsel of the principal
theologians and priests of the time.
Harrassed and distracted by the dif-
ficulties and dangers which beset the
church, a number of leading men
whose spirit and intention were good,
and who were devoted to the pre-
servation of Catholic unity, had fall-
en into the grievous mistake of seek-
ing a remedy for existing and threat-
ening disorders in a limitation of the
sovereign authority of the Vicar of
Christ. Martin V. obviously did the
only thing prudent or even possible
for the moment, in leaving the irre-
gular and uncanonical decrees which
they had passed to die of their own
intrinsic weakness. His successor,
Eugenius IV., had too many open
and contumacious rebels and schis-
matics to deal with, to permit him
to alienate those who had fallen into
minor errors, unawares, by a formal
condemnation. At the Council of
Florence, the reconciliation of the
Greeks and other Orientals to
the Holy See was the object of
paramount importance. At the
Fifth Council of Lateran and at
the Council of Trent, the fathers
were absorbed by questions of far
greater immediate necessity than that
of Gallicanisra. Yet the Council of
Lateran came very near defining the
Papal infallibility, and the result of
the Council of Trent was to strength-
en the pontifical authority immense-
ly, as may be seen by reading the
history of its final confirmation and
promulgation, and examining the
bull of confirmation itself, which ef-
fectually sweeps away every vestige
of the irregular legislation of Con-
stance. Between the Council of
Trent and the Council of the Vati-
can, no other oecumenical council
intervened. The Gallican contro-
versy, as all know, chiefly raged dur-
ing the reign of Louis XIV. The y
Pope refrained from any formal con- j7
demnation of the Gallican tenets, al- 1 ]
though m-ged even by that monarch ['l
himself to terminate the controversy * I
by a final judgment; and, although |
these opinions were held and advo-
cated by a certain number of Catho-
lic prelates and theologians from that
time until the Council of the Vatican,
they were never branded by any note
of censure by the Holy See. It may
seem surprising that such a patient
and cautious method of dealing with
errors which have at length been
condemned as heretical should have
been pursued; but any one who
knows the whole history of the mat-
ter must admire the supernatural
wisdom of this course of conduct
One motive, doubtless, for it, was re-
spect for BossueL But another and
more powerful reason was that the
Holy See desired to gain a victory
by the means of discussion and argu-
ment, before reverting to the exercise
of authority.
And again, it is obvious at first
sight that a far greater moral weight
has been given to the final definition,
by the fact that the Sovereign Pon-
tiffs have left the solemn and decisive
deliberation and judgment of a mat-
ter which relates to their own high-
est and most subUme prerogative, to
the bishops of the church assembled
in a general council. It may appear
strange to some that the church
could tolerate an error even for a
time. But there is a great difference
between those errors which subvert
the foundation and rule of faith, and
IP
rnfallibility.
those which only shake them a little.
The errors of the Janseoists, Fcbro-
nians, and other rebels against the
authority of the Holy See, were of
the first dass, and were never tolerat-
ed. But the Galileans of the school
of Wossuet recognised .ind practised
the duty of obedience to the Holy
See. 'ITicir error lay rather in an il-
logical, indistinct, and imperfect con-
ception of the supreme authority of
the Roman Ponti0', than in a denial
of any of its attributes. They ad-
mitted the right of (he Pope to issue
dogmatic judgments, and the obliga-
tion of bishops and the faithful to re-
ceive them with interior assent and
obedience. They acknonledged
that these judgments became judg-
ments of the Cathoh'c Church, and
were made irreformable as soon as
the assent of a majority of the bi-
shops was even tacitly given. /\s
this assent has always been given,
not tacitly alone, but by the most
formal and express adhesion, there
has never been any practical diver-
gence in doctrine between orthodojt
Gallicans and the more consistent
Ultramontanes. Sl Augustine him-
self had said that it is somclimcs the
ivtscst course to tolerate for a time
Ihe errors of those who hold thefaiih
finnly, and err only by an imperfect
knowledge and a confused concep-
tion of the truth. The church has
not hcsitatcfl or faltered in regard to
her own principles, or failed to act
on them with full and distinct con-
scioiiS!ie!>5. But it is not alwaj-s nec-
essary for her to propose them fully
and completely as articles of divine
and Catholic faith to her children.
It is for the church, guided, illumi-
nated, governed, and assisted by the
Holy Spirit, to judge of the time and
manner in which she will unfold and
dbplay in all llieir brilliant majesty
tlic treasures of her doctrine. She
has waited until the nineteenth cen-
hich (
.liU^J
tuiy to encircle the brow of the
Queen of Heaven with the coronet
of her definition of the immaculate
Conception, and to place in the tia-
ra of the Vicar of Clirift a new jewel
by defining his infallibility. From
both these splendid acts, in which
' her divine authority, her irrcst&tibls
power, her infallible M'Lsdom,aad
miraculous unity are manifested
the most radiant lustre, incalcttl.
blessings will flow in abimdancc u
her faithful children. Christ i* hon-
ored in his Mother and in his \ icar.
The serpent's head is crushes! aneir.
Faith triumphs in her new conquests.
The kingdom of God is strengthened
and consolidated, and the kingdom
of Satan is shaken to its /bundatiQoSi
Like the cathedral of Cologne l2ie
superb edifice of theology approadus
to its completion, ilie new mvble
rises side by side with that which is
dimmed by the dust of ages, and
new pinnacles arc placed upon an-
cient foundations. This temple it
one whose builder and maker w not
man but God, whose designs ue
fanned in eternity, but realized
dually and successively in
From the fatmdation to the t
stone, the maanve sohdity, the sy
metry and unity of plan, ih.
ny of proportions, the pei;. \
beauty, which become more Ucarijr
evident with ever^- century*, di&dosc
the idea in the infinite mind of tlie
Supreme Architect. The CatboUc
Church has been designed and con-
structed by the same iH-'ing who de-
signed and constructed iJic universe.
As the solar system is unerring and
unfailing in its movements, prescrib-
ed to it by the immutable law of its
Creator, so is tlie church unerring
and unfailing by the law of its divine
Founder. And as the sun'
cease to be the unfailing :
light and heal, and the immovable
centre of revolutiunf while tlie solar
Infaliibiliiy.
59J
system endures, so the See of Peter
must remain the centre and the
source of truth, doctrine, law, unity,
and perpetual movement to the Ca-
tholic Church, so long as time en-
dures. It is this unerring stability of
the Catholic Church in the law pre-
scribed by its founder, Jesus Christ,
which is properly termed infallibili-
ty ; and, since this stability is commu-
nicated to all the distant and depen-
dent churches under her obedience
by the Roman Church, it is in the
Roman Church that infallibility has
its immovable seat «nd centre.
It is plain from the foregoing ar-
gument how false and flimsy is the
pretence of Dr. DolHnger, M. Loy-
son, and the other rebels against the
Council of the Vatican, that they
have been excommunicated for ad-
hering to the old Catholic faith which
they have always held. All heretics
have said the same thing, except
those who have openly averred that
they reject the authority of the Ca-
tholic Church. This is what the
Arians said, and Arius knew how to
play the injured, persecuted saint
and prophet of God, even better than
M. Loyson. The creed of Nice is a
new creed, said the Arians and Semi-
Arians. So said the rebels against
the Councils of Constantinople, Eph-
esus, and Chalcedon, The little Jan-
senist sect in Holland calls itself the
Old Catholic Church, and its mem-
bers take the name of Old Catholics.
The allegation is palpably and ridi-
culously false. The Gallican opin-
ions were never a part of the Catho-
lic doctrine. The highest claim that
could ever be made for them by their
advocates was, that they were proba-
ble opinions not condemned by the
supreme authority. The best theo-
logians Jiave condemned them as er-
roneous and proximate to heresy.
The Holy Sec has never shown them
the slightest favor, but, on the con-
VOL. Xdl. — 38
trary, has used all means, except that
of express condemnation, to drive
them out of seminaries, to destroy
their credit, and to inculcate the true
and sound doctrine. They were to-
lerated errors. While they were to-
lerated, it was possible for good Ca-
tholics, and even learned men, to
hold them in good faith ; since good
and learned men, and even prelates,
are fallible interpreters of both Scrip-
ture and tradition, and may err in
reasoning and judgment. But their
temporary toleration gave them no
rights, not even those which belong
to received opinions of Catholic
schools of theology. There were
good reasons for a purely passive to-
leration for a time. But none for
the indefinite continuance of such
toleration. The silence of an cecu-
menical council, viewing all the
events which had occurred during
the past two centuries, would have
given the advocates of Gallicanism a
plausible pretext to claim for it a
positive toleration, a recognition of
its real and solid probability. More-
over, it was reviving under a new
and more dangerous form; numbers
of good and loyal Catholics were be-
ginning to go astray after a so-called
Catholic liberalism, and a clique of
secret traitors was plotting a revolt
against the Holy See, disguised un-
der the ambiguities and reservations
of Gallicanism. Error, though it
may lie dormant and not show its
dangerous character for a time, soon-
er or later works out the conclusions
contained in its premises. GaUican-
ism was an illogical doctrine, con-
taining implicitly the denial of the
papal supremacy. It was necessary,
therefore, to condemn it, and to de-
fine the truth. Those who gave up
their opinions in obedience to the de-
cree of the Vatican acted like Catho-
lics, and like reasonable and consis-
tent men. As Catholics, they were
594
Tht True Harp.
bound lo obey a divine aulliority.
M reasonable men, tliey were bound
to abandon an opinion which they
had embraced on mcrt'ly probable
grounds, as soon as the certain truth
was nude known tu ihcni.
Moreover, the malcontents were
taught frum their cUildbood, and
some of them have themselves taught,
aa authors antl professors, the infalli-
biliry of cecumcnical councils as a
doctrine of the Cilholic faith. They
have renouncwl, abjured, and tram-
pled uri tliJt faith, by rebelling against
the Council of the Vatican, and bid-
ding deliance to tlie authority of their
bishops and of the I'opc. They arc
justly excommunicated. The ana-
thema of the church bas smitleu
them, and they are doomed to with-
er and die, and go into obhvion.
As for Uie Catholic Church and her
docile children, they have made a
great act of faith which has had a
most salutary e^'ect already, in
sueugtliening the habit of divine
faith, and in illuminating the inti
lect with the knowledge of the tnit
Its salutary elTects in the future wiU
be still greater. There was nevt
time when the continuous and imi
diatc exercise of the supreme tea(
ing authority of the Vicar of Chi
was so necessary and so easy as
present critical, momentous pcno4
Never a time when it was so oca
sary for all tlie faithful to place an al
solute and boundless confidence
the chair of Peter. God has
known to all men, as a truth of
divine revelation, the infalUl
of that chair, and of his augt
Vicar who sits in iL This truth U
equally certain with the grec
teries of tlie faid», the Tr
the Incarnation. This chau- ot' Vt
tercan neither be deceive*! nordcccixi
us, for its doctrine rests un the vc
city of the Holy Spirit, the autbf
of truth, and in believing and ol
ing it we believe and obey Almigbif'
God.
THE TRUE HARP.
Soi;l of the fiord! stand up, like tiiy liaq/s majesiical pillar!
Like its golden arch, O heart t in reverence Uow thee and bend \
Mind of the Bard, like the strings be manifold, changeful, responsive ;
This is the harp God smites — the harp, man's master and friend t
AtJBREr PE Vejue.
A Pilgrimage to Cayla.
595
A PILGRIMAGE TO CAYLA.*
Cayla, August i, 1S67.
My dear Friend: In pressing
my hand for the last time, when I
left Quebec two months ago, you
said, '* Do not fail to visit Cayla." 1
made you the promise, and to-day I
accomplish it. It is from the chamber
itself of Eug6nie de Gu6rin that I
write.
You who have such an avowed
admiration for the sister of Maurice,
with what rapture you will enjoy the
minute details which I have to com-
municate ! How many times have
we asked, after having read the ad-
mirable yournal of Eug6nie, after
having. lived with her the life at Cay-
la, what had become of that domes-
tic life which she described with such
exquisite art, and which she caused
us to love so much ? Who are now
the actual inmates of that antique
chateau? If" Mimi," sweet " Mimi,"
is still living? etc. To all these
questions I can to-day reply. On
my return to Poitiers from a short
visit to the little city of Airvault, the
cradle of my ancestors, I turned my
steps toward Toulouse, where 1 ar-
rived this morning. The entire city
was in a state of festivity, the streets
were all decorated, and filled with
pilgrims, flags waved in every direc-
tion, and the facades of the houses
were hung with wreaths of flowers.
They were celebrating the last day
of the grand /(T/^J in honor of St. Ger-
maine Cousin.
The railroad which runs from Tou-
louse to Alby stops at Gaillac, and
there branches off to the station
• These letters, from the pen of the well-known
Canadian writer, M. I'AbM CasRrain, have been
translated for The Catholic Would, wUh the
permission ofthe author. —Translatok's Nim.
of Tessouniferes. Leaving Alby to
the right, I came down to Cahuzac
about two o'clock. The terminus is
about half a league from the village.
I was obliged to make this little trip
on foot, in company with the mail-
carrier, who also took charge of my
valise.
The landscape is hilly and abrupt,
and has a savage aspect. The road
winds through the valley, rises and
descends between the wooded moun-
tains, whence peep out here and
there some white rocks which indi-
cate a sterile soil.
At a turn in the road, I perceived
on an acclivity Cahuzac, whose name
vibrates so pleasantly on the ears of
Eug6nie. From there a carriage
conducted me in a few moments to
Andillac, a village more than modest,
which appeared on my left, with its
poor little church, where repose the
tombs of Maurice and Eugenie, where
she came so often to pray, to weep,
to hope, to implore with many tears
the salvation of her brother.
Here the ro^d turns off and climbs
a hillside. The guide pointed with his
finger across the trees on the other
side of the ravine to the Chflteau of
Cayla, which rises isolated on a
graceful eminence. 'Tis a spacious
mansion of severe aspect. Nothing
distinguishes it from ordinary struc-
tures, except a little tower built on
one of its angles, which gives it a
slightly feudal tinge. Notwithstand-
ing the unobtrusiveness of this man-
or when seen in its landscape-fram-
ing, the effect is laughing and pic-
turesque, thanks to the prestige of
poetry, that fairy enchantress who has
touched every object in this domain
with her golden ring. Here, though
the fairy is an angcl, it is Eugenie.
The carnage crossed the ravine,
and roltowed the banks of the St,
Usson, a liiile stream which turns
the parish mil). It then began the
steep ascent to Cayla, and finally
i»toppcd before ihc farm, in the midst
of 3 crowd of chiclcrns, who were
cackling and disporting themselves,
in the sun, on a liller of straw. A
servant cnme up at that moment
ftwm the rabbit-warren on the north
side, and poUiely invited mc into the
salff/t, a pretty enough room, open-
ing on the terrace. Some furniture
in modem style, white curtains, some
wax fruit and flowers, a few paintings
on the walU, a little picture of Cay-
la and its surroundings, on the table
a handsome edition of the works of
Eugenic and Maurice ; this last the
most beautiful ornament of this
home.
The door opened, and a young
lady with a distinguished air and
dreamy expression entereiJ. It was
Caroline dc Gnirin, F.ugtnie's niece,
that dear little " Caro " whom she
tised 10 rock on her knees, now mar-
ried to M, Mekhior MAzuc, of a no-
ble and wealthy family of Monlpel-
lier. Slic was soon followed by an-
other pcTBon, much older Init still
sprightly, dressed very humbly, with
an expression of extreme sweetness
in her countenance, and a modesty
yet more lovely, with marked features,
lit up by her bright eyes, and a smile
uniting extreme delicacy and bene-
volence,
1 Introduced myself as coming from
America, from Canada, attracted to
this remote corner of France by the
fame of Kugenic.
- Mas the reputation of our Euge-
nie reached that far?" exclaimed
Marie dc Gu^nn, for it was she.
Trom this moment the conversa-
tion did not languish, fed, as it was,
by the thousand nothings sroand
which the halo of poetry has been
thrown by the author of the yvur-
tiai.
Just as I rose to take my leave,
M. M4/UC entered, fotloircd by
Madame dc Gui^rin, the widow of
Erembert Thc>' had summoned M.
Mizuc from the fields, where he hdd
been suiKrrintending his vincdresscn.
He is a man in the strenjith of a;.;c,
an old officer in the army of Alg!e^^,
with a manly face, energetic loo*,
amiable and impulsive character.
'* What !* cxcbimed he. ** You
come alt the way from America and
.IS far as oiir mountains to visit us,
and already talk of leaving ? No,
no; )ou muRt not think of such a
thing. You have not seen onrlhing
yel; you must slay and visit the
neighborhood, and we will give yoa
Eugenie's room, and you will find it
just as it was at the time of the
youmal. Then, here is my brother
Nerestan, who ha* Just returned
from Africa, where he filled the ot1ii.e
of officer of colonization; he wdl en-
tertain you about Algiers, and yon
can talk to him of Canada."
" Oh ! very well," wid M. Nrfcw-
tan, shaking me cordially by ihe
hand ; " and I will begin at once by
telling you that the best s>stcm of
colonization that I knoiv of, I found
in a book printed in Canada which
accidentally fell into my hands."
'ITiey all then urged me with so
much politeness to stay that, con*
quercd by their kind persuasiotis, [
yielded to the pleasure of remainii^.
While awaiting tea, Marie equip-
ped herself without any ceremony in
nn old straw hat with a broad brim,
and invitetl me to lake a nalk and
visit the environs. Wc were already
old acquaintances. We went out by
the door that opens on the tcfnce,
which resti on the rre&t of the ra-
vine. Along the wall grew scvccat
A Piigrimage to Caylm.
597
pomegranate-trees, and some jas-
mine in bloom, from which Maurice
gathered a bouquet the day before
his death. He walked down here,
leaning on the arm of Eugenie, to
warm in the bright sun his limbs
already struck with the chill of death,
to bathe his panting breast in the
pure warm morning air, and to con-
template for the last time the beauti-
ful sky of Cayla.
Some stone steps lead to the bot-
tom of the ravine, where the little
stream runs along, shaded by willows,
whose rippling has so often caused
that amiable recluse to dream and
sing in her little chamber. Here is
the fountain of T6oul6, that is to say,
of the Tile, so-called from the huge
tile which serves as a reservoir for
the water from the rock. We cross-
ed the Fontet which leads to the
laundry, where, like the beautiful
Nausicaa of old, Eugfenie came some-
times to wash her robes ; and which
inspired these pretty reflections :
" A day passed in drying one's
linen leaves but little to say. It is,
however, pretty enough to spread
out a nice white wash on the grass,
or to see it waving from the lines.
You can be, if you wish, either the
Nausicaa of Homer, or one of the
princesses of the Bible who washed
the tunics of their brothers. We
have a laundry that you have not seen,
at the Moulinasse, large enough and
full of water, which embellishes this
recess, and attracts the birds, who
love the coolness to sing in. I write
you with clean hands, having just
returned from washing a dress in the
stream. 'Tis delightful to wash, and
see the fish pass, the little waves, bits
of grass, and fallen flowers, to follow
this, that, and I know not what in
the thread of the stream ! So many
things are seen by the laundress who
knows how to look in the course of
the stream! 'Tis the bathing-place
of the birds, the minor of heaven,
the image of life, a hidden path, a
baptismal reservoir."
A few steps in the meadow, a
superb chestnut-tree, three or four
centuries old, spreads its vast shade ;
old sentinel of the ch&teau, which
has seen bom and die the generar
tions of De Gu^ns. The ridge of
Sept-Fonds winds through the trees
as far as the top of the hill ; on the
neighboring declivity is the little cop-
pice of Buis, with its pretty little
pathway, full of shade and mystery,
and where Eugenie had her little dog
buried.
" y*ify ^^f- — He is dead, my poor
little dog. I am so sad, I have but
little inclination to write.
" yi^fy 2^- — I ha.\e just put Bijou
in the warren of the coppice, among
the flowers and birds. I am going
to plant a rose-bush there, and call
it the dog-rose. I have kept his two
little front paws, which so often rest-
ed on my hands, on my feet, on my
knees. He was so nice, so graceful
when he lay down, and in his caress-
es I In the morning he used to come
to the foot of my bed, to lick my
feet as I was getting up ; then went
to give papa the same greeting. We
were his two favorites. All this comes
back to me now. Past objects go to tha
heart. Papa regrets him as much as
I do; he said he would have given
ten sheep for this poor little dog.
Alas ! everything must leave us, or
we must leave everything.
•' A letter just received has caused
me another pang. The affections of
the heart differ like their objects.
What a difference the grief for Bijou,
and that for a soul being lost, or at
least in danger of it! O my God I
how frightful that is in the eyes of
faith !"
Passing before the farm, we cast
a glance at the other side of the val-
ley. Facing us, this mass of green is
•Jgrtma^ to Cayla,
I
I
I
the Bois du Pigimbert, wiih the ham-
let of Pausadon, where ViaJarcttc
lived, that poor woman whom Marie
and her sister uhcU to visit. More
to the left, on the heights, is the vil-
lage of Merix, and btlow, toward the
north, Leuliii, where Eugenie went
so frequently to hear Ma^.
'Ilie road from the tv-arren of the
north skirts the base of the hill,
which extends itself in the rear of
the old castle. Here, as elsewhere,
all is full of souvenirs.
*' Sr<nr trw hu tu Unory, «v«r]r «oim& iuubk."
Here Maurice played with his
sisters among the branches of the
Treilhon, that old vioc-suilk which
twines itself round the trunk of an
oak-tree. " Mimi " smiled at the re-
collection of the slides tliey used to
take down the side of the ravine.
She pointed out a little underwood
of maples; they were small trees
about the thickness of one's arm,
and which have nothing in common
with the king uf uur forests.
A sudden storm coming up ob-
liged us to seek shelter in the man-
lion. A few moments before, tl\e
sky was serene and blue; now alt
was obscured by clouds, the rain
came down in torrents, and it began
to thunder and lighten. This south-
ern sky always reminds me of a great
child, changing from smiles to tears
witli a wonderful facility.
At half-past seven, supper was
announccil, at which was scr^-ed the
excellent wine of Cayla. At the side
of its father, was httle Mdxuc de
Gu£Hn, a child of eighteen months.
Oh \ that Eugenie could liave caress-
ed this child of " Care's."
The evening passed delightfully ;
anecilotcs were toUl, reminiscences
of {.'ayla, of America, of Algeria,
tnd episodes related by M. Mdzuc
of the wars in Africa, in the moun-
tain3ofKabylia."Mtim"theal
us back to our prc^iCDl MirrovndiafEi '
by relating some interesting dctaiU
of the widow of Maurice. She re-
turned from India after the death of
her husband, and died al Bonkana
in 1&61.
And the good M. Uorics b stilt
living, but struck with a crud ouU*
dy, and is but a mere wreck.
At bed-time I was condadcd 10
my room, A spiral slaircate jucendi
to the principal 5tor>', and leads into
the great hall. I'his is the stately and
solemn apartment of the manor, laj
it a vast fireplace, whose nuntet ts^
sustained by caryatides in stune ; en
cither side are the figures of two «•
valiere in their armor, rudely sketch*
ed. Jd former da>s these walls were
covered with the armor of the setgn*
ors of this house ; this inlaid fluory
to-day so silent, resounded to ihC^
footsteps of armed knights, carrying
on the points of their lancet »ian*l
dards and pennons on which tlie la-]
dies of the castle hati cmbroidt
the proud device of the sires of
Ouirin. Omni txiff^i^He tmy^r^s^X
Jt was in this saloon, now so desert-
ed, that they armed thetiibclvcs
fight against the Moors and the fc
rocious Albigenses, or where tbcr'
donned their richest armor, their
brilliant helmets of finest steel, and
their gilded breast-plates, to CfOM
titeir lances in the toumamcat. At
the lime of Eugenie, all this antique
splendor had long since : ' 'sjiy.
Hcrcaselscwhcrctlic k. 1 jiad
reaped its harvest of destruction, aodj
the rich Seignors dc Gucrin "were!
now,"' said she, " only poor squires,]
striving 10 keep the wolf frotn the'
door."
On the right side or" i)ic hall i$|
a door opening into the chamber of
"Mimi;" on the U-ft. one 0|K:mng in.|
to tliat of Maiirire. At (he cxucm^
end. away back, retired like «
A Pilgrimage to Cayla,
599
hidden like the nest of a bird, is the
little room of Eugenie. It is in this
room, and on her table, that I am
now writing to you, surrounded by
the same silence, and lit by the same
modest light of her lamp. Before
me is her little chapftl in miniature,
her crucifix, her ita^ire of books.
Nothing besides this, neither orna-
ments nor luxury \ nothing except the
most commonplace. But these va-
lueless nothings have become relics ;
this little room a chapel, this table
an altar. 'Twas from this white and
peaceful cage that the dove of Cayla
flew away to the land of dreams,
gathered the celestial flowers of poe-
try, conversed with the angels, and
sang with her heart. It is here that
she prayed, read, wrote her yournal,
and those admirable letters to Louise
de Bayne, Madame de Maistre, and
Maurice ; 'tis here that she wrote her
heart's history, that she lived, that
she died ; from here that she went to
rejoin Maurice.
I turned over the leaves of the
yournaly and gave myself up to its
fascinations, where the least object,
an insect that flies, a bird that sings,
a ray of light penetrating the blind?,
inspired her with those charming
thoughts, those poetical pages, like a
harmony of Lamartine, fine and pro-
found as a passage of La Rochefou-
cauld, Her thoughts take at times
the most unexpected flights, sublime
transports, like an elevation of Bos-
suet's.
Never perhaps has there been a
more delicate organization, a more
susceptible imagination. Her soul
was like an ^olian harp which vi-
brates to the slightest breath.
Mile, de Gu^rin wrote with a gol-
den pen. I would compare her to
Madame S6vign^, if Madame S6vign6
was less frivolous. The latter amuses
and dazzles, the former captivates
and touches ; the one is as bright as
a lark, the other dreamy as a dove.
The first has more genius, the second
more soul. There is more sentimen-
tality in Madame de S6vigne, in Eu-
genie de Gu^rin more sentiment.
The writings of one skim over the
surface of the soul, those of the other
penetrate it We can admire Ma-
dame de S6vign£, we love Eugenie
de Gu^rin.
Before me, hanging to the frame-
work of her library, is a picture of
St. Th^r^e de G6rard, a present to
her from the Baroness de Rivieres.
I re-read the passage suggested by
this little engraving, those aspirations
toward contemplative life, which re-
veal such tender piety, such deep
and true devotion. This pure heart
turned naturally toward heaven, like
the mariner's needle, which always
points to the north. " She was of
those souls," said Mgr. Mermillod,
" who in the midst of our material
cares hear the Sursum Corda of the
Holy Church, and who delight in
these noble and holy aspirations."
*' We can make a church everywhere,"
says she in some of her writings.
I open the window, and, like her,
I contemplate the beautiful night —
the country half-buried in shadows,
the myriads of stars, which, like gol-
den nails, sustain the blue tapestry of
heaven. All is silence, meditation,
mystery j a single murmur, that of
the stream.
It sings for me, as it formerly did
for Eugenie. In looking back into
the past, I ask myself if I have ever
spent a sweeter hour or experienc-
ed more vivid emotions.
Adieu, it is midnight. Expect soon
a sequel to this letter.
To M. l'Abbk L., Quebec.
Paris, August 9, 1&67.
. . . At five o'clock in the morning,
I heard a knock at my door. I was
ahready up. The previous evening
Goo
A PH^im^^^^yuT
*
I
I had made an arrangement with
Mile, de Guerin to go to Audillac,
H'licrc I wished tu say Mass, and vi-
sit the graves of Maurice and Eu-
genie.
The cheerful aspect of nature
seemed to echo the briglitiiess of my
chouglits. The heights of Merix
were bathed in the rosy hues of
moniing ; in the sky appeared the
fifst golden threads of the sun ; in
the plain the slight fragrance of the
dew, perfumed breezes, and the war-
bling of the birds.
\Vc saluted in justing the little
cross where the brotiicr and sister
took such a tender adieu of each
other, where Eug6nie preserved so
long the imprciisiun that the horse's
foot made in the plastic soil. One
Chrisunas Kve, going to midnight
Moss, she gathered, in her simple
piety, botne Ijranchcs covered with
hoar-frost from the bushes which grow
along this road, which she wishctl to
place before the Blessed Sacrament —
a scene which she described with so
much frcsluiess and charming grace:
" \Vc all went to midnight Mass,
papa in a<tvanr« — the night was su-
perb. Never had there been a more
bSKUtiful midnight, so mudi so that
pipa put his head out from his man-
tle several limes lo look at the firina-
mcnt. The ground was coveted with
hoar-frost, but we did not feel the
cold, and then the air was warmed
in front of us by the torches which
our servants carried to light the way.
It was charming, J assure you, and
I only wish you could have been
with us, going to church along these
roads bordered with little bushes, as
white as if they were all in bloom.
The boar-fro&t makes beautiful Bow-
ers. Wc saw a branch so lovely that
wc wished to make a bouquet for
the itiessed Sacrament, but it melted
in our hanit All flowers are short-
lived. I regretted my bouquet: it
was sad to sec it melt, and dissolve
drop by drop."
Going along. Mile, dc Gucrin loM
roe of the last sickneu and death of
her sister. Two years txrfijre, her
health became seriously aH'
was in vain Uiat the phy^i .
her lo the waters of Cauicrcu, ui
seek the strength which would
more return.
She felt her end approaching;
she did not tremble; in her com;
resignation, there was no place
fear. As she watched the span
life gradually diminisli, she
to fold within herself, like the
live plant ; wrapped around her t
mantle of holy recollection, to whi
great souls envelope thcmsclvc*
the approach of that supreme con
templation which she foresaw. Sbc
talked but little, prayed much, and
smiled rarely. Ucr little room i
become the cell of a religious ;
lived there cloistered, only leaving
to go to church. Prayer was her
creation, the Holy Euchaiist her
food.
" I vrish to die after having
ceived the holy communion," said
she a short time before her death.
They noticed that she looked often
toward Andillac, where she was gtK
ing so soon to dwell. Tlie swoiloil
is compelled to Oy away on the eve
of winter ; the vintcr of death was
approaching.
She took cold going to Mass oo
the Kpi;ihany, and returned hoax
with a fever, which increased rapid-
ly. Inflammation of the Jungs super-
vened, whidi hurried her to the por*
tal of death in a few day?. After,
having received the holy Viaticum,
" i con die now," sighed she with a
celestial smile. " Adieu, my dear
Mane!" And as she fell the teata
tremble in her eyes, at see'uig her m
overcome wilh grief, she embraced
her, and said, while tuniing her hetd
4
I
A Pilgrimage to Cayla.
6oi
away to conceal her emotion, <* Ah I
do not let us be sad !" as if she was
afraid of weakening the generosity
of her sacrifice.
Such was the appointed end of
Mile. Eugenie de Gu^rin. She died
like a saint, " as the angels would
die, if they were not immortals," said
one of her friends.
We arrived at Andillac.
" Mosou Ritou "— M. le Cur6— " is
he in the rectory ?" asked Mile, de
Gu^rin in patois of the old servant,
as she entered with the familiarity
of an habitude.
M. I'Abb^ Massol welcomed us cor-
dially, and conversed with me about a
project which he had had in view for
some time of rebuilding the church
of Andillac with the offerings of the
admirers of Eugenie de Gu6rin. The
encouraging sympathy which he had
received led him to hope that he
would very soon be able to accom-
plish his purpose, which will be the
honor of the tomb of this pious young
girl, and her aureola by choice : this
was indeed the only glory that she
desired. •
The actual church of Andillac is
really nothing more than a ruin. Its
tottering belfry, roof falling in from
age, cracked and crumbling walls,
present the picture of desolation. It
is necessary to descend several steps
in order to enter this other Bethle-
hem, whose sombre, decayed, and
humid aspect sends a chill to the
heart. Nothing less than the most
ardent faith, or Eugenie's happy im-
agination, could enable a person to
* On my return to CKoads, a small colledlon
was Uken up among ihe admirers of Eugtfaie,
which amounted to fire hundred francs, and
which has been sent to Mtle. de Uudrin.
His Holiness Pius IX., whom we count among
the admirers of the virgin of Cayla, and desig-
nated by him in a letter as the hUiitd Euginit,
has deigned to accord his apostolic benediction,
and a plenary indulgence, to all the benefactors
of Andillac. Their names are Inscribed la the
archives of the parish, and the holy sacrifice of
the Mass is offered for them four Umet a year.
breathe in what seems more like a
charnel-house than a church, or
cause a ray of brightness and poetry
to enter there.
I whispered to Mile. Gu6rin that I
was going to say Mass for the illus-
trious dead of her family ; and I had
the happiness of giving the holy
communion to the sister of Eugenie.
A quarter of an hour passed in
thanksgiving on the prie-dieu where
she used to kneel left an impression
never to be forgotten; angel, she
conversed here with the angels, with
the Spouse of virgins ; she unfolded
here to the wind of eternity those
wings of light which detached her
every day more and more from the
earth, and which have finally trans-
ported her to the bosom of our
Lord.
On leaving the church, Mile, de
Gu6rin silently opened the gate of
the cemetery. I was face to face
with the beloved graves. The morn-
ing sunlight flooded this garden of
the dead, as if to remind me of that
other invisible light which illumines
the other shore of life that never
fades. A shaft of white marble, the
only monument in the pemetery,
marks the grave of Maurice. We
read distinctly the mournful date,
yuly 19, 1839. At the side to the
right is a simple wooden cross, one
o its arms supporting a crown of
immortelles, with this inscription en-
closed in a medallion : Eu^inU de Gu/'
rin, May 31, 1848. In the rear were
two iron crosses, one of them mark-
ing the grave of M. Joseph de Gu^-
rin, Eugenie's father, and the other
that of Erembert. They died a year
apart, 1850 and 1851.
X remained a long time on my
knees beside the grave of Eugfinie,
in the same place where, overwhelm-
ed by a nameless grief, she wept tor-
rents of tears, where she probed that
terrible mystery of death, fathomless
Isrimage to Cayia.
IS her sorrow ; and whence she rose
kt last, crushed for ever, but resigned,
wilh this sublime cry of a Christian,
" I-et us throw our hearts into cter-
nily !" She sleeps now by the side
.of that dt:.ir Maurice for whom she
'often wept, until the day when they
will rise to{;ether never more to be
separated.
Before leaving, Mile, de Gudrin
gathered a bouquet of roses and im-
mortelles rom her sister's grave,
placed it in my hands, and went out,
without uttering a word.
Adieu, sweet and bUsscd Eu^/nie /
The e^ory which you did not seek
has sought you, but the aureola
which shines over your mausoleum
need not alarm you modesty or your
humility. Il is pure as your soul,
sweet as your nature, religious as
your thoughts, benevolent as your
life. Already it has illumined more
than one soul, and strengthened
more than one heart. It will do
more: it will rebuild this temple,
whence will arise in your honor ihe
hymn of gratitude. J^tiraiisiit be/if-
fadendo /
On my return to Cayla, I thanked
my kind hosts for their gracious hos-
pitality, commended myself to the
prayers of Marie, the holy, and rc-
sumeti the route to Toulouse.
I have brought you several souve-
nirs from Cayla, some drawings, one
of Eugenie's autographs, a few flow-
ers, and a bunch of immortelles,
which will be relics for you.
To M. i.'Abee L., Quebec.
DATES.
"M. Joseph de Gudin died in iBsr,
age 70 rears,
" .Mailame Joseph de GuArIn, nie Cer-
tnide de hontenilJes, died (n iStq.
" Kr«Ribett, bam Januaiy, l3o3, died
Uccritibvr 16, 1S50.
" £ug£nic, bom Januarjr 35, l305. died
Mar ar. 184S.
" Marie, bora August 90. t9o6.
"Maurice, born August \t^ 1818,
July 19, iSj^"
LATKX.
December ao, 186^
Since my return 10 Canada, «»«■
ral pleusani little i)arceld have
sent me from Cayla, among
three different views of the chdtea:
map of the parish of Andillac, a |)ho-
tograph of the church, and of the
cemetery in which are the graves of
Maurice and Eugenie, the liken
of Maurice, Marie, and Carulioc
GuSn'n.
The only picture which exists
F.ug^nie is a simple i^en-ond
sketch, scarcely ouihoed, which
sent mc by the editor of Eu
works, M. 'I'ributien.
Antong these precious soi
from Cayla, I must also mention an
unpublished letter from Henry V.,
Count de Chambord, and another
from Cardinal de Villecourt, withodt
counting those addressed to me bjr
Marie de Gu^riu, several of which
would not do discredit to the coU
lion of Euginie's. I will only
from one of them a short
in which she alludes to our
Canadian Zouaves :
" I am so cdi6cd lo see the devo-
tion of the Canadians to our Holy
Father the Pope. Your young
leave for Rome, as did the r
of old, for Palestine, at this
God wUh U. I.et us hope t
plenitude of generosity will not
without a happy result. Alrcj<
they have given an example at M
tana; if necessary they will repeat
.,.."— Zet/er daUd yanuary
30, 1 86a.
LETTER KROH HENRV V., COUKT tW
CHAMBUKD.
FKOHSDOitr. June tg, 164.
I recollect, mademoiselle^ haWng
ro<
Sonnet.
603
read several years ago, with much in-
terest, some remarkable extracts from
the works of M. Maurice de Gu6rin, a
young writer cut down in the flower
of his age and talents. I could not,
then, fail to welcome with a peculiar
satisfaction the book of Mile. £ug6-
nie de Gu6rin, faithful mirror in
which is so constantly reflected the
twofold affection that filled her life —
the love of God and her tenderness
for her brother, sweet lesson and
touching example of that ardent,
lively, and resigned faith which, in
the midst of the sorrows of this
world, only finds consolation in
looking toward heaven, where those
whom we love here below, separated
from us in an instant by death, are
united again never more to be parted.
I must not defer any longer saying
to you how much I appreciate this
gift, and, above all, the pious motive
which prompted it — as well as the
expressions of devotion and attach-
ment with which it was accompa-
nied, in your name, as well as in that
of your sister-in-law. To M. Trfibu-
tien and his daughter I beg you
win also express my gratitude.
Accept for yourself, with many
thanks, the assurance of my very
sincere sentiments. Henri.
To Mlle. Marie de Guerin.
SONNET.
Italian " Unification " in 1861.
The land which Improvisatore's throng
With one light bound would " freedom " improvise,
Freedom by England dragged from raging seas
Through centuries of wrestling right and wrong.
The gamesters crowned, their loaded dice downflung,
Divide their gains; • while — shamelessly at ease —
Gold-spangled fortune, tinselled to the knees,
Runs on the tight rope of the state new-strung !
O liberty, stem goddess, sad and grave,
To whom are dear the hearts that watch and wait.
The hand laborious, strenuous as the glaive,
The strong, staid head, the soul supreme o'er fate,
With what slow scorn thou tum'st, incensed of mien.
From mimic freedom's operatic scene !
Aubrey de Verb.
* Napoleon got Nice and Savoy ; Victor Emanuel, the Papal States. Ererr wise aad religlout
man must desire that Italy should be Tree. The greatest enemy to true and f«rm»ntnt Trecdom Is
that falae freedom which divorces itself fron Justice that it may wed itself to fortune.
6o4
Tke House of Yorke.
THE HOUSE OF YORKE.
CHAPTER IX.
TWO TEAU AFTEh
A HEAVY heart is a wonderful as-
sistant in acquiring repose of man-
ner, it weighs so on the impulses and
desires, and llius Hec|>s them in or-
der — fortunately for Mis. Jane Row-
an. On the whole, slie Iwhavcd very
wcU in her new situation, and did
not &ct herself nor the family too
much. By the gentleman of the
house and his daughter she was not
treated as a hired servant,, but as Mr.
Williams's sister might have been
treated, if he had had one to take
charge of his establishment. With
the bister-inlaw, Mrs. Bond, and the
servants, it was otherwise. The for-
mer was one of those persons who
merit pity, front the fact that they
can nevL-r feel the delight of a gene-
rous emotion. Slie worshipped the
guinea's stamp, but the prcciuusncss
of fme gold i-hc knew nut : fur her,
the guinea might as wet) have been
made of copfjer. If she had been
bom to a servile estate, she would
have remained there, and adorned
her position ; but she had been asso-
ciated with persons of respectability
and even of eminence. 'I he advan-
t.ige5 of this association she showed
in that the arrogance widi which she
treated her supposed inferiors was
cold and i|uiet, and her subservience
to her acknowledged superiors had
an air of pergonal fondness.
This woman's greatest fear was
lest some one shoiild marry her bro-
thir-in bw, in consequence of whicb
she labored incessantly to remove
(rora Lun all clangerous acquaintan-
ces ; her second source of terror was
that her niece might be captiviled
by some ineligible person, and the
result was that every hovering mao>
sicur and professor who os&utcd ia
educating the young woman wai
watched as if he had bcca a pick-
pocket. Helen Williams used to
complain bitterly to the hnusekeep-
cr of this espionage, and Mn. Hood
used as strenuously to invrtkc the
aid of the housekeeper in . ;
so that the unfortunate w ^
between two 6res, and sconhcd ])CO
and con. But the great trial of bcr
life was the servants. Over th«M
potentates she w.-is supposed to rti-
ercisc some authority, and for 80fi*e
of their doings she was held respon-
sible; but the fact was thai cl
laughed her to scoro. As to c<
raanding them, Mrs. Rowan
as soon have thought of c
ing the lancers or the cadet
indeed the lanccis or the cadet
quite as soon have thought of obey-
ing her. But through all these
annoyances, tlianks to sorrow,
quieter, she walked with a gcnl
patience which saved her from
rious hurt.
Happily, the person on whom
fortunes most depended put herqi
at CISC in his regard. Mr. \ViIliat
was moderately kind, not exprctoii
ly polite, and did not scruple to
her useful. He liad also certain
bits which »ooihed her sense of inl
rioriiy, since she did not cot
them polite : he reached across
otwy- J
gcnl^H
B
The House of Yorke.
605
table sometimes in a shocking man-
ner to help himself, he bolted his
food when he was in haste, he smok-
ed a pipe in the sitting-room without
asking leave, and, while smoking, ha-
bitually assumed a position contrary
to the apparent intention of nature,
by placing his feet higher than his
head. There were times when the
housekeeper dared to think that she
was almost as much a lady as Mr.
Williams was a gentleman. But she
liked hira all the better for his defi-
ciencies. She liked him, too, for the
interest he took in her son.
In the fall, Mr. Williams and Ma-
jor Cleaveland had entered into part-
nership, and enlarged their shipping
interests, and the former had said to
Mrs. Rowan of Dick, " If the boy
continues to do well, we must give
him a ship."
The mother's heart beat high. In
two years Dick would come back,
and then perhaps Mr. Williams would
remember his promise. That her son
would deserve such favor she never
doubted. Young Mr. Rowan had
the power of inspiring every one who
knew him with entire confidence. So
the mother set herself to endure and
count away the months to the com-
ing home of her son. The winter
melted, and spring came — six months
nearer 1 The summer glowed, and
grew chilly into autumn — «nly a year
longer ! A second winter wore itself
away — but six months left ! and what
you can have back again in six
months, you touch already. Six
months is only twenty-four weeks ;
and, while you are counting them, the
four have slipped away. What sig-
nifies five months ? One sleeps
through nearly a third of them, which
leaves three months of conscious
waiting. Hearts do not count frac-
tions. Three months — and now they
begin to drag. It is July, and that
month has so many days, and the
days have so many hours in them,
and the houre are so long. You be-
gin to fancy that heat dilates time as
well as metals. You say that it is
just your luck that the only time in
the year when two months in succes-
sion have thirty-one days should be
precisely this time. Good-by to Ju-
ly ! I would have spoken you more
courteously, O month of Caesar ! had
you not stood between my fiiend and
me. Not Cjesar's self may do that 1
Two months now; but much may
happen in that time : kingdoms have
been lost and won in less. Fade, O
summer flowers ! for ye can bloom
again when love is dead. Hasten,
O fruitful autumn ! and bring the
harvest long waited for. The weeks
grow less, and only one is left ; but
you dare not rejoice ; so much may
happen in a week ! Days roll round
with an audible jar, as if you heard
the earth buzz on her axis, and only
one is left. O God ! how much may
happen in a day I The pendulum
swings entangled in your heart-strings,
the minutes march like armed men.
Merciful Father ! hearts have broken
in a minute. Yes; but hearts that
were sinking have grown glad in a
minute, shall grow glad, Deo volente.
The terribje if that held his skeleton
finger up before the face of your
hope, that drove sleep from your
eyes, that weighed upon you cease-
lessly, shall fade to a shadow, and
the shadow shall disappear in sun-
shine — Deo volente /
The sea was smooth — ^perhaps the
prayers of the mother had smoothed
it ; the sky was sunny — it may have
been for that mother's sak6j and one
blessed tide that came running up
the harbor, ripple after ripple falling
on the shore like breathless messen-
gers, brought a ship in from the
East with a precious freight for the
owners, and for Mrs. Rowan a freight
more precious than if the ship* had
htxM pilctl Tor her niasl-bigh with
gold.
A young man's handsome bronzed
face looked eagerly through ihc rig-
ging, and saw a. carriage drawn up
dose tu the wharf, a man standing
beside the open door of it, and a
woman's pale face leaning out. The
pale face turned red as he looked,
and his raother's hands were stretch-
ed toward him.
"O Dick! my own boy!"
"Jump right in and go home with
your mother/' said Mr. Williams.
'• I want to see the captain."
And this reminds us that we are
before our story. Several notable
incidents had occurred in Mrs. Row-
an's life before that happy day. One
was that, on the first of September,
just a month before, Mr. Williams
had asked her to be his wife. The
two were sitting together after tea,
Helen having gone to a concert with
her aunt. Mrs. Rowan was hem-
ming handkerchiefs for Mr. Williams,
and thinking of Dick, wondering
where he was and what he might be
doing just at that moment, and Mr.
Williams was glancing over the /iir-
fting H'st, and thinkmg of himself
and his companion.
If the President of the United
States, at that time General Taylor,
had sent Daniel Webster as his am-
bassador (0 invite Mrs. Rowan to
preside over the While House for
htm. she could not have been more
astonished.
Tliere was nothing amazing in the
manner of the proposal, however,
Mr. Williams had just been reading
an editorial on the " Wilmoi provi-
so," ami, h3\^ng finished it, look
his pipe from liis mouth, glanced
across the table on which his elbow
leaned, .ind said quietly, " I've been
thinking that we may as well get
married, as we shall probably always
live together. Helen and Dick will
some time build nests of their own,
and they won't want cither of ui. 1
shall treat you as well as I always
ha\-e, and I hope you wiU be sil*
islied with that, and I shall do some-
thing fur Dick. I'm rather in lore
with the fellow. I really cannot see
why you should object, though 1
give you credit for being aurprued.
If you had expected me to ask you,
I should have dis.) ■■ ' yoB.
Suppose we should be . iti&ttt
Dick gets home, for a pleasant nn^
prise for liifti !"
Mrs. Rowan haddropped her
and sat staring at Mr. Williams*
see if he were jesting.
" I am in earnest." he
" How does the idea strike you ?
"It strikes me" — she stiimm
faintly, and stopped there.
*' So I perceive," was the dry com-
ment with which he put his pipe be-
tween his lips again. " Take dme.
Don't be in a hurry to answer ; I
am not a frantic lover of twcsv*
ty."
Mrs. Rowan sat with her bandb
clasped on the pile of handkerchicfiB
in her lap, and tried to think. It
would be good for Dick, it would be
better for Dick, it would be best for
Dick. On Dick's account, she could
not dream of refusing; indeed, she
would not have presumed to refuse.
even h.id there been no Dick in the
case. But, for all tliat, Mr.
liams's last sentence rang in her ea
and made her eyes fill. Once upon a
time — so long ago ! — she was young
and pretty, and then there was some-
body handsomer, better c^lurat
more talented than this man, who
a fiontic lover of twenty when he ask-
ed her tu be his n-ife. If<thc had known
better then, been more earnest ani!
serious, that blossom day of her life
had borne good fruit, perhaps, inslead
of an apple of Sodom, and her h
band might have been still livin
T^e House of Yorke.
607
If she had loved him less weakly,
she might have saved him.
" Well ?" said Mr. Williams, hav-
ing given her ten minutes by the
clock.
She started, and came back to the
present. In the pain of the past she
was momentarily strong, " I sup-
pose you know best for yourself," she
said quietly ; " and I have no objec-
tion for Dick's sake."
Mr. Williams had been alittle afraid
of a scene, and her quiet and the tears
in her eyes touched him. " I don't
believe you will be sorry for it, Jane,"
he said kindly. " I have heard that
you have had one sad experience,
and I can promise you that you shall
have nothing like that from me."
A slight shadow, almost a frown,
passed over her face. " You are
very kind," she said in a cold voice.
" But as to the past, no one is to
blame but me. I stand by the man
I married when I was a young girl.
I loved him then and always, and I
hope to meet him again. He was
too good for me,"
*' AH right !" replied the merchant
cheerfully, but with some surprise.
He had not thought that the widow
possessed so much spirit. " We need
not disagree about him. We can
enter into a partnership for the rest
of our lives. As to the other world,
I'll ask for no mortgages on that.
If you run away with Mr. Row-
an when we get there, I won't run
after you. May be somebody else
will be claiming me. I'm satisfied,
if you are. We are too old for sen-
timent."
So saying, he turned again to the
Evening Bisi., and pursued his read-
ing.
Too old for sentiment ! She look-
ed at him with eyes in which, for a
moment, a high and shining wonder
dilated. Why, if Richard had lived
and prospered, and she had made
him happy, she could have run to
meet him with roses of joy in her
cheeks, though she were half a cen-
tury old. She could have been as
watchful of his looks and tones, as
quick to tune her own by them, as
when she was a girl. Too old for
sentiment! Well, it takes all sorts
of people to make a world, she
thought.
An hour of silence passed, the wo-
man sewing, the man reading. At
ten o'clock Mrs. Rowan rose to go
to bed. Mr. Williams looked up.
" Let's see, this is September first,"
he said. "Suppose we call in the
parson about the tenth ?"
She stopped— she and her breath.
"You know we need not bother
about a bridal tour," he said. " And
I think we may as well keep our
own coimseL When it is all over,
I'll introduce you to Mrs. Bond as a
new sister-in-law. Don't be afraid:
I will make her keep the peace. I
am a justice, you know."
*' Very well," said Mrs. Rowan.
" Do as you like."
There was no more said that
night; but the next morning Mr.
Williams gave the widow a short
lecture on the manner in which he
wished her to conduct herself toward
those about her. "You are too
humble and yielding," he said. « Of
course, I do not expect you to change
your character; but, recollect, you
have me to stand by you. If Sarah
Bond should annoy you, stand your
ground. If the servants are impu-
dent, dismiss them. If anything
whatever happens displeasing to you,
tell me the minute I get home, and
I will set the matter right."
With that he went.
An hour afler, a carriage drew up
at the door, and a woman came into
the house, and asked to see Mrs.
Rowan. She was a woman of middle
age, and looked nervous and worried.
668
The House of Yorke,
••I am Miss Uird, Miss Clinton's
coin[>anioD/'hhc announced. " Miss
' Clintuii waiits to sue yuu liglit away.
She has sent the carriage for
you."
"Who is Miss Clinton?" Mrs.
Rowan asked; "and what does she
want of me?"
The companion loolccd at her in
astonishment. Not know who Miss
Clinton was ! But it must be true
that she did not, or^he would not have
presumed to ask the other ijucstion,
** Miss CKuton is one of the first
ladies in Boston," Miss Bird said,
with quit* a grand air. " When you
go to her, she will jirobably tell you
iwhal she wants,"
'* (*annot she come to sec mc ?''
Mrs. Rowan asked.
This lost piece of assumption was
from the future Mrs. Williams, not
from Mr. Williams's housekeqicr.
" Why, wh.nt cin you be thinking
of?" the woman cried. " Miss Clin-
ton must be eighty years old, if not
linety. I am not sure but she is a
hundred."
Having ventured so much, after a
idight lause, Miss Bird went on.
•* And she is like rider, the older she
grows, tiic sourer she ^rows."
" Oh I then, I will go," Mre. Row-
an said at once. " 1 diiln't know she
W.1S so old."
She did not hurry, however. She
-arrayed herself delilwratcly from he.id
tto foot, and came down to 6nd Miss
'Binl pacing the cnlry in a fever of
[iinpaiiencc.
•' Dear me I do come I" exclaimed
hat frightened creature, and unccrc-
Ltdoniously pulled Mrs. Rowan into the
carri.ige. " Dri\ c for your life I" she
called out then to the coachman.
" Js anything the matter with Miss
Clinton ?'* inquired Mrs. Rowan anx-
iously.
" Oh ! bless us !" sighed the cora-
panion. ** Something is always the
matter with Miss Dinton when
has to wait."
They leached the house — a
o1d-fasJ)ioned one in a moiit m:;
blc locality — entered, and wtiit
stairs to a sunny parlor with win
looking into a garden. I'hc
walls of this room were entirely
ercd with pictures, the ccnCrAJ pi
being occupied by four purtraiis
a lady, the same lady,
different costumes, ami .
ages. It was a* handsome incc,
without signs of ulcnt. 'i'hc u
nal of these portraits sat in an
chair near one of the windows.
silvery curls of a wig rlustere^l almot
her wrinkled face, a scjrlct India
shawl was wrapped around her uU,
upright form, and her small hamls
glittered n-iih rings. On a table ai
her elbow were her haud-bcll, ey«-
gtasscs, scent-bottle, snun'-box, and
bortbonniire.
As the two entered ihc room,
old lady snatclied her gLuscsi,
put them up -n-ith a shaking hand
" So you have got here at last !" she
cried out. " Have you been lakio^
Mr. What's-his-name's huavckc
a drive on Uic Mill-dam, iJin.! ?**
•• I was obliged to wait for
Rowan," Bird said meekly,
will tell you."
" I came as soon as 1 was reai!
ma'am," interposed Mrs. Rowan, "i
did not want to take the trouUc
come at all. If you have no b
ncss with me, 1 will go home agai:
Miss Clinton turned and stared
the speaker, noticing her fur the first
time.
" I have business with you,'* she
said in a sharp voice, after having
looked the widow over deliberately.
" Come here I Bird, bring a choir,
and then go out of the room."
Bird obeyed.
" I want to know 3b(jnt that
girl/' the old lady began, wh
4
The House of Yorke.
609
were alone. " If you wish to be-
friend her, you had better tell me all
you know. As for Amy Arnold, she
deserves to be poor. I will not give
her a dollar. She was always a sen-
timental simpleton, with her fine
ideas. Not but fine ideas are good
in their place : I always had them,
but I had common sense too. I
kept my sentiments, as I keep my
rings and brooches, for ornament;
that is the way sensible people do ;
but she must pave the common way
with hers. Fancy a girl with abso-
lute beauty, and money in expecta-
tion, if she behaved herself, marrying
a poor artist because, forsooth, they
had congenial souls I Congenial fid-
dlesticks ! If I had had the power,
I would have shut her up till she
came to her senses. I am thankful
to be able to say that I did box her
ears soundly. Fortunately, the fel-
low died in a year, and Mr. Charles
Yorke took pity on her. Charles
Yorke is a respectable man, but I
am not fond of him. I was fond of
Robert till he treated Alice Mills so.
Though, indeed, it was an escape for
Alice; for he would have broken her
heart. Robert didn't know enough
to love a plain woman.
"The httle Pole knew how to
make him behave himself. I rather
liked that girl, and I would have
done something for them if Alice
had not been my friend. What is
the child like? Tell me all about
her."
The door opened, ** I won't see
anybody !" Miss Clinton screamed,
waving the servant away. Then, as
he was going, she called him back.
" Who is it ? Alice Mills ? The very
one I want ! Show her in !"
Mrs. Rowan looked with eager in-
terest at this visitor, and saw a lady
of medium size, graceful figure, and
plain face. Was she plain, though ?
That was the first impression; but
VOL. XIII. — 39
when she had taken Miss Clinton's
hand, and kissed her cheek tenderly,
putting her other hand on the other
cheek, in a pretty, caressing way,
and had asked sweetly of the old
lady's health, Mrs. Rowan found her
beautiful. So still and gentle, and
yet so bright, was she, all harmony
seemed to have entered the room
with her. Even Miss Clinton's harsh
face softened as she looked up at
her with a gaze of fondness that had
something imploring in it, and clung
to her hand a moment.
*' You have come in good time,
my dear," she said then, in a voice
far gentler than she had spoken with
before. "This is the person who
had charge of Robert Yorke's daugh-
ter."
The lady had seated herself close
to Miss Clinton's side, with a hand
still resting on the arm of her chair.
At this announcement she turned
rather quickly, but with instinctive
courtesy, and looked searchingly at
Mrs. Rowan. Then she went to
take her hand. *' I had a letter from
Edith to-day," she said, "and she
mentioned you very affectionateiy.
I thought when I read it that I would
go to see you."
"Ahem!" coughed Miss Clinton
harshly. " Come here, Alice I I
have sent for Mrs. What's-her-name
to tell us all about the child, so you
are saved the trouble of going to
her."
Mrs. Rowan's impulse had been
to kiss the gentle hand that to"ched
hers, but this interruption cht-ked
her. Miss Mills went back to her
seat, and the catechism began. It
was not a pleasant one. More than
once the widow thought that " one
of the first ladies in Boston" was a
very rude and impudent old woman ;
but for the sake of that sweet face,
which seemed to entreat her forbear-
ance, she answered civilly.
The House of Vorkt.
The qucslionmg ciidcd. " Noiv
you may go," said Miss Clinton, and,
turning Jier back on Mrs. Kowan, be-
gan to i.ilk to her fricod.
" O my friend 1 how can you ?"
cxcUimcd Miss Mills reproachfully.
"You are so kind, Mrs. Rowan,"
rising to take leave of her. " I am
glad to have seen you."
Mrs. Rowan's face was crimson.
U'liat would Dick say to see his mo-
tlicr so treated ? and wliat would Mr.
Williams say ?
" Why, Ahce, she is that John
Williams's housekeeper," the old wo-
man said, when ^Irs. Rowan had
gone.
" And what arc you ?" was the
question which rose almost to the
younj^L-r lady's indignant lips. Hut
she suppressed it, and only showed
her dLsapproval by sitting ^ent a
iDoineiit.
" Did ^-ou expect me to get up
and make a court courtesy ?" pursu-
ed Miss Clinton. " Wliy, 1 wouldn't
do that for you, my dear. And why
should I not tell her to go ? 1 had
no more to say to her, anil I dare
slie was glad to get away. If
pie fell in love with me as they
wilh you, you soft creature I tlien
I might be swcxler wilh them; but
they hate me, and so 1 can afford to
be sincere. It saves trouble, be-
sides."
" If every one pratiiscd that sort
of sincerity, we should soon lapse
into harbansm," was the (juict reply.
" If you only came here to lecture
and scold me, you had better have
staid away," the old woman cried,
beginning to tremble.
The other said nothing, only sat
and looked steadily at her. With
Alice Mills, charity was a virtue, not
a weakucsa. She beheld with pnin
ttud IcTTor thU woman, whose whole
lite had been one of utter sel^slinesa,
who was going down to the gmvc
if^O^^
with no love in her heart for
nor her neighbor. She knew thit
she was the only one who ilired to
speak the truth to Mus Clinton,
therefore she dared not be
She knew that she was the onljr
in whom the lonely old sinner
lieved, or whom she could be ii
enced by ; and it was one of
prayerful studies of her life how beit
to use that power. To yield to pity,
and refrain from reproof, would be
to encourage faults which had
come habitual ; so, tivsteail of cojt
ing and soothing, she only wai
for submission, not to hcniclf, but
right and justice. The time for
Clinton's conversion was so ahoi
and the progress had been so slow,
this friend was almost icmplrd to
despair. " Fiual impenitence " settl-
ed to be wr.iien In those hartl
eyes, on that bitter old mouth.
Miss Clinton scoldtil, then co
plained, then bemoaned herself, An
X'^ submitted. *' Vou know. Ali
I have got so in tlie habit of at^at^
ing people about, and most people
are so slavish, I do not think," ibc
said, wiping her eyes.
That ^^'a& all bcr firicnd asked — a
sense of having done wrong. Theo
came the time for southing, and for
bright and cheerful talk.
After such a regimen, it might
reasonably be supposed that Mia
Clinton would treat bcr next voitoc
with decent civility ; and the imme-
diate happy result of the K
that for that tlay liird esc
ther abuse.
When, a fortnight later. Mis« MQb
told the old lady that Mr. WtlliamB
and Mrs. Rowan were marrieiJ, Mtss
Clinton was astounded. "That ac-
counts for her turning .so rctl when I
told her to go," she s.iid. " Well,
well, I must be |K>liic to Hird. For
anything I know, she may be Cfl^
gaged to John C. Calhoun."
The House of Yorke.
6il
Mr. Calhoun was one of the old
lady's idols.
" Married his housekeeper ! " she
pursued dreamily. " What a pot-
Pourri society is becoming ! Though
now I think of it, John Williams
came from nothing,*'
" We all came from nothing, dear,"
said the other softly, " and soon we
shall return to nothing."
Yes, Mrs. Rowan was married,
and quite at home in her new char-
acter. Mrs. Bond had been met in
open field, challenged, engaged, and
routed. At present she was at home
nursing her wounds j but we may
confidently expect that in time she
will hand in her submission to the
powers that be. They were quite
willing to wait : their impatience
was not devouring. Their minds
were pleasantly occupied about this
time by several things. Dick's re-
turn was the principal joyful event.
Besides that, Major Cleaveland was
visiting them. He had come up to
superintend the refurnishing of his
town-house for the reception of a
bride. His marriage was to take
place in a week or two at Seaton,
and his partner, with his new wife
and step-son, were invited to go
down and be present at the cere-
mony. Mrs. Rowan-Williaras had
hesitated very much about accepting
the invitation, but it was urged by
the bridegroom-elect; Mr. Williams
was disposed to go, Dick looked his
desire to go, Edith had written a
coaxing letter, and even Hester
Yorke had sent a very pretty note,
hoping that they would come. So
it was decided that they should go.
Why should Hester Yorke's invi-
tation be of special consequence,
does any one ask ? Having been
put off as long as was possible, the
truth must be told at last, though
with great dissatisfaction. Miss Hes-
ter Yorke is to be the bride. Instead
of fixing his affections on Melicent,
who was twenty years his junior, or
Clara, who was twenty two, nothing
would satisfy this man l-nt Hester,
the youngest, and Hester he won.
But it was a good while beibre he
won the father and mother. Mr.
Yorke consented first, rather ungra-
ciously, but Mrs. Yorke did not
yield till the last minute, and then
only to her husband's solicitations.
" If Hester is satisfied to marry a
man old enough to be her father,"
he said, " we may as well consent.
The age is the only objection."
" Hester is satisfied now," the
mother said anxiously ; " but she is
only a child. We do not know how
it will be ten years hence, when her
character will be more developed.
She will then be twenty-eight, and
he fifty. " Oh ! I have no patience
with these ridiculous widowers ! "
And the lady wrung her hands.
" You misjudge Hester, my dear,"
the husband said. " She has devel-
oped all she ever will. She is no
pomegranate in the bud, but a cherry
fully ripened. Have you never ob-
served that whatever is hers is al-
ways perfect in her eyes ? She is
ready now to maintain to the world
that this is the most beautiful house
that ever was built; that rat-holes
are an advantage ; that our furniture
is the more desirable for being worn;
that our roses are finer than any
others, our vines more graceful, our
birds more musical. Why, my dear,
she thinks that I am a beauty ! "
A soft little laugh rippled over
Mrs. Yorke's lips. " So do I !" she
said.
" That is because you look at me
with such beautiful eyes," replied the
gentleman gallantly. It was not of-
ten that his personal appearance was
complimented. " But, to return :
Hester will be the same to her hus-
band. Once married to him, she
>T3
The House of Yorke,
will be absolutely convinced that
there is not to be found his e^jiial. I
have no firar but that, ten ycant hence,
if Major Clcaveland should be placed
by ihc side of the most magnificent
man on earth, Hester would main-
tain boldly that her husband was the
superior. No; I anticipate no trou-
ble for a long while. The only dis-
agreeable view I take is, that when
Hester ls fifty, the golden middle age
for a healthy woman, she will lie
nursing a childiih old man of seven-
ty-four, instead of having an equal
friend and companion."
" Dear me !" exclaimed the wife,
**I cannot possibly weep over what
may happen ihirty-lwo years
hence."
And so the matter was settled ; and
now tlie Major was doing his utmost
in honor of the event The house
in Seaion had been already put in per-
fect order, and the house in town was
now, as we see, being adorned. They
were to come there immediately, af-
ter A quiet wedding at Hester's
home.
When Major Cleaveland returned
to Scaton, a week after tlie weddings
he carried two oftcrings from Mrs.
Rowan, one for the bridc-clecl, the
other for Kdiih. Hester's present
was quite simple, a package of pho-
tographic views taken in the city of
Peking, and, seen through a stereo-
scope, almost OS good as a visit to
that city. But Dick's ofTcring to
Edith w-as an extravagant one : it
was a Maltese cross set with eme-
ralds.
Tin's gift created a warm discussion
in the Yorke family, who were almost
unanimous against l^dith's accepting
it Carl was especially indignant.
" E<lith is almost a young lady," he
said; "and the fellow is presuming
in sending her such a present If
he docs not know belter, he sliould
be taught" Even Mn. Yorke was
disposed to be strict. Btrt vt
they h.id all spoken, it wuj fut
that Kdith had a voice.
They were in the sitting-room
Major Cleaveland, who haj juat
rived, and Mrs. Yorke was in
centre of the gR)up. She had q\ _
ed the box, and held the cross Dp
glilteriug against her white haai
Kdith had not touched it Slie xtt
beside her aunt's chair, and lister
while the discussion went on. H<
eyes were ca&t down, and she seer
ed perfectly quiet ; but, while ihc U
Icncd, into her usually pate checks
color grew, deepening from pink
a glowing crimson.
" I shall not refuse DicVs presenl,']
she said dcciilcdiy, when they car
to a pause ; and ait she spuke
went her eyelids. Finduig tliat Die|
iiad no other friend but her, that
had enemies, perhaps, that hts fc
ings were not to be counted, in&tAnt-
ly she came to the rescue. \a be
glance flashed swifdy aruund the cii
cle, it was as though a blade ha
been swung before their eyes.
" Hut, my dearest EdJtJi," began
Melicent, and tlien went over the
whole argument again in her most
suave and convincing manner.
" I know it all," Edith replied,
firmly. " I know what [tcople coi
sider proper about presents; but
is not a common case. I would not
take that cross from Carl, uur
any other gentleman. But Dtck
like no one else to me, and he slti
not be hurt nor offended. He tool
pains to get the present, and tliought]
a good deal about it, and brought it
nver the ocean for me, and was in
hopes that 1 would be pleased ; and
I will not di-»appoinl him."
Mr^ Yorke took the girl's hani
alfcttjonatcly, the di5|>uted jew<
dropping in her lap. *' I would m
hurt his feelings for the world,
love," she said. " Leave it all to m
Th€ House of Y&rke.
I will explain to him so that he
cannot be offended."
'* Aunt Amy, no one in Ihe world
can explain between Dick Rowan
and me," said Edith, withdrawing
her hand. " You have been good
to ine, all of you, and 1 ]ove you, and
will obey you when it is right But
this isn't right ; it is only what peo-
ple who know nothing about it think
proper. Dick was good to me first
of all. Mamma used to have him
take care of me when I was a tiny
little girl ; and, after mamma died, he
did everything forme. If I wanted
anything, he got it for me if he
could; and if I broke his playthings
and tore his books, he never scold-
ed me. I remember once I hit him
with a stick, and almost put his eye
out ; and when I cried, he kissed me
and said, ' I know you didn't mean
to, dear,' before his eye had stopped
aching. That w.is ihc way he al-
ways did. And afterward, when the
children laughed at me, because I
was poor and queer, and they threw
mud and stones at me here in the
streets of Seaton, Uick fought them,
he alone against (he whole. And I
icver cried but he comforted me.
( could not tell all that he did for
«ie, though I should talk a week,
X won't turn him off now. If lie
wanted to die for me. I'd let him ; for
it would be more than cruel to refuse.
So, Aunt Amy, please to give me the
cross. I am going to wear it always."
They were all silent at this first
outbreak of her who had often won
from Cad the greeting of Coriolanus
to his wife, " My gracious silence,
hail !" No one had the heart to re-
fuse any longer, whatever might be
the consequences of yielding.
Edith took the chain, and hung it
about her neck, looking down on the
cross a moment as it rested on her
bosom. ** Green means hope," she
said.
Carl lef^ the room. No one else
said anything. Her address had struck
too near home. 'Hiey might forget
the time when she had been poor and
homeless, but she was not obliged
to; and tliey could not in con-
science quitedisentangle her from her
past.
" Dearest Aunt Amy, do smile
again !" Edith entreated, putting her
arms around Mrs. Yorke's neck.
'* You are not displeased with me !
Don't you remember you told Dick
that ingratitude is the vice of slaves ?'*
" Dear child, you Ao as you will
with me," her aunt sighed; and so
the dispute ended.
One day of the next week, as the
steamer came ploughing up the Nar-
rows into Seaton B.iy, Mrs. Williams
and her son sat in a corner of the
deck by themselves. Mr. Williams,
slightly seasick, was below. There
were not many passengers that day,
and no one seemed to have recog-
nized these two. ITicy sat leaning
on ihc rail and looking off over the
water. It could scarcely be expect-
ed that tliey would not feel some
emotion on such a return to their
native town after such a departure,
and Dick held his mother's trembling
hand tight in his, which, indeed, was
scarcely steady.
A low,sanriy island lay before ihem,
and seemed to toss on the surface of
the bay. " 1 wish I could go over
there before we go home again," the
mother whispered, looking up wist-
fully into her son's face.
" No !" he answered. " Wc shall be
commented on and watched suffi-
ciently as it is. Let the dead past
bury its dead. It is a shame and
disgrace. 1 cannot have it dragged
up again."
He spoke firmly, and his mother
was silenced. She feared her son in
his rare moods of sternness. They
awed her far more than his earlier
*
6i4
The House of
passions had. Those she had under-
stu(Kl. and could soothe; but now he
was growing out of her knowledge.
Besides, she did not dream what an
ordeal his meeting with Kdith's fami-
ly was lo he to him. To her sini-
, pUcity, Hester's invitation and Edith's
wed intercourse with them seem-
ed an entire adoption; but he knew
better. On the whole, it was a time
above nil when he least desired to be
rcraerabered of his father.
As ilicy neared the wharf, they
saw Major Clcavcland standing
there, with a tall, slim girl beside
him. She wore a black riding-cap
and feather, and a glimpse of scar-
let petticoat showed as she gathered
up her rifhng-sktrt. The disengaged
hand was Aung out with a quick
wekommg gesture as she saw
them, and a flush went over her
face.
Mr. Rowan drew back to let Mr.
and Mrs. Williams land first, and
w.iited till his mother had received
the first greeting. Then he took
Edith's hand, and looked down at Jier
as she looked up at him. Her eyes
sparkled, and she breathed quickly
with joy. There was mn, he saw, a
cloud over tlie deliglu with which
she met biro.
" Dick." she saiil ecstatically, after
a minute. " 1 think thai you are per-
fccrty splendid I"
In the old limes they had used each
other's eyes for mirrors : why not
BOW ?
** You do !" said the young man,
tossing his head with a slight laugh.
"Tliank you!"
•' But you hare grown," she pur-
sueil, cnntcmptating him with great
admiration. " And have not I
grown tall ?"
She stood back btushingly to be in>
spccted.
'• You're a pretty fair height,"
Dick said with an air of moderation.
" Come, they're waiting for us. Ii
this your pony ?"
He lifted her to the saddle, thea
stepped into Uic auTiage, and sikc
rovic alongside. He looked at her,
and every nene in bim vibrated with
triumph. She wore his cross oo hct
bosom 1 They had not thought how
much he had dared tu mean by that
" If they let her take the cross, tbejr
will let her take me," he had said.
If the gift had been refused* he would
never have seen Edith again*
** It is most bcautifuV' she siiit
catching his glance. ** I got Failicr
Raste to bless it, and I wear it aO
the time."
Presently Edith began to take no-
tice of Mrs. Wdliams; and as «hc
looked, her wonder grew, Mn.
Rowan had possessed only a visp
of faded hair: Mrs. Williams had a
profuse and shining cfiirflun: Mr».
Rowan's teeth h^d been few and far
between: Mrs. Williams's smile dij-
closed two unbroken and immacu-
late rows of ivory. But for the lin*
geriiig lines in the forehead, and
kind eyes, and the simple ways, E
would scarcely have rccognixed
old friend.
It was time for an eaily dinner
when they reached the houae, a
Edith was to stay all day, artd
hostess. It had been agnred i
under the circumstances, no hospi
ble cares could be expected
their host. His visitors were to a
his house fts n hotel, and do quite
they pleased in it. But in the aA
noon. Major Cleaveland insisted i
Mr. Rutvon should go with him a
call upon Hester, who n i^tied
thank him without delay for t
pretty present he had sent her. Di
wouhl much have prcfcfred rcmai
ing where he was; but he went,
was received with the utmost c
diality by all but Carl, who was not
vi<>iblc.
r hn>
The House of Yorke.
615
But Carl came up in the evening
to escort Edith home, and had then
*' the honor of making Mr. Rowan's
acquaintance " in a remarkably cool
and ceremonious fashion.
" Mother thought you had better
come home early, Edith, because we
must all be up early in the morn-
ing," he said, after a little very polite
and very constrained talk. " Be-
sides," he added, with a slight smile,
** I believe Patrick does not allow his
horse to be out after nine o'clock.
He lent him to me very grudg-
ingly."
The night was one of perfect si-
lence as the two rode homeward
under the stars, and they were not
talkative. Scarcely a word was
spoken till they had crossed the
bridge, and were riding up North
Street. Then Edith spoke in a low
voice :
" Are you tired, Carl ? "
" No, thank you. Are you ? "
'* No."
Then there was sil'ence for a while,
till Edith began again :
" Carl, do not you think that Mrs.
Williams is pleasant ? "
" I did not observe," he replied
coolly. " I scarcely heard her speak.
I do not doubt that she is pleasant
to you."
"Oh! you talked with Mr. Wil-
liams," she said. " Did you like
him ? "
" Not particularly."
Another silence. They had turn-
ed from the public road, and were
being enclosed in the forest.
« How did you hke Dick Rowan,
Carl ?" The question came with a
feint sense of strain in the voice, and
it was not answered immediately.
" I hope you will not expect me
to be as fond of him as you are," he
said presently. " He may be like a
brother to you, but to me he is a
stranger."
« But what do you think of him ?"
she persisted.
*' He is very handsome," Carl said
in a quiet tone, " and he looks like
an honest fellow. I have no fault to
find with him."
They turned up the avenue, alight-
ed, and went up the steps together.
" Carl," said Edith wistfully, " are
you troubled about anything ?"
« What should trouble me, child?"
he asked, with a touch of kindness
in his voice.
"I do not know," she sighed.
" Then are you vexed with me about
anything ?"
" No, Edith," he said, " I have
no reason to be vexed with any one
but myself. Good-night, dear !"
She echoed the good-night, and
went up-stairs, not nearly so happy
as she had expected to be that night
The next morning the marriage
took place. For Hester's sake we
will say that the bride was lovely,
and the wedding a pretty one. But
we will not further celebrate Major
Cleaveland's anachronistic nuptials.
The Williamses were to leave town
in the evening. They dined at the
Yorkes', and went away immediately
after dinner. Edith was to walk
down to the hotel with him, and stay
there till the stage-coach should come
for him.
"And we will walk the very long-
est way, Dick," she said " I liave
hardly had a chance to speak to yon
yet We have plenty of time, fw
they have to go up after their va-
lises."
While Edith ran up-stairs for her
hat, Mr. Rowan took leave of the
others, and Mrs. Yorke walked out
into the portico with him. The lady
seemed to find difficulty in uttering
something which she wished to say.
But when she heard her niece com-
ing, she spoke hastily. " Mr. Row-
an, Edith is but a child 1"
6i6
The House of Yorie,
Uis face blushed up. " I do not
forget that, Miu. Yorke," he said ;
■' but also, I do not forget that she is
3 chiliJ 1 have many a tinie carried
in my arms."
" A very headstrong young man S"
thought Mrs. Yorkc, as she watched
the two go down the steps together.
They went up the road, to strike
into Kast Street, instead of down ;
and as the road, after passing the
house, cca>ed almost entirely, lliey
soon found Uicmsclves in a narrow
forest track. Over their heads hung
the splendid crimson and gold cano-
py of maples and beeches mingled,
and vines ran through ever)' glowing
tone from garnet-black up to rose-
color, or hung in deep purple masses.
The mountain-ash bent to ofler iis
clusters of red berries, and there was
no tiniest shrub nor leaf but had its
gala autumn dress. A blue mist
showed faintly through the long for-
est reaches, and rich earth-odors rose
on til e moist air.
The immense conversation w
was to have been held bccaiod
be forgotten ; scarcely a. word wu
said till they came out inio the east-
ern road, 'ITicn Kdiih fioinlcl acna*
the way, and said, '* 1» it not lovcJy
and they slopped a moment
look.
There was a tract of low swj
land there silvered over with
that seemed scarcely to rise a foot
above it. 'I'hrough this mist showed
a fine emerald-grccn thick with
aud puqjic blooms, imd over it s
a yellow-bird, in smooth undul
as if it floated on a tide.
The two stood there for some
in silence, till that picture was
fcctly painted on Uic memory of
Then they walked on into the
lage. In a few minutes after
reached ihc hotel, the coach
down from Major Cleaveland's
Mr. and Mrs, Williams in it, the
wells were said. Mid ibey were
gone.
CHAPTER X.
A DssrAiiu.Na chaptu.
Aptek all, no person's story can
be truly told without beginning at
the creation of the world. Not that
we would invoke Darwinian aid, or
inquire into the family peculiarities
of the sponge—" O philoprogenitive
sponge 1" Nor would we intimate
that the soul is as passive to circum-
stances as a rudderless ship to wind
and wave, but assert rather that it is
like the steamer, the great struggling
creature, with a will at heart. But
circumstances are strong, even very
old circumstances, and our ancestors
have a word to say, not as to our
final destination, but as to the road
by wliich we shall reach it Coarser
natures get Uieir bent after the man-
ner commemorated by the Moham-
medan legend : some Khhs of an an-
cestor spumed their clay with his
foot when the angels liad kneaded
it, and the dent is long in Ailing o
but fmcr souls are strung like t
wind-harp, and from the long lin
gale of ghosts preceding them
stretched now and then a view!
finger, which sets vibrating some
lent inlicritcd chord. Is it a v '
tng and perpetually recurring strua
of a Gregorian chant, breaking aw*
fully into the pauses of a g
life ? Is it JQ airily riotous
wreathing the slow minims of a ci
ral? Catch up tlie strain and
peat it as you will, all your life shal)
The Houst of Yorke.
617
be a palimpsest with 7> Deum lauda-
mtts written largely over ihe fading
errors ; still the merit of good-will
is not all your own. Or trip as your
dutiful measure may, (angled in that
wild song ; the fault is not all yours.
Many a Ca-ssius may claim indulgence
on the score of some rash inherited
humor.
Does the reader perceive that we
are trying to excuse somebody ?
The tnith is, Carl has disappoint-
ed us. We meant him to be an ex-
quisite and heroic creation, perfect
in cvcrj- way ; and we had a right to
expect that our intentions would be
realized ; did not wc make him our-
self? But just as the clay model
was finished, and we were compla-
cently admiring it, into our atvUer
stepped the grand antique mother,
Nature. She came with a sound of
scornful sweet laughter, which seem-
ed to roll cloud-wise under her feet,
and curl up around the strong and
supple form, and wreathe the wide
slope of her shoulders. " Look you,"
she said, and pointed Iter finger, a
little shaken with merriment, " that
is not the way / make men. There
are no muscles in those limbs, there
is no sight under that brow, there is
no live heart beating in that narrow
chest. You have left no chance for
a soul to get into your manikin." So
saying, she stretched her finger yet
further, and mockingly pushed it
through the skull of our model ; then
disappeared, leaving all the air be-
hind her tremulous with mirth.
Let us hurry over the present of
this Carl with a hole in his head, out
of which nil his ideal perfections are
escaping, but into which his true soul
may some day enter. Outwardly he
is studying law, inwardly he is study-
ing chaos. What books Mr. Grif-
feth gave him to read, wc know not ;
but we do know that the sentences
were like smooth, strong fingers un-
tying from him many of the restraints
of his former education. With Theo-
dore Parker, he could call the sacred
Scriptiwes the '* Hebrew mythology,"
and describe baptism as ** being ec-
clesiastically sprinkled with ivaier "
and having got so far — " What," saidi
he, " Is the use of Mr, Theodore Par-'
ker ?" and so dropped him. The
conversations Mr. GrifTcth held with
him wc know little of, but may pre-
sume that they were not profitable^.
We only know that they were fr
quent. The two were constantly to-
gether, more constantly tlian suited
Mr. Yorke, who lost faith in the mi-
nister. " He has no pity," he said.
** He seems to have studied theology
only to sec how many sins he can
commit without losing his soul." But
this disapprobation of his step-father's
had no effect on the young man,
who was perfectly infatuated with his
new friend. This quiet life of Carl's
had produced a mental stagnation,
from which arose all sorts of mias-
mata. He dimly knew them as such,
but that dill not prevent his breath-
ing and poisoning himself with them.
Perhaps he also suspected th.-il Mr.
yrifl'cth's wings would melt off if he
were exposed to a strong and search-
ing light; but the companionship
was fascinating, and Carl fancied that
he had found his like. ]t was not
so ; they were alike only as sharp
six and flat seven are ; they had
identical moods; but Carl stooped
to where his new friend rose.
One of the fine things the young
man learned was the use of opium.
" It makes you feci like a god
while it lasts," says Mr. Griffeth,
" puts you into a perfectly Olympian
state. Hut I warn you," he added,
with a tardy touch oK consticncc, " it
does not last long, and from Otym-
pia you sink to Hades."
"And then," says Carl, "you go
abotit as Dante did, with your hands
6ig
The Heust of Y«rke.
folded under your mantle, and people
stand aside, and whisper about you.
I will lake ihc dark with the bright."
So saying, he measured out the
drops, ami drank them with the in-
vocation : " Come, winged enchant-
ment, and beat me wherever thou uilt."
Reader, didst thou ever see one
dear to ihee made tipsy with liquor ?
and dost thou remember the mingled
pain, and ])ity, and conicmpt with
which Uiou didst look on his aba&c*
ment ? A man, a king of the earth,
a brother of saints, a friend of the
Crucified, a child of the Most liigh,
grovtrUiiig thus I
One comfort, nature, and not we,
made this man fall so. O better
comfort! he is earning inatmtain-
loads of sdf-contempt, which shall
one day be paid with interest.
Only a few other items have we to
record iit this time. The young lailics
had made their proposed literary
venture — Mcliccnl with signal lail-
inr, Clara with partial success. Pub-
lishers had twenty-five difTercnl rea-
sons, eadi better tlmn the last, why a
volume of European travels would
not be at that particular time a for-
tunate venture, and were unanimous-
ly unable to say at what future pe-
riod the prospect would l)c brighter.
Miss Yorke was not entirely blind.
She (Hrrccived that her book was a
iailure, and withdrew it. Whether
she contemplated any other work,
her iamily did not know. She main-
tained a profound silence on the sub-
ject. They suspected, however, that
she wasstudyingout a novel. Clara's
first stor)', read with great applause
to the family at home, was modestly
offered to a res|>eclable second-class
magaziue, and accepted, with a re-
quest for more. So Miss Clara oc-
cupies the proud position of being
independent in the matter of pocket-
money, and an occasional benefactor
to the others.
Of more consequence to us b the
fact that Fattier Kasle is now set-
tled in Seaton, and building a diurcli
there. Something else is also being
built in Seaton — a "Native Ameri-
can " society, alias Know-nothing.
'Iliis society excited much aiientioa
and enthusiasm, especially in Mr.
Griffetli's congregation^ and among
their friends. All the young men
joinefl it. It seemed precisely lo
suit the genius of Seaton.
Against this party Mr. Charles
Yorke fought with all his strength.
Jt was contrary to the spirit of tbff
constitution, he persisted ; it had no-
ihbg in common with the Ucclanr*]
tion of Independence. The views
and aims of the party were narrov
and bigoted, and ilieir leaders wi
ignorant demagogues.
Uut all that lie gained by his de>
nunciations was unpopularity, and
the party prospere<I yet more. It had
not only the young and the iu6c
for active members ; it had a
encouragement from ^f^. Ontfuth, a
cool approval from I^octor Marim,
and an earnest help from the Rer.
Mr. Conway, the gentleman whom
we left in a soiled state half-way
from Hragun lo Seaton. He bad
preached the next Sunday with ac-
ceptance to his congregation, and
was now settled among them. We
may remark that he has not yet for-
given Mr. Griffcth the mistake about
the pulpit, nor will he be convinced
that it was a mistake. In cons«»i
qnence of this obduracy, the two'
ministers live in a state of feud, in
which their congregationK take part,
to the slight diseditication of old-
fashioned people.
The Serial Literature of England.
619
THE SERIAL LITERATURE OF ENGLAND.
Considering the number of perio-
dicals at present published in Great
Britain, the extent of their aggregate
circulation, and the range and varie-
ty of topics discussed in their pages,
their effect on the public mind of
that country for good or evil can
scarcely be overestimated. A maga-
zine holds a middle place between
the legitimate literature of books and
the ephemeral and generally ill-di-
gested effusions of newspapers, and
appeals, especially to the middle
classes, as it were, in science, taste,
and art. Business men who have
not time to read long histories or
elaborately compiled scientific works,
and indolent ones who have not in-
dustry enough to do so, seek infor-
mation or pleasure in perusing their
periodicals, while the traveller as he
is hurried along over the ocean or
the railroad, and the overwrought
student as he closes his ponderous
folio or lays aside his pen, alike
find recreation and relief in the light-
er and more mirthful contributions
which, judiciously dispersed, usually
grace the pages of our monthly and
semi-monthly press. Books, too, of
late have accumulated to such a
fearful extent that the bibliographer
finds it impossible to read even a
moiety of them to ascertain their va-
lue, and so is forced to form his opinion
of them second-hand by accepting
the dicta of the industrious reviewer,
whose decision, when judiciously and
intelligently given, thus becomes of
the utmost benefit to authors and
readers.
Of late years the number and va-
riety of English magazines have
greatly increased, and we presume
the patronage bestowed on them has
kept pace with their growth. We
would be glad to be in a position to
say that, in liberality of spirit, fair-
ness and originality, the improvement
is equally apparent ; but such is not
the case, and in this respect forms a
marked contrast to the progress which
distinguishes a similar class of pub-
lications in this and some European
countries. Propriety of expression
and artistic construction of senten-
ces, which have always characterized
the composition of English writers,
even of second or third order of abi-
lity, remain, but much of the force,
mental grasp, and wide range of view,
as well as profound and exact know-
ledge, which once distinguished their
criticisms and essays, are wanting.
We are aware that the generation of
able men whose genius once illumi-
nated the columns of Blackivood^ Freh
ser. Household Words, etc., has pass-
ed away; but why have they left xis
no literary heirs, no worthy succes-
sors, to fill their places and wield their
trenchant pens ? Has the English
mind deteriorated, or is it that Eng-
lish public taste has become so cor-
rupted by the unwholesome sweets
of the Trollopes, the Braddons, and
like sensationalists, that it rejects the
salutary food presented it by more
serious and natural writers ? We
can hardly believe that this latter is
the efficient cause; for before the era
of Griffin, Dickens, Thackeray, Lever,
and many other favorite authors, se-
veral of whose admirable novels and
essays first readied the public through
the magazines, the taste of the mass-
es was even more vitiated by the ro-
mances of the last century, hundreds
our tranijatlanlic conlemporaries in
a manner somewhat ditifcreiit. Oc-
casionally they speak of us in jrapar-
ti;il and even complimentary temis,
but generally in a vein of lofty pa-
ttoiiagc, such as an indulgent and
much-enduring father might be sup-
|>osed to use to his erring but not al-
together godless offspring. If we
exhibit a leaning toward Russia, wc
are forthwith admonished to beware
of encouraging despotism; if wc re-
cal our ancieul friendship with France,
we arehkely to be reminded that with
Lngland we are the same in lan-
guage, blood, and religion ; but, if there
is a treaty favorable to the '* mother-
country " lo be concocted, or a Euro-
pean coalition adverse lo the interests
of our mother aforesaid apprehend-
ed, Shakespeare, Milton, and Newton
are resurrected and become our joint
inheritance, and Great Britain and
the United States are instantly declar-
, ed to be two, and the only two, " free
governments in the universe" having
a comraim interest and a common des-
tiny. Occasionally this maternal sur-
veillance is varied by an allusion to our
social or topographical pecuHarities,
really ludicrous from its very absurdi-
ty, while it shows, with all this assump-
tion of superiority, how very inaccu-
rate is the knowledge of our kind re-
lation5. In a late article on the de-
struction of the ancient forests, a writ-
er in the Fotini^hiiy Review grave-
ly protests against " tlic further de-
struction of scenery unique in Great
Britain, and, if represented in Ame-
Tica at all, but imperfectly represent-
ed by the oak openings of Michi-
gan." Now, if an American were
to talk of the extensive prairies
of Caermarthenshire or the pictur-
esque mountains of Kent, his igno-
rance of the physical peculiarities of
even those small subdivisions would
be apt to evoke the severe censure
of out London critics.
Again, in their reviews of Ameri-
can works, the English magazines,
whether through design or from want
of knowing better, usually fall into
serious error in respect to the consti-
tuent elemcuts of our population.
They affect to regard the American
mind simply as a mere emanation of
that of England, weakened, it is true,
by time and distance, but still worthy
of some consideration. How such
a patent fallacy can be tolerated in
that country, our nearest European
neighbor as we are her best custo-
mer, is incomprehensible. We have,
it is true, generally adopted what w.is
good in her civil pohty at the lime
of the Revolution, and tlw majority
of us speak her language as our na-
tive tongue; but w^ are no more
English than we are German, Irish,
French, or Spanish in our origin, tem-
perament, habits of lliou^h:, or de-
velopment of genius. We are all
these combined, as well as somcthiug
more which only the free spirit of a
republic can c^ into being, and, if
modesty would pennit us, m'c could
say with truthfulness that there iscon-
taiucd witliin that word •' American "
all the best elements of every Euro-
pean race. The latest instance of thb
self-deception we recently noticed in
Saint Paul's Ma^zinc, in what was
otherwise a very excellent notice of
Hawihome's works.
But America has the advantage of
the practical arguments of material
prosperity and rapidly developing
lesthetic tastes on her side, and ts
fast becoming indifterent to adverse
criticism. With less fortunate coun-
tries, like Ireland, for instance, the
case is altogether different. The
English magaxiiie writers, when at a
loss for an illustration or " an awful
example," never hesitate to draw on
the history or pretended history of
the sister kingdom for the rei|uired
materials. Wc have before us some
MEMOIR OF FATHER JOHN DE BREBEUF, S.J.
Well acquainted as was Father
Br^beuf. from long study and intel-
ligent observation, with the character
aud customs of the Hurons, he knew
thoroughly how to propitiate thtir
favor and regain their respect. His
manly and courageous bearing dur-
ing the prevalence of the fever, and
]»is undaunted coolness and fearless-
ness of death in the midst of the late
persecution, had won fur him the
admiration of all the nobler spirits in
the tribe. In December, 1657, he
gave a grand banquet, to which were
invited the chiefs and warriors of the
country. He there addressed his
assembled guests on the necessity of
embracing the true faith. In Janu-
ary of the next year, the head chief
of the Hurons, or Aondecho, as he
was called, returned the compliment
by giving a similar banquet, to which
Father Urtibeuf was invited ; when
he came to the banquet, the chief
presented him to the assembly, not
as a guest, but as the host of the
occasion, addressing them thus :
" Not I, but Eclion, assembled you ;
the object of the dclibcr-ition I know
not; but be it what it may, it must, I
am convinced, be of great moment.
Let all then hearken attentively."
The ever-ready and 7.calous mission-
ary then addressed tlie assembly
on the same subjcxt — the true
faith. He followed this up with an-
other banquet in February, where
hill address was followed by the
evident but silent conviction of his
hearera. At its close, the Aonde-
cho arose, and exhorted his waniors
and subjects to yield themselves to
the counsels of the fathers. The
deep guttural expression of approval.
hoi ho! ho! resounded on all sides,
and the grateful missionaries made
their joyful thanksgiving by chanting
tlie hymn of the Holy OhosU Then,
with one acclaim, the cliiefs and
w.irriore adopted Father Brebeuf
into their tribe, and created him one
of the chiefs of the land — a dignity
which invested him with the [Hjwer
of summoning .isscmbhes of the peo-
ple in his own cabin.
In the spring of 163S, the fever
began to disappear from the country.
Now, too, the first Cliristian mar-
riage was solemnized. The wife of
Joseph Chiwailcnwha had been bap-
tized in March, and the two were
united together in holy matrimony by
Father Brebeuf on St. Joseph's Day.
I'eter 'isiwendaenlaha united with
them in approaching the holy com-
munion.
The public duties of the nii:niion
occupied the entire time of Father
Brebeuf. The abandonment of
Ihonitiria, in consequence of the
recent scourge, caused Fathers Ic
Mercier, Raguencau, Gamier, Jogues,
I'ijart, and ChatelaJn to remove that
mission to Tcananstayae, the resi-
dence of Louis de Sainte For, But
they felt gre.it fears about that place,
since its chief had shortly before in-
stigated the warriors to canvans the
murder of the missionaries at Ossos-
sani. But Father Brebeuf. with
characteristic courage and zeal, went
to the village, and as a chief of the
nation summoned a council of the
chiefs and warriors. . Tlie mission
was formally announced on the spot,
and we sh.iU soon see the fathers
offering up the Holy Mass at Tean-
ansiaya^. The year before, an Iro-
Sfemoir of Father John de Brihenf, S.J.
635
her recovery. A council was ac-
cordini^ly held at Ossossanc, to which
the missionaries were invited. ITiey
attended, and were bold enough to
oppose so u'tckcd a homage to a
felsc deity. Hut alt was in vain, for
the whole; country was in a ferment
of excitement. Tlic most abomina-
ble orgies known to savage life were
Celebrated in honor of this new god-
dess, and men were hurr>-ing in all
directions to proc:ure the required
presents. Soon all the offerings were
collected together, except the blue
f blankets of the French, and the mis-
sionaries were called upon to do
homage in the manner required of
them. They resolutely refused com-
b.phat)ce with such a requisition, and,
tu may be well imagined, they im-
tmediately t}ecame the objects of
Ifenenil indignation. Amid threats
and imprecations, and the glare of
llic upliued tomahawk, those coura-
tgcous priests refused to lot a blanket
|go from their cabin, excejit upon
jndition of the immediate cessation
' of all that was going on, and the dis-
missal of the woman. These terms
.were rejected, the orgies were con-
^linued, and peril surrounded the
fathers at every step ; still they
could not be induced to yield the
points. Fortunately for the mission-
aries, however, the apparition paid
the woman another visit, and releas-
ed the French from the unholy tri-
bute.
In September, 1639, new mission-
raries arrived. Unfortunately, an In-
tdian in one of the canoes of their
'flotilla was infected mlh the small-
pox, and that disease was thus intro-
iiduced into the country. The mala-
iy began to spread with fearlul
rapidity, and, as usual, the origin of
■this evil, as of all others, was attri-
buted to the missionaries. Persecu-
tion was at once renewed, the cross
was videnily dragged down from
VOL. XIII.— 40.
their houses, their cabins were in-
vaded, their crucifixes torn from
their persons, one of them was cruel-
ly beaten, and all were threatened
with death. So great was their peni
at one time that they calmly pre-
pared themselves for martyrdom.
They were finally ordered peremp-
torily from the town. In the midsl
of these persecutions, the heart of
Fatlicr Br^'bcuf was consoled with a
vision: the IJlessed Virgin, as the
Mother of .Sorrows, came to console
her son and to conllnn his courage ;
she appeared to him with her heart
trans&xcd with swords. At once his
resolurion was taken ; he remained
at his post of danger and of cire,
and continued his missionary labors.
In consequence of these repeated
persecutions, and ilie constant expo-
sure of the fathers to the renewal of
tliem by the malice of the medicine-
men, it was determined to erect a
missionary residence apart from the
villages and their vicious population,
which might prove a safe retreat for
tlie fathers in time of trouble, and a
convenient place for instructing the
catechumens and others %veU dispos-
ed to receive the faith. During the
years that Father Ur^bcuf was at
Ossossan*-, displaying the most hero-
ic zeal and disinterested charity, he
had met with the blackest ingratitude
from the persons whom he had fed
by depriving himself of nourishment^
and on one occasion he was ignomi-
niously beaten in public Tlie other
lathers had suffered similar indigni-
ties and maltreatment. While glory-
ing, like the saints, in these sufferings
for the sake of God and his church,
he yet saw the necessity, for the sake
of the mission, of a separate resi-
dence. It was this necessity that
originated St. Mary's on the river
Wye.
In the various missions whose es-
tablishments we have mentioned^ there
Memoir of Father yohn de Brebeuf, S.J.
627
deliver the country from those de-
voted men. While the couucil was
engaged in dcbatiDg the qucsiiun of
his expulsion or death, Father Bre-
beuf was making his cxamen of con-
science in the cabin where he lodged,
and suddenly he beheld a fearful
spectre : tlie figure held three darts,
which were successively hurled against
him and his conipaiiinn, but were
averted by an unseen hand. Pre-
saging evil from the vision, the two
fathers made ilieir confessions to each
other, and, thus prepared to die, they
went to resL They afterward learn-
ed from their post, who returned to
the cabin late at night, that thc«es-
sion of the council was long and
stormy ; three times the young braves
had insisied on butchering ihctii on
the spot, but were restiained by the
sachems. But now, sucli was the
state of tiie feeling aroused against
them, that they could not advance a
step in safety. Turned from every
shelter, and encountering death at
every step, ihcy wandered aii outcasts
over the countr)-. IJelieving that
their longer continuance was only
calculated to increase the savage ha-
tred of the people against them, and
retani the introduction of the faith,
the fathers retreated to the Neuter
town which they bad named All
Saints. Here they wintered and spent
the time in instructing the people.
In the spring, they advanced as far
as Teotongniatou, or St. Williams,
where a charitable woman gave them
a shelter. While thus lingering, Fa-
ther Jlrebeuf arranged his Huron
dictionary to the Neuter dialect, in
which he had made considerable pro-
gress ill four months. No sooner
had the ameliorating influences of
spring rendered travelling just jwissi-
ble, even to such travellers aa those
who had been accustomed for years
10 brave every hardship, tlian Father
Brebeuf and his companions started
on one of the most extraordinary
journeys on record. Already spent
witli fatigues and privations, and pur-
sued by danger, Father Brebeuf had
to remain six days in the woods,
sleeping on the snow, and without a
covering or she<I over his head The
cold was so intense that the trees
themselves did split with a noise like
the crack of a rifle. A special Pro-
vidence protected bim, for he exhi-
bited no evidence that he had been
coldorexposed. Loaded «iih tliepro-
visions which he was compelled to car-
ry, as there were no relays on the way,
he travelled two days acTOSS .i lake
of ice ; and while thus struggling
onward, his heart and eyes lifted up
to heaven, he fell upon the ice. His
|>onIy frame gave such violence to
his fall that he was unable to rise
from the ice. After a long time he
was lifted up by one of his compan-
ions, and then found that his extre-
mities were palsieii, and he could
not lift his feet from the ground. Ue-
sides, his collar-bone was broken.
He bore the last in silence, as it was
not apparent. This fact was only
discovered two years later by the
surgeon who aitendetl him at Que-
bec. Jn vain his companions beg-
ged the privilege of drawing him the
remaining thirty-six miles of the
journey in a sled, and at other times
to assist him on the way ; he declin-
ed, all their generous offers, and la-
bored onward, scarcely able to drag
one fool after the other. It was thus
he crossed the level counir}*, and
when he came to the niouiitain;, he
crept up on his hands and feet, and
nllowed himself to slide down on the
opposite side, retarding his too rapi>|
descent with his bruised and aching
hands. Thus he completed his jour-
ney, which for love of suffering, pa-
tience, and humility compares with
some of the most heroic achievements
recorded of the saints. His com-
628
Memoir of Father Jokn de Brebeuf, S.%
panions went forward on olhrr la-
bors, but Father BnJbeuf, while wail-
ing for the next flotilla bound for
Quebec, determined to take what he
styled liis " repose"— a repose busily
spent ill making important arrange-
ments for the niiwions, which his su-
perior knowlt-dj;e of everything re-
lating to them enabled him alone to
effert.
On the passage to Three Rivers,
Father Bribeuf was accompanied by
Sondatsna, an exempl.iry caicchu-
raen, and a party chiefly Christians
or catechumens. They arrived at
Three Riven after a narrow escape
from the murderous blades of the
Mohawks, who were lying in wait
for them. Finding it Impossible for
Fathers Ragiieneau and MenartI to
reach their missions in Huronia with-
out a strong guard, Father Br£beuf
proceeded with Father Ragucneau
and Sondatsaa to Sillen.*, in order to
obtain succor for them. Here, moved
by the entreaties of -ill. and especially
of.Sundatsaahimself. and having com-
pleted his instruction, Father Urebeuf
consented to baptize that zealous con-
vert. The ceremony was performed
at Sillery, on the a 7th of June, with
great pomp, and in the presence of a
concourse of Indians. 'I"he Chevalier
dc Montniagny was godfather to the
convert, who received the Christian
name of Charles. He now returned,
a Chri.stian, lo his own country, bear-
ing in his little flotilla the tuu fathers
destined for the H uron mission. While
FaUicr Brebeuf was dwelling at Sil-
lery, the next flotilla of liurons that
came bore its usual freight of calum-
nies against Echon. They now ac-
cusctl him of being cotlcagucd with
the Iroquois for the ilestniriion of the
Hurons. 'Hti* renewal of ralumny
checked, for a time, his success; but
he continued his prepar.itions and
arrangements for the Neuter mission
and his endeavors to convert his per-
secutors to the faith. He endeav
to persuade some of these Hurons
remain and winter with him, in a
lo receive instructions. Two of the
who were left behind in the chatie,'
were induced to remain, ajid Father
Brebeuf, after the usual instruction
and probation, had ihc consulatio
of receiving these into the one fo!
of the One Shepherd. He also sue?
ceeded in gammg a number of other
Huron converts. Father NimoD
struck with the happy results of his I
bors, resolved lo detain hira another
winter at Sillery. It was during thi&
summer that Father Jogucs came (o
Sillery for supplies. Here these future
martyrs met in the prosecution of lUcii
noble labors ; but soon the unconqu
able ilrct-euf saw his saintly compa
ion set forth on his perilous missioi
over the country infcsteii by llic I
quots, to carry relief to the Huron
mitisionaries. Himself was soon-
follow.
In ihe spring of 1643. Father Bri
beuf prorcedcd to Tlirce Rive
where he was cheered by tiding
of Father Jogues. That holy mi
sionary, in reluming from Sillery 1
bring succor 10 his companions ii
llumnia, had fallen a captive into
the hands of the fierce Iroquois, an
his fate was the object of inle
anxiety. Father Brebeuf now Icaro
that he was still hving. Tlic bol
and generous Brfebcuf arrange
with a Huron, who was going out, to
wait for letters to Father Jogucs a
Fort Richelieu; ihc father, bearin
the letters, penetrated as far as th
fort, but the courage of the Huroi)
messenger failed; he had passed and
was afraid to return, arid the Jesuit
was compelled to retrace his Eteps
without succeeding in conveying 4
word of comfort and cnrouragement
to his captive brother. In the ^>ria2
of 1644, Father Bressaui also, in en-
deavoring to reach Huronia, fell into
Memoir of FatJur yohu de BrSbnif, S,y.
629
the hands of the Iroquois. Bui the
Huron missionaries must be succored
Bt every hazard, and Fntlier Br^beuf
was now chosen for this perilous en-
terprise. Sr-tting aut in the summer,
with an escort of twenty soldiers given
to him by the governor, he reached
the Hurun missions in safety on (he
7th of September. The Huron mis-
don had ever been the dearest object
of Father Br^beuf's he,-irt. Resturcd
now to his chosen vineyard, he de-
voted himself to the task of convert-
ing those tribes with a zeal and an
energy worthy of his former glorious
career. Year after year he continued
his heroic labors; and, though our
pen cannot iullow him, step by step,
through the triala, sacrifices, and ex-
ertions which his seraphic love in-
spired him to encounter, tlicy were
lecordcd in minutest detail by angelic
pens in heaven. Success crowned
the efforts of Father Urcbeuf and his
companions. Perscculion ceased, and
the whole country was becouaing con-
quered to tlie faltli. In August, 1646,
[father Gabriel Laleraant, full of zeal
,ftnd courage, was joined with Father
Br^beufin the mission of St. Ignatius,
which embraced ilictown ofSL Louis
and some smaller villages. By this
time, the horrid superstitions of the
country had given way to the pure
and holy riles of Catholic worship,
and the cross, so lately despised,
feared, and hated, had now become
the object of love and veneration.
Father Bri:55;uii %vrites: "Hie faiih
had now made the coni|ucst of the
entire country." " Wc might say
they were now ripe for heaven ; that
naught was needed but the reaping-
-hook of death lo lay the harvest up
the safe gamer-house of paradise."
" Religion seemed at last the peaceful
mistress of the land."
.Mluston has several times been
made tu the visions from on high
which were mercifully sent to warn
Father Dr^bcuf of danger impend-
ing, or to sustain him under the ex-
traordinary afnictions, perse<:utions,
and sutfetings which at limes seemed
tu exceed even his remarkable powers
of endurance. Some of these have
already been described. To the Pro-
testant and non-Catholic mind, these
miraculous communications to the
saints are but the imaginings of mor-
bid and diseased inlL'llecls. I'ark-
man, in his ycsuits in Naiih America.
relates the following visions of Kather
Jtr6beuf only to classify them as psy-
chological phenomena: *' It is," he
says, " scarcely necessary to add that
signs and voices from another world,
visitations from hell anil visions
from heaven, were incidents of no
rare occurrence in the lives of tliese
ardent apostles. To Bri^beuf, whose
deep nature, like a furnace white-hoc.
glowed with the still intensity of his
enthusiasm, they were etipecially fre-
quent. Demons, in Iroojis, appeared
before him, sometimes in the guise uf
men, sometimes xs bears, wolves, or
wild-cats. He called on God, and
the apparitions vanished. Death, like
a skeleton, sometimes menaced him ;
and once, as he faced it witli an uu-
qu.iiling eye, it fell powerless at his
feel. A demon, in the form of a
woman, assailed him wi:h the temp-
tation which beset St. Benedict among
tlie rocks of Subiaco ; but Br^beuf
signed the cross, and the infernal siren
melted into air. lie saw the vision
of a vast and gorgeous palace, and a
miraculous voice assured him that
such was to be the reward of those
who dwelt in savage ho\*els for the
cause of God. Angels appeared to
him, and more tlian once St. Joseph
and the Virgin were visibly present
before his sight. Once, when he was
among the Neutral nation, in the win-
ter of 1640, he beheld the ominous
apparition of a great cross slowly ap-
proaching from tlie quarter where Jay
Cjo
Memoir of Father John He BrSbeuf, S.y
the cnuntr)' of the Iroquois. He lold
the vwion to his companions.
" ' What was it like ? how large was
it ?' they eagerly dt'inaiidcd.
•* * Large enough,' replied the priest,
' to crucify us all.'
"To explain such phenomena is
the province of psychology and not
of history. Their occurrence is no
matter of surprise, and it would be
superfluous to doubt that they were
recounted in good faith and with a
full belief in their reality. In these
enthusiasts we find striking examples
of otic of the morbid furces of human
nature ; yet, in candor, let us do honor
to what was genuine in them — that
principle of self-abnegation which is
the life of true religion, and which is
vital no less to the highest forms of
heroism."
liancroft, alluding to the same sub-
ject, and to the life, austerities, and
self-sacrifice of Fadier Brebeiif, says :
" 'I'he missionaries themselves pos-
wssed the weaknesses and the virtues
of dieir order. For fifteen years en-
during the infinite labors and perils
of the Huron mission, and exhibiting,
as it was said, ' an absohite pattern
of every reli^ous virtue/ Jean dc
Br^lwuf, respecting even the nod of
his distant superiors, bowed his mind
and his judgment to obedience. Be-
sides the assiduous fatigues of his of-
fice, each day, and sonieliiioes twice
iu tlie day, he appiicti to himself tlic
lash ; beneath a bristling hair-shirt he
wore an iron girdle, armed on all sides
with projecting points; his fasts were
frequent ; almost always his pious
vigils continued deep tnlo the night.
Iu vain did Asmodeus assume for
bim tlic forms of earthly beauty ; his
eye rested benignantly on visions of
dinne things. Once, imparadised in
ft trance, he beheld the Mother of him
whose crcos he bore, surrounded by
a crowd of virgins, in the beatitudes
of heaven. Once, as he himself has
recorded, while engaged in penance,
he sow Christ unfold his anns to em-
brace him with the utmost love, pro-
mising oblivion of his sins. Once,
late at night, while praying in the si-
lence, he had a vision of an infinite
number of crosses, and, with mighty
heart, he strove, again and again, t<
grasp them all. Often he saw the
shapes of foul fiends, now appearing
as madmen, now as raging beasts ;
and often he beheld the image of
death, a bloodless form, by the sitlc^
of the stake, struggling with bou
and at last falling, as a harm
spectre, at his feet. Having vowed?
to seek out suffering for the greater
glory of God, he renewed that vow
every tlay, at the moment of tasting
the sacred w.ifer; and as bis cupidi^
ty for martynlum f^rcw into a passion*^'
he exclaimed, ' What shall 1 render
to thee, Jesus my Lord, for all thy
benefits ? I will accept thy cup,
and invoke thy name : and in sight
of the F.temal Father and the Holy
Spirit, of the most holy Mother of
Christ and St. Joseph, before angeli^
apostles, and martyrs, before Sl Ig-
natius and Francis Xavicr, he mode
a vow never to decline an opportu-
nity of raart)Tdom, and never to re-
ceive the death-blow but with joy.**
In the eye of Catholic (aitli, these
visions and special revelations are
but the fruits and blessings of a re-
vealed and supernatural religiott.
While they do not fall to the lot of
ua ordinary Christians, nor arc ihcy
necessary helps in the little we ac-
complish for Ood and his cliiurh,
it is dilhcuU to conceive how the
saints and martyrs could have per-
formed their sublime actions, or met
their cruel and unjust deaths for
God's sake with a smile— sacrifices so
far above and even rtpugn.int to our
nature — without the aid uf these &u-
I)eni.itur.al supports. The dedication
of himself to martyrdom, and ihc
EC I
Memoir of Father Jo Ah dt Brebeuf, S.y.
631
heroic courage and joy wilh which he
met his appalling fate, could only be
achieved in the bosom of a church
believing in miracles, and presenting
to her children the crown of martyr-
dom as the highest reward attain-
able by mao. The visions of Father
Jjr^bcuf, like othc-r miracles, depend
wholly upon the evidence and cir-
cumstances by which they arc suppor-
ted to entitle them to belief. It was
Dot bis habit to disclose tliem ; it was
only vhen commanded by his su-
periors that he committed ihcm to
writing. They thus rest upon his
solemn written words, and upon their
perfect agreement in many instances
wilh contemporaneous fads transpir-
ing beyond hb sight and knowledge.
To suppose him to have been delud-
ed would be to contradict every
quality of mind and character so
tmivcpially attributed to him by all
I'rotL-iitant historians.
Father Brcbeufs aspirations for
the crouTi of martyrdom were pro-
phetic of his appointed and glorious
end. But to him all historians have
attributed llie roost practical views
iu relation to the Indian missions,
and the coolest and wisest manner
of dealing with them. There was no
mere sentimentality in his nature.
He addressed his powerful energies
and resources to the actual conversion
of the Indians to Christianity, and we
'ihave seen how great were the results
he achieve<l. Hut now, alas I a dark
cloud was seen gathering over the
happy Christian republic of the Hu-
)as. Alrcatly, during the M'lnter of
the fierce Iroquois hordes, uum-
ig upv.'ards of one thousand, had
[ftecretly passed over a space of six
ihundrcd miles of Huron forests, and
on the sixteenth of March iliey appear-
ed suddenly before the town uf St.
Ignatius, white ihe chiefs and war-
riors were absent on tlie chxse, and
the old men, women, and children
were buried in sleep. Strongly as the
place wag fortified, this overwhelm-
ing force carried it by storm, and
murdered its unsuspecting inhabi-
tants. Three only escaped, half-nak-
ed, from the slaughter, and gave the
alarm to the village of St. Louis^
where the fathers were then latraring.
Here preparations were at once
made to o^er a gallant but unequal
resistance. The women and children
were sent over forty miles of ice and
snow to seek a shelter in the cabins
of the Petuns. 'I'hc chiefs exhorted
the fathers also to fly, since they could
rot go to the war. But Father Brfi-
bcuf, wilh all the heroism of his great
soul, answered that there was some-
thing more necessary than lire and
steel in such a crisis ; it was to have
recourse to God and the sacraments,
which none could administer but
they — that he and his companion,
the gentle Laleraant, would abandon
tbem only in death. I'hc two fa,-
thers, says Father Bressani, " now
hurried from place to place, exhort-
ing all to prayer, administering tlie
sacraments of penance and baptism
to the sick and the catechumens, in
a word, confirming all in our holy
foitli. The enemy in fact remained
at the first fork only long enough to
provide for the safe keeping of the
prisoners and the safety of those left
as a garrison to guard them. After
tljis llicy marched, or rather rushed,
directly upon SL Louis. Here none
were now left but the old and sick, the
missionaries, and about a hundred
braves to defend the place. 'J'hcy
held out for some lime, and even re-
pulsed the enemy at the first assault,
wilh the loss of about thirty killed,
but the number of the assailants be-
ing incomparably greater, they over-
came all resistance, and, cutting
down %vith their axes the palisades
which defended the besciged, were
soon in jKisscssion of the towiu Then
^fe1tt&tr of Father fohn dt BrUtaf^ S.%
putting all to fire and steel, they con-
sumed in their very town, in their very
aA)in$, all the old, sick, and infimi
who had Ix^'o unable to save ihem-
sdvci by flijiht."
What contrasts the events of his-
tory present ! While this relenllcss
&lau>;liter was at its height, and the
wonit passions of the fiercest uf hea-
thens were let loose, the scene of
blood, fire, and death was relieved
by the presence of Christian heroes
the most gentle, mcrcifu], and self-
sacrificing. Thcystuod in tlie breach
to the last stroke of the enemy, en-
couraging the ilying Christians to
fortitude and hope, the wounded lo
patience, and the prisoners to cour-
age and (Krecvcrance in the faith. The
palludes of St. I^uis finally were
cut away. The infuriate Iroquois
swept in, and Uie whole surviving
garrison, warriors and priests, were
all made prisoner* together. *]'he
savages rejoiced especially at the
capture of such a prisoner as Father
Brcbeuf, whom they imme<liately
showed signs of torturing, when a
generous Oneida chief, more magna-
nunous than the rest, purchased hina
from liis caploni for a large price in
wampum. It seemed as though he
was about to be dei)rived of his cov-
eted crown; but no I the victors re-
tracted their bargain, and Father Br6-
beuf was again seized by his enemies.
He and Father Lalemant were strip-
ped, bound fast, and cruelly beaten,
and their nails were torn out. Uut
lest some change in the title of war
should deprive iliem of their prison-
ers, the latter were all sent, closely
bound aud tightly secured, to St. Ig-
natius. Here, as they entered the
town, ihcy were beaten and bruised
by the rabble witlt sticks and clubs.
The large and conspicuous frame of
Father Br^beuf attracted a double
&harc of blows on his already bniised
and lacerated head and body. In tlie
midst of these cruelties, he was forgetful
of himself, and anxious only that his
Christian Hurons, who were noir hts
fellow -prisoners, should be encourag-
ed and consoled in their extreme
danger. From the stake to which
he had been tied, beholding them
assembled for the lurturc. he lost
sight completely of his own greater
calamities and sufferings, nnd thus
he addressed them; " My children,
let us lift up our eyes to heaven in
the worst of our tonm;i>ts ; let us
remember that Gotl bchuldctli all
we suffer, and will soon l>c our re-
ward exceeding great. Let tis <fie
in this faith, and hope from his good-
ness the accomplishment of his pm-
mises. I pity you more than my-.ttr,
but support manfully the Uttic tor-
ment that yet remains. It will eod
with our lives; the glory which fol-
lows will have no end." How great
must have been bisconsdation when
he heard their heroic answer, a con-
vincing proof that Indi:uis may be
truly converted to Christianity, and
possess the constancy to die in the
laith. " 'Tis well, lichon," they cried.
" our souls will be in heaven,
w hile our bodies suffer on cartli ; civ
treat God to show us merry; vie shall
invoke him to our latest breatlu"
Enraged at his cxhorlatiuns and un-
flinching zeal, cvcD iu death, some
Hurons adopted by the Irocjuuis
rushed upon him and burned his
flesh widi a fire which they kindled
near him, they cut off his hands,
and while Father Laleraaut's flesh
was cut and punctured with awts
and other sharp instruments, and hot
irons placed under his armpits, they
led him forth to torture and dr.ith
before the eyes of Father Brrbcuf,
in order to add to the agonies of the
latter. As Father Brebcufcuntinuc<l
to s{>cak and to exhort hts Clinstians,
and to threaten the vengeance of
heaven upon their persecutors, thcv
i
Memoir of Father John de Brebenf, S.J.
633
cut off his luwef lip and nose, and
thnisl a red-hot iron down his throat.
P^ven after this, when he saw his su-
perior, the gentle Lalemant, led out
to death, he called out to htm with
a broken voice in the words of St.
Paul, " Wc arc made a spectacle to
the world, to angels, and to men."
Throwing himself at Father Rr^beuf's
feet, Father Lalemant was ruthlessly
torn away, and in a few moments he
was enveloped in Hamcs at the stake,
and his gentle soul preceded that of
the intrepid Brebetif to heaven. Turn-
ing next upon Father Brilieuf, they
threw a collar of red-hot axes around
his neck, which seethed and burned
their way into his flesh; he stood,
in the midst of such agonies, erect
and motionless, apparently insensible
to pain, intent only on vindicating
the faith he had so long and faithful-
ly announced. Mis tormentors were
awed by his constancy, which seem-
ed to ihem a proof that he was more
than man. But they again taxed
tlieir ingenuity for new tortures. An
apostate Huron, who had been a
convert of Father lir^beuf in the
Huron mission, and had since been
adopted by the Iroquois, was the
first to signalize the zeal of the rene-
gade. He proposed to pour hot
water on the head of Father Brcbeuf,
in return for the i^uantities of cold
water he had poured on the heads
of others in baptism. The sugges-
tion was received with fiendish joy,
and soon the kettle was swung.
White the water was boiling, they
added fresh cruelties to their victim's
sufferiiins. They crushed his mouth
and jaw with huge stones, thrust heat-
ed iron and stones into his wounds,
and with his oivii eyes he beheld
ihem devour the slices of flesh which
they cut from his legs aii<l arms.
l,ct us not cut short the appalling
story ; for surely, what a martyr bore
a Chni>tian may have courage to
Three.' and bringing the scalding
water from the caldron, they poured
it over his bruised head and lacerat-
ed body amidst shouts and impreca-
tions, and, as they did so, the high-
priests of the occasion mockingly
said to him; "We baptize you that
you may be happy in heaven ; for
nobody can be saved without a good
baptism." By this time Father Bf^-
beul's mouth and tongue could no
longer articulate, but even yet by
his erect posture, the struggling and
brave expression of his almost expir-
ing eye, and even by his half-formed
words, he encouraged the Christian
caprives to pcrseveranre, and endea-
vored to deter the savages from tor-
turing (hem by threats of heaven's
vengeance. Again cutting slices
from his body and devouring them
before his eyes, they told him that
his flesh was good. Some of Uie
renegade Murous, more fiendish than
even the Iroquois, again mocked him
by saying : " You told us that the
more one suffers on earth, the hap-
pier he is in heaven. Wc wish to
make you happy ; we torment you,
because we love you ; and you ought
10 thank us for it." They next scalp-
ed him, and even after this they
poured the boiling water over his
head, repeating the torture three
times; they cut off his feet, and
splitting open his stalworth and gen-
erous chest, they crowded around
and drank with exultation the warm
blood of (he expiring hero. His
eye, firm and expressive to the last,
was now dimmed in death, and at
last a cliicf tore out his noble and
brave heart, cut it into a thousand
pieces, and distributed it to the sa*
vage cannibals that crowded around
to receive a share of so exalted and
unconquerable a victim. Thus f)er-
ishcd of earth, while crowned of
heaven, tlie illustrious Brcbeuf, *' the
founder of the Huron mi.'ision —
its truest hero, its greatest martyr."
The Iroquois, bow glutted with
\
6j4
Memoir of Father yohn dt SrSbevf, S.%
carnagw-, and apprehensive of the
approach of a su]>crior force, retired
to their own country. The fathers
from St. Mar)"*s came to St Ignaiius
to bestow ilic last lionors upon the
earthly remains of their martyred
companions. It was with dinicully
they discovered their burned and
mangled bodies among the mass of
slain the victorious Iroquois had left.
Their preciou.? remains were sotemn-
■ ly and sorrowfully carried to St.
Mary's, and affect ionalely and reli-
giou)>ly interred. A portion of Fa-
thcr Br^beuf's relics- were subse-
quently carried to Quebec A silver
bust, containing the head of the
martyr, was presemed by his family
to the Canadian mission, and is still
reverently prescr\ed by the convent
of hospital nuns in that city. So
great was his reputation for sanctity
that it became a faiutliar and pious
practice iu Canada tu invoke his in-
tercessinn. There are well-aitesled
cases recorded of the wonderful in-
tervention of heaven in favor of
those who invoked his aid as a saint
in heaven.
Among the many virtues which
adorned the life and character of
J-ather Brtlwuf m.iy tie particularly
mentioned his ardent love of holy
poverty and suffering, Ins purity of
soul, his singleness of purpose, his
profound obe<licncc and humility-,
his zeal and courage, his love of
prayer and penitential austerities, and
his generous longing for the salvation
of souls. "The character of Br6-
beuf," says Bancroft, "was firm be-
yond every trial : his virtue had been
nursed in the familiar si>;ht of death.
Disciplined by tftxnty years' service
in the wilderness work, he wept bit-
terly for the sutTerings of his con-
verts, but for himself he exulted in
the prospect of martyrdom." "Thus,"
writes Mr. J. G. Shea in his I/is/ary
of the Catholic MisiionSj "about four
o'clock id the afternoon, after
hours of frightful torture, ci
John de Br^beuf, the real founder
of the [Huron] mission, a man fluch
as the Catholic Church alone can
produce; as a missionary, unequalled
for his zeal, ability, untiring cicer-
lion, and steady perseverance; oi a
servant of God, one whose virtues
the Rota would pronounce heroic ;
patient in toil, hanlship, sufTvring,
and privation ; a man of prayer, of
deep and tender piety, of inflaraed
love of Gwl, in whom and for whom
he did and suffered all ; as a manyTf
one of the most glorious in our an-
nals for the variety and atrocity of
his torments." " He came of a noble
race," says Parkman, '* the same, it
is said, from which sprang the Eng-
lish Earls of .Arundel ; but never had
the mailed barons of his line con*
fronted a fate so appalhng with so
prodigious a constancy. To the last
he refused to flinch, and his deal!)
was tlie astonishment of his murder-
ers."
Praise has become exhaust<;d oq
such a subject. Would that we might
hope for some nation.tl good from
the sublime lessou he has taught as 1
The red men arc our brothers, Tlie
most precious blood of a God-man
was poured out for them us for iss;-
and God's martyrs have joyfully
given their noble lives for their sal- ,
vation. Might nut a Christian na-
tion, in its power and goodness, yea,
in its justice, save at least the poor
remnant of them from further slaugh-
ter; and say to the ever-ready and
zealous missionaries of the Catholic
Church: " Go, christianize and save
our brothers; we will not slay them
more; there is bnd enough for us
and for them ; we confide them to
your heroic charity. Wc will protect
you and them in the peace and good-
will of the Gospel. Go, save oar
brothers " ?
hi
SSk Ancient Laws of Ireland,
635
THE ANCIENT LAWS OF IRELAND.
Next to written and wcll-authen-
Hcatctl historical annals, the clearest
insight that can be afforded us of the
civilUatiun, polity, and social condi-
tion of llie nations of antiquity is de-
rived from the study of ancient laws
and cusioms, when their authenticity
is guaranteed by existing contempo-
rary autUuritics, and Uicy be aria them-
selves tlic intrinsic evidence of atlap-
tabilily to time, place, and circum-
stance, 50 casUy recognized by tlie anti-
quarian and the philologist. Were it
possible to conceive the total destruc-
tion of this republic with all its ma-
terial moimmenis and hisioncal lit-
erature, nothing being left for poste-
rity but our books of law, the phi-
losopliical student a thousand years
hence would be able to form a pret-
ty correct and comprehensive idea
of the state of society at present ex-
isting and of the nature of the insti-
tutions under which we have the
good fortune to live. From the
large numbcT of statutes regulating
the intercourse oi man and man, he
would deduce the fact that we were
a commercial and ingenious people;
from our laws relating to real estate,
he would necessarily argue that its
ownership was general and its trans-
mission from one to another a mat-
ter of everyday occurrence ; and
from the few restrictions imposed on
its possession or sale, that the facilities
^or its acquisition were comparatively
easy and unrestricted; while from
the care that has been taken by our
national and local legislatures to
guard the life, liberty, and prosperity
of the citizen, he would naturally con-
clude that our right to the enjoyment
of these ioalicnablc rights formed the
comer-stone of the edifice of our gov*
emment.
In the same manner, we of this
centuT)-, looking back tu a country
so old as Ireland, one of the moat]
antique of the family of European
nations, by examining the laws fram-
ed in the early days of her dawning,,
civilization, can picture to ourselves^
even without the aiti of history, the
genius of her inhabitants, and form
compa.ratively accurate opinions of
how much or how little intelligence
and natural sense of justice and the
" ctcrn.il fitness of things " were ex-
hibited by them in their efforts to re-
gulate and organize society. Stronge^^
to say, we are partly indebted for
this opportunity to the ICnglish gov-
erament, never very generous in its
patronage of Irish interests, though
of course the princij).il credit is due
to that noble band of Irish scholars,
formerly headed by the la.tc lament-
ed O'Curry, I'elrie, and O'Oonovan,
who by their antiquarian lore, pro-
found knowledge of their veniacular,
and untiring industry, have rccoo-'
structed from the scattered and al-
most illegible manuscripts deposited
in various libraries the body of tl
laws of ancient Ireland, and have
presented them to the world in the
language in which ihey were origi-i
nally written, with the elabomte
glosses of af^er-years, accompanied
by an accurate English translation.
This long-desired work bears the ap-
propriate and principal title of Sen-
thus Mor, or great law, and contains
all the laws that were enforced in
Ireland from the fifth to the seven-
The Ancim
frff
tccnlh centuries, if we except a small
portion of ihc island whicli was
occupied by the Anglo-Norman co-
lony from the invasion till the reign
of James I. That it was admirably
adapted to the wants and di.s|>osi-
tions" of the people, wc can judge
by the affection and tcnacitj* with
which the natives su long clung to
it, in despite of all the efforts of the
invaders to induce them by force or
fraud to adopt that of the conquer-
ors, and that it was more libcr;d and
equitable than the hor&h restrictions
of the feudal sy»item is proved from
the alacrity of the Anglo-N'onnan
lords who resided without the
" pale " in conforming to it in prefer-
ence lo their own enactments.
L.ikc most of her olher blessings,
Ireland owed the jxissession of this
excellent and merciful code to the
Catholic Church, for it was in the
eighth or ninth year of the ministra-
tion of her great apostle and at his
instance that it was framed as we at
present find it, purified from all the
grossncss of paganism, and freed
from the uncertainty and doubt
which always attach lo mere tradi-
tion. Up to his time, law in Ireland
had been administered at the dis-
cretion of Brchons or judges, and,
being preserved only in the iKJcnjs
of the bards and ollamht (profcssoni),
was deficient in those essential quaU>
lies of all human legislation, exact-
ness and uniformity. That there
were learned and wise lawgivers in
Ireland before the introduction of
Christianity, wc know from history
and from the introiluction to and
the text of the Senthui itself, in
whiih frequent mention ts made of
decisions and writings, but they were
necessarily the exponents of that
limited sense of justice which the
human mind, unaided by religion,
is capable of comprehending. The
propagation of the faith in Europe
created a complete and permanoit
revolution in the laws cf each coun-
try successively visited with the light
of the gospel, and while the darl^ni
of paganism vanished before it,
munici|ial laws which upheld idoU
try were eiUicr totally abro^-ated
modified so as to conform, as much
OS possible, to the benign spirit of
churdi. The immediate occaatoo
the revision of ihc Irish laws is
cd to have been the dehbcraic nit
dcr of one of St. Patrick's scrvi
by a rcbtive of the reigning sov*
eign, but the real cause, no dout
was the desire of the saint to root oi
of the judicature of the people
traces of paganism as eficcluatly
he had erased it from their hearts.
Accordingly, by virtue of his hi{
office, he summoned a conventi
of the learned men of the country,
few years after his arrival, and pi
cceded to execute his imponant re-
forms. His prini;i|kal aKtiisiants
arc iiiforme<i, were Lacghairc. m(
nan:h of all Ireland, Core, an<l Dai-
ri, two subordinate kings, whom w(
may suppose represented the temj
ral authority ot the nation, and wil
out whose countenance oitd sup|
it would have been difficult, if n
impossible, to enforce the new cod*
Rossa, Dublitach, and Fergus, thoxe
poets and professors whose duty \\
had been to preserve and {lerpcti
the legal traditions of llteir race an^
the decisions of the Itrehons; and
two ecclesia5tics, Saints Beuen
Cairnech. The former of ihcsc
sliops, afterward known by the n:
of Uenignus, was one of St. l*atnck^
earliest and lavorite converts, ai
eventually hLs successor in the pr{-'
roatial see of Armagh, ami the latter,
a ilriion from Wales, was remarli
ble alike for his ]tiety and cxteruii
learning. Thus sustained by the
civil arm, and assisted by the advice
and knowledge of men well vened
I
The Ancient Laws of Ireland.
^7
tin the common and canon law,
the saint, in addition to his other
apostolic labors, succeeded in Icav-
[ing to the people he loved so well a
harmonious and Christian code, the
^iiit of which, like tliat of all his
teachings, sank deep in the popular
heart, and defied the efforts of time
and the mthlessness of man to era-
dicate it.
While this code remajned the rule
of guidance for the mass of the peo-
pic, it was sacredly preserved by the
Brchons, who, ihougli not empowered
to alter it in any respect, added ela-
borate commentaries explanatory of
: its general or obscure provisions \ but
when the country was divided into
I counties by the conquerors, and their
System took the place of the nation-
al one, the manuscripts of the an-
[ctent laws were scattered through
Ihc country, in England and on the
iContinent, whither they were brought
[by the exiles.
As early as 17S3, Edmund Burke,
I ever mindful of the fame of his
(native country, suggested the pro-
[pricty of collecting and publish-
[fag in English or Latin those re-
flnaikabk* remnants of former great-
[iiess and wisdom, but it was not till
the year 1S52 thut the F-nglish gov-
[emment, at the repeated solicitation
rOf several distinguished and influen-
jtial Irish genUcmcn, consented to
fiend its aid to the great w'ork, which
from its very magnitude was beyond
tiie ability of any individual or vo-
|]uulary association to accomplish.
|Xn that year, at the special instance
rpf Doctors Todd ajid Greaves, both
[eminent Protestant clergymen, a
mimission was issued appointing
leni and several other well-known
'scholars " to direct, superintend, and
carr\' into effect the transcription and
translation of the ancient laws of
Ireland, and the preparation of the
same for publication," etc., with pow-
er to employ proper persons to exe-
cute the work. The persons select-
ed by the commissioners were Dr.
O'Uonovan and Professor O'Curry,
both thoroughly qualified to perform
so momeiitous and laborious a labor,
and whose conscientious discharge
of the duties so assigned ihcm ended
only at their much lamented deaths.
With the patience and zeal of true
antiquarians, they set about tran-
scribing the various mss. relating to
the old laws, deciphering the Jialf-
oblitcratcd characters of the earlier
centuries, and rendering the peculiar
phraseolojjy of the Gaelic into mo-
dem English. They were succeeded
by W. N. Hancock, LL.D., professor
of jurisprudence in Queen's College,
Belfast, and the Rev. Thaddeus O'Ma-
hony, professor of Irish in the IJublin
University, under whose auspices the
two volumes already in print were pre-
pared for pubhcation, having first re-
ceived the sanction and approval of
the commission. With such endorse-
ment, we do not wonder that, speak-
ing of the authenticity of tlic Senchm
Afoty O'Curry should have said in
one of his admirable lectures on Irish
history, " I believe it will show that
the recordetl account of this great
revision of the body of the laws of
Erin is as fully entitled to confidence
as any other well-authenticated fact
in ancient history."
The principal materials used by
the distinguished translators are thus
described in the preface to the first
volume :
" I. A comparaltvely full copy among
ihe manuscripts of Trinity College, Dub-
lin. 11.3,17.
" II. An extensive fragment of the first
pan, 433. of the Harlcian manuscripts in
the Driiish Museum.
"III. K lir^e fraffoieol of the laitct
part among the manuscripts of Tijnity
College. Dublin. H. 2, 15.
" IV. A fragincDt among the mano*
638
The AncitHt Laws 0/ Itelsitd.
scripts of Trinitjr College, Dublm, II. j.
Of the capacity of rhe gentlemen
above-mentioned to faithfully tran-
scribe aad translate these valuable re-
lics of past legi.<iJatiuii there can be
no doiibi, nor of the genuineness and
authtnticity of tlic records them-
ves. They are not, of course, the
igiiials as written in the fifth cen-
tury, but are accurate copies, as far
they have been saved from de-
ction, matie centuries ago by the
Brehons and oUamhs^ and handed
down by them from father to son,
for the Brchon order was hereditary,
and from generation to generation,
until the beginning of the seventeenth
century. Besides this, by their pecu-
liar wording and reference to con-
temporaneous events and opinions,
they bear the undoubted impress of
great antiquity, and of having been
inlendeil for the government of a
primitive people, who had little or no
intercourse with the outside world.
We have thus before us for the first
time a complete body of written fun-
damental laws, collected and per*
fecte<l over fourteen hundred years
ago by a segregated and peculiar
race, occupying a remote part of Eu-
rope, the only part, in fac:i, of the
civilized portion of that continent
that never echoed to the tread of a
Roman soldier, or bowed before the
edicts of an imperial Cxsar. In
reading over the laws of that unitjue
and ancient [Mroplc, so unlike all we
know of the Roman and Anglo-Sax-
on jurisprudence, we find, not with-
out some regret, wc must confess,
that tlie halo of exalted virtue and
unsullied purity with whicli tlic poet-
ic fanc)' of subsequent historians and
poets led them to surround their pa-
gan ancestors, vanishes like the mists
of a summer morning, but we dis-
cover also that the epithets, barbar-
ous, ignorant, and unlcttcr«l, so
ly bestowed on thera by the v
scribes of the dominanf race, rest oa
no foundation whatever save on the
malice or deficiency of knowlertge
of the Anglo-Norman authors,
truth, the Irislt of the j-t-Tgan
seem to have had nearly n
tues and failings of their pi •
to-day, the former being broitgl
more actively into play under the
fluencc of Christianity, and the 1
ter repressed by the unlimited a
riiy of the Catholic Church and
judicious regulations of the Sntihut.
We find this more particularly
case in studying the laws regulati
the domestic relations nf the famtl
which, being the unit of which
t\- is but an aggregate, is the ok
vital and important part of all huu
enactments. Ample provision is ma
for the mutual protection of h
and wife, and Uic reciprocal
and duties of parent and cJiild ai
clearly and minutely defined ;
we obscr\*e with regret that much of
this portion of the code is occupied
witli provisions for ttie distribution of
projicrty on the disagreement or
paration of married people, and
other domestic infelicities of a m
criminal nature. 'Ihc prohibition
an offence in a statute does not ne-
cessarily imply tlie frequency of
commission of the crime itself; bu!
so much pains are taken to point otjl
the rights and disabilities of peiso
cohabiting without the sanction o
lawful wedlock that the convicti
is forced upon us that they were not
by any means unnecessar>'. .-^s
offset to this, however, we find tfa
a lawftd wife was treated with I
greatest indulgence, bang in man;
ways ihc equal of her husb;ind
in this respect the Sfnchm prei
marked cantra.>;t to all the other Eu
ropean legislation of that time,
which woman was held little be
TIu Ancient Laws of Ireland,
639
titan a slave, and generally at the
mercy of her father or husband, even
in some insUuices to the taking of
her life. We feel certain that our
strong-minded sisterhood who are
so manfully battling for social and
political equality will be gratified ts
learn that a portion of their princi-
ples, at Icabt, were fully recogimcd
fourteen centuries ago, and for their
ediftcaiion we quote the following
]}assage from the expressed wisdom
of our ancestors :
" In the conRcciJoa of cqunt property,
tf wUh equal Innd and cniilc and house-
hold stuff, and If their marriage stale bo
equally free and lawful, the wife in fhfs
CAse Is calfcd iho wife of cquni rank.
The contract made bj' either party is not
a lawful coniLicI without ilie conaenr of
the other, escppt in cases of contracts
lending cqualiv to the welfare of both;
such as the alliance of co-lillaRC with a
1.iwful trihi; when they (the couple) ha»c
nut ihr means themselves of doing the
work of ploughing ; the taking of land ;
Ihc collertion of food ; the gathering
for the festivals ; the buying of breed-
ing - cattle ; ibc collecting of house-
fiiinilurc; the collcclinfc of liners of
pigs ; the buying of stacks and other ne-
cessaries. . . . Each of the two par-
ties lias ihc power to give refection and
feast according to Ibelr respective dlgnU
»y."
In case of separation, adequate
protection was thrown around the
wife's rights of propeity. If her pro-
perly were equal to that of her hus-
bantj at the tinicof marriage, she took
an equal moiety of tlie collective
lands, goods, and chattels, and, in
case of dairy produce and the pro-
ceeds of the loom, Iwo-tliirds. If
the property had originally belonged
wholly 10 the husband, the wife was
entitled to one-third ou her separa-
tion, and if it had been her own be-
fore marriage, to two-thirds. Whe-
ther iljese provisions extended to
their mutual claims after death, we
ajre not informed by tlic glossators.
but it is not improbable that they
were, thus creating estates not un-
like tlie more modern tiower and
courfeiy of the English law. This
equality of married persons was stilt
further extended in the right of each
to the disposal or guardianship of
their otispring, and in their authority
to demand tn return the assistance
of their children in poverty or de-
crepitude.
i'he relations between parent and
child were the subjects of careful
and minute legislation. The father
was obliged to see tliat his daughter
was educated in a manner becoming
her rank, and, when at a marriage-
able age, to procure her a husband uf
suitable means and family. In return,
she was to give him one-third of her
first marriage gift {(oibhthe), and a
certain proportion of other gifts re-
ceived after her nuptials. Should the
father be dead, his son, sucreeihng
him as heir, was :U&o obliged to as-
sume the same res|ionsibilily, and re-
ceived from bis sister a proper equiva-
lent at her marriage. The mother's
duly to her son was similar to that
of the father to his daughter, he be-
ing required to assist her in her pov-
erty or old age, and in conjunction
with the daughter to provide, if uec-
cssar\-, for both his parents, an obli-
gation imi>oscd even on grandchil-
dren. That the father sliould espe-
cially have care of the daughter and
the mother of the son is something
very contrary to the modem ideas of
domestic discipline, but it doubtless,
in a primitive slate of society, had
the advantage of equalizing the
stronger and weaker elements of (he
family, giving to the woman the be-
nefit of manly protection, and to the
rougher masculine nature a gentler
and more humanizing influence.
I'ostcrage, though not unknown
in other countries, wa.s so general in
ancient and mediaeval Ireland as to
I
640
The AncuHt Laws of Ireland,
give it a character almost peculiar to
that island.
It is known to have been of very
icic'iit origin, and to have oiiginat-
in the natural rtilations that ex-
isted t»etween the sept or tribe and
its chief, which was one of mutual
rights am! duties; for, observes the
iS^tuhuSy " every head defends its
members, tf it be a goodly head, of
good deeds, of good moralii. exempt,
affluent, capable. 'I'he body of
every head is his tribe, for there is
no body without a head. The head
of e\'cry tribe, according to tlic peo-
ple, should be the man of the tribe
who is most experienced, the most
noble, the most wealthy, the wisest,
the most learned, the most truly
popular, the most powerful to oppose,
the most steadfast lo sue for profits
and be sued for losses." It wilt thus
be easily understood, particularly by
the citizens of a republic, that the
authority of a chief, thus qualified,
depended to a great extent on the
affection and good-will of his consti-
tuents; and, in order to create more
close rtlaiions between himself and
them, il was cnstomar)- for him to
send his children at an early age to
be nurrcd and trained by some fa-
mily of his sept. The children thus
placed under tutelage were regarded
with equal, if not greater. alVectiou
by the foster-parents tlian their own.
The existence of this custom may
still be traced in Ireland, and well-
authenticated infitAnces of the most
sctf- sacrificing devotion on the part
of the natural child of the foster-
parent to his foster-brother or sister
form the theme of many of our best
Irish stories and historical romances.
The foster-parent for the lime being
nood in the place of the actual pa-
rent, and was obliged to feed, clothe,
and educate the foster-child for a
certain number of years, males till
they had attained the age of seven-
teen, and females fourteen yean,
and the children were expected in
return to compensate, succor, and in
some cases support their foster-pa-
rents, as if they were their actual pro-
genitors.
The statutes regulating fcKterage
occupy a large portion of the Stn-
chus, so far as published, and affonls
us a fuller and more accurate know-
ledge of the social habits nud condi-
tion of the Gaelic people in and be-
fore the fifth century than any other
portion of the collection, or even all
the histories of Ireland extant which
profess to treat of tliat remote c-poch.
Fosterage, we are t4>Ul, was of two
sorts, for affection and compensation.
When the latter, the fosterage price
was regulated according to the rank
of the chief, and varie*! from three
cows in the case of the son of an
0:^-Airr, or lowest chief, to thirty
cows for the son of a king. 'ITie
services to be rendered for their pay-
ments, being food, raiment, and edti-
cation, were proportioned lo the
amount, and seem to havr ' , '*
subject of much elaborate 1-
not easily reconcilable to ou; ii .:. m
notions. I''or instance, in tlv ri:nicr
of food, Ur. O'Donovan renders a
very ancient commentary* ou tlie first
clause of the law of fosterage as fol-
lows:
'■^Vhat are their victuals? They «»
all Ted on stiraboul : btil tlic m4l«rlals t)t
which it is made, and l!ic Rarorini; with
il.vary nccordinK (u ihc rank of the par-
eni« of the children. The childreo ot
llie infeiiar gtiidcs are fed la b^re lafll-
cicncjr on stiiabout made of oatmeal on
buttermilk or water, and it is iskrn triih
state (salt) bQiicr. The %om of (he chief-
tain grades arc fed to saiictr on siirobout
made of barley-meal upon new miLk.
taken with fresh butter. Ttie tons of
kin^t are fed on siiral>oul niiUle of wbrM-
cn meat upon new milk, taken w{lh bo-
ner."
According to one authority, w ery
it Ancient Laws ef Ireiant
641
foster-child should be provided with
two suits of clothing, in color and
quality according to the rank of
his father — blay, yellow, black, and
white colored clolhes for the inferior
grades, ted, green, and brown for
Uic sons of chieftains, and purple
and blue for princes. According to
another, the distinction of rank was
indicated in the folloning manner :
" Satin and scarlet are lor ihe son of
ihc Ifiit^ of Erin, and silver on his scab*
bards, and brass rings on bis hurling-
cticks ; and tin upon Iho scabbaids of
the sons of chioTi-iina of the lower rank,
and brass rings upon Ihcir hurling slicks.
. . . And brooches of |i;old having
crj-sial inserted in them with iho sons of
ibo kinff of Erin and of the king of a
province, and brooches of silrcr with die
Eons of the king of a letrilory."
The course of instruction to be
pursued by the foster-children was
likewise regulated by the degree of
ihc dignity of tlieir parents. The
sons of the " lower classes " were to
be employed in " the herding of
lambs, and calves, and kids, and
pigs, and kiln-dr)'ing and combing,
and wootl-cutting," while the girls
rere expected to learn the use of the
^ucrn, or band-mill for grinding grain,
the useful household art of making
bread, and winnowing corn, etc. ; Uic
young chieftains were to be taught
horsemanship, shooting, swimming,
^and chess-playing, and their sisters,
swing, cutting-out, and embroidery.
Ve have thus placed bcfurc us in all
[jbs siropliticy, and upon the best au-
lority, the modes of living prescrib-
[^ed for tlie youth of both sexes in
Ireland at the time of its conversion
[to Christianity — a record valuable to
[the historian and the antiquarian, dis-
wpating alike the poetic ima(;inings
'Of loo partial Celtic chroniclers and
the voluntary raisreprcsenlations of
the Anglo-Norman writers. It may
be objected that such limited views
vou xiit.— 41
of education argued little for the
civilization of ilie race xvho entertain-
ed them ; but when we recall the con-
dition of Western Europe at the time
the SrwAus was composed, we may
well be surprised at the sound sense
and practical wisdom so often found
in its pages. Nor must it be suppos-
ed that the lalwrs of the child end-
ed with the performance of the tasks
thus assigned him. There existed
another and correlative species of tu-
telage culled litcniry fosterage, which
is thus dehnetl in the " law of social
connections":
"The social conneciiou that is consid<
ertd between thn fasler.puptl and the li-
terary fustCT father is, thai ihc Intlcr is to
instruct him w-ithoiil reserve, and to pro-
pare him for bis degree, and to chastise
him without sercrily. and to feed and
cloihc him while he is Icarning^ his pro-
fession, unless he obtains it from another
person, and from ihc school of Fcnius
Forsaidh onwnid this custom prcv;iila :
and ihc fosier-pupit is to assist hts tutor
in poverty and to assist bim in his old
age, and the honor price of tho degree
lor which he prepares him and all ibc
gains o( his art while he is Icarniag it,
and the first earnings of his an after
leaving tho house of his tutor, are to ba
given 10 tbe tutor."
In addition to this excellent and
equitable plan of intellectual culture,
we also find in the law of tenures
that the sons of tenants holding
tJiurch lands were entitled to receive
instruction from the holders of the
benefices, which, we may presume.
were not necessarily altogether of a
spiritual nature. We thus find that
fosterage constituted one of the most
important elements of society, and,
though much condemned by subse-
quent and partial writers, roniained
within itself most of the duties and
responsibilities which we now divide
among corporadoos and individu-
als under different names. The
importance wliicli ancient Irish law-
642
Tke Ancient Laws of Ireland.
I
[ivens seemed lo attach to this crude
It not altogether unsuccessful at-
tempt to define the relations of pa-
rent auJ cliild, employer and em-
ployed, tnastcr and scholar-— 4{ties-
ttous still raised in this enlightened
age — is shown in the number of the
statutory enactments originally made,
and the elaborate and critical gloiwes
afterward appended to them, the whole
not unworthy the notice of the mo-
dern legislator.
The land tenure has always been
a. subject of doubt and difficulty in
Ireland, and the laws of the Stnchtis
appear to us as little satisfactory and
as bard to be understotnl as that re-
cently passed in llic IJritish I'arlia-
mcnt unilcr the supervision of Mr.
Gladstone. It seems to us, from the
careful examination of the different
statutes relating to it, that each chief
held the whole of tlie land of his
tribe in his own name, not, however,
in his own right altogcilicr, but partly
as irujilee of his tribe, and in this
respect the Irish sj-stcm differs ma-
terially from the feudal, which for
centuries prevailed in all parts of
Europe, except in the country of
which we are wriung. The tenants
were divided into two classes, those
who held by satrrath or daerraih^
terms fur which we can find no equi-
valents in the English language. The
fint chiss received from their thief,
upon talcing the land, and without
security, sufficient cattle to stock the
same, for which they were obliged to
return nn annual rental in kind, or, at
the chiefs option, its value in personal
service and labor, such as working on
his dun or ralh, and following him in
his wars. Tliis species of tenure,
except in the case of those who held
immediately from the king, could at
pleasure lie turnei] into holding by
datrraih, by which the tenant gave
aecuriiy for the stoclc received, and
was exempt from personal and mili-
tary service. The rents and
manner and time of payment vai
according to circumstances, but
ways subject lo the above reslrictiot
and wcre,of course, the cxclusii
pcrty of the landlord or chii
the time being. The rer>tricitons
the alienation of land, or rather
the good-will of it — for in fact t^
fee did not rest in the mdividual, bi
in the tribe as represented by it
chief — were many and onerous;
eluding forft'ltvire and other penaltkc
and were generally dir«:tcd to tl
exclusion of members of ncighbi>rit
or hastile tribes. The agiariaa
lion of the ancient code, in fact,
far superior in point of librnil
th.it of many of the then cxi!
nations, resembled more the lai
that govern our lndi:ui reservattOi
than those of any enlightened coui
of the jireseni day. It was full ol
fatal and mischievous errors
its baleful operation have bi.':
ed many of the evils which ccntui
1>efore and after the Anglo-Norm:
invasion afflicted Ireland. By
ously confining the occupancy of
certain district to one particular
or family, it engendered a fcehng ol
faction, and what might be calU
parish patriotism, which unfurtunatel]
have outlived the cau-<c tiiat gai
them birth, and, by persisting in conJ
sidering the uibal land as indivisiblr,^
it destroyed lh.1t high seii^e of in-
dependence and spirit of r
which can only bi» I'eh and 1
cd by him who owns his own
and calls no fcllnw-man master.
The laws relating tfl distress,
the form of collecting claims, suet
as debts, uibtites, lorfritiire*, eicj
arc the least attractive and in^tmc-
tive ponion of the work, and fc
dense obwurity and incomprehcn-
siblencss can only be compared to]
our own Code of procctlurc- W<
gather, however, from them that allj
The Story of an Algerine Locket.
643
civil claims and damages for injuries
were collectable by a short process
of the seizure of the goods and chat-
tels of the defendant, and the reten-
tion of the same on the premises of
the plaintiff, or, as in the case of
cattle, in the public pound. After
the expiration of a certain number
of days, if the defendant did not
replevin his property or disprove his
opponent's claim, the goods became
the absolute property of the creditor.
With a humanity, however, which
many suppose to be the growth of
our century, the plaintiff should ex-
haust first the property upon the
possession of which the subsistence
of the defendant's family did not
immediately depend, and even some
articles of primary necessity were al-
together exempt from seizure. Im-
prisonment for debt, however, par-
tially existed, and, when the debtor
had no goods and did not belong to
the class of freemen, he was arrested
and compelled to labor for the cre-
ditor until the demands of the latter
were fully satisfied.
Such, in brief, is a r/sum/ of the
laws contained in the two volumes
of the Senchus Mor already publish-
ed, and which we hope soon to hear
of occupying a position on the
shelves of every library of reference
in the country. Much yet remains
of the ancient Code of St. Bxtrick *
to be given to the world before the
entire work is completed, and we are
assured that this will be done at an
early day, and in as scholarly a man-
ner as the portion before us. We
shall look eagerly for its appearance,
not for its practical value as a legal
study, but as a picture of a remote
but interesting era and race, and as
an additional evidence of how much
the worid owes to the Catholic Church
even in the civil and political affairs
of life. The science of true govern-
ment has been a plant of slow but
sure growth, and, while we enjoy so
many of its fruits in our favored land,
we must not forget that the seeds
were planted with so much suffering
and labor by the apostolic men who
have gone to their rest centuries ago.
THE STORY OF AN ALGERINE LOCKET.
In the sunshine of a May morning
stood an old gray house, with a porch
draped in woodbine and sweetbrier.
A mass of wisteria climbed to the
very chimneys, and on the lawn a bed
of red and golden tulips swayed with
the soft breeze. A wren was build-
ing in an acacia and singing, while
a young girl watched his work and
sang also, trying with her fresh sopra-
no voice to catch his melody.
The old house was the homestead
of Holly Farm, and the young girl
was Sybil Vaughan, the heroine of a
very short story.
" Sybil looks charming in white,"
thought Miss Mildred, sitting at the
window of the green parlor with her
mending-basket beside her j " and the
locket is quite becoming."
It was before the day when every
■ The StMtkut Mar was sometimes known as
Cain Patraie, or Patrick'* Law.
644
The Story of an Algerine LaluL
m
one began to went medallions, and
the one tUat hung by a quiiint twist-
ed ch^in from Sybil's neck was a
locket of rich enamel, brouj^ht to hci
from Al^jeria by a midshipman cou-
sb, and quite unlike our gewgaw
from the Palais Hoyal.
As we have said. Miss Mildred sat
at the window of the green parlor,
raising her eyes now and then from
her work to watch her pretty niece,
her adopted daughter. During ihc
seventy years of her life, she had sat
at that same window almost every
morning since &he was old enough
to work a sampler, or to read a paper
in ilic Speiiotor nr a chapter of
Evtlina to her mother and younger
sisters.
In her girlhood, Holly Farm had
been a lonely place, remote from
town and village. The trees, now
rtaing luxuriantly around the hou.sc.
Were then, like her, in their youth,
and revealed whatever might be
passing in the lane below the lawn.
At a period of life when young peo-
ple gaze abroad in vague expectation
of some wonderful arrival or event
tlial shall alter the current of exis-
tence. Mildred Vaughan had turned
longing eyes toward this lawn hour
after hour, and the had thought her
morning's watch well rcwardcil if the
old doctor had trundled by in his
high-topped ch.ii.se and nodded to
her in friendly greeting.
With a capacity for painting that
in these days of pottchomania, dead-
comania, and the rc&t would have
passed for originality, if not genius,
she had received one quarter's lessons
in oil-painting, and by dint of study-
ing a few beautiful family portraits
had acquired a keenness ofperccptiou
that made her hunger for tlie world
of art. With an earnest love for
books, she had been obliged to
devote her time to the care of her
younger brothers and sistcis. And
so, out of her monotonous life, •Ai\
had brought into old age art exa^!
rated idea of the v.3luc of I
and luxury, with a belief in
ties and a regret fur what might na
been generally supposed to bt^Un
exclusively to youth.
This sounds more melancholy
it really was. Miss Mildrc\l
kept her ideal of happiness fr
vivid, and tliat is in itself a
ot keen enjoyment. And, being
devout and trasting soul, ^hc I
framed for herself a prayer out
the thwarted aspiration of her he
and mind : " I thank tliec, Loi
thai there arc joys so beautiful
earth, and 1 thank thee that they j
not for me. Thy will is dearer to
me than the realization of any dreim."
Every one loved to come Co Miss
Mililrcd for sympathy. She believ-
ed in the reality ami the duralnluy
of their joy, in the depth and in the
cause of thctr grief. She did not say
to the mother Mho had lost her Utile
baby, " He is saved from sorrow
and sin." Sie did not say to the
young widow, " You have had the
best part of hfe ; later come trial and
vexation of spirit." She knew tliai
in bereavement the balm often en-
ters with the sting ; that the suinlcu
lieauty of the thing we lose is our
only earthly consolation for its loikt.
K grcnt change had come to Holly
Farm since the time when the ri<>c-
tor's visit was an important evenL
The sweep of meadow-land west of
the house now ser^'ed as carapmg-
ground for the — th Regiment, Mas-
sachusetts Volunteer?, in which
young Henry Vaughun held 3 wrond
lieutenancy. Ununming and t'jfmg,
the arrival of carriage* full of ffayly
dressed i)coplc to visit the camp,
the mujiic of the regimental b-ind oa
moonhght evenings, such w;is the
course of daily life on green slopes
which cattle and shwp had oiurc
The Story of an Algerine Locket.
645
possess«l without dispute, nibbling
the grass and drinking from the river
in all conitciumeni.
Indeed, Miss Mildred's standard
of events had su naturally changed
in that course of seventy years that,
when the lillle while gate swung
open, and a young inan in uniforrn
walked across the la«'n, she merely
said to herself: "That must be Cap-
tain Adair coming to sec Harry. He
walks better than any man I ever
saiir. The maid's hanging out
clothes; I do hope Sybil will have
sense enough to come and speak 10
him instead of letting him knock."
Sybil had the amount of sense re-
quisite for the emergency. She led
the way into the green parlor, and,
leaving Captain Ad.^ir with her aunt,
went to announce the arrival to her
brother, who was trj'ing on his new
uniform, and blushed to be caught
admiring the epaulettes before a
mirror in the library. There was no
need of apology. Sybil was in full
sympathy with the occasion, and
returned to the parlor feeling as
proud of her brother's military outfit
as he of the beauty of the sister lean-
ing on his arm.
Jt wasapleasant meeting. Adair's
frank and sympathetic manner had
won its way through Miss Mildreds
reserve ; and his familiarity with the
world and its ways secured him an
easy victory over his young lieuten-
ant. Sybil was less impressionable
than the other two. Her manners
were gentle and courtcoiw to all, but
it was not easy to penetrate her likes
and dislikes, or to find out their
cauiie. Just a trifle uninteresting, she
was, poor Sybil, like many nicely
poised young persons before they
have enjoyed ur suffered keenly.
The very finish of her beauty, of her
lovely m.T.nncrs. of her pleasant voice
and accent, left nothing to be desir-
ed — no suggestion of onytliuig be-
yond. But a soul so brave, $0 pare
and honest as hers deserved to be
developed, and the occasion for de-
velopment came.
II.
adair's letters to HEyHY
ALLBVME.
Cami' EvERErr. May. 1861.
I iiAU an adventure yesterday that
should have fallen to your lot, my
dear AlIcyne,not to that of a prosaic
dog like me.
Hearing that my second lieuten-
ant lived near tlie c^mp, and that he
could not enter upon his duties for
a day or two, I took it into my head
to go and see what stuff he was made
of, for, Alleyne, 1 am awfully inte-
rested in Company It, and in every
creature connected with it. How
could I ever have lived in that bore of
a city, or slept within four walls, or
used a silver fork! "Going otf at
half-cock, .15 USU.-1I," you say ? Well,
perhaps that is belter dian never go-
ing off at alt. But to return to my
story.
1 went through a shady lane, lead-
ing firom the camp to Vaughan's
house. (Vaughan is the second lieu-
tenant and owner of the camping-
ground.) As 1 drew near the gate, I
heard a woman's voice singing. A ht-
tle further on came a gap in the trees,
and I took a reconnoissance — such
another I can never hope for during
ray military career. A low- spreading
stone house, covered with vines, stood
among fine old trees. Great buiuh-
cs of blue blossoms draped the walls,
and on the velvety lawn were dus-
ters of brilliant flowers. Beneath a
tree, honor bright, Alleyne, if ever
angels do appear in white gowns with
broad rose-colored sashes, it w.ts an
angel that stood bcneaili that tree,
answering a bird with a voice aa
646
The Story of an Algerine Locht,
I
frcsli, an expreision as natural as his
own. 1 stood there looking and lis-
tening — 11 was really very fascinating
— until I suddenly icnicrabcred my
errand. Then I pushed open the
gate, and, walking across to the porch,
lifted the bright brass knocker. But
the rival of llie wren, without letting
me wait the coming of some crc.i-
tpre of baser clay, came from among
the trees, and asked if I wished to
sec Mr. Vaughan.
Now, I had wished to see Mr. Vau-
ghan, and as it u-ould not do to say
on Ao shun an acquaintance that roy
wishes were too completely satisfied
by the vision before me to leave any
want unfulfilled, I stoutly declared
thai I did wish to sec Mr. Vaughan,
and that I was Captain Adair.
And then she showed yow too sus-
ceptible friend into a summer parlor,
where the general effect was white
and sea-green, and where there were
banging-b.iskets of flowers surround-
ed by >incs and soft, moss, and where
on elderly lady in a lavender dress,
with white lawn apron and kerchief,
sat sewing, and where portraits of
rosy-fmgcred dames and periwigged
gentlemen gazed on us from the
walls and read our destinies — mine
roust have been too plainly legible
on my ingenuous countenance. And
the old lady received mc very cour-
teously, and the maiden went to find
her brother, and, when the brother
came, he looked like his sister, and
surety never before was lieutenant
greeted by his superior officer with
such ineA^ble tenderness. And wc
dined, so far OS I could judge, off
dishes of topaz and crj-sial, heapeil
high with ambrosia, and soon after
dinner I returned to Camp Kvcrctt,
and met the colonel going his rounds.
" Vou come from young Vauglian's,
1 see," he said. " Wiat inipressioa
did he make upon you ?"
*' Charming, highly delightful, very
promising," I replied, with a Happy
combination of dilfidcDce and child-
like openness of manner.
He gave mc a look out of hb
shrewd old eyes. •• So attracltvc a
pci-son will be an auiuisition to the
regiment," he remarked, and let me
pass on to my lent.
I am half-a.'^lcep. Gooil-night !
Robert Adaik.
Cwii" EvKRzrr, June, i56i.
Things go on grandly at the camp.
and between ouisclves the colonel
has just said that Company B is bel-
ter disciplined th.nn any other in Ibc
regiment — a compliment I'm very
pruud of, coming, as it docs, from an
old West Point martinet.
And now for ilic second part oi
my idyl. Every aAernoon, Vaughan
and I go up to his place and smoke
awhile in the orchard, 'llicn, by
acci«ienl — it is wonderful, the unctt*
ing accuracy of accident at tiniGf—
wc ap[H:ar at the east window of the
green parlor, ami there are Mia
Vavigh.in and her niece, sewing or
drawing, and sometimes Miss SybQ
sings, to the accompaniment of a 11
charming I'lcyel piano, canzonets of fl
Haydo in a style as fine, as pure, u V
exquisite as the composition. She
— Sybil, I noean — has never danced ■
German or heard /<ii/;/ / Duly
shielded by the presence of aunt oc
brother, she is sometimes taken to
hear the Ninu Ji Figaro or to foc
HamUtt or to some other unexcep-
tionable aflenioon cntcrtainmmL S
smile sometimes to see her absolute
ignorance of life, .ind wondrr thai,
in a village not twentj' mt
from a city where ih^- : unji
riot, this being has sprung into wo-
manhood, unconscious of the e:(is>
tcnce of anything less spotlcM than
herself.
This guarded life has given to her
manners a ccrtaio high breeding that
t
I
The Story oj an Algcrine Locktt.
647
would keep one at a distance but for
lier kind, frank nature. No one can
venture to fancy himself distinguished
above others.
Do you know what this makes me
feel ? 'Hiat hiiherio, and 1 am near-
ly twenlyfive years old, I have look-
eti at women with a coxcomb's eyes.
Any day, any hour, I feci ready to
throw myself on her mercy, but an
instinct tells mc that her love must
be won by something belter than pro-
fcasions. When \ have suffered in
the c.-msc she loves well enough to
give her only brother to defend it,
then I will speak.
Nobks$c oblige — I sec tliat in a cer-
tain tofly sense this is the motto of
her life, and it shall be mine. Uo
you remember what our dear old
philosopher used to say in the scicn-
tific school ? " The belter you be-
gin, the harder is the work before
you." And when we asked what he
meant, he only said, " Noblesse ob-
lige." It is true, whether the ncblisu
acts upon us in the form of intellec-
tual strength or of spiriiu.il gifts, or
iu the old material sense of inherited
rank.
Except the hour spent at Vaughan's
each day, and an occasional visit to
my motlier in town, 1 am wTappcd
up in the affairs of Company R The
life here is to roe most fascinating.
You would laugh to see me with a
set of wooden soldiers before me on
the little talile in my tent, studying
manoeuvres, extricating my company
from the most astounding and un-
heard-of peqjlcxitics. The progress
of my lieutenants ; the health, mo-
rals, and immorals of the company ;
the incapacity of our bugler to draw
the faintest sound from his instru-
ment — in short, everything that indi-
cates growth or decay of discipline
in Company U, seems to me a matter
of national importance.
One word more about Miss Sybil
Vaughan. My mother has seen her,
and symp-ithizes with me. When she
came to visit the camp, I took her
to Vaughan's house to rest. As we
left Holly Farm, she gave a sigh of
relief, and said : " Robert, I feel as
though I had stepped back half a
century. When I was a girl, young
ladies were like Miss Sybil Vaughan."
One more last word. In your let-
ter you said, with an air of superior
wisdom, plainly expressed in the tails
of your letters : " You are in love."
Of course I am, and I should be'
a fool if 1 were not.
Your friend,
KoRKBT Adair.
III.
It W.1S June stilL The laburnum
path was all aglow with blossoms,
and the grape-walk, just beyond,
made a shadowy retreat toward eve-
ning. Sybil was bitting there with
her work lying on her lap. She had
not sewed three stitches. Why had
not i [arrj* come as usual tliat after-
noon to the east window to get his
cup of black coffee ? Why — O
dear I there ate so many whys in the
case, and never an answer anywhere.
Why was there an indefinite air of
bustle in the camp as she looked
down on it from her bower ? Why
was there an undefined sense of stir
in cvcrythiug ?
She watched the sun drop nearer
and nearer to the distant hills. The
air was full of saffron light, and hea-
vy with the perfume of flowers. Na-
ture was so new and fresh in her
June loveliness ; and life was full of
a promise of coming beauty, as it had
never been before to Sybil in any
other of her nineteen Junes. That
sense of stir was in her own soul no
less than in external nature.
Tliere came the click of an iron
htx'l upon the gravelled path. Sybil
Tke Story of an Algcrine Locket ,
half-rose from ihe beiicli, and tlien
sank back again. Atbur stood before
■ her. " We arc ordered ofi^" he said.
"We go in an hour. I've but one
momeut to slay, for I promised Har-
ry to leave Uim time to come and
say good-by."
In tlie white, scared loolc on Sybil's
face he read the right to speak.
But it had all been so hurried, she
thought, when he was gone. Oh ! for
one of those minutes to return, that
she might express to him a tenth
■part of the joy and pain, the hope
and terror, that filled her heart. She
could remember nothing clearly or
■ in order, and yet she would havc
given all the other memories of her
happy life to recall each word as it
was spoken. He had asked her to
give him something of her own, a
ring, a glove, a ribbon, no matter
what And she had taken from her
■ neck the medallion, and laid in it a
little curl of her hair, and given it to
him ; and she had felt his hand upon
■ her head, and heard him say, *' God
keep my sweet, innocent love !" And
when she lifted her hca<l he was
■ gone, and she had told him nothing.
H It could not be a dream, for on her
^ left hand was the ring he placc<l
there — one that she had seen him
wear, arid thought too beautiful a
jewel for a man to have, but now she
felt so glad that he had worn it. He
had said this was to be the guard of
the wedding-ring that he would place
there as soon as he could get a fur-
lough to come home; and she had
■ said — yes, ihank God! she did re-
member saying that, at least — she
had said that no one but himself
^ should take oflf this ring or put an-
■ otiter in its place ; yes, thank God !
she had said it.
Then Harry had come, too over-
joyed at the news of her engagement
to feel the pain of parting. Tliat
memory was full of turmoil ; mixed,
too, with self-reproach that aQ odn
emotion was so lost in bcr new )of
or pain, whichever it might Iw catt>
ed, that Horry's going ga.vc her oa
tmeasiness.
The sun dropped behind the hilh;
star after star pierced through the
darkening blue. Stillness [ay od llie
valley below, so lately full of tramp-
ing horses, and shouting meo, adiI
shifting hghts.
At last she heard her aunt's towc
calling her, and roused herscU to go
and tell her bciutii'ul stor/r old as
the human race, new as that vay
June evening. She wondered that
Aunt Mildral understood it all ao
well. Short-sighted Sybil 1 it was
you who were beginning lu unfkr*
stand Miss Mildred.
One August day, when a sulti}*
fog held the e.irth in bondage, and
scarlet geraniums blazeil like ttA
pools among ttie willed grass, Mia»
Mildred pushed open the HtiJe while
gate, and, with that hurried step thai
iu old age so poorly simulates speed,
hastened across tlic lawn. She gave
a quick glance into the tn'o parlnn
which were vicani, and then went
up-stairs, grasping nervously the low
hand-rail. In the upper hall she
stopped, and leaned against the ba*
luslradc to take breath, and courage,
too. Then, opening the door of Sy.
bit's room, she stopped on llic threft>
hold to see her lying on ihc floor
with a newspaper crushed in bcr
hand. A bulletin in the village pott-
office had told her all : " Foun<l dead
on the field. Captain RoU-rt .-Vdoir, H
— Ih Regt. Mass. Vols." They lifted Vj
Sybil up and laid her on her bed.
aie did not " strive nor cry," but in
that fir^t grief it pleased God to
measure her jwwer of endurance.
It wxt not in victory tiial Adah^
had t';iticn, but in one of ihnnc rn>
gagcmcnis where, humanly speak-
ing, life seems thrown away. But
I
The Story of an Algerint Locket.
649
sucli thoughts should not disturb the
raoumtrs cradled in the providence
of God. Hi: chooses the time and
the occasion, and what is lost in tlie
current of human events he gathers
up and cherishes.
Wet-ks passed away. Letters came
—precious in their recognition of
Adair's high integrity, his courage,
his compassion ; letters, loo, from
his mother, far away in her summer
home, acknowledging Sybil as one
with her in love and bcrcivement.
But she lay, white and listless, on her
bed, taking little notice of anything
except in the expression of gratitude.
Harder than anything eUe for her
aunt to bear was the pathos of Sy-
bil's resignation.
Tlitrre came a soft aftenioon, early
in September, when for the first time
Sybil's easy-chair was placed in the
open air, under a striped awning that
made an out-door room on the west
side of Holly Farmhouse. Here she
could be sheltered from the direct
rays of the sun, and yet enjoy the
trees and flowers.
Great velvet bees hid their heads
buzzing iti the freshly-opened cups
of the day-lilies; a humming-bird
dipped his dainty beak into the
sweet-peas, and then flashed away
to hide himself" among the nastur-
tiums pouring in a golden stream
over a broken tree-trunk on the
lawn.
Amid the glow of nature, Sybil
ikcd very wan and frail. She had
begun to think a little now, and her
thoughts ran thus: "I am resigned
to God's will. I've not the shadow
a doubt that this is all right. I
more than willing to die; I am
"willing to live, If only t^ere is a thread
to hold by — a stone, a slick, a straw
to begin to buitd my Itfc upon. Other
women have borne this and lived.
I've seen them going about among
ir fellow- creatures, talking, smil-
ing, laughing, when others talked,
and smiled, and laughed. I havftj
no more sensibility than they. What
X have lost was perfect; but what
they had lost was perfect, perhaps,
to them. 1 don't rebel, but 1 am
dying of pain. It goes on, and on,
and on; if it would slop but for ten
minutes and let me t.ike breath, I
think I could catch liold of something
on earth and begin to live again.
There's that dear Aunt Mildred com-
ing through the hail. Now, I wiii\
give her a free, happy smile, and'
lighten her burden if I cannot hghten
my own."
Miss Mildred held in her two hands
a great vase of spreading golden-rod,
which she set down on the liulc gar-
den Liblc. Just where she had placed
it, against a background of dark-greeij
leav«, it made so beautiful a picture
that Sybil uttered an exclamation of
surprise and pleasure. There was a
delighted look on her aunt's sweet
old face that made her think : " Here
is something to hold on by; here is
something to build on, if only I am
generous enough to try."
Miss Mildred arranged the cushions
in Sybil's chair, and then took her
hand vcr)- gently.
"There is a man in the hall, dear,
who brings you a little packet froittj
Virginia. Can you see him ?"
" Yes; at once, if you like. Please
let him come out here. I can talk
to him better in the open air."
He came — a shy, elderly man,
whom Sybil remembered seeing
once at the camp. He stood awk-
wardly, shining his military hat from
hand to hand, till she asked him (0
sit down near her, and said a few re-
assuring words. Then, seeing that
he was struggling to conquer his
emoijon, she fixed her eyes on the
vase of flowers, trying to keep down
the impatience struggling within
her.
The Story ofa^At^rmt
" My name is Abel, lady," he said,
at length. " May be you've heard
the cap'a say as how I couldn't play
the bugle, at the camp below there.
The folks alt said 1 couldn't learn, I
was so old and dull ; but he alius be-
lieved everybody was good for some-
thing, he did."
Sybil was leaning forward, breath-
less to hear more.
*' J remember you," she said. " Oh !
do go on. Tull mc everj-thing — every
liulc thing about it all."
" Wall, you see, lady, my two boys
ihcy was all I had, and they jined the
regiment, .md I couldn't live without
*em ; and I was hale and strong, and so
I made bold for to jinc, too. There
was one place left m the regiment
then — the bugler's place, in Com-
pany B— and 1 pled so hard, the
cap'n he said I might try. And,
lady, the pl.iguy thing used to seem
to shut right up when I wanted to
make it blow, and the men used to
laugh at nie, right out afore my boys.
And Abner and John Henry ihcy
felt kinil o' cheap, and they kept say-
in' to me, * K.ither,* they says, ' it
makes us feci kind o' bad to hear
you tryin' so hard and not leaniin' ;
don't you think you'd better give it
up?' And says I, ' No, boys,' says
1, ' while there's breath in my
body, I won't give it up litl I've
conquered that crilttir.' And, lady,
when the cap'n sec me tryin* so
hard and alius comin' to grief, what
does he do hut he takes hold him-
self, and he learns all them signals,
and he teaches on 'cm to me. And
so ] went to the war with my boys,
and I nursed John Henry through a
fever, and I kept Abner from fallin'
iolo bad company; and, lady, if I
could have saved the cap'n's life by
givin' my skin inch by inch, I'd have
done il ; but I couldn't. So I just
held his head against this old heart,
and let him breathe his life away.
And I laid him ilown on the sotf tt
tender as if I'd been his mother.'*
" May (iod reward you I Did
suffer much ?"
Tears, such as she had longrJ fer^
were pouring from her eyes.
'• No, lady ; he was gone befocv
the surgeons came on to the
He lay quite still, without a moan
sigh ; and, now and then, he'd sa
word to me. I was wounded, t
just below the knee, i dr
down about six feet ofT from \xasr,
and when the retreat came, and 1
saw as how 1 was left l>ehin<l
the cap'n, didn't 1 praise die Lord
" What did he say to you?"
Abel took a little packet from
breast, and laid it in Sybil's h
"He says to me, *.\bcl,' says be,
' when you cm gel a furlough Anmv^
ablt^ says he — * for you mustn't
when tlie countr>- needs you b:
you take this locket' (a-unhook
it from his neck) 'to Mi<is Sy
Vaughan — her that lives in the s
farmhouse above our old camp
Holly Farm — and you tell her
how the poor thing tried to save
life; and she'll sec it by the
dent in tlie gold made by a boll
And you tell her as bow shc^s
open it herself, and sec what I
there. And you IcU hcr'^l'm
Methodist, lady, but ill tell y
word for word what he said."
" Ves, word for word."
**'Yoa tell her,' says he, 'how I
pray that Christ and his Blessed
Mother may be her comfort as t)i
are mine; and tell her as hov I'
never let a thought enter my min
since we parted, that she woul
have approved. And tell her,' sa
be, araisin' himself half-way up
from the ground, 'you tdl her I
love her fund and true, and lliat we.
sliatl meet in heaven when sh
done the work on earth she ts
fit to do. And tell her to CO
N
The Story of an Algerine Locket.
651
my mother. Poor mother!' And
then he put his arm round my neck,
and kind o' stroked my cheek, and
he says, soft and low, a few words,
and all I heard was, * Receive my
soul,' and then I kissed him, and laid
him down on the turf, and his face
was like as I think it will be in hea-
ven at the great day. And now I'm
goin' to leave you, lady, 'cos I know
as how you want to be alone. And,
with your leave, I'll come again, and
tell you how we loved him, and how
we cried like babies round the ambu-
lance that brought him to the camp;
and how there was scarce anything
left to send home to his mother, 'cos
he used to give his things away to
the sick boys — blankets, and money,
and shirts, and all."
Then Abel took Sybil's delicate
hand reverently on his broad, brown
palm, and kissed it.
"Lady," he said, "you're the only
thing ever I see that was fit to mate
with him."
" You will come again," she said.
" As you have no daughter, and there
must be many things needed to make
you comfortable during your conva-
lescence, you will let me see to all
that. And you will let me replace
the many things you must have lost
or worn out during these hard three
months ?"
She spoke beseechingly, looking
up into his face like a child plead-
ing for a toy.
" You shall just wind me round
your finger like he did," said Abel.
" I alius thought I'd got grit in me
till I seen him, and then it seemed as
though I hadn't no will but his'n."
Sybil was alone with the little
packet. With trembling fingers she
untied the string and removed the
wrappings of paper. There lay the
medallion with its twisted chain.
She passionately kissed the battered
enamel that had stood between him
and death. Then she opened the
locket. With the silky, yellow curl
lay a little lock of dark-brown hair.
She was touching it tenderly, won-
dering when he had placed it there
for her consolation — whether just be-
fore the skirmish or soon after he left
her — ^Avhen a turn of the locket in the
level rays of the sun showed two
words scratched on the inner side with
some rude instrument She looked
closer, and read : '* Noblesse Oblige,"
When Miss Mildred came to lead
her into the house, there was a change
in her face that filled the gentle lady's
heart with gratitude. It was the look
of courage that comes to those who
recognize the claim of their high birth
as the children of God.
652
Thi Spirit of Catholic Associations.
THE SPIRIT OF CATHOLIC ASSOCIATIONS.
TKAHfLATBD FltOH THI dVUTA CATTOUCA.
AtL societies have aims, more or
less remote, wliich they aspire to rea-
lize. Catholic socielies liave an ob-
ject which they also stnvc to accom-
plish. 'l*heire is the victory of the
church over the modem Islamism, the
enemy of all religion und civiliza-
tion, commoniy called ihe Revolution.
This monster, once obtaining control
of the state, fills nations with ruins,
and in its proud ferocity ever threat-
ens new disonlera and fresh streams
of blood. Catholic associahons, in
order to be victorious, must pass over
ihc dead body of this powerful ene-
my. There is no other way. Tlic
enterprise is difficult, requires great
courage, absolute generosity, and en-
dunmce capable of every uial. But
ihcy will win the day; they will yet
ring the hymn of triumph ; for Uiey
march to tlic battle and fight it in
the proper spirit : that is, the Caiho-
h'c spirit. The ^^ctlJry will be theirs ;
but only on conditions.
Reason proves \\. The labor of a
society must be proportioned lo the
end proposed, as the force must be
adequate to the effect intended. It is
im[»ossible that an army can win a
battle if the necessary discipline, obe-
dience to officers, and courage be
wanting. So with Catholic associa-
tions. Their object, being a religious
one, a crusade which purposes to as-
sure the triumph of Catholic doclnncs
and institutions, it is impossible for
them to act with vigor, to bear the
fatigue, stand the brunt of their ad-
versaries* onslaught, conquer their
errors, and subdue their forces, unless
they are moved, animate<1, and forti-
fied by the spirit wliich is peculiar
to Catholic associations. If tl
march to tlie romtiat with inat
qnatc forces or lav disci]>linc. tl
will only become objects of dci
to their enemies.
What is the spirit of Catholic so>^
cieties ? It U the .spirit of faith. Sa-
cred phalanxes of a religion wht
foundation is faith ; restorers of pr
cipies that are derived from faith;
protectors of institutions based
faith — how can they do battle if
minds be not animated with the
rit of faith, if their delibcratiuns
not inspired with it; if their worl
be not its visible effects ? Yes ;
spirit of faith is the peculiar >piric
Catholic associations ; it id their
sencc, their qualifying property, an<
the secret power which impels tl
Catliolic onward to the heroism ol
virtue. Give us Catholic ossoci
tioiis animated by a spirit of li>
fernd laith» and gicat acts wiU q<
be slow in production. Exampl
of it may be scea in the imiucnic
and sublime temples erected vi\
the spirit of faith burned in th(
breasts of our forefathers, to whom
it was only necessary to propose tH(
plan in order to have it carried oat ;
and in those chivalrous bands
knights who armed thcmselvi
against Mohammedan fury, and fell'
pierced by numberless wounds on
the ground given them to defend, bat^
never yielding an mch to the foe. ™
Catholic associations imbued by a
spirit like this need not fear the pow-
er of ihcir adversaries, nor heed their
numbers. Faith in the conSict is the
tho^
The Spirit of Ctttholic Associations.
653
IL
buckler which cannot be broken, ihc
shield which caunot be pierced, the
flag which counts as many victories
as the battles fought under its folds.
1-et all the members of Catholic as-
sociations inarch to the contest cloth-
ed in this armor, and they will be
invincible. St. Paul advised this to
the Thessalonians and to the Ephe-
nans. This also was the counsel of
St. John.* U'hat more do we want ?
Does not Sc John tell us that fiiilh
and victory are synonymous tenns ?
"■ fur tvhiiisacvfr is bom of God ovtr-
cometh the world ■ and this is the vii-
tory whiih ov<riom<tH the worlds our
C
that Uiis spirit of faith must not be a
blind spirit, or march to batde with
uncertain steps. Ai^aociatians actu-
ated by such a spirit prosper slowly ;
without puqjosc, and consequently
ivithout success. The reason is
I plain, for it i.s certain that the
I more thoroughly influenced is a
human mind by a motive, the more
earnestly will it strive to obtain an
I object. It is, therefore, evident that
^thc spirit of Catholic associations
^^nst be an enlightened spirit, tho-
^^Biighly knowing what it wants.
r The Revolution— great mistress in
the arts of hypocrisy, great employer
of every s|Kx;ics of argument in its
favor through the license of the press,
great seducer by the advantages
which it proposes — ^if it does not
alwaj-s succeed in catching real Ca-
tholics in its net, at least sows such
prejudices in the minds of some as
will make them less hostile to its
work or less earnest in the defence
of Catholicism, which is another
name for truth and justice. This
• I Tti«M. V. 8; Ephes. vi. it, it.
f I JoIlb v. 4.
is the first danger to be shunned]
by Catholic associations. The Ca-
tholic societies must not let them-
selves be seduced by the seductive
monsters of the revolution. The
quality and natural goodness of the
tree is not known so well by its leaves
as by its fruit. It is, therefore, nc-
cessary to go deeper than the mer«
extrinsic forms to penetrate the suIm
stance of the work done by the re-
volution. Oh I how many motives
to spur on 10 action would Catholics
fin<l in such an investigation I K
rapid glance will convince them of
this fac^.
Observe the religious order. Let
the Catholic associate consider, in
this regard, a country in which the
revolution has made progress. He
witnesses the most impious and most
lamentable scenes; the church de-
prived or curtailed of liberty, in-suUed
ill ht-r ministers, attacked by literary
barbarians, by trammelling laws, or
infamous writings; licr destruction
sworn, Christ impugned in his doc-
trines, derided in his sacraments, his
divinity denied ; God excluded from
laws, banished from die school ; men
grouped in hostility to him, shouting,
in full daylight under the banner of
the free-thinkers, like a horde of sav-
ages, "There is no God I"
Pass to the social order. Here a
new spectacle of grief is presented.
Every effort is used to take away
from the community its common be-
lief and to plunge individuals into the
vortex of incredulity; a black doud
of practical errors, moving over the
nations, abolishing the restraint of
conscience, rendering the pnpukice
the slaves of the vilest and most
truculent passions; the basis of all
authority, human and divine, sapped;
the most powerful governments
crumbling to dust, and threatening
to fall a prey either to perpetual
anarchy or brutal tyraimy.
654
Tht Spirit of Catholic Associations.
Consider the nature of the means
enrtploycd. What a sart view ! Per-
petiml conspiracit-'s, shameless trea-
sons, frauds and deceptions, lies and
calumnies, unmitigated oppression
and violence. Furnished with these
weapons, the revolutionary bands
war on God, on Christ, atid on his
church. The revolution, like a
shameless woman, blushes not at
lis crimes, but glories in its success.
Consider the results. Every reli-
gious conviction blotted out, the prin*
ciples of nioralily annihilated or ob-
scured, authority destroyed, and con-
sequently a society spnnging up com-
posed of men without certainty in
regard to their end, without, any
immutable law to restrain them,
without any bot^d of nfTcction to
unite them. ?Icnce, wc have the
unrcstraine<l indulgence of the pas-
sions, egotism the universal law,
force and cunning the only arms,
and mutual demolition the conse-
quence. The old French revolu-
tion proves it ; the modem one of
Paris ronfimis it. 'Hie revolutionary
Gu^rouU himself attests it in stal-
ing tliat the I'ariiiiian insurrection "is
disorder, destruction, self-abandon-
ment, the putrid decompoMiion of a
society without belief, without com-
pass or ideal"* The results of the
revolution ra^* be summed up in one
phrase: it makes men beasts, and
society bestial.
A Catholic association which con-
siders these cflccbi of tlie revolution
in the light of faith, appreciating the
means employed and the SAd results,
cannot net remissly. It is not possi-
ble; it must rise in the name of the
rights of Go<l, of Christ, of the church ;
in the name of that religious belief
vhidi is attempted to be taken
from the people, and the principles
of moral rexson ; it must rise full of
• Bttm Pmtffe, m. k.
shame for society, which ti
such horrible abuses .in<l cnnies. li
will rise to repair thr - inih
gladness. The spirit oi
cncd by the motives propoa
spur it on in its efforts. The
lie associations of Germany are
doubtedly energetic ; so are ll
Austria ; but the secret of th<
is found in the fact that the m<
lead them are men of strong
of great prudence and intelli
Thui is e^-idt-nt bom their conj
in their sixrches and nrwi
Catholic associations in other h
would do well to imitate llicB>.
iti.
The motives just prupo^t
powerful, but their source
agreeable. There arc other^s
pleasant to consider. Amoug
latter is the nobility of tlie cikI
posed by C^itholic associations, ThS^
is not, as has been cnlumnioudy
stated, to rcvaigc the defeat of a
certain political order, or to saii^ft
natural resUessneis. Catholic aiso-
riatioDS, vivified by the true spirit of
faith, do not stoop so low. They
aim at things far higher. The naiur
which they bear, the rules which ihey
profess to follow, the works alreadjr
accomplished where they have beco
established, attest it. 'I'hcir panictiUr
object is to drag men, in.vle '«Uvcs by
the revolution, out of the mire of in*
credulity and immorality into ts ' '
false principles have plunged t..
They strive to re-establish mcU
tlic true bases of truth and ji
to restore Iramiuillity to pcoj
turbed by the passions of
tlic fury of false teachers. The
to rccl.iim for God the ol
\vhich is his due, the honor
belongs to Christ, the rights t ' .1
from the church; to give true hbcuy
— the liberty of the Gospel— to all ;
Tke Spirit of CaOwlic Associations.
655
to draw men away from the carnal
happiness proposed to them by the
revolution; and to make them seek
that beatitude which every rational
Christian should desire. The revo-
lution threatens everything — religion
in society and among individuals;
the Catholic associate declares him-
self their champion.
Such is the noble aim of Catholic
associations ; hence the nobleness
of the conflict in which they are en-
gaged. What is this conflict ? It is
the struggle of truth against error,
of right against might, of civilization
against barbarism, of duty to God,
Christ, and his church against im-
piety, blasphemy, and injustice. The
revolution means the renewal among
men of the revolt of Lucifer and his
angels ; the Catholic associations are
the faithful cohorts of God and his
Christ. Their war-cry is that of St.
Michael : Quis ut Deus et Christus
ejus? Who is hke to God and his
Christ ?
This war-cry has been explicitly
recommended in the New Testament
The words are given by St. Matthew,
St. Mark, St. Luke, and plainly re-
ferred to by St. Paul. '* Whoever," says
Christ, " confesses me in the midst of
this sinful and adulterous race, who-
ever makes public profession of my
doctrine, will be recognized by me
before the angels, before the tribimal
of my Father in heaven." • Does
not the present generation publicly
boast of making a divorce between
itself and God and Christ ? Giving
loose rein to passion under the spe-
cious names of liberty of conscience
and the preaching of licentious doc-
trines, modern society is plunging in-
to the abyss of iniquity. Hence, the
Catholic associates must rise coura-
geously in the midst of this genera-
*Matt. X. 31, 33; Mark viii. 38; Luke zii. 8 ;
Tita. IL II.
tion, confess Christ openly, publicly
affirm his doctrines, and defend them
in the face of his enemies. The Ca-
tholic associates must revive the
praises of Christ ; to them are his
divine promises addressed, to them
belong the irrevocable guarantees of
being placed near the throne of his
Father. Combating bravely and bear-
ing themselves like true champions
of the rehgion of Christ, their fate is
not and cannot be doubtful.
Let the Catholic associations, there-
fore, advance courageously to the
fight, bearing the banner of Christ
against the standard of the revolu-
tion. Humanity, liberty, progress,
light, are written on the adverse flag,
but they are stolen words. In the
mouths of the revolutionists they are
lies. The flag of humanity is not
that which destroys its rights, but
that which defends them ; nor of H-
berty, that which makes men slaves of
their passions instead of freeing them ;
nor oi progress, that which has no aim,
but that which leads to something de-
finite; norof light, that which begets
obscurity in the intellect, destroying
its most obvious principles, but that
which illuminates intelligence with
divine revelation. This latter is the
banner of Catholic associations, con-
sequently it is the flag of humanity,
of liberty, of progress, the standard
of light.
IV.
The forces of Catholic associations
must act in concert. It is not enough
that their members be vigorous and
animated with an ardent faith. There
must be. harmony of intelligence
among them. Woe to the society
whose members have different princi-
ples or contradictory plans I Like a
machine whose wheels do not move
harmoniously, ruin will result. There
must be uniformity of principles and
6'.6
Th* Spirit of Catholic AssotiatioMS,
I
thorough IiArmony of intelligence if
the Catholic associates hope lo ob-
tain great successes.
Harmony in generalities is easy ;
but not so in particubrs. If you a:3k
a Catholic assembly what it wants,
all the members will reply, '■ ITie pro-
pagation and triumph of Catholic
phncipleii." But if you descend to
ticular enquiries, yoit may meet
iculties that close Uie way to suc-
cess; disputes about fixetl principles
must therefore be eliminated from Ca-
tholic a^socialions.
These associations arc in the first
place cy-seniially laic, therefore it is
not their business to decide questions
of principle. Their aim is a practi-
cal one, namely, lo annul the efforts
of the revolution, to introduce the
principles of Catholicity where they
do not exist, and stic-ngthen them
where they do. It is not of their
competence to determine them. They
arc called Catholic, therefore, in case
of doubt, they must recur to the
teaching church and accept her deci-
sions. We repeat : the Catholic as-
sociations must keep within the bounds
im|>osed by their very nature and ti-
tle, and then tliere will be no colll-
ston of \-icws, no wasting of precious
time in useless disputes, no schisms
and separations ; but, with all the
force of a strong faith, they will ad-
vance with dignity, security, and suc-
cess in their undertakings.
In confirmation of thu, we quote
an apposite passage from the di.^-
coursc pronounced by his eminence,
Cardinal Sthwarzenbcrg, in the gen-
eral congrc-ts of the Catholic associa-
tions held at Prague in i860. ** The
object of Catholic assoclatioris." says
the eminent prelate, " is to take mea-
sures to introduce and assist the
teaching, the principles, the precejjLs,
and the dcwrcs ui the church in the
schools, in the life of the citi/en and
of the family, among merchants and
men of business. Their duty i» to
support the teaching church by coua-
sel and co-operation. Their duty is
also to acknowledge with joyful trund
the doctrines of the church, tu CqUov
them, defend and sustain them."
Who does not admit the grtat
good ])crformed by tlie CaUu^lic w-
sociations of Germany in the course
of the few years during which they
have been establi9he<i ? Anil if we
study the reason of their success, »«
shall find it in the undisturbed har-
mony of their views. The spirit «f
** liberal Cadiolicism " tried to influ-
ence them, but in vain. Their ajiO-
ciates, mindful of their title and of
their duty to the pa&tors r>f the
church, and especially to the Koraan
Pontiff, obey his instructions witboai
subtle distinctions and cominenbuic%
and employ tlieir talents properly io
securing their prosperity.
An instance of their Catholic
is found in the letter sent to
^
Pope by the assembly held ai
briick preparatory to the general con
gress of the (ierroan C'athoUc
tics in 1867. In that letter we
follows: " On the 9th. loth. and
of September, with the consent and
proval of the most reverend Bi
of Brixen, the Catholics of I
briick, the capital of the Tyrol,
gailiercd together in order lo
cotKageously their religion as C&f
God and their strength will allow ;
the errors and tics o( vain men Iwing
rejected, such errors as your holt
has pointed out and condemned vi
fulness of authority in your cnc
lical lettetv, in order also to
salutary counsel required hj
charactcT of the times and circum
stances, so as tu |jTomotc the gro
of Catholic life an<l diarily. u
the jatrniiage of the Blessed V
Mary. .Ati inmien.-ie war, as you,
ly Father, have expressed it, is
against divine re^'elation, againat the
^
J
Catholic Church, against the aposto-
lic see, against gooti morals and
Christian charity, Uie queen of all ihe
virtues. While this war rages, every
Catholic becomes a soldier of Christ ;
^ut ui£ cannot cany on a ^d and
just war i/vjc do not cling with attifu
ardor of our soul to the apostolic see,
fastened to that rock vthich God has
placed in Rome ; and if we are not
helped and siitfaitted by your supreme
auikority and your efficacious blessing;
wherefore^ we earnestly desire from our
very inmost hearts to venerate^ follow,
and obey you, the Vicar of Christ,
you, the chief pastor of the whole
flock of the Lord, you, father of all
the faithful. This is the unanimous
feeling of all those who will be as-
sembled iQ September at Innsbruck ;
this is the universal desire; and, all
animated by this thought, God will
defend the Christian doctrine and
Christian charity."
Let these be the sentiments of all
Catholic associations that may spring
up; let this be their programme and
the foundation of their constitution.
The spirit of prompt submission to
the icacliing of the church should
animate them. This is a simple con-
sequence of the first clement of Ca-
tholic life. Christ never said to any
theologian, cnidiic man, learned his-
torian, or particular society, "Be ye
inableni of the church, and let her
hear you;" but he did say so to the
bishops and to the pope in the j)er-
son of the apostles and of Peter.
Onlyoneblindcdbyhisown pride can
deny this fundamental principle of
the Catholic religion. 'I"he spirit of
prompt obedience to lawful auihori-
ly is the secret which alone will ren-
der Catholic societies capable of suc-
cess.
But harmony of intelligence is not
the only means by which Catholic
associations can manifest tlieir spirit.
There must he unity of feeling and
VOL. XIII. — 42.
A Catholic association which
possesses the spirit of submission to
the teaching church, and possesses
harmony of intelligence, is on the right
road, and may hope to prosper in its
undertakings. But how often does
it happen that a serious impediment,
an insunnountable barrier, stops the
progress of a brave legion and disap-
points the well-founded hopes of vic-
tory ! Here is a danger whicl\ the
best-intent ioncd Catholic association
may encounter; an obstruction, an
invincible barrier, which may arise
from the unexpected disagreement
of wills. Agreement of wills is es-
sential as well as harmony of intelli-
gence.
It is evident that, in order to main-
tain this agreement, wc must remove
the causes which might disturb it.
There are two sources of discord ; one
arising from the internal relations of
a society. The intellects may agree
on the principles to be sustained,
and the wills consent as to the end
proposed ; but the task is for the
members to choose the same means
and pot them in practice. Here
may arise the discord. Some project
or design is proposed. It is debated.
The dispute waxes warm. Hard
words are interchanged. The majori-
ty, of course, carry the project; but
the minority may disagree and re-
fuse to co-operate ia its execution.
Hence disaffection, schisms, and se-
cessions in the association. What is
the root of all these troubles ? It is,
in one word, pride, the root of all
schisms. One thinks himself more
learned, of greater rank or of more ex-
perience than the others, therefore he
will not be led by their judgment
but by his own self-conceit. The
658
Thi Spirii of Cathctic Associations.
I
trouble is small in the beginning, but
it may produce disastruu.s results.
Wliat is the remedy ? It is to bring
to every discu!»ion the true Catholic
spirit of abnegation and of sacrifice.
Whims and prejudices must be laid
aside for the sake of harmony and
the noble cause to be defended. Our
God is a God of peace, not of com-
motion and disturbance. The best
plan is not always that suggested by
our weak judgment. Provided the
plan of the majority be a good one,
though it may not be the most per-
fect, still, for peace sake, let us adopt
it, according to the advice of Xavier,
that it is better to accept a unani-
mous plan, though col the best, rath-
er than a perfect one which would
cause dtssensions among our breth-
ren.
The second cause of dissensions
may be in the cxlcmal relations of
the associates. I'hU would be the
more dangerous, because the occasion
oi it might be an apparent external
good to be effected- The will of the
bishop or of the pastor may not
agree with the desire of the society.
la a case of this kind, if the society
should act in spite of the episcopal
will or opposed to it publicly, a great
scarulal would happen in the diocese,
and the society would fall to pieces.
What is the remedy for sucli calami-
ties ? Ilie associates must have fil-
ial reverence and obedience for the
pastors of the church. Then all dif-
fiatllicj will cease. This ifr required
by the very object of the association,
which is to aid the bishops in reli-
gious matters ; it is also required by
the dignity of the bishops, since tlie
Holy Ghost has called them to be
rulers in the church. His holiness
Pius IX. clearly teaches that this
should be the bearing of Catholic so-
cieties toward their p;istors, in his an-
swer to the Catholics of Innsbruck.
Here we may quote what a bishop
said in the general congress hcM to
condemn the proceedings of the ta-
called German Catholic libcrak
These gentlemen, under the appear-
ance of doing goal, had expressed
their usual lamentations about the
storms that threatened the c
the danger to her future frecdo;
less the laity were allowed a greater
influence in religious matters; to iSe^
ny them this inffuence, as had bcca
done so far, would be to render tbcrn
inert and careless about church nut*
icrs. Such wcTethecomplaiots — com-
plaints of the dUrontcntcd son
is trying to deprive his mollicr
complete control of the ho
tie revolutionary complaints agi
the aulliority of the hierarchy. The
Bishop of Brtxen, answering them,
said, " What kind of intluencc do lay-
men want in the church ? To con-
trol dogma ? They cannot. Diad
pline? They cannot. Influence of
the laity is too vague a conception,
and, besides, a useless one. I n order
that it should produce bcnctits
limits should be determineil, its
ditions explained. But it U
known that the chief among them 11
faithful dependence on the teaching
and authority of tlie church, since
the words of the apostle suit indivi*
duals as well as the whole church:
*The just man lives by faith/
life of the churcli requires nothifl
but what comes from faith. Hence.
when the church finds a layman who
manifests hts faith in his words and
actions, slic honors him, salutes htm
with joy as a co-operator no: liaving
belied the words of the apostle of
love ; Let us be co-workers of truth,
co-operators in propagating and
strengthening it, and in assuring its ^
mumph. In every age there have V
been many such men, like our tnodem
Catholic aiESOciations, and I'urtJiis rca- ^
son we protect them, salute, cslecin^l
them ; and the best proof of our lot*
■tlOO,
>rdeT^
The Spirit of Catholic Associations,
659
for them is that wc have hastened to
come to tills solemn congress of lay
associations, assembled to defend
Catholic interests." 'ITius spoke the
learned prelate. In conclusion, a
Catholic society must not touch on
dogmatic subjects, nor interfere in
affairs pertaining to ecclesiastical dis-
cipline: it should observe proper re-
spect and obedience towani its bi-
shops, and then the bishops will aid,
bless and sustain iu
vx.
I
^B The parts of a machine, in order
^Bo act in concert, must be united ac-
^fcording to mechanical laws : so asso-
'^^ciations must obey the laws of order.
They must have co-ordination of
forces. In this consists the peculiar
advantage of association. Each one
has its constitution and by-laws. Let
it obscr\'e them, adapting them to
the wants and peculiarities of each
nation. The dilficulty is really not
^jn enacting laws for it, but to keep
^Hiem in vigor.
^^K The associates must have the spi-
^^ttt of order. Then the execution of
'^laws will be easy. Such a spirit will
make each member mind his own po-
'iition ; each officer act in his own
phere without infringing ontherights
' Olheis. The object of the associa-
)D being to act with united forces,
kis purpose cannot be effected by a
lisordcrly mass of individuals, ac-
j^knowledging no obedience to a local
^^p general superior. Each particular
^^>ciety will become jealous of its
neighbor, unless all agree to obey
implicitly a central committee. Pri-
vate utility and individuality roust
j be sacriliced to the public good ; jea-
lousy, self-love, personal advantage,
these lliree causes that tend to dts-
L mpt the co-ordination of the com-
L nion forces, must be sacrificed 10 the
which the association was establish-
ed, as it is an elementary rule of or-
der that the private roust be sacrific-
ed for the public good. For this
reason we consider that society best
in which the strictest bonds are main-
tained between the members and the
centre or head. Docs not union
make strength ? A necessary con-
sequence is that the force is propor-
tioned to the union. Baron Siillfried,
a name dear to Catholics by reason
of his fervid zeal for religion, render-
ing an account of what the Confra-
ternity of the Archangel St. Michael,
founded in Vienna in t86o,had done,
confessed that, owing to dissensions
among the members, and the conse-
quent lack of union of forces, the re-
sults had been relatively few. On
the contrary, who does not admire
the wonderful success obtained by
the Catholic Casini of Austria in fa-
vor of the pontifical cause, owing tc
their unity of purpose and union of J
forces? They obliged the president!
of the council to receive their com-
plaints; they obliged the chancellor
of the empire to excuse himself; they
moved all the Catholic populations
to such a spirit of action in favor of
religion, tied down by the iniquitous
laws of the revolution, that all the
journals of the secret societies bel-
lowed and blasphemed like lunatics,
fearing the destruction of their nefa-
rious designs.
The multiplicity of Catholic inter-
ests gives rise to many assotiatious
dififcring according to the difference
of their aims. Should this diversity
have no common bond of union ? By
no means. Some have for object
matters of essential importance, as,
for instance, the freedom of the
church, her right to educate, and the
independence of her head. In re-
gard to these subjects, all the as5r»-
ciations should unite. Is it necessa-
ry to prove this ? Is it not self-evi-
sptrtl
Isstfeia/fffns.
I
^
dent ? AssociAtions that would act
differently would resemble those Chi-
nese troops which neglected the de-
feocc of the most important posts,
contenting themselves with gti.trdlng
places of secondary importance.
Catholic societies are not liands of
conspirators, they do not excite re-
bellions, nor use vlulcncc or deceit
to gain their purpose. These arts
are left to the revolutionists. Catho-
lics need no weapons but tnith and
justice. They must be ready to die
for both. But they must act legally,
they must not violate the civil order.
Consequently, they should never un-
dertake a work without first being
SBlisfied of its lawfulness.
In this way .success is certain ; for
in modem civil society public opin-
ion rules. If Calltolic societies de-
faul religion, who can object ? For
public opinion must admit their right
to do so, provided they violate no laws
of the Slate.
Tit.
But although leg.Jily is required
for CithoUc associations, they must
not be timid or cowardly. They
must be brave and magnanimous.
Christ teaches us to be magnanimous,
for he gave his blood and life for the
love of truth and justice ; the mar-
tyrs in millions died for the same
cause. We must imitate them. No
difficulty or obstacle must balk the
zeal of a Catholic association. No
iatigue or danger or sacrifice must
be too great for the Catholic asso-
ciate. I'he soldier of Christ must
conquer difficulties. The present
contiict, said Monsignor de Ketteler,
in the congress of Uie Catholic asso-
ciations of Treves, needs champions
who, for the love of Christ, dare ex-
pose themselves (o the attacks of
newspai>ers and demagogues, to cx-
himny and terms of contempt in pit-
liament and from the rostrum.
Catholic spirit must be a self-sacrif
ing and a magnanimotis one. Evi
associate must bea Catholic bcfocel
ing a politician, a Calliolic before beto^
a man of letters, a Catholic Above
all things. He must never be !&•
couragcd, but persevere with gene-
rous constancy, in spite of the attacks
of enemies, or the seennng want of
success of many of his cfibrts. Let
the Catholic associates remember
that they are fighting under ilic very,
eyes of God ; and that their struggle
e\*en though not always successful, ;
a manifestation of their faith bcl
men which wUl be rewarded in ha-'
VCD.
VI 11.
We .<ay this on the suppostiion
the combined forces of the .issoci^
tion should produce no result,
this supposition is unfounded.
the Catholic association remain con-
stant in its enterprise, and it viB
make a new step to victory every
day. It may fail in this or that paj-
ticular measuie, but the general
cause will prosper. Wc know thai
the heads of the secret societies sueAk.
in this way, but they do so to
ccive. We do not, for our words
foun<lcd on solid reasons.
The first is drawn from the tutur«
of the two causes in conflict. The
revolution is the cause of error aod
injuslice; Catholirism is the cause
of tnjih and justice. coDsequenil
the cause of Catholicism is conform-
able to the nature of man, formed for
the true and the good, while the
cause of the revolution is in contra-
diciiun with man's niture. Ho
can any nature remain long in
state of ciontradiction with itself?
Passion or ignorance may oUcure
for a time the human intcllijseDccj
end
that I
The Spirit of Catholic Associations.
66i
but when the contradiction is felt
and known, nature revolts against it
with all its power, and frees itself.
Now, as the associations in the in-
terest of the Catholic faith are striv-
ing to enlighten our intellect with the
light of truth, and to repress the
force of passions by inculcating the
love of virtue, the necessary effect of
such labor must be- that the cause of
the revolution will daily lose ground
as the light of truth, becoming more
apparent, shows the falsity of certain
principles. The more the Catholic
associations combine in illuminating
the human intelligence and correct-
ing the dormant mora] sense of so-
ciety, the more will the Catholic
cause hasten towards triumph.
Reason teaches this. But revela-
tion offers other proofs, for it gives
us the promises of Christ. These
are expressed . in those passages in
which our Lord likens his doctrines
to the little leaven which leavens the
whole mass ; and when he tells his
apostles to trust in him, the con-
queror of the world.* Let the Ca-
tjiolic associations, therefore, advance
in their work with confidence. They
have divine promises in their favor.
The false and iniquitous doctrines of
the revolution will fall to the ground.
Its efforts will be in vain, its success
only local or temporary ; for the
* Jolin ztL 33 ; H&tt. xiil. 33 ; John zril. 90-*3.
friends of truth and of human rights
will finally conquer. The best in-
stincts of human nature and the pro-
mises of faith are with them.
The Holy Ghost tells us by the
pen of St. Paul that truth must con-
quer in the end, speaking of the
saints " who triumphed over the
powers of earth, closed the mouths
of lions, were invincible in the com-
bat, and conquered their enemies." •
The children of the revolution, hav-
ing a presentiment of their defeat by
the new Catholic associations, have
already cried To arms ! and in a
thousand ways manifested their fear.
Yes, the victorious future belongs to
the Catholic associations. Let them,
therefore, arise with courage ground-
ed on the principles of faith, strength-
ened by the noble motives of their
enterprise. Harmony of intelligence,
the spirit of submission to the
church, agreement of wills, with the
spirit of sacrifice, and of reverence for
their pastors, will make them serried
battalions, moving according to law,
with magnanimity, constancy, and
confidence in God, irresistible in their
attacks. Let them fight on the bat-
tle-field of faith, and the world will
soon know that the proud pomp of
the revolution and its thousand war-
cries are founded only on falsehood
and deceit.
•Heb.1l. 33. 34.
663
Our Lady cf Lourdes*
TKAMUTm ntOK TKI tlKMM.
OUR LADY OF LOURDES.
BY H£N1U LASSCRRE.
PART NINTH.
By reason of the events which we
have narrated, M. Massy no longer
felt at home in this part of the earth.
The emperor did not fail to send
hira to the first prefecture which be-
came vacant in the empire. By a
remarkable coincidence, this prefec-
ture proved to l>e that of Grenoble.
Baron Massy left Our Lady of
Lourdes only to meet Our Lady of
La Salctte.
Jacomet also left the department,
and was appointed chief of police
elsewhere. Re-established upon his
chosen ground, he contributed witl»
great sagacity to the detection of
some dangerou!) criminals who had
baffled the efforts of his predecessor
and the active search of tlie police.
The crime was a great robbery com-
niilted upon a railroad company, and
amounting to several hundred thou-
sand francs. This was the point of
departure in hts fortunes as a police
agent, his true vocation. His remark-
able ability, appreciated by his supe-
riors, raised him to a higher place.
The procureur imperial, M. Dutour,
was also speedily called to other
functions. M- Lacadc still remained
mayor, and his shadow will yet ap-
pear once or twice in the latter pages
of our story.
U.
Although he had instituted the
tribunal of examination toward? the
end of July, still, before pcrmi
to begin us work, Mgr. La
desired a more peaceful stale of
public mind. '*To wail," he tbou,
" will not compromise God'.<s wo
since he holds all time in hU Imik
The issue proved that he was righi
For after the stormy discussions of U
French press and the violent p
ccedings of Baron Mxssy, the grot
fmally became free, and there rnc
no longer fear of the scandal of see-
ing police agents arresting the cpi
copal commission onit^ way to
Massabietle rocks in order to fulfil
duty, and examine the traces o
God's 6ngcr at the very place of t!
apparition.
On ihe 17 th of November,
commission went to Lourdes.
examined the seer. " Beroadcttcv'
says the proch-wrdal of the secretary,
"presented herself before us witih
great modesty, and, nevertheless, with
remarkable confidence. She : 1
calm and unembarrassed in : :
of tlie immerous assembly, ui pr
cnce uf distinguished ecclesiasti
whom she had never seen, but of
whose mission she had been mode
aware."
She described the apparitions.
words of the Blessed Vifj^in, the
dcr given by Marj' to build a chap
in her honor, the sudden brcakin
out of the fountain, the name, "
maculate Conception," which the
ion had given to itself. Slie set ft
all that was personal to herself m
tliis supernatural drama with the
grave certainty of a witness fully
Our Lady of Lourdes.
663
vinced, and Ihe humble candor of a
child. She answered every (|uesiiou,
and left no obscurity in the mind of
those who interrogated her, no longer
in the name of man, as Jacomet had
done, but in the name of the Catho-
lic Church. Our readers are already
aware of the substance of her testi-
mony. Wc have, in former pages, nar-
rated events in the order of their date.
The commission vLsited the Massa-
bieHe rocks. It beheld the great
volume of the miraculous fountain.
It established, by the testimony of
the neighboring inhabitants, that no
spring existed there before the time
when it broke forth in the presence of
the multitudes under the hand of the
:slaric seer.
At Lourdes and in other places
ley made studious inquiry into the
liraciilous cures worked by the
Mter of the grotto.
In this delicate task there were two
rts, entirely distinct. Human tes-
lony dctcnnined the facts thcm-
slves ; but theirnatural or supcmntu-
il character depended, for the most
rt, on the verdict of medical sci-
jcc The method followed by the
junal was inspired by this twofold
)ught
Throughout the<lioccscs of Lourdes,
Luch, anil Uayonne, the commission
immoned before it the subjects of
lese singular cures. It cross-cxam-
Icd the minutest details of their sick-
^iiess, and their sudden or gradual
restoration to health. It brought in
^uman science to put those tci:lu)ica)
lestions of which theologians, per-
ips, would not have thought. It
iramoned the relations, friends,
sighbors, and other witnesses of the
ifferent phases of the event, to con-
rm evidence. Having once come
a certainty of all details, it sub-
litted facts to the judgment of two
eminent physicians admitted as col-
leagues. These physicians were Dr.
Verges, superintendent of the baths
at Bareges, Fellow of the Medical
Faculty of Montpellier, and Dr.
Dozous, who had already, out of
private interest, given his attention
to several of these strange incidents.
Each physician gave in his report his
personal opinion rc'i^arding the nature
of the cure, sometimes rejecting the
miracle, and attributing tlie cessation
of disease to certain natural causes;
at other times declaring its utter in-
cxpltcability without the action of a
supernatural power; and, lastly, some-
times not arriving at any conclusion,
but remaining in doubt as to the true
explanation. Thus prepared by the
double knowledge of facts and the
conclusion of science with respect to
them, the commission deliberated,
and tinally pronounced its judgment
to the bishop, and submitted the
evidence.
The commission h.ad not and
could not have any preconceived
opinions. Believing on principle in
the supernatural, which x?. always to
be met with in the history of the
world, it knew, also, that nothing so
tends to discredit the true miracles
of God as false prodigies worked by
men. Equally indisposed to deny
or affirm anything prematurely, hav-
ing no brief to sustain cither for or
against the miracle, it w.x-; confined
strictly to the task of examination
and sought only the truth. It ap-
pealed to ever>' source of light and
information, and acted in full view of
the public.
It was as open to unbelievers as
to those who believed. Resolved to
discard remorselessly all that was
vague or tmcertain, and to accept
only incontestable facts, it rejected
every declaration based upon hear-
say.
It imposed two conditions upon
evcr>' witness; first, to testify only
to what came under personal know-
664
Our Lady of Loardes.
ledge and observation; secondly, to
state under oath the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth.
^Vilh such precautions and an or-
ganization so prudent and wise, it
would have been impossible for a
false miracle to deceive the judg-
lueni of the commission, jt would
have been inipos:iibIe, in the face of
the ho&tilc criticism of those who
were bent upon combating and
overthrowing every error and even
the least exaggeration, to sustain
any doubtful asscruon or the miracu-
lous character of any doubtful fact.
If, then, true miracles, imperfectly
proved, failed in obtaining the sanc-
tion of the commission, it is abso-
lutely certain that no false prodigy
could stand before its searching cx-
aminatioo.
Whoever had the means of con-
testing any one of the miracles — not
by vague and general theories, but
by facts and personal knowledge —
was thereby summoned to appear
against iL Not to do so was to
give up the case, and acknowledge
that no forma! or intelligible counter-
evidence could be sustained. When
passiuns run high in tlie ardor of a
long stnigglc, parties do not let judg-
ment go by default. To refuse the
combat is to accept defeat.
111.
DuRiNU several months, the epis-
copal commission visited the houses
of those whom public notoriety de-
signated as objects of the miraculous
cures subjected lo its examination,
It established the truth of many
miracles. Several of tlicm have al-
ready found a place in our history.
Two were quite recent. They had
taken place shortly after the prefect
had withdrawn his prohibidon and
the grotto had been reopened. One
was at Kay, the other at Tartas. Al-
though the recipients of these fae&>
venly favors were mutually unac-
quainted, a mysterious bond seened
to connect boih events, X>ct us re<
late them in order as we hare po*
sonally studied them, ami wntia
down what we have heard under the
impressions produced by tiie Uvifig
testimony.
1%'.
Is the town of Nay, where youa|
Henry Busquct had been miracultNU-
ly cured a few montJis before, a. ce^
tain widow, named Madeleine Rim^
was at the point of death. Her life
had for twenty-four or twcutjr-Ave
years been an unbroken Kches aC
pain and sorrow. Having Wen ai<
tacked by the cholera in iSj*, bcf
left side had remained olmoftt entire-
ly paralyzed. She was quite Innxy
and could only move a few steps to*
side her house, and that only bv w|k
porting herself against the w;iUs or
furniture. Two or three tiniL-s a year,
in warm weatlier, she was able to go
to Mass .It the parish church of .\j.y.
not far from her dwelling. She waa,
unable, without assistance, either
kneel or to rise. One of her Iiani
was totally palsied. Her gent
health had suffered no less than
limbs from this terrible scourge,
frequently vomited blood, and hw
stomach was unable to bear solid
food.
Beef-tea, suup, and coffee
however, sufficed to keep up
flame of life, ever flickering and un-
able to warm her feeble body. &b^
often suffered from icy chills.
poor woman was always cold. Et
in the heals of July ancf August, ahi
always wi^ed to see fire in the gra
and to have her arm-chair ube«
close to the hearth.
For the last sixteen or cightc
months, her stale had been mi
Our Lady of Lourdes,
665
aggravated ; the paralysis of the left
side Iiad become total. The same
inftrmily had begun to attack the
right leg. Her paralyzed limbs were
greatly swollen, as happens in the
case of dropsy.
I Madame Rizan left her chair to
take to her bed. She could not
move, such was her weakness, and
they were obliged to turn her, from
time to time, in her bed. She was
almost an inert mass. Sensibility
was gone as well as motion.
"Where are my legs?" she used to
inquire, when any one came to move
I her. Her limbs were drawn together,
^^>nd she lay continually on one side
^Ki the form of a Z.
^V Two physicians had successively
^Attended her. Doctor Talamon had
^long since given her up as incura-
ble, and, although he continued to
visit her, it was only as a friend. He
refused to prescribe any remedies, say-
ing that drugs and medicines would
ve fatal, or, at best, only enfeeble
T system.
Doctor Subcrx'iclle, at the repeated
stance of Madame Rizan, had pre-
ibeil some medicines, and, soon
ding them utterly useless, had also
en up all hope. Althougli her
laralyzed limbs bad become insensi-
ble, the sufferings which this unfortu-
nate woman experienced from her
^stomach and head were terrible.
^^■ning to her constantly cramped
^^osition, she was afflicted by two
painful sores — one in the hollow of
her chest, and the other on the back.
O n her side, in several places, her
^Miin, chafed by the bed-clothes, ex-
^^bsed the flesh, naked and bleeding.
Her death was at hand.
Madame Rizan had two children.
_ cr daughter, Lubine. lived with and
took care of her with the greatest de-
votion. Herson, Romain Rizan.had
a situation in a business- house at Bor-
deaux.
When tlie last hope was gone, and
Doctor Suber\-icl]c declared that she
had only a few hours to live, they
sent in haste for her son, Romain
Kizan. He came, embraced his mo-
ther, and received her last blessing
and farewell. Then, obliged to leave
by a message peremptorily recalling
him — torn by the cruel tyranny of
business from his mother's death-bed
— he left her with the bitter convic-
tion that he should never sec her
more. The dying woman received
extreme unction. Her agony went
on amid excruciating sulferings.
"My God I" she often murmured,
" I pray tliee to end my torments.
Grant rac to be healed or to
die."
She sent to ask the Sisters of the
Cross, at Igon, where her own sister-
in-law was superior, to mnke a no-
vena to Our Lady for her cure or
death. The sick woman also evinced
a desire to drink some of the water
of the grotto. One of her neighbors,
Mad.ime Xessans, who was going to
Lourdes, promised to fetch some of
tlie water when she returned. For
some time past, she had been watch-
ed day and night On Saturd.iy. Oc-
tober 16, a violent crisis heralded the
near approach of her last moment
She was continually spitting blood.
A livid hue spread over her worn fea-
tures ; her eyt^ became glassy. She
no longer spoke, except when forced
by excessive pain.
"O my God I how 1 suffer!
Lord! would that I might die!"
" Her prayer will soon be grant-
ed," said Doctor SubervicUe as he
left her. " She mil die to-night, or
at least before the sun is fairly up.
'lliere is only a little oil left in the
lamp !"
From time to time the door of
her chamber opened. Friends, neigh-
bors, and priests, ilie Abb6 Duf>ont
and the Abbe Sanarcus, vicar of N'ay,
entered and softly inquired if she
were still alive.
Her friend and consoler, the AbbA
Dupont, could not restrain his tears
as he left htr. *■ Before morning she
wiJI be dead, and I shall see her again
only in paradise," he said.
Night fell, and solitude gradually
took possession of the house. Kneel-
ing before a statue of the Blessed
Virgin, Liibinc prayed without any
earthly hope. The silence was pro-
found, and broken only by the diffi-
cult breathing of the invalid.
It was nearly midnight. "My
daughter r cried the dWng woman.
Lubine arose and approached the
bed.
"What do you wish, mother?"
she asked, taking her hand. *' My
dear child," answered the dying mo-
ther, in a strange voice that seemed
to come from a heavy dream, " go to
our friend Madame Nessans, who
was to have returned from Lourdcs,
this evening. Ask her for a glassful
of the water from the grotto. 'Jhis
water wilt cure me. The Blessed
Virgin wishes it"
" Dear mother," answered Lubine,
" it is loo late to go there. I cannot
leave you alone. Besides, evcr>-bo-
dy is asleep at the house of Madame
Nessans, But I wilt go early in the
rooming."
" Let us wait, then." The invalid
relapsed into silence. The long
night finally passed.
The joyous bells at last announced
the day. The morning Angelus as it
rose carried up to the Virgin Mother
the prayers of earth, and celebrated
the eternal mcmon' of her all-powcr-
fiil maternity. Lubine hastened to
Madame Kessans's, and soon return-
ed with. a. botde of water from the
grotto.
•* Here, mother! Drink I and may
the Blessed Virgin cume to your
help!" Madame Rizoa raised the
glass to her lips, and swaUowcd a
few mouthfulsL
" O my daughter ! tny dau^^ittrl
It is life that 1 am drinking t Here
is life in this water I Bathe my bee
witli it t Bathe my amts I Bathe
my whole body with it !"
Trembling and almost beside bet-
self, Lubine moistened a piece of
linen with the miraculous water, awl
bathed her mother's face.
"I feel that I am cured I** ilic
cried in a voice now clear and strai^
" I feel that 1 am curefj I"
Lubine meanwhile bathed witb
the wet linen the poralyxcd and
swollen limbs of the invulicL Trea-
bling with mingled joy .-xnd terror, she
saw the enormous swelling disappear
under the rapid movement of her
hand, and the stretched and sbrnim
skin reassuroe its natural appetf-
ance.
Suddenly, completely, and vrithom
transition, health and life rvvivcd
beneath her touch.
"It seems to me as if burning
pimples were breaking out all
me." It was, doubtless, the prti
pic of disease leaving for ever ui
the influence of a superhuman
All this was over in a moment. In .
couple of minutes the l)o<ly of Ml
dame Rizan, apparently in her agon]
bathed by her daughter, recoi
the fulness of strength.
'* 1 am cured I perfecdy cured I
cried the happy woman. '* Oh I hoi
good the Blessed Virgin is t Ol
how powerful she is '."
After the first burst of gratJt
toward heaven, the material
of earth made themselves k-
" Lubine, dear Lubine, I am huit
gry. I must have something to cat!
'* Will you have some coffee,
wine, or some milk !" stammered
daughter, confused by the Guddcnni
and astounding character of the mi*
raclc.
wil
;t*
sonM
Our Lady of Lourdes.
66;r
« I want lo have meat and bread,
my daughter. I have not tasted any
for tweniy-four years." 'Ihere hap-
peacd to be some cold meat and
some wine near at hand ; Madante
Rizan partook of both. " And now,"
said she, " I want (o get up."
" It is impossible, mother," said
I.ublne, hesitating to believe her
eyes, and fancying, perhaps, tliat
cures which come directly from God
arc subject, hke other cures, to the de-
grees and dangcn of convalescence.
She feared to see the miracle vanish
as suddenly as it had come.
Madame Rizan insisted and de-
manded her cluUies. They had been
for many months carefully folded and
packed in the wardrobe never to be
worn again. Lubine left the room
to find them. Soon she re-entered.
But as she crossed the threshold, she
uttered a loud cr)*, and dropped the
garment which she was bringing.
Her mother had sprung out of bed,
during her absence, and Uicre she
was, before the mantel-piece, where
she kept a stitue of the Blessed Vir-
gin, with clasped hands returning
thanks to her all-powerful deliverer.
Lubine, as frightened as if she had
beheld one risen from the dead, was
unable to help her mother to dress.
The latter, however, put on her
clothes in an instant without any as-
sistance, and again knelt down before
tlie sacred image.
It was about seven o'clock in the
morning, and the people were going
to the early Mass. Lubine's erj- was
heard in the street by the groups
who were passing under the win-
dows.
*• Poor girl 1" they said, " her mo-
ther is dead at last. Jt was impos-
sible for her lo survive the night."
Several entered the house to console
and support Lubine in this unspeak-
able affiiction, among others two
sisters of the Holy Cross.
"Ah I poor child, your good mo-
ther is dead ! But you will certainly
sec her again in heaven I" They
approached the young girl, whom
they beheld leaning against the half-
opened door, her face wearing a
stupefied look. She could scarcely
answer them.
" My mother is risen from the
dead 1" she answered, in a voice chok-
ed by strong emotion.
*' She is raving," thought the sisters,
as they passed by and entered the
room, followed by some persons who
had come iip-stairs with them.
Lubine had spoken the truth. Ma-i
dame Rizan had left her bed. 'I'here
she was, dressed and proRrr.itod be-
fore the image of Mary. She arose,
and said : ** I am cured I Let us all
kneel down, and thank the Blessed
Virgin."
The news of this extraordinary
event spread like lightning through
the city. All that day and the day
after the house was full of people.
The crowd, agitated and yet axoi-
Icctcd, pressed to visit the room into
which a ray of the aU-powerful good-
ness of God had penetrated.
Everybody wished to see Madame
Rizan, to touch the body restored to
life, to convince his own eyes, and
grave upon his memory the details
of this supernatural drama.
Doctor Suber\ielle acknowledged,
without hesitation, the supernatural
and divine character of this cure.
At Bordeaux, meanwhile, Komain
Rizan awaited in desi>air and an-
guish the fatal missive announcing
his mother's death. It was a great
shock to him when, one morning,
the postman brought him a letter
addressed in the well-known hand of
Abb6 Dupont.
*' I have lost my poor mother !"
he said to a friend who had just come
to visit him. He burst into tear^
and dared not break the seal.
Our Lady of Lourdts.
" Take courage in your misfortune.
Uave taith !" said his friend.
Finally, he opened the letter. The
first words which met his eyes were :
" Deo gratias I Alleluia \
*' Kcjoic;, my dear friend. Your
mother is cured — compkUly cured.
Tlic Blessed Virgin has restored her
miraculously to hcaJtli." The Abbi
DujKint then went on to relate the
divine manner in which Madame Ri-
zan had found at the end of her ago-
ny life instead of death.
We may e.isily fancy the joy of the
son and of his friend. The latter
was employed in a printing-house at
liordeaux, where was pubhshcd the
Messager CathoHquf. *' Give me that
letter," said he to Komain. "The
worl:5 of God ought to be made
known, and Uur Lady of Lourdes
glorified."
Tartly by force, and partly by en-
treat)', he obtained the letter. It
was pubhshcd a few days afterward
in the Mcssager OtthoUtjue.
The happy son hastened to Nay
at tlie earliest moment. As he ar-
rived in the ddigence, a woman was
wailing to greet liim. She ran swift-
ly to meet him, and, when he de-
scended from the coach, threw her-
self into his anns, weeping with ten-
derness and joy. It was his mo-
ther.
A fev years afterward, the author,
while searching out the details of his
history, went in person to verify the
report of the cpiMropal commission.
>{e visited Madame Rizan, whose
perfect health and green old age ex-
cited his admiration. Although in
her seventy-first year, she has none
of the infirmities wliich tliat age usu-
ally brings. Of her illness and terri-
ble sufferings there remains not a
trace ; and all who had formerly
knuwu her, and whose testimony we
gathered, were yet stupefied at her
extraordinary cure.* We wUhed to
see Doctor Subervielle, lie had been
dead some years.
" But," we asked a clergyman of
Nay, who acted as our guide, " the
inv.ilid was auended by another phy-
sician. Doctor Talamon, was she
not?"
*' He is a very distinguished tnana?^J
replied our companion. " He wa^^H
in the habit of visiting Madame Ki-
zan, not professionally, but as a fnend
and neighbor. But after her mira-
culous cure he ceased, his vi»ls, and
did not make his appcanmce ibr
eight or ten months."
*' Perhaps," we rejoined, •* he wtsti-
ed to avoid being questioned on the
subject, aud being obliged to explain
this extraordinary phenomenon, which
would certainly have been out of
accord with his principles of medical
philosophy ?"
" I do not know how that may
have been."
" No matter; I want to sec him.**
We knocked at his door.
Doctor Talamon is a tall and hand*,
some old man, with an cxprcssi
and intelligent countenance. A
markablc forehead, a crown of wbt
locks, a glance which betokens posi-
tive adherence to opinions, a mouth
varied in expression, and on which
a sceptical smile often plays — these
are the features which strike one who
approaches him.
* " An lb* drcumttnrc* connected witk iMl
fcet." »rm Ibe report of tb* phriu^an^ •• •laasf
llwllti ■ wipDnuitursI rhiru-ICT- ll ta tmpuM^
Meioncape rnmi Ibii cauticilon. T wiic t i .-,.
dcrv, on one huld. tk« chronk nilure n: i.i^
coinpl«lnl whU-b bes>n ia iC)«: t^" l"rr« ul iik
cnxcnilcftnc cao^c, nainelf. iha (Tbiilara; Iba
pcir!iiancnf.-c or um* of ll* ■yaii)Eomi In ■ sact
ItuporUpt oioan ttl life, tbe noauuh; IW (mM'
Imntiior remedial iipp]ie<l bva^ompcWH pkf-
•ician, M. Subcrriella, the ffradoal Tiri.«iiBiUaa
uf ttrvocih, lalUxncd InrvliaMy S .
■ ni] tbe enerrmtion rcdil^inp frnin <
■ad, nn tbe oibar ban ' '
these tirrumtUtii r^ r
InnI Walcf, only tmi-f .
BMiuctiBncHrof Uic i«»u;i. '
nd-_
m
Wc slated the object of our visit.
" It is a long time," he answered,
"since all that happened, and, at the
distance of ten or twelve years, my
memory supplies but a dim recollec-
tion of the matter about which you
inquire ; besides, I was not an eye-
witness of it. I did not sec Madame
Rixan for several montlis, and, con-
sequently, do not know by what con-
ditions or agents, or with what de-
gree of speed or slowness, her recov-
ery was effected."
" But, doctor, did you not have
curiosity enough to investigate such
an extraordinary event, of which ru-
mor must have instantly informed
you, especially in this place ?"
" 'Hie fact is," he answered, " I am
an old physician. 1 know that the
laws of nature are never reversed,
and, to tell you the truth, I do not
believe the least bit in miracles."
" Ah ! doctor, you sin against the
faith," cried the abbfi who had ac-
companied mu.
"And I, doctor, do not accuse
you of sinning against faith, but I
accuse you of sinning against the
very principles of the science which
you profess."
" How, pray, and in what ? "
" Medicine is not a spcct.lalive, but
an empirical science. Kxperiencc is
its law. The observation of facts is
its first and fundamental principle.
If you had been told that Madame
Rizan had cured herself by washing
with a decoction from some plant
recently discovered on yonder moun-
tain, you would not have failed to
ascertain the cure and to examine
the plant, and put the discovery on
reconl. It might have been as im-
portant as that of quinine In the last
century. You would have done the
same if the cure had been j)roduced
by some ne%v sulphurous or alkaline
substance. But, now, everybody is
talking about a fountain of miracu-
lous water, and you ha\-e never yet
been to see iL Forgetting that you
are a physician, that is to say, a
humble observer of facts, you have
refused to notice this, as did the sci-
entific academies whidi rejected
steam and proscribed quinine on
some quack principles of their own.
In mc-dicinc, when fact contradicts a
principle, it means that the principle
is uTong. Experience is the su-
preme judge. And here, doctor, al-
low me to say that, if you had not
had some vague consciousness that
what I am telling you is true, you
would have rushed to find out the
truth, and would have given yourself
the pleasure of showing up the im-
posture of a miracle %vhich was set-
ting the whole neighborhood wild
with excitement. But this would
ha\'e exposed you to the danger of
being forced to surrender ; and you
have acted like those party-slaves
who will not listen to the arguments
of their opponents. You have hs-
tcned to your philosophical preju-
dices, and you have been false to the
fiVst law of medicine, which is to face
the study of facts — no matter of
what nattire — in order to derive in-
struction from them. 1 speak freely,
doctor, because I am aware of your
great merits, and that your keen in-
tellect is capable of hearing the
truth. Many physicians have re-
fused to certify to facts of this na-
ture, for fear of having to brave the
resentment of the faculty and the
raillery of friends of their profession.
With regard to yourself, doctor, al-
though your philosophy may have
deceived you, human respect has had
nothing at all to do with your keep-
ing aloof."
"Certainly not," he replied, "but,
perhaps, if I had placeil myself at
the point of view which you have
indicated, 1 might have done belter
by examining tJie matter."
6yo
Our Lady of Lourdes,
T.
LoNo before the occurrences at
Lourdes, at an epoch when iJema-
deue was not yet in the world, in
1845, during the month of April, an
honorable family of Tartas in the
Landes was in a state of great anx-
iety. The year before, Mile. Adtic
de Chariton had been married to M.
Moreau dc Sazenay, and now ap-
proached the term of her pregnancy.
The crisis of a first maternity is al-
ways alarming. The medical men,
summoned in hasLc on the prelimi-
nary symptoms, declared that the
birth would be very difficult, and did
not conceal their fear of some dan-
ger. No one is ignorant of the cruel
anxiety of such a juncture. The
most poignant anguish is not for the
poor wife who is prostrated upon
her bed of pain, and entirely absorb-
c<l in her physical sufferings. It is
the husband whose heart is now the
prey of indescribable tortures. They
are of the age of vivid impressiions ;
they have entered upon a new hfc,
and begun to taste the joys of a.
union which God seems to have
blessed ; they have passed a few
months full of anticipations of the
future. Tlie yoimg couple have set
them don-n, so to speak, side by side
in a fairy pleasure-boat The river
of life has carried them softly on
amid banks of flower?. Suddenly,
without warning, the shadow of
death rises before Uiem. The heart
of the husband, expanded with hope
for the child so soon to be bom, is
crushed by terror for his wife, who
may be about 10 perish. He hears
her accents of pain. How will the
crisis end ? Is it to be in joy or be-
reavement ? What is about to issue
from that chamber ? Will It be life
or death ? What must wc send for
—^ cradle or a coffin ? Or — horrible
contrast — will both be necessarj- ?
*<n^i
Or, worse still, shall two coRtns
necessary ? Human science is
lent, and hesitates to pronounce.
I'his anguish is frightful, but es-
pecially for those who do not seek
from God theirslrength and Co;,
tion. But M. Moreau was a Ca:..
tian. He knew that the thread of
our existence is in the hands of a
supreme Master, to whom we can
always appcil from the doctors <}{
science. UTien man has fiasscvt wrn^
tence, the King of heaven, as
as other sovereigns, holds the ri
of pardon.
"The Ulesscd Virgin will, perhaps,
vouchsafe to hear me," thoncht the
afflicted husband. He '
himself with confidence i^ _.._
ther of Christ.
The danger which had ap
so llircateuing disappeared as
cloud upon the horizon. A Ht
girl had just been born.
Assuredly there was noihlnj»
traordinary about this delivcnm
However alarming the danger mi
have appeared to M. More-iu h
self, the phi-sicians had never gi
up hope. 'ITie favorable issue
crisis may have been sum
purely natural.
The heart of the husband and l
ther, however, felt itself penetrat
with gratitude to the Blessed Vt
His was not one of those rebdlj
souls which demands fireedotn
all doubt in order to escape a
■edging a favor.
'• What name are you goin^
give to your little girl ? " he w
asked.
" She sliall be callwl Marie-"
" Marie ? Why, that is the coi
rooncst name in the whole cou
'llie children of the laboring
the servants, are all named
Besides, Marie Mo/«au is out of
euphony. The two m's and two
would be intolerable I " A th
Our Lady of Lourdes.
67\
reasons of equal validity were urged
against him. There was a general
protest.
M. Moreau was very accessible,
rAiid ca^iily tnuvctl by others; but in
Lthis instance he resisted all counsel
I and entreaty; he braved all discon-
tent, and his tenacity was really ex-
traordinar)'. He did not allow hini-
iSeir to forget that^ iu his distress, he
(had invukcd this sacred name, or
Lthat it belonged to the Queen of
[heaven.
'■ She shall be called Marie, and I
lavish her to take the Blessed Virgin
I for a patroness. And I tell you ilic
\ trutli, this name will some day bring
|.ber a blessing."
Everybody was astonished at this
((^parent otxitioacy, but it remained
unshaken as that of Zachary when
jjie gave his son the name John.
tVainly did they apply every means
of attack ; there was no gelling by
this inflexible will. The firsi-bom of
the family, ilierefore, took the name
of Marie. The father, moreover,
J desired that she should be vowed for
[three years to dress in white, the
[color of the Ulessed Virgin. This,
'too, was done.
More than sixteen years had now
passed since this episode. A second
daughter had been born, she was
.colled Martlic. Mile. Marie Moreau
'was being e<!ucated at the Convent
of the Sacred Heart at Bordeaux.
About the commencement of January,
1858, she was attacked by a disease
of the eyes, which shortly obliged her
to give up her studies. She supposed
at first that it was only a cold which
would pa^s off :is it had come; but
her hopes were deceived, and htT
complaint assumed a most alarming
[^cliaracter. The physician in attcn-
^dancc judged it necefisary to consult
distinguished oculist of Bordeaux,
M. Ilemiont. It was not a cold; it
WW amaurosis.
" Her case is a very serious one,"
said M. Ucrmontj "one of the eyes
is entirely gone, and the otlicr in a very
dangerous condition."
'ihe parents were immediately
notified. Her mother hastened to
ik>rdeaux, and brought back her
daughter, in order that she might
have at home that care, treatment,
and perfect attention which the ocu-
list had prescribed in order to save
the eye whidi yet remained, awl
which was so gravely affected that it
could perceive objects only as through
a mist.
The medicines, baths, and all the
prescriptions of science proved use-
less. Spring and autumn passed
without any change for the better.
Indeed, the deplorable condition of
the invalid was daily aggravated.
TotJii blindness was approaching.
M. and Madame Moreau decided to
take their child to Paris, in order to
consult tlic great medical lights.
While engaged in hasty prepara-
tions for their journey, fearinj; lest it
might be too slow to escape the danger
which threatened their child, the post-
man brought them the weekly num-
ber of the Mf stager Catholupte. It
was about the first of November, and
this number of the Afcssnger Catho-
Hque happened to be precisely the one
which contained the letter of Abbe
Dupont, and the story of the miracu-
lous cure of Madame Rizan, of Nay,
by means of water from the grotto.
M. Moreau opened it roechanicallyf
and his glance fell upon that divine
history. He turned pale as he read,
hope began to awaken in the hcirt
of the desolate father, and that soul,
or rather that heart, was touched by
a gleam of light.
•* 'ITiere," said he — " there is the
door at which we must knock. It is
evident," he added, witli a simplicity
whose actual, words wc delight to re-
peat, <* that, if the Jilessed Virgin has
I
tr Lady oj
.onrt
really appeared at Lourdcs, she roust
be interested In working miraculous
cures to prove the tnilh of her np-
paritions. And this is especially true
at first before the event is not gen-
erally believed . . . Let us be in a
hurry, then, since in this cane the iir^t
come are to be the first served. My
dearest wife and daughter, we inust
address ourselves at once to Our
Lady of Lonrdes." Sixteen years
had not worn out the (aith of M.
Mureau.
A novcna was resolved upon, in
which all the neighboring friends of
the young girl were to be asked to
join. By a providential circumstance,
a priest of the city had in \m po^es-
sion a bottle of the water, so that the
novcna could be commenced at once.
The parents, iu case of a cure,
bound themselves to make a pilgrim-
age to Lourdcs, and to devote their
daughter for a year to the colors of
white and blue, the colors of the
Blewed Virgin, which she liad already
worn for three yean during her in-
fancy.
The novcna commenced on Sun-
day evening, the 8lh uf November.
Must it be acknowletlged ? The
invalid had but little faith. Her
motlier dared not hope. Her father
alone bad that tranquil faith which
the kind powers of heaven never
reiist.
All said the prayers together in
}A, Morcau's room, before an image
of the Blessed Virijin. The mother
anil her ■■* J daughters rose one after
anoth**" ^<i retire, but the father re-
main on his knees.
He thought he was alone, and his
voice broke forth with a fervor which
recalled his family, who have given
us (he aa:ount, and who never can
forget that solemn moment without
a tremor.
*• Blessed Virgin ! *' said the fallier
~-" most blessed Virgin Mary 1 >-ou
must cure my child. Yes, i
are 6fiutni to do it. It is an
tion which you cannot refuse to
acknowledge. Remember, (.> M
how, in spite of everybody
against everybody, 1 cho>e you
her patron. Remember what
gics I had to give her your sac
name. Can you, Holy Virgin U.
all this P Can you forget how I
fended your glorv' and (Kiwer ag..
the vain reasons with which ihcv snr-
rounded me } Can you I
publicly placed this child
protection, telling cvcnrbody and ir-
peating that your name would so
day bring a blessing upon her ?
you be unmindful of all this ?
you not bound in honor — now that 1
am in misfortune, now when I pi
you for our child and yours — to
to our help and heal Iter malod
Are you going to allow her to
come blind, after the fiith I
shown in you f No I do I impo>ssib)e1
Vou will cure her."
Such were the sentiments which
escaped in loud tones from the un-
happy father, as he appealed to the
Blessed Virgin, and, as it were, pre-
senting a claim agaiu:it her, demaiuU
cd payment.
It was ten o'clock at night.
The young girl, before reti
dipped a linen bandage in the wa
of Lourdes, and, placing it u|)on her
eyes, tied it behind her head.
Her soul was agitated. With
having her father's faith, she said
herself that, after all, the B)
Virgin was perfecdy able to cure
and that, perhaps, at the end of
novcna she might recover her ri
Then doubt returned, and it
as if a miracle ought not to be w
ed for her. With all these thoughts
revolving in her mind, she co.
hardly lie still, and it was verjr
before she fell asleep.
When moniing came, as soon
Our Lady of LourHes,
^71
[ihe awoke, her Brst movement of
pe and uneasy curiosity was to
fiemovc Lhi: bandage which covered
flier ej'es. She mterc<i a loud cry.
The room about her was filled
with the light of the rising day. She
saw clearly, exactly, and distinctly.
The diseasc-d eye had recovered its
health, and the eye which before
was blind had been rL*storcd to
h»ght.
Marthe I Marthe l" she cried, " I
I see perfectly. I am cured I"
Little Marthe, who slept in the
I same room, sprang out of bed and
Tan to her sister. She saw her eyes,
Iwripped of their bloody veil, black
[•nd brilltani, and sparkling with life
[and strength. The little girl's heart
once turned toward licr father and
Iroothcr, who had not yet shared in
I (his joy.
'' Papa 1 marania !" she cried.
Marie beckoned her not to call
them yet.
** Wail ! wait !" sai<l she, " until I
[have tried if I can read. Give me
book."
'Ihc child took one from the tabic.
I^Therersaid she.
Marie opened the book, and read
with perfect ease as freely as any
one ever has read. The cure was
complete, radical, absolute, and the
^£le35cd Virgin had not left her work
lalf-done.
The father and mother hastened to
[the room.
Papa, mamma, I can see — I can
ftcad — I am cured !"
How can wc describe the scene
[which followed? Our readers can
^.understand it, each for himself, by
[entering into his own imagination.
le door of the house had not yet
[*becn opened. The windows were
closed, and their transparent panes
'•dmittwlonly tlit; early light of morn-
ing. Who, then, could have entered
to join this family in the happiness
VOL. XIII.— 43
of this sudden blessing ? And yet
these Christians felt instinctively that
they were not alone, and that a pow-
erful being was invisibly in the midst
of them. The father and mother,
and Hide Marthe, fell on their knees;
Marie, who had not yet arisen, clasp-
ed her hands; and from these four
breasts, oppressed with gratitude and
emotion, went forth, as a prayer of
thanks, the holy name of the Mother
of tiod : " O holy Virgin Mary 1 Our
Lady of Lourdes !"
What their other words were, wc
know not ; but what their sentimcnLs
must have been, any one can imag-
inc by placing himself before this
miraculous event, which, like a fiabh
from the power of God, had turned
tlie affliction of a family into joy and
happiness.
Is it necessary to add that, sliort-
ly afterward, Mile. Marie Moreau
went with her parents to thank Our
Lady of Lourdes in the place of her
apparition ? She left her colored
dresses upon the altar, and went
away happy and proud of wearing
the colors of the Queen of virgins.
M. Moreau, whose faith had for-
merly been so strong, was wholly
stupefied. "I thought," said he,
" that such favors were only granted
to the saints ; how is it, then, that
they descend upon miserable sinners
like us ?"
These facts were witnessed by the
entire population of Tartas, who
shared in the affiiction of one of their
most respected families. Evcr>*body
in die city saw and can testify that
the mahdy, which had been consi-
dered desperate, was completely heal-
ed at the beginning of the novena.
The superior of the Conventof the Sa-
cred Heart at Itordeaux, the one hun-
dred ami fifty pupils who were school-
mates of Mllc.Maric Moreau, the phy-
sicians of that instituiion. have estab-
lishei^ her serious condition before the
674
Our Lotiy of Lourdts.
events which we have related, and her
total cure iiiitnediately afterward. She
returned to Bordeaux, wlicrc she re-
mained two years to complete her
studies,
'Ihe oculist Iktmont could not
recover frum hi.s surprise at an event
so entirely beyond his science. We
have read his declaration certifying
tu th^ state of the invalid, and ac-
Icnowledgin)? the inability of metiical
treatment In produce such a cure,
" which." he observes, " has persist-
ed and still holds. As to the instan-
taneoiisnciLs with which this cure has
been wrought," he adds, " it ts a fact
which incomparably surpasses the
power of medical science. In iCiti-
moiiy of which I attach niy bigna-
lure. IlKRMONT."
'ITiis declaration, dated February
Bth, 1859, is preserved at the bishop's
residence at Tarbes^ together with a
(p*eat number of letters and testimo-
nials from citizens of Tartas, among
others that of the mayor of that city,
M. Desbord.
Mtle. Marie continued to wear the
colors of the Blessed V^ir^in up to
llic day of her inarri.iRc, which took
pLicc after she had Jinishcd her stu-
dies and left the Sacred Heart. On
tliiU day she went to Lourdcs and
laid aside her maiden attire to put
on her liridal robrs. She wished to
give diis dress of Jiluc and white to
anntiier young girl, also beloved by
the Itlcsscd Virgin, Bemadctle,
Thu was the only present whicJi
Bcniadette ever accepted. She wore
for several years, indeed until it was
■worn out, this dress which recalled
the loving power of tlie divine ap|ja-
lilion at the grulto.
F.leven years have unce elapsed.
The favor accorded by the Blessed
-Virgin has not becu withdrawn. Mll€.
[orean has always had most excel-
lent and perfect si^ht ; never any re-
lapse, never the slightest indispo«iiiOD.
Excepting by suicide, ingraeiiud«,<
abuse of grace, that which God hi
restored can never die. Hirtu.'^rm
Jam non moriiur.
Mile. Marie Moreau is now called
Madame d'l&ini dc Vtllefort, and
the mother of three delightful
drcn, who have the Ancst eye« in
world. Although they are bO)
each bears in his baptisoiol
6r5t the name of Mary.
VI.
MiRAcirtAus cures were count
by hundreds. It was impossible
verify them all. The episcopal
mission submitted thirty of them lo
most rigorous wmtiny. The tn(
severe strictness was shown in
examination, and noUiing was
tnittcd as supernatural, until it
altsoliitcly impossible to call it any-
thing else. All cures which bad iioL
been almost in^tntimcous, or whi<
had been occupied by succe«i
stages, all these were rejected ;
also were all which had \y
ed in conjunction with mc .
mcnt, however unavailing the Uil
might have been, ".\ltliuugh tl
ineJficacy of the remedies ptescril
by science has been sufficiently
monstrated, we cannot in this <
in an ejiclusive manner attril'Utc th^
cure to a suiwmatura! virtue iii the
water of the grotto which was used
at the same time." So runs the re-
port of the secretary of the commis-
sion.
Moreover, niunerous spiritual &-
vors. singular gT.ices, uv'
conventions, had been rep< -i
commission. It is difficult to esu
lish juridically events which
taken place in the closed rcccwcs Df
the human .«oul and which
the observation of all withouL
though sijrii r.ict5, such changes,
ol'ieD trrare wonderful than the
Our Lady of Lourdes.
675
ration of a member or the healing
of a physical disease, the commis-
sion judged rightly when it decided
that it ought not to include them in
the solemn and public inquiry with
which it had been charged by the bi-
shop.
In the report to his grace, the
committee, by agreement with the
physicians, divided the cures which
had been examined into three cate-
gories, with all the carefully gather-
eH details and proch-verbattx^ signed
by the persons cured and by numer-
ous witnesses.
The first category included those
cures which, despite their striking
and nstonishing appearance, were
susceptible of a natural explanation.
These were six in number ; namely,
those of Jeanne-Marie Arqu6, the
widow Crozat, Blaise Maumus, a
child of the Lasbareilles of Gez,
Jeanne Crassus, Arcizan-Avant, Je-
anne Pomifes of Loubajac.
The second list comprised cures
which the commission felt inclined
to attribute a supernatural charac-
ter. Of this number were Jean-
Pierre Malou, Jeanne-Marie Dauber,
wife of a certain Venddme, Bemarde
Soubies and Pauline Bordeaux of
Lourdes, Jean-Marie Amar^ of Beau-
cens, Marcelle Peyregue of Agos,
Jeanne-Marie Massot Bordenave of
Arras, Jeanne Gezma and Auguste
Bordes of Pontacq. " The greater
number of these facts," says the me-
dical report, '* possess all the con-
ditions to cause them be admitted as
supernatural. It will, perhaps, be
found that in excluding them we
have acted with too much reserve
and scrupulousness.
" But far from complaining of this
reproach, we shall congratulate our-
selves upon it, since in these matters .
we are convinced that prudence de-
mands severity."
Under such circumstances, a na-
tural explanation, although in itself
utterly improbable, seemed rigorous-
ly possible, and this was sufficient to
prevent the examiners from declar-
ing a miracle.
The third class contained cures
which presented an undeniable and
evident supernatural character, fif-
teen in number. Those of: Blaisette
Soupenne, Benoite Cazeaux, Jeanne
Grassus married to Crozat, Louis
Bourriette, little Justin Bouhohorts,
Fabian and Suzanne Baron of Lour-
des, Madame Rizanand Henry Bus-
quet of Nay, Catherine Latapie of
Loubajac, Madame Lanou of Bor-
deres, Marianne Garrot and Denys
Bouchet of Lamarque, Jean-Marie
Tamboumfi of St.-Justin, Mile. Marie
Moreau de Sazenay of Tartas, Pas-
chaline Abbadie of Rabasteins, all
these were incontestably miraculous
" The maladies to which those fa-
vored by such sudden and startling
cures were subject were of entirely
different natures" — we quote from the
report of the commission. "They pos-
sessed the greatest variety of charac-
ter. Some were the subjects of ex-
ternal, others of internal pathology.
Nevertheless, these various diseases
were all cured by a single simple ele-
ment, used either as a lotion or drink,
or sometimes in both ways,
"In the natural and scientific
order, furthermore, each remedy is
used in a fixed and regular manner ;
it has its special virtue proper to
a given malady, but is either ineffi-
cacious or hurtful in other cases.
" It is not, then, by any property
inherent in its composition that the
Massabielle water has been able to
produce such numerous, diverse, and
extraordinary cures, and to extin-
guish at once diseases of different
and opposite characters. Further-
more, science has authoritatively de-
clared, after analysis, that this water
has no mineral or therapeutic quali*
676
Our Lady of L&urdfS.
ties, and chemically docs not differ
from other pure waters. Medical
science, having been consulted, afier
m.inire and conscieniious examina-
tion, is not less dcciiiivc in its con-
clusions."
** In glancing at the general ap-
pearance of these cures," sa>-s the
medical report, " one cannot fail to
be struck by the ease, the ]irompti-
tude, and insunlanL-ous rapidity with
which they spring from iheir pro-
ducing cause ; from the violation
and overthrow of all therapeutic
laws und methods which takes plice
in their accomplishment ; from the
contradictiuns otTcrcd by them to all
the accepted axioms and cautions of
science; from thnt kind of disdain
which s|)orts with the chronic nature
And long resistance of tlie disease ;
from the conccalcil but real cnre
nith which all ihe circum*
arranged iind combined : v ^,
in short, shows that the cures wrought
belong to an order apart from the
habitual course of nature.
** Such phenomena surpass the
limits of the human intcUecC How,
indeed, can it comprehend tbc oppo*
sidon which exists :
** Between the Kiroptidty of the
means and the greatness of the re-
■ult?
•• Between the unity of Uk remedy
and the variety of iIk diseases?
" Between the sbott time employ*
cd in tbc use of thb remedy and the
kngthy treatment indicated by sci-
ence?
** Between the ndden dkscy of
the former and the long-ackoov-
lc<)ged inutility of the latter ?
*• Between the chrunic nature of
the diseases and the iiutJihtaneotis
character of the cure?
" There is tn all this a contsn^iBl
force, superior to any that &tJ tM g
from lutural causes, luid, coue*
qucntly, foreign to the water of which
it has made use to show forth im
power ? "
In view of so many carcfuQy-col-
lected and publicly -ccntfted Cuts,
so striking in their nature; in ticv,
moreover, of the conscientioos and
thorough inquiry rnadc by the oom-
mussion, together with lite fbnBil
and united tleclarations of medicine
and chemistry, the bitbop cmdd
longer remain nscoaviDced.
Ncverthdess, otk account of f
spirit of extreme prudence which wc
have before remarked, MonadgncM
Laurence, before giving the **^'HM
epiMiopal verdict in this nuter, «ie^
mandcd a suU fozthcr guanuitf of
these miracokm cum the prool'
of time. He iBowed there yean to
pass. A Kcoftd cxaafautioa was
then made. The mincttloai cuMa
stiU held good. No one appeand
to rtttact former testimony or to
contest ftoy of the Cuts^ The voilts
of him who rules orcr eternity bad
nothing to fear fron the test of vmut,
Antt this OKiwbemuog jcnu of
ffoo6 and ccrtaiDtjr» MecMCJgncvr
XjsBrcncc at lengm laouuoac
)tulgment whirii all had beoi
img. We give beiow m
fcatvcL
m
Fer£ Jacques and Ma^oHoiselle Adrunne,
PERE JACQUES AND MADEMOISELLE ADRIENNE.
A SKETCH AFTER THE BLOCUS.
It was just five months since I had
left it, the bright, proud Babylon,
beautiful and brave and wicked,
clothed in scoilct and feasting; sump-
tuously. King Chanticleer, strutting
on the Boulevards, was crowing
loudly, and the myriad tribe of the
Coq Gaulois, strutting up and down
the city, crowed loud and shrill in
responsive chorus — petits craves, and
petits mouchards, and petits gamins,
and all that was p^tit in that grand,
foolish cityful of humanity. Bedlam
was abruati, sin;^{( and cruwiiig
and barking iuelf rabid, and scaring
away from Babylon all that was not
bedlam. But there were many in
Babylon who were not afraid of the
bedlam, who believed that crowing
.would by-and-by translate itself into
action, into those seeds of desperate
daring that none but madmen can
j accomplish, and that, when the bugle
[«ouaded, these bragging, swaggering
maniacs would shoulder the musket,
„and, rushing to the fore, save France
or die for her. No one saved her,
but many did rush to the fore, and
die for her. Tbcy were not lunatics,
though, at least not many of thera.
The lunatics showed, as they have
ofrcti done before, that (here was
method in their madness. They
cheered on the sane, phlegmatic
brethren to death and glor)', while
they stayed prudcndy at home to
keep up Uic spirits of tlie capital ;
they were the spirit and soul of the
defence, the others were hut the bone
and muscle of it. What is a body
without a soul ? 'j'he frail arm of the
0esh without the ner\'e and strength
of the spirit? Pshaw! If it were
not for the crowing of King Chanti-
cleer, there would have been no siege
at alJ ; tlic whole concern wouM have
collapsed in its cradle.
The story of that Blocus has yet
to be written. Of its outward and
visible stor>-, many volumes, and
scores of volumes, good and bad,
true and false, have been already
written. But the inward story, the
arcana of llie defence, the exposition
oi that huge, blundering machine
that, with its springs and levent, and
wheels within wheels, snapped and
broke and collapsed in the driver's
hand, all this is still mitold. The
great B)urgu0i f is still unanswered.
HLStory will solve the riddle some
day, no doubt, as it solves most
riddles, but before that time comes,
other, grander problems of greater
import to us will have been solved
too, and we shall care but little for
the tnie story of the Blocus.
" Ves, monsieur," said my concierge,
when wc met and talked over the
events that bad passed since the first
of September, when I Oed and left my
goods and chattels to her care and
the tender mercies of the Prussians
and the Reds — '* yes, monsieur, it is
very wonderful that one doesn't hear
of anybody having died of cold,
though the winter was so terrible,
and the fuel so scarce. It ran short
almost from the beginning. We had
nothing but green sticks that couldn't
be persuaded to burn and do our
best. J used to sit shivering tu my
678
Pire yaeq«es
ifnne.
bed, while the pctiots tried to warm
tliemselves skipping in the porte-
cochere, or running up and down
from the dntiime till tlieir Ullle lens
were dead beat. O Mon Dicu ! jc
me rapetlcrai de cctle guerre en tons
les sens, monsieur."
" Dill many die from stanatton," I
askeii — " many in this neighborhood
thai you knew?"
" Not one, monsieur ! Not one of
actual hunger, though my belief is,
plenty of folks died of poison. The
bread we ate was worse than the want
of it- Such an abomination, made out
of hay and bran and oats ; why. niuii-
Bcur.a chitfonier's dog wouldn't have
touched it in Christian times. How it
kept body and soul together for any
of us is more than 1 can under-
stand."
" And yet nobody died of want Y*
I repeated.
*' Not Uiat I heard of, roonstetir ;
unltss you count Pirc Jacques as
dead from starvation. He dts.ip-
peared one morning soon after lie
lold Mile. Adrienne, and nolxtdy
ever knew what became of him.
They said in the quarrier that he
went over lo the Prussians ; but
they said that of belter men than
Itre Jacques, and l«sides what
would llie Prussians do with a poor
old tequi like P^ Jacques, I ask
it of monsieur?"
I was going to say tliat I fully
agreed with her, when wc were both
stinlcd by a suHrlen uproar in the
street round the lorner. We rushed
out simultaneously from the portc-
tochtre, where wc were holding our
confabulalion, to sec what was the
m.ittcr. A crowd was collected in
die middle of tlie Rue Bilbult, and
wai vociferously cheering somebmly
or something. As a matter of counre,
the assembly being French, iliere
were counter-chet-rs ; hisses and cries
of" ren^gat I Vciidu qux PrussiensI
drAIe," etc., intermingling with more
friendly exciamalions.
** Bon Dieu \ cc n'est done pas
fit)i 1 Is the war going tu begin
again ? Are wc going to have a re-
vohition ?" demanded my coacier:ge.
throwing up her hands 10 heaven
and then wringing tbeiti in dcKpair.
" Will ihepctiots never be able io cat
their panade and build tiieir liitJe
mud-pies in peace! Oh! monsieur,
munsicur, you arc happy not to be a
Frcnclimnn!"
Without in the least degree demur-
ring to tlii» last proposition, I su^geA^
cd (bat before ^vAti% up France as
an utterly hopeless ca&e, wc woukl
do well to see what the row was
aliout ; if imlccd it were a row, foe
the cheering, as the crowd grew,
seemed to rise predominant aborc
the hissing. Already reassured, 1 ad-
vanced boldly toward the centre of
disturbance, my concierge follow ing,
and kcqiing a tight grip of tJic ^cins
of my coat for greater security.
'• Vive Mile. Adrienne t I tonne la
patle Mile. Adnennc ! Vive |c P^e
Jacques!" The cries, capped by
peals of laughter which were sod*
denly drowned in the uproanom
braying uf a donkey, tevctl
through the street and deaf
as wc drew near.
With a shout of laughter, my c(
cierge dropped tny skms, and
ping her hands :
** Comment 1" she cried, " ^c is
alive, then t He did not eat her'
He did not sell her 1 Vire )c I'tiie,
Jac((ues! Vive Mile. Adrienne!"
1'ho.se of my readers who bai
lived any time in the quarticr of tl
Champs EJysfcs will 1
Adrienne as an old \
jnirc to Icam th.it, thanU lo Uic
lelligent devntion ot J'kre Jat-qi
she ilid not share the fate ot htrr a»i-
nine sisterhood, but has actually gone
through the horrors of the siegD of
Pere Jacqius and MndttnoiselU Adrunne,
679
Paris and liveil to lell the laic. Those
who have nut the pleasure of her ac-
quaintance will perhaps be gbd to
make it, and to hear something of so
remarkable a personage.
For years — I am afraid to say how
many, but ten is certainly within the
mark — P&re Jacques's donkey has
been a familiar object in the Kne
Billault and the Kue dc Berri, and
that part of the Faubourg St. Ho-
nore and the Champs Elysdes which
includes those streets. Why Pfere
Jacques christened his ass Mile. Ad-
rtcnne nobody knows. Some say, out
of vengeance against a cert^un blue-
cycd Adriennc who won his heart and
broke it ; others say, only love for a
faithful Adriennc who broke his
heart by dying ; but this is pure
conjecture; Pfere Jacques himself is
reticent on the subject, and, when
questioned once by a ciu^ious, imper-
tinent man, he refused to explain
himself further than by remarking,
" Que chacun avait son id^, ct que
son id^e \ lui, c'eiait Mile. Ad-
riennc," and having said this he took
a lump of sugar from his pocket and
presented it aft'ectionaitly to his id/e,
who munched it with evident satis-
faction, and acknowledged her sense
of the attention by a long and uproar-
ious bray.
•* Voyons, Mile. Adrienne \ Cal-
mons nous!" said Pere Jacques in a
tone of persuasive authority. " Cal-
mons-nous, raa chirie 1" — the braying
grew louder and louder—" will thou
be silent ? UplJ, Mile. Adriennc ! Ah,
les fcmmcs, les feinmcs I Toujoun ba-
vardesl La-a-a-i, Mile. Adriennc 1"
This was the usual style of conver-
sation between the two. Pere Jacques
presented lumjMi of sugar which were
invariably recognized by a bray, or,
more properly, a series of brav-s, such
as no other donkey in France or Na-
varre but herself could send forth ;
and while it lasted I'erc Jacques kept
up a running commentary of rcmon*
strance.
" Voyons, Mile. Adriennc ! Sapris-
ti, vcux-tu te taire ? A-t-on jamais
vu! Lotle, veux-tu en fini-i-i-rl"
Though it was an old novelty in
the quarttcr, it seemed never to have
lost its savor, aud as soon as Pj^
Jacques and his little cart, full of
apples, or oranges, or cauliflowers,
as the case might be, were seen or
heard at the further end of the street,
the gamins left off marbles and pitch-
and-toss to bully and chaff Pere
Jacques and greet his wXr with a
jocular " Bonjour. Mile. Adriennc."
The tradesmen looked up from theii
weights and measures, laughing, as
the pair went by.
When provisions began to run short
during [be Blocus, Pere Jacques grew
uneasy, noL for himselJ", but for Mile.
Adriennc. Hard-hearted jesters ad-
vised him to fatten her up for the
market; as.<;-flesh was delicate aod
rarer thau horse-0esh, and fetched
six francs a pound ; it was no small
matter to turn six francs in these
famine tinie-s when there were no
more apples or caultOowcrs to scii ;
Mile, Adriume was a burden now
instead of a help to her mastci-; the
litde cart stood idle in the comer;
there was nothing to trundle, and it
was breaking his heart to s^e her
growing ihin for want of rations, and
tu watch her spirits drooping for want
of exercise and lumps of sugar. For
moie than a fortnight I'erc Jacques
deprived himself of a morsel of the
favorite dainty, and doled out his last
demikilog to her with miserly eco-
nomy, hoping alwa)'s that the gates
would be opetied before she came to
the last lump.
" Voyotis, ma fiUc !" Pfere Jacques
would say, as she munclied a bit half
the usupJ si^e of the now precious
bonbon. " Cheer r.p, ma bouri
quelte! Be r:asora.ble, Mile. Adri-
U
680
i%r/ yaequn and hfademoisflU Adrienw,
enne, be reasonable, ^nd bear thy
trials like an ass, patienlly and brave-
ly, Dot like a man, grumbling and
despairing. I'apcriotte, Mile. Adri-
ennc ! if it were not for ihce I should
be out on the ramparts, and send
those coquins to the right-abouts my-
self. Les gredins ! they are not con-
tent with tlrilling our soldiers and
slan'ing our citizens, but they must
rob ihec of thy bit of sugar, my pretry
one. Mille lonnerresl if I had but
their necks under my arm for one
squeeze !"
And, entering into the grief and
indignation of her master. Mile. Adri-
ennc would set up an agonized bray.
Thus comforting one anotlicr, the
pair bore up through their trials. But
at last came the days of eating mice
and rais, and bread that a dog in
good circumstances would have turn-
ed up its nose at a month ago, and
then P^re Jacques shook in his sabots,
lie dared not show himself abroad
with Mtle. Adriennc, and not only
that, but be lived in chronic terror
of a raid being made on her at home.
The mischievous urchins who had
arouscii thcmscives at the expense of
his paternal feelings in days of com-
parative plenty, gave him no peace
or rest now that the wolf was really
at the door. Requisitions were be-
ing made in private houses to see
that no stores were hoanled up while
the ]ieople outside were timishing.
One rich family, who had prudently
bought a couple of cows at the be-
ginning of the Blocus, after vainly
endeavoring to keep tlie fact a secret,
and surrounding the precious beasts
with as much mystery and care as
ever Egyptian worshippers bestowed
on (he sacred Isis, were forced to
give them up to the commonwenUh,
This caused a great sensation in the
quarder. Pirc Jacques was the first
to hear it, and Ihe j^imtns improved
the opportunity by dcdajtDg to hiui
that the republic had issued a decree
that all asses were to he seized next
day, all such a.s could not spe^
they added f.i ' : cj
to be a gen^., .
massacre ties vmotcnh, itic httic brat
called it, at the abattoir of the
Valois. 'Hie fact of its being at
Rue Valois was a small mercy fo
which they reminded l't:re Ji
to be duly grateful, ina.tniuch aA,i|
being close at hand, he might accor
pany Mile. Adriennc to the place
execution, give her a porting
and hear her last bray of adieu.
this cynical climax, J'^rc Jacqi
started up in a rage, and seizing,
slick, set to vigurously bclaborii
diabolical young torturcni, whoi
to iheir heels, yelling and scxc:
like .frightened guinea-prgs, whili
Mile. Adricnne, who stood ruminaC'
ing in a cximer of die room. (i[)coi
a rattling volley of brays on the fa
gitives.
AU that night P^re Jacques
awake in terror. Every whistle
the wind, every creak in the d<
every stir and sound, set his hi
thumping vioteiiily against hi.i ribsj
every moment he was cx|)cciing
dreaded domiciliary visit, Wliat wi
he to do? Where was he lo dyl
How was he to cheat the brigani
and save Mile. Adricnne ? Th<
night wore out, and the dawn brokc^]
an^l the raid was still unaccumplicb.
cd. As soon as it was ligbi,
Jacques rose and dressed hii
and sat down on a wooden &«
cJose by MUe. Adrienne, and pa»>
dered. Since her life had been in
jeopardy, he had removed her from
her out-house in the court lo
own private room on the grot
floor close by.
•' Que me consei|lc»-ti], Mile. At
rienne?" murmured the distrat
parent, s|K;aklng in a low ton*«. im-
pcllcd by the in&tinci that dnvca hi
Pire Jacques and MademoisdU Adrienuf.
68 1
nui beings to seek sympatby some-
where, from a cat or a dog if they
have no fcllow-creaiure lo appeal to,
Pferc Jacques had contracted a habit
of talking out loud to bis dumb com-
panion when they were alone, and
consulting her on any peq^lexing
point. Suddenly a bright idea struck
Pfcre Jacques ; he would go and con-
sult Mfere Richard.
Mfcrc Richard lived in a neighbor-
ing court amidst a numerous family
of birds of many species, bullfinches,
canaries, and linnets. She had often
suggested to Pfcre Jacques to adopt
a litde songster by w.iy of cheering
his lonely den, and had once offered
him a young German canary of her
own bringing up.
" It's as good as a baby for tricks
and romfwny, and nothing so dear
to keep," urped Mfcre Richard.
But rJire Jacques had gratefully de-
clined. " Mile. Adrienne is company
enough for me," he said, "and it
might hurt her feelings if I took up
with a bird now, thanks to you all
the same, voisine."
Today, as he neared the house,
looked, in vain for the red and
f^green cages that used to hangout au
rtroisi^me on either side of Mbre Ri-
ichard's windows. *J"he birds were
jgone. Where ? Pferc Jacques felt a
jiBympathetic thrill of horror, and
"with a heavy heart mourned the dark
little sl.iiTs, no longer merry with the
Bound of chirping from the tidy little
'loom au troisitme. He refrained,
• through delicate consideration for
'"M^re Richard*s feelings, from ask-
ing questions, but, casting his eyes
round the room, he beheld the
tsmpty cages ranged in a row behind
the door.
But Mire Richard had a donkey.
There was no comparison to he to-
lerated for a moment between it and
Mite, Adrienne, still their positions
were identical, and Mferc Richard,
who was a wise woman, would help
him in his present difficulty, and if
she could not help him she would,
at any rate, sympathize with him,
which was the next best thing to
helping him. But M^re Richard, to
his surprise, had heard nothing of
the impending raid on donkeys.
When he explainetl to her how the
case stood, instead of breaking out
into lamentations, she burst into a
chuckling laugh.
*' Pas possible ! Bounquette good
to be eaten, and the republic go-
ing to buy her, and pay me six
francs a pound for her 1 I'fcre jaques,
it's too good to be true," declared
the unnatural old Harpagon.
Pferc Jact^ues was unable to contain
bis indignation. He vowed that ra-
ther than let her fall into the hands
of the cannibals, he would destroy
Mile. Adrienne with his own hand;
he would kill any man in the repub-
lic, from Favre to Gambeiu, who
dared to lay a finger on her; aye,
that he would, if he were lo swing
for it the next hour !
" Pfere Jacques, you are an inibe-
cile," observed Mbre Richanl, taking
a pinch of sniiff; " you remind inc of
a story my bunhotmuc used to tell
of two camarades of his that he met
on their way to be hanged ; one of
them didn't mind it, and walked on
quietly, holding his tongue ; but the
other ilidn't like it at all, and kept
howling and whining, and making a
lapage de diable. At last the quiet
one lost patience, and turning round
on the otlier, ' Eh grand b6tat/ he
cried, ' si tu n'cn vcux pas, n'en dc-
goute pas les autres ! ' "
Pfere Jaques saw the point of ihe
story, and, taking the hint, stood up
to go.
*' What did you Ao with the birds ?"
he demanded sternly, as he was
leaving the room.
" SoUI four of them for three francs
n
apiece, and ale three of Uiera, and
uncomtnonly good they were," said
the WTctched wotnan, with unblush-
ing heartlcssiiL'ss.
" Monster! " groaned Pfcre Jacquis,
and hurried from her presence.
AJl that day he aod Mile. Adrienne
stayed at home with their door and
window barred and bohed; but
night came, and the domiciliary visit
was still a threat Next day, how-
ever, the little door stood open as
usual, and Vbrc Jacques was to be
seen hammering away at the dilapi-
date<l leifs of a table that he was
mending fur a neighbor at the rate of
twenty-five centimes a leg; but Mile.
Adrienne was not there. Had Pcre
Jacques put an end to his agony by
actually killing her, as he had threat-
ened, and so saved her from the ig-
noble fate of the shambles ? Or
had he, haunted by the phantom of
hunger which was now staring at him
with lis pale spectral eyes from the
near background, yielded to the old
man's love of life, and sold his friend
to prolong it and escape himself from
a ghastly death ? Most people be-
lieved the latter alternative, but
nobody Vnewfor certain. U'hen MHf.
.Adricnnc's name was mentioned,
Pfcrc Jacques would frown, and give
unmistakable signs of displeasure.
If the subject was pressed, he would
seize his stick, and, making a nwuHiitt
over his head with it, prepare an ex-
pletive that the boldest never wailed
10 receive. One day he was caught
crying bitterly in his now solitary
home, and muttering to himself be-
tween the sobs, "Ma pauvre nlle I
Mile. Adrienne I Je le sui\Tai bien-
tdt— ^h Ics coquins, Ics brigands, les
monstresi " nils was looked upon
as conclusive. The monsiers in
question could only be the Shylocks
of the abattoir who had tempted lum
with blood-money for Mile. Adrienne.
Wheti ciuiosity was thus far satisfied,
the gamins ceaiicd lo worry P^
Jacques \ the lonely old nian bccADc
an object of pity to everybody, evsa
lothegamms ihtt ' v
methimnow tht;^ ' '.
with "Bonjour, Htrw Jacques t " uxl
spared him the cruel jcef thai had
been itieir customary aalutaiioo ol
late: "Mile. Adrienne it la cas-
serole I Don app^tit, Pfcre J acques I "
The days wore oOt and tlic wt
and the months. Fans, waii
pale and hunger- stricken, still
out. Winter had come, and ihi
its icy pall upon llie ctly, hiding bcc
guilty front " under innucent snom
thenightswcrclongamUuld.chc-tlai
was desolate, the tepid noon brxiuj
no warmth to the pcn>hing.firc-l
multitude. No sign of succor
to them from without In vain
watched and waited, ]>ersecucing i
with hope. The ctuiuon kept up hT
sobbing recitative through the Uadc
silence of the night ; through the
white stillness of Uie day. Hunger
gnawed into their vitals, till even
hope, weary with disapporoimcnl.
grew sick and died.
One morning, the nci};hbors no-
ticed Pirrc Jacques's door and wiiii
closed long after the hour when
was wont to be up and busy. H
knocked, and, getting no am
turned the handle of the door;
was neither locked nor barred, mi
closed, as if the master were withtl
but he was not ; the little room
tenanttess, and almost entirely
ped; the mattress and the
store of bed-clothes were gone;
iron bcflsiead, a table, a stool,
two cane chairs, were the only stic
of fumhure that remained ;
shelves were bare of the bright
ter tank-ords and platters that used
adorn them ; the gill clock with il
abortion of a Peg.(su!i bexuid by
grenadier, whith had btcn the glc
of the diimncy-picce, had disap[
^^
Pere Jacques and Mademoiselle Adrienne.
683
What did it all mean? Had the
enemy made a raid on Pfere Jacques
and his property during the night,
and carried away the lot in a balloon ?
Great was the consternation, and
greater still the gossip of the little
community, when the mysterious
event became known through the
quartier. What had become of Pfere
Jacques ? Had he been kidnapped,
or had he been murdered, or had he
taken flight of his own accord, and
whither, and why? Nothing tran-
spired to throw any light on the
mystery, and the gossips, tired of
guessing, soon ceased to think about
it, and, like many another nine days'
wonder, Pfere Jacques's disappearance
died a natural death.
A day came at last when the mi-
trailleuse hushed its hideous shriek,
the cannon left off booming, the wild
beasts of war were silent. Paris cried,
i' Merci!" and the gates were opened.
The city, like a sick man healed of a
palsy, rose up, and shook herself and
rubbed her eyes, and ate plentifully
after her long fast. Many came back
from the outposts who were wept
over as dead. There were strange
meetings in many quartiers during
those first days that followed the
capitulation. But no one brought
any news of Pfcre Jacques. There
were too many interests nearer and
dearer to think of, and, in the uni-
versal excitement of shame and ven-
geance and rare flashes of joy, he and
Mile. Adrienne were forgotten as if
they had never been. But when, on
the day of my return to Paris, my
conversation with my concierge was
interrupted by the cheering of the
crowd in the Rue Billault, and when
the cause of the hubbub was made
known, the fact that both Pfcre
Jacques and his id^e were well re-
membered and, as the newspapers
put it, universally esteemed by a
large circle of friends and admirers,
was most emphatically attested. No-
thing, indeed, could be more gratify-
ing than the manner in which their
resurrection was received. The pair
looked very much the worse for their
sojourn in the other world, wherever
it was, to which they had emigrated.
Mile. Adrienne's appearance was par-
ticularly affecting. She was worn to
skin and bone; and certainly, if
Pfere Jacques, yielding to the pangs
of hunger, had sacriticed his id^e to
his life, and taken her to the sham-
bles, she would not have fetched
more than a brace of good rats, or,
at best, some ten francs, from the in-
human butchers of the Rue Valois.
She dragged her legs, and shook and
stumbled as if the weight of her atten-
uated person were too much for them.
Even her old enemies, the gamins,
were moved to pity, while Pfere
Jacques, laughing and crying and
apostrophizing Mile. Adrienne in his
old familiar way, cheered her on to
their old home. How she ever got
there is as great a marvel as how she
lived to be led there to-day; for,
what between physical exhaustion
and mental anxiety — for the crowd
kept overpowering her with questions
and caresses — and what between the
well-meant but injudicious attentions
of sundiy little boys who kept stuff-
ing unintennitting bits of straw and
lumps of sugar into her mouth, it is
little short of a miracle that she did
not choke and expire on the maca-
dam of the Rue Billault.
Many an ass has been lionized be-
fore, and many a one will be so again.
It is a common enough sight in these
days, but never did hero or heroine
of the tribe bear herself more be-
comingly on the trying occasion than
Mile. Adrienne. As to Pfere Jacques,
ho bore himself as well as he could*
trying hard to look dignified and un-
conscious, while in his inmost heart
he was bursting with pride. While
m
A Pic IX.
he and Mile. Adrienne ambled on
side by side, some fareiious person
remarked that Pite Jacques looked
quite beside liiinsclf. This, indued,
was a great day for him and his ass.
Yet, notwithstanding that his heart
was moved within him and softened
towards all men — nay, towards all
boys — he could not be induced to &3y
a wor<I as lo where he had been, or
what he had done, or how hu and
Mtlc. Adrienne had fared in the wil-
derness, or what manner of wilder-
ness it was, or anything that could
furnish the remotest clue to their ex-
^tcnce since ibc day when they had
;paraltly disappeared oiT the horizon
of the Rue Cillault. Provisions were
still too dear, during the hrst fort-
night after the capitulation, to allow
of Vhxe Jacques resuming his old
trade of apples or cauliflowcn; be-
sides, Mademoiselle Adrienne wanted
rest.
*'Pauvre dteriel il faut qa'cUe
rcmctte ua peu de la vache enrage*
he remarked tenderly, wlien hU friei
condoled with hira on her forced
activity. He would not hear
ing her out for work, as some ^
proposed. Mbrc Kidiaxd came
offered a fabulou.<i price for the
of her for three days, with a view
a stroke of business at the raili
station, where food was pouring
from London. Vhit Jacques she
his hst at (he carnivorous old woi
and warned her never lo show
unnatural old face in bis house
or it might be worse for her.
A PIE IX
Lc Vcrbe cr^tcur en paniissant sur terra
Erigea son ^glise. auguste monument,
II appela Simon du famcux nom de Pierre
Et de son Edifice en fit le fondement :
Des volont^s du Christ $acr£ d^positairc,
Interpr^te ct gardicn du dernier Testament
Pic inspire d'cn haut ct par I'^glbc enti^rc
En ach^ve tc d6me et Ic couronnement.
Pic obtient en cc jour (glorieux privilege I)
De r^gner ^ t'^gal du chefdu saint college.
Des droits de I'Btemal et de I'htimanit^
Contre Teireur du jour d£fcnseur intr^pide,
Caline an sein des perils, d'unc main stire il guide
La barque cle Cephas au port dc V^rite.
yoKR, June 17, 1&71.
Tlu Secular not Supretne.
685
THE SECULAR NOT SUPREME*
Dr. Bellows is the well-known pas-
tor of All Souls' Church, and editor
of the Liberal Christian in this city,
a distinguished Unitarian minister,
with some religious instincts and re-
spectable literary pretensions. As a
student in college and the Divinity
School, Cambridge, Massachusetts, he
was full of promise, and a great fa-
vorite of the late Hon. Edward Eve-
rett, himself originally a Unitarian
minister and pastor of Brattle Street
Church, Boston. The Hon. E. P.
Hurlbut was formerly one of the
judges of the Supreme Court of this
state, a lawyer by profession, with a
passably clear head and a logical
mind, who knows, if not the truth, at
least what he means, and neither
fears nor hesitates to say it. His
pamphlet, as far as it goes, ex-
presses, we doubt not, his honest
thought, but his thought is the
thought of a secularist, who admits
no order above the secular, and holds
that no religion not subordinate to and
under the control of the civil power,
should be tolerated. Both he and Dr.
Bellows are from instinct and edu-
cation hearty haters of the Catholic
Church ; but while he is content to
war against her from the point of
view of pure secularism or no-religion,
that is, atheism, the reverend doctor
seeks to clothe his hatred in a
Christian garb and to war against
Christ in the name of Christ.
•i, Chureh and stale in America. A Discourae
given Kt Washinftton, D. C, at tSt insUtlftCioa
of Rev. Frederic Hinckley u Pastor of the Unl-
tarinn Church, January as. 1871. By Rev. Hen-
ry W. Bellows, D,D. Wftshinglon, D, C: I'hilp
& Solomon:;. 1871, 8vo, pp. as.
>. A Sfculitr View/ Rtligicm %» the Slate, *nd
0/ the BibU in the Fublic SehoeU. By E. P.
Huilbut. Albany: MunscU. 1S70. Svo, pp. 55.
Dr. Bellows, as a Liberal Chris-
tian, and though a Protestant hard-
ly allowed by his more rigid Protes-
tant countrymen to bear the Chris-
tian name, has a double battle to
fight: one, against the Evangelical
movement, at the head of which is
Mr. Justice Strong, of the Supreme
Court, to amend the constitution of
the United States so as to make or-
thodox Protestantism the official re-
ligion of the republic, which would
exclude him and his Unitarian, Uni-
versalist, and Quaker brethren ; and
the other, against the admission of the
equal rights of Catholics with Pro-
testants before the American state.
Catholics greatly trouble him, and
he hardly knows what to do with
them. According to the letter of
the constitution of the Union and of
the several states, unless New Hamp-
shire be an exception, they are Ame-
rican citizens, standing in all respects
on a footing of perfect equality with
any other class of citizens, and have
as much right to take part in public
affairs, and to seek to manage them
in the interests of their religion, as
Protestants have to take part in them
in the interests of Protestantism ; but
this is very wrong, and against the
spirit of the constitution; for the na-
tion is a Protestant nation, the coun-
try was originally settled by and be-
longs to Protestantism, and Catho-
lics ought to understand that they
are really here only by sufferance,
that they do not in reality stand in
relation to public questions on a foot-
ing of equality with Protestants, and
have really no right to exert any in-
fluence in regard to the public policy
of the country not in accordance with
686
Tke Secular not Supreme.
the convictions of the Protestant ma-
jociiy. He lells us, ia the discourse
belbrc us and more disliiictly still in
the columns of the Uberal Chiistutn^
not to aspire as citizens to equality
with Protestants as if we had as much
right to the government as they
have, and warns us that if wc do \vc
shall be resisted even unio blood.
The occasion of his outpouring of
wrath against Catholics is that they
have protested against being taxed for
the support of a system of sectarian
or godless schools, to which they are
forbidden in conscience to send their
children, and have demanded as their
right either that the tax be remitted,
or that their proportion of the public
hchools be set off to them, to be, as
to education and discipline, under
Catholic control. Dr. Bellows allows
thai the Catholic demand is just, and
that by making it a question at the
polls ihcy may finally obtain it ; but
this is nut to his mind, for it would
defeat the pet scheme of Frotestanls
for preventing the growth of Catho-
licity in the country, by detaching,
through tlie influence of the piil>tic
schools, their cliildren from the faith
ol their jjarcnls. Yet as long as any
religion, even the reading of the Bible,
is insisted on in the pubhc schools,
what solid argument can be urged
against the demand of Catholics, or
what is to prevent Catholic citizens
from making it a political question
and withlioKltnij their votes fntm the
party thai refuses to respect their
rights of conscience and to do them
justice ? Mr. Bellows says that we
cannot legally be prevented from do-
ing so, but, if wc do so, It will be the
worse for ui.; for if we carry our rcli-
ipon to the polls Oic Protestant |tco-
pie VI ill, as they should, rise up against
us and overwhelm us by their ioj-
mcnsc infijority, {Kthaps even extct-
minaic us.
To prevent the possibility of col-
lision, the reverend doctor propoaa
a complete divorce of church and
state. He proposes lo defeat the
Evangelicals on t]ie one baud, and
the Catholics on the other, by scf^
rating totally religion and poli
Thus he says :
1
<t»4Br '
"It IsOiCvast impottancc of kc e pitu;'
[Kilhical and the rrli^ioiiA mavcTnrtit»
xciioD or ihe people apait. and in thrtt
own independrni tpbcics. thai nakv*
wise cillMBS, alilcc on rcligiou* atxl
civil grounds, look with alarm anO
lousy on any cndcasois. on ih*? fvttt
er Ol' Protcsiants or Ciii ~
any special aircniion or
lial or separate Irgij^Lntimi i
from either ilie naltonnl or the S'
cinments. I Iwve already (>' ^
Piotcsunts, represcniing the
in ilii» country', arc now l^o-imic^
mornble convcniiuus, lo mould ptt
opinion in a «Tiy to giv!- •■■ -'"■ • ■'■-
gical chatacicr lothe o <
much more pardonaldc i;
accordance widi tlieir tii&tdrioil ant
dcnis, their hercdiiary Irmpcr. an«l
ecclesiastical logic, the Kotn.m Catliol
in (hi« couotty arc, in ranny states, and
every great ciiy of the L'nion, usini; the
tremenduus power ihcy po3»e«» .1* ilir
roake-H'ctglu of parli<:5. lo turn tl<<
lie treasure in a Mrong ctiftcnt h'
own channels, and ihusscciin
mate support as a rclifious
no( 100 niucli to gueM thai tuuic (U«j>
iinir of the rccle^lAtilicat MCalili of rb^
Rmnan Cailiolic Church In ki-
aKiiiiiitr the wifthcii nud coDvicttoi.
PfOIcMaiil country, has been voienl
in l:iiid» itiid grants tiy municipalities
leKisl^liireK trading for Irish volet.
Olhnlit: Church thus has a factltl
prosperity add profilers. It is
Mislaineil by ProtCsianls — nolODgrou
of charily and toleration, or from a
of its usefulness (that ireie well ptl
ly done), hul from low and tinwo
lilical motives in both the grval
of Ihe country. Now likal R
lholic« ilu-m'ielves should talc
InKC o( llirir bolidanty ac a
ailJ a chiitfh, and of tl* p
Uivir pticslh'MiO, wiih all unl
and sotnc enlightened comninni
turn the ^olilleal vrill into ■ mai
grinding their ecclesianiicil Rrxi. f« noi
onnatutal, not wholly uiipaidonatiiv. Bui
Tlie Secular not Supreme^
687
it is fearfully dangerous to them and to
us. Their success — due to the sense of
the Protestant strength which thinks it
can afford to blink their machinations, or
to the preoccupation of the public mind
with the emulative business pursuits of
the time, or to the confidence which the
American people seem to feel in the final
and secure divorce of church and state —
their unchecked success encourages them
to bolder and more bold demands, and
accustoms the people to more careless
and more perilous acquiescence in their
claims. The principle of authority in re-
ligion, which has so many temperamental
adherents in all countries ; the inherent
love of pomp and show in worship, strong-
est in the least educated ; a natural wea-
riness of sectarian divisions, commonest
among lazy thinkers and stupid conscien-
ces — all these play into the hands of the
Romanists, and they are making hay
while the sun shines.
" There are no reviews, no newspapers
in this country, so bold and unqualified ;
none so unscrupulous and so intensely
zealous and partisan ; none so fearless
and outspoken as the Catholic journals.
They profess to despise Protestant oppo-
sition ; they deride the feeble tactics of
other Christian sects; they are more ul-
tramontane, more Roman, more Papal,
than French, German, Austrian, Bavarian,
Italian believers ; they avow their pur-
pose to make this a Roman Catholic
country, and they hope to live on the
Protestant enemy while they are convert-
ing him. They often put their religious
faith above their political obligation, and,
as bishops and priests, make it a duty to
the church for their members to vote as
Catholics rather than as American citi-
zens. Not what favors the peace, pros-
perity, and union of the nation, but what
favors their church, is the supreme ques-
tion for them at every election ; and Ame-
rican politicians, for their predatory pur-
poses, have taught them this, and are
their leaders in it.
" Now, as an American citizen, I say
nothing against the equality of the rights
of the Roman Catholics and the Protes-
tants ; both may lawfully strive, in their
unpolitical spheres, for the mastery, and
the law may not favor or disfavor either;
nor can anything be done to prevent Ro-
man Catholics from using iheir votes as
Roman Calliolics, if ihcy please. It is
ag.iinst the spirit, but not against the let-
ter of (he constitution. At any rate, it
cannot be helped ; only, it may compel
Protestants to form parties and vote as
Protestants against Roman Catholic in-
terests, which would be a deplorable ne-
cessity, and lead, sooner or later, through
religious parties in politics, to religious
wars. The way to avoid such a horrible
possibility^alas, such a threatening pro-
bability for th€ next generation— is at
once to look with the utmost carefulness
and the utmost disfavor upon every ef-
fort on the part of either Protestants cr
Catholics to mix up sectarian or theolo-
gical or religious questions with nation-
al and state and city politics.
" Every appeal of a sect, a denomina-
tional church, or sectarian charity of any
description, to the general government,
or state or city governments, for subsidies
or favors, should be at once discounte-
nanced and forbidden by public opinion,
and made impossible by positive statute.
The Protestant sects in this country
should hasten to remove from their re-
cord any advantages whatsoever guaran-
teed to them by civil law to anypartialit)-
or sectarian distinction. The most im-
portant privilege they enjoy by law in
most of the states is the right of keeping
the Bible in the public schools. It is a
privilege associated with the tenderest
and most sacred symbol of the Protestant
faith — the Bible. To exclude it from the
public schools is to the religious aflfec-
tions of Protestants like Abraliam's sa-
crifice of his only son. When it was first
proposed, I felt horror-stricken, and in-
stinctively opposed it ; but I have thought
long and anxiously upon the subject, and
have, from pure logical necessity and
consistency, been obliged to change —
na)', reverse my opinion. Duly to the
unsectarian character of our civil institu-
tions demands that this exclusion should
be made. It will not be any disclaimer
of the importance of the Bible in the ed-
ucation of American youth, but only a
concession that we cannot carry on tho
religious with the secular education of
American children, at the public expense
and in the public schools. So long a9
Protestant Christians insist, merely in
the strength of their great majority, upon
maintaining the Bible in the public
schools, they justify Roman Catholics in
demanding that the public money for ed-
ucation shall be distributed to sects in
proportion to the number of children
they educate. This goes far to break up
the common-school system of this country,
6SS
The Secular not Supreme.
nnd, if otrried oui, must uliimaicly tcod
10 diuolve the Union, which monUly de*
peoda upon Ihc comoiunity ot feeling
and Uic homogrDoitv of culture produc-
ed by an unscclaiian sysiem of coonnon
schools." — Ckurch and SinU, pp. I(>-Iq.
But this proposed remedy will
prove worec than the disease. The
5Lite divorced frum the church, whol-
ly sopamied from rcHgion, is scpnrat-
c<l from moraliiy; and ihc stole sepa-
rated from inorahty, thji is, from the
moral order, from natural justice in-
separable from religion, cannot stand,
3[ul ought not to suud, ibr it is in-
capable of performing a single one
of its proper functions. ITie church,
reprebcnling the spiritual, and there-
fore the superior, order, is by its own
nature and constitution as indepen-
dent of the state as the soul is of the
body ; and the stale separated from
the church, or from religion and mo-
rality, is like the body separated from
the soul, dead, a putrid or putrefying
corpse. Exclude your Protestant Bi-
ble and all direct and indirect reli-
gious instruction from your public
schools, and you would not render
them a whit less objectionable to us
than they are »ovp, for wc oljject not
less to purely secular schools than
we do to settariuQ schools. Wc hold
that children should he trained up in
tlic way they should go, so that when
old ihey will not depart from it; and
the way in which tliey should go is
not the way of pure secularism, but
the way enjoined by God our Maker
through his church. God has in thU
life joined soul and body, the spiritual
and the secular, together, and what
God has joined together we dare
not put astmder. There is only one
of two tilings that can satisfy us :
either cease to tax us for the support
of the public sdiools, and leave the
education of our children to us, or
give us our proportion of llie public
schools in which to educate them
m our own rciigion. We pnitac
against the gross injtHttiX of Itctng
tawd to educate the children of noiv-
Calhulics, and being obliged \tx ad-
dition to support schuuU for our own
children at our own exjreiuc, or pail
their souls.
We do not think Dr. Belkivs
is aware of what he demands when
he demands the complete <livorce of
church and state, or the f i-
ration of religion and pel' ■ i>c
state divorced from the church is •
godless stale, and politics totally sfi^
parated from religion is simply poU-
tical athei&m, and political athtnm
is simply power without <im»ce,
force without law; for [' -n
law without God, the bu] : ;.<i
universal Lawgiver. Man has do ori-
ginal and underived legislative ; —
cr, and one man has in and oi
self no authority over another; fur
all men by the law of nature are
equal, and have equal rigtits, and
among equals no one has the right
to govern. All govemnicnts bivr*!
on political atheism, or the ossui
tion tliat politics are independent'
religion, rest on no foumUti<
usurpations. ijTannics, without
and can govern, if at all, only
might or sheer force. To dcci
the government divorced from
gion is to declare it eiiianct|
from the law of <.tod. from all m(
obligation, and free to do whatei
it pleases. It has no duties, and
der it there tat and can l)e no ri^l
for rights and duties are in the
oriler and inseparable from rchgioo,
since the law of God is the basis of
an rights and duties, the fout)daciQa_
and guarantee of all morality.
state, divorced from religion, wql
be bound to recognize and proc<
no rights of God or man. not
those natural and inalienable tii
of all men, "life, liberty, and
pursuit of happincas." 'I'hts it
The Secular not Suprewt.
689
further in the direction of absolutism
thau go the doctor's dear friends the
Turks, whom he so warmly eulogizes
in his letters from the East, for even
they hold the sultan is bound by the
Koran, and forbidden to do anything
it |}rohibils.
Dr. Bellows, doubtless, has no in-
tention of divorcing the state from
nioralily, and does not sec that his
[iroposition implies it. He probably
holds that morality is separable from
reltg^ion, for u-iih him religion is sim-
ply sentiment or opinion; but in this
he falls into the common mistake of
all Liberal Christians, and of many
Protestants who regard Liberal Chris-
tians as no Christians at all. Morali-
ty and religion are inseparable, for
nioralit)* is only the practical applica-
tion in the several departments of life
of the principles of religion. Without
religion morality has no foundation,
nothing on whicli to rest, is a baseless
fabric, an unreality. Ueny God, and
you deny the moral law and the whole
moral order, all right, all duty, all hu-
maDaccountability. 'i'hescparationof
all political questions from all religious
questions, whith the reverend doctor
demands, is their separation from
all moral questions, and is the eman-
cipation of the state fi'om all right
and all duty, or Uk assertion of Its
unrestricted power to do whatever
it pleases, in total disregard of all
moral and religious considerations.
Is this the doctrine of a Christian ?
This surely is not the relation of
church and state in America, and
derives no support from the Ameri-
can order of thought. With iis, the
state is instituted chiefly fur the pro-
tnction of the natural rights of man, as
we call them, but really the rights
of God, since they are anterior to
civil society, arc superior to it, and
not derived or derivable from it.
These rights it is the duly of civil so-
ciety to protect and defend. Any
VOL. xiu. — 44
acts of the political sovereign, be
that sovereign king or kaiser, nubility
ot people, contrary to these antece
dent and superior rights are tyranni-
cal and unjust, are violences, not laws,
and the common-law courts will not
enforce them, because contrary to the
law of justice and forbidden by it.
The American state disclaims all au-
thority over the religion of its citi-
zens, but at the s.ame time acknow-
ledges its obligation to respect in its
own action, and to protect and de-
fend from external violence, the reli-
gion which its ctti/ens or any da^is
of its citizens choose to adopt or
adhere to for themselves. It by no
means .-usserts ii.s independence of re-
ligion or its right to treat it »vith in-
difference, but acknowledges its ob-
ligation to protect its citizens in the
free and peaceable possession and
enjoyment of the religion they prefer.
It goes further, and affords religion
the protection and assistance of the
law in the possession and manage-
ment of her temporalities, her church-
es and temples, lands and tenements,
funds and revenues for the sup|H)rt
of public worship, .and various chari-
tableorcleemosynary institutions. All
the protection and assistance the be-
nefit of which every Protestant de-
nominatiou fully enjoys, and even
the Catholic Church in principle,
though nni always in fact, wouhl be
denied, if the divorce Dr. Bellows
demands were granted, and religion,
having no rights politicians are
bound to re-tpcct, would become the
prey of lawless and godless power,
and religious liberty would be utter-
ly annihilated, as well as civil liber-
ty itself, which depends on it.
The chief pretence with Dr. Bel-
lows for urging the complete divorce
of church and state, is that Catho-
lics demand and receive subsidies
from the state and city for their
schools and several cliaritable iusti-
tuiions. Some such subsidies have
bcL-n grantcrl, wc admit, but in f^r
less proportion to Catholics than they
to I'rolesiantsor non-Cailiolirs. 'ITic
public schools arc supponcd at the
pubUc ex[>ensc, by the school fund,
and a public tax, of which CalholicH
pay their share, and these schools
arc simply scctarinii or godless
schools, for the sole benefit of non-
CathoHcs. The subsidies (oncedcd
to a few of our schools do by no
means place them nn an etiuality
with those o( non-Ca( holies. We
by no means receive our share of tlie
subsidies conceded. The aids grant-
ed to our hospitals, orphan asylums,
and reformatories are less liberal
than those to simlluf non-Calho-
Itr institutions. So long as the state
subsidizes any institutions of the
sort, we claim to receive our proi>or-
tion of thera as our right. If the
state grant none to non- Catholics,
we shall demand none for ourselves.
We tiemand equality, but we ask no
special privileges or favors. The out-
cry of the sectarian and secular press
against us on this score is wholly un-
authorized, is cruel, false, anti unjust.
It is part and parcel of that general
sytem of falsification by which it is
hoped to inflame popular passion
and prejudice against Catholics and
their church.
Underlying (he whole of the doc-
trine of this discourse is the assump-
tion of the supremacy of the secular
order, or that every American citizen
is iKiancI to rulMjrdinate his religion
to his iKtliticJi, or ilivcst himself of it
whenever he act^ on a political ques-
tion. This, which is ajuumcd and par-
tially disguiseilinDr. BcUon's. is open-
ly and frankly asserted and Ixjidly
maintained in Judge Ilurlbut's p.im-
phlet. 'llic judge talks much about
theology, iheotracy, etc, subjects of
which he knows less than he supposes,
and of cour.<ie talks a great deal of
nonsense, as unbelievers f*eneri]hr
do ; but he is ifuitc clear and decided
that the state should have the powrr
to BupprcSA any church or rcUgious
institution that is baseil on a theory
or principle difTereni from its own.
Tlic theory of the American govern-
ment is democratic, and Ihr govern-
ment ought to have the |»ow(r d.
suppress or exclude every i !
that is not denKxratically coit^titui
ed. Religion should conform to po-
litics, not politics to reli^ e
political law is above the !>,
and, of course, man is nbovc li<Ml.
In onlcr to be able to carry tJut th»
theory, the learned judge proposes
an important amendment to the- con-
stitution of the United State*, whirh
shall on the one hand ] r
several states from ever t-
any religion by law; and, :• i ; i
cr, slull autiiorizc Con>;rc:>s i>>
such laws as it may deem ner. -. ,i ,
toconlrolofpreventihecsi. ' !l
or continuance of any fui
archical power in this ecu ;
cd on principles or di>giii.
nistic to republican institutions,
says :
" Tlie falluwii)); aim-uiIfiK'n; • ■■■
cU to Article 1. ni llie aiticniJi
Cun^liiuitoii of ilie Uiiiicd ^...;. ^
wuiilt til lulics .ifv ptopusrd to be
eJ M the prcuMit arlicle :
"Art, I. NttlHfT Conprcs* *m#
iMr s)i»ll make anyXtLiih ^^:■^■oK<,\\^
cMatiU&timcnt of leliftian, or
itic fire eierc)«e llit-irof; m
ilic fftfcdoin of npiTi h, uc oi
ot the riKhl of ihe [x'opli* | •
aMieinblr anil to |>clilion lite ga«
foi A rcOic&sof K<<cvAnce«. Bni
majtfnatl jutk ioirr in it ihall
sary ta tvnfjvl w P'f.ftit ft/ ftt-t^
or (vnlinuanfe pJ ■
f^ntr in tktt • ouni' ■■
!mmi.
" It ts assumed tlut T
III ihc conviiiuilon. a«
forbids a stittt from ef>i3"ii-
glon, and that oo powci i< ccmfer
The Secular not Supreme.
691
Congress by the constitution to forbid a
foreign hierarchical establishment in the
United States. If such a power be need-
ed, then the proposed amendment is also
neccssarj'." — Secular VUw, p. 5.
This proposed amendment, like
iniquity, lies unto itself, for while it
prohibits Congress and the several
states from making any law respecting
an establishment of religion or prohi-
biting the free exercise thereof, it
gives to Congress full power to control
or prevent the estabUshment or the
continuance — that is, to prohibit — the
free exercise by Catholics of their
rehgion, under the flimsy pretence
that it is a foreign hierarchy founded
on an ti -republican principles. The
hierarchy is an essential part of our
religion, and any denial of its free-
dom is the denial of the free exercise
of his religion to every Catholic, and
of the very principle of religious lib-
erty itself, which the constitution
guarantees.
We of course deny that the Catho-
lic hierarchy is a foreign hierarchy
or anti-republican, for what is Catho-
lic is universal, and what is universal
is never and nowhere a foreigner ; but
yet, because its Supreme Pontiff does
not reside personally in America,
and its power does not emanate from
the American people, Protestants,
Jews, and infidels will hold that it is
a foreign power, and anti-republican.
The carnal Jews held the Hebrew
religion to be a national religion, and
because the promised Messiah came
as a spiritual, not as a temporal and
national prince, they rejected him.
Infidels believe in no spiritual order,
and consequently in no Catholic
principle or authority ; Protestants
believe in no Catholic hierarchy, and
hold that all authority in religious
matters comes from God, not through
the hierarchy, but through the faith-
ful or the people, and hence their
ministers are called, not sent. It
would be useless, therefore, to under-
take to prove to one or another of
these three classes that the Catholic
hierarchy is at home here, in Ameri-
ca, as much so as at Rome, and,
since it holds not from the people,
that it is not founded on anti-republi-
can or anti-democratic principles.
The only arguments we could use to
prove it lie in an order of thought with
which they are not familiar, do not
even recognize, and to be appreciat-
ed demand a spiritual apprehension
which, though not above natural rea-
son, is quite too high for such con-
firmed secularists as ex-Judge Hurl-
but and his- rationalistic brethren,
who have lost all conception, not
only of the supernatural order, but
of the supersensible, the intelligible,
the universal reality above individual
or particular existences.
For Catholics there are two orders,
the secular and the spiritual. The secu-
lar is bound by the limitations and con-
ditions of time and place ; the spirit-
ual is above and independent of all
such conditions and limitations, and
is universal, always and everywhere
the same. The Catholic hierarchy
represents in the secular and visible
world, in the affairs of individuals and
nations, this spiritual order, on which
the whole secular order depends, and
which, therefore, is an alien nowhere
and at home everywhere. The Ca-
tholic hierarchy is supernatural, not
natural, and, therefore, no more a
foreigner in one nation than in anoth-
er. But it is only the Catholic that can
see and understand this; it is too
high and too intellectual for non-
Catholics, whose minds are turned
earthward, and have lost the habit
of looking upward, and to recover it
must be touched by the quickening
and elevating power of grace. We
must expect them, therefore, to vote
the Catholic hierarchy to be in this
country a foreign hierarchy, although
*
it is nowh<rre national, and is no more
foreign here than is God himself.
The Calholic hierarchy is not
foundwi on democratic principles,
we grant, but there is nothing in
its principles or dogmas aniagonis-
lical to republican goveroment, if
government at all ; but since it
holds not from the people, nor in
any sense depends on thcra for its
authority, non-Catholics, who recog-
nize no jKiwcr above the people, will
vote it nnti- republican, undemocratic,
aniagonislidl lo the American system
of government. It is of no use to try
to persuade them to the contrary, or
to allege that it is of the very essence
and design of religion to assert the
supremacy of an order which does
not hold from the people, and is above
them botli individually and collective-
ly, or lo maintain in the direction and
goveromcut of human affairs the su-
premacy of the law of God, which
all uu-n and nations, in both public
andprivalcmattcri, arc bound toobey,
and which none con disobey with
impunity. They will only reply that
this is repugnant to the democratic
tendencies of the age, is contrary lo
the free and enlightened spirit of the
nineteenth century, denies ihe origi-
nal,, absolute, Olid undcrivcd sove-
reignty nf tlie people, and is mani-
festly a return to the theocratic prin-
ciple which humanity rejects with
horror. To an argument of this
sort there, of course, is no available
answer. The men who use it are
impervious to logic or common
sense, for ihey either believe in no
God, or that God is altogether like
one of themselves; tlicrcforc, in no
respect above themselves.
It is very clear, then, if Judge
Hurlbut's proposed amendment to
the constitulion were adopted, it
would be interpreted as giving to
Congress, as ihc Judge intends it
shoulJ, the power to suppress, ac-
cording to its discretion, the Catho-
lic hierarchy, aud, therefore, the Ca-
tholic Church in the L'niced Sutes,
and that, too, notwithstanding the
very amendmcnl denies to Congress
ihe power to prohibit to any one the
free exer£i.sc of hts religion I How
tnie it is. as the Psalmist says, •• Ini-
quity hath lied to itself." The ene-
mies of ihe church, who are necessa-
rily llie enemies of God, omd, ihcrc'
fore, of the truth, are not able lo
frame an argument or a lanr against
the church that docs not contradict
or belie Itself; yet are they, in their
own estimation, the fff/jr^'-^/ r
lion of mankind, and Cai! .^
weak, besotted, grovelling lo ignor-
ance and superstition.
There is lillle doubt that the am*
endment proposed by Judge Hurl-
but would, if adopted, effect the
object the Evangelical sects are con-
spirmg with Jews and infidels to
cSecl, so far as human (tower can
effect it — [hat is, the suppression of
the Catholic Church in the United
States, and it is a bolder, more direr t,
and honester wayof coining at it ihjn
the fair-seeming but iiuiiliu'
mcni proposed by Mr, Justin
of the Su]>rcme Court of the L.-; '■■ '
States, and his Evangclic:d allien it
is now well uuder^stood by nun-Ca*
tholic leaders that the growth of ilw
church cannot be prevented or re-
larded by arguments drawn from
Scripture or reason, for lx>th Scrip-
ture and reason are found to be oo
her side, and dead against them.
They see very clearly that if she Is
left free with " an open field and &ir
play," it is all over with her oppon-
ents. They must then contriv(i, in
some way, by some mean* or oXht-r. ' M
to suppress the religious freedom ''
equality now guaranteed by our .. ,.-
stitution and ]aw<s, and bring th^
civil Law or the physical power of
ihc sulc to bear against the chtfiTCh
The Secular not Supreme.
693
and the freedom of Catholics.
That it is a settled design on the
part of the leading Protestant sects
to do this — and that they are aided
by Unitarians and Universalists, be-
cause they know that Protestant
orthodoxy would soon go by the
board if the Catholic Church were
suppressed; by the Jews, because
they hate Christianity, and know
well that Christianity and the Catho-
lic Church stand or fall together;
and by unbelievers and secularists,
because they would abolish all re-
ligion, and they feel that they cannot
effect their purpose if the Catholic
Church stands in their way — no one
can seriously doubt. We include the
Jews in this conspiracy, for we have
before us the report of a remarkable
discourse delivered lately in the He-
brewsynagogue at Washington, D. C,
by the Rabbi Lilienthal, of Cincin-
nati, entitled *' First the State, then
the Church," which is directed al-
most wholly against the Catholic
Church. We make an extract from
this discourse, longer than we can
well afford room for, but our readers
will thank us for it :
"Of nil the questions which demand
our serious consideration, none is of more
importance than the one, 'Shall the
state or the church rule supreme?' All
over Europe, this question is mooted at
present, and tlireatens to assume quite
formidable proportions. There is but
one empire across the ocean in which
this problem, so far, has been definitely
settled by virtue of autocratic might and
power. It is Russia. When, in the
seventeenth ^eatury, the Patriarch of
Moscow had died, and the metropolitans
and archbishops of the Greek Church
met for the purpose of filling the v-icincy,
, Peter the Great rushed with drawn sword
|k)to their meeting, and, throwing the
j.-^ATsame on the tabic, exclaimed, ' Here is
^^ your patriarch.' Since that time the
Czar is emperor and pope at once ; and,
very significantly, the ' Moty Synod,' or
the supreme ecclesiastical court of Rus-
sia, is presided over by a general, the
representative of the Czar, And hence
the Emperor Nicholas used to say : State
and church are represented in me ; and
the motto ruling the Russian government
was autocracy, Russian nationality, and
the Greek Church.
" But everywhere else in Europe this
question agitates the old continent. In
Great Biitain, Gladstone works for the
enfranchisement of the church ; the
Thirty-nine Articles, so renowned at Ox-
ford and Cambridge, are going to be
abolished, and High Churchmen and
Dissenters prepare themselves for the
final struggle. Italy, so long priest-
ridden, has inscribed on her national
banner the glorious words, 'Religious
liberty,' and means to carry them out to
the fullest extent, in spite of all anathe-
mas and excommunications. Spain,
though still timid and wavering, has
adopted the same policy, Austria has
thrown off her concordat, and inserted
in her new constitution the same modern
principle; and the German Empire h.TS
fully recognized the equality of all citi-
zens, without difference of creed or deno-
mination, before the courts and tribunals
of resurrected and united Germany.
" But daily we hear of the demands of
the clerg}', made in the interests of their
church. Since the last CEcLmenicai
Council has proclaimed the new dogma
of Papal infallibility, the bishops want
to discharge all teachers and professors,
both at the theological seminaries and
universities, who are unwilling to sub-
scribe to this new tenet of the Roman
Church. The Archbishop ofGnesen and
Posen even asked for the names of all
those men who at the last election of
members for the German Parliament did
not vote for those men he had proposed
as candidates. The government is now
bound to interfere, but nobody can tell
how this coming conflict between church
and stale will be decided.
"Tills is the aspect of the old conti-
nent. What is the prospect in America,
in our glorious and God-blessed coun-
try? Of course, religious liberty, in the
fullest sense of the word, is the supreme
law of the land. It is the most precious
gem in the diadem of our republic. It
is warranted and secured by our con-
stitution.
"The immortal signers of the Declara-
tion of Independence ; those modern
prophets and aposdes of humanity ; those
sutcsmen who thoroughly appreciated
The Secular not Supreme,
I
tbe bloody Ipssons or pasi liistory, knew
bui too well what tbey were doing when
ibey eotiicly separated cbuich and
iiaio, aod i|^oted all «(K:tariaa seniU
ments in lite inspiicd documents they
bequeathed to ibvir descendants. 1lic
dcnoiui national peace that heretofore
cbaiacierucd ihe mit;b[f and unequalled
growib or the young tepuhlic bears les-
Umony to iheit wisdom, (orcsight, and
Malcsmansbip.
" flitt. alas ! oat hotizon. loo. begins 10
bo ctuudcd. Tbc haimony that hereto-
fore prevailed between the vaiious
cbuTches and denomjnaliuns bvgina to
be disturbed. Then we bad in ihv laM
two yearv the <.oiiventiuiis at Pittsburg
and Philndflphta. The men united Ihcie
meant to inseit God laoui constitution,
as we have him a1i<^ady un our coins
by the inicrl|iiion, * In God vre Irusl.'
They intend to chii&lianifc our country,
againM the cleat and cmplulic Kpiiil and
letter uf the constitution. And I must
leave it to the Icurnrd jiidt;c of the Su-
preme Court of tbc United States who
presided over those meetings, (o decide
nrbclher lh>s futuie Ch'iittian country
bcd-'aficr shall be a Catliolic or a Pru-
lestant country.
" The Roman Catholic preto and pulpit
are not sIkvt in answering this quesiion.
With pralsewotvby fiankncss and man-
liness they declaie the tnleutiuns of their
church. Father Huckvi says: ' Jn fifteen
years vre wdl lake this cuunlry and budd
our institutions over the giavc uf Pjates>
lantism. . . . There is, ere long, to be
a slate religion in iliis country, and that
state religion i» to be Roman Catholic'
Bishop O'Connor, of Pittsburg, says;
'Religious liberty is merely endured
until the opposite can be carried into
effect without peril to the Catholic world.*
The Archbishop of St. Louis says: ' If
tbc Catholics evcrgain, which they surely
will, an immense numerical majority,
religious freedom in this country will be
at an end.' And the Pope speaks of the
'delirium of tuleraiion. and asserts ibc
ri|^t lo punish ciiroiuals in the order of
ideas,'
"Tfais language is plam. unequivocal.
Knd cannot be misinicrprcicd. Still. 1
am not an alarmist. 1 have loo much
fallb in the sound common sense of the
American people that ihey should barter
away their political blrtbrlght for any
theological or clerical controversy. They
ate too rauch addicted to the policy of
'a second sober ibougbt.' tliat,
baring first of all taughi the hamati
the invaluable hlr^singK of tcHgicnisI
ly, thry should di«catU them just
when tlie whole civil iicd world is
laitng tlic glorious example s«t by
great and noble sircf.
"Hut, 'vigilance being the prpue
liberiy.* in the face of this a««cnii>B Ui
no! oidy tight, hoi an impcraiive dliiy. '
enlighten ourselves on this all>iailK>t
subject, so that we may Lake our tjHtii
and pcifurrn our dulic» »s tru«, JuJ
citizens and true, loyal Americans.*
This is very much to the purpose,
.tnd if it shows thnt tl
friend of I'rc^lestjnt (
shows lh.it his principal hostility is
the Catholic Churdi, as the
antl support of Christianity. He
ults, as well be may. over the fallb
away frora the church of the
Catholic governments of Euroi
one of the chief instruments
feeling thtit apostasy has bccii pi
dsely his Hebrew brethren, ||
great supporters of the anti-Cath<
revolution of mo<iem t i
slanders on the Cathol.
in the very spirit of ibe £%'iin|
AlHancc, even lo the false chai_
brings against distinguished tndiv
dual Catholics. The .assertion
" Father Hccker sa)-?, ' In fifb
years wc will take ihistouat
build our institutions over the
of Protestantism,'" as that other
scrtion, " There is or ought lo be
slate religion in this country,
that state religion h to he Komi
Catholic,'" Father Heckcr hii
assures us, is fjUe. He ncvrr linM
nor with his views c\<T tould, saj
an>-thing of the sort Bishop O'Coi
nor, late of Pittsburg, never did at
never could have &aid, "KeligK
liberty is merely endured until
opposite can le carried into ef
without peril to the Catholic worid.*
Wc happen to know tlut his vie
were and are very dilfercnt ; and
Tlu Secular not Supreme.
695
they were not, he is too shrewd to
commit the blunder of saying any-
thing like what is falsely attributed
to him, or to disclose such an ulterior
purpose. We may say as much of
the sentiment attributed to the Arch-
bishop of St Louis. The arch-
bishop never uttered or entertained
it. Something like what is ascribed to
him was said, many years ago, by
Mr. Bakewell, in The Shepherd of the
Valley, a paper published at St.
Louis, but he was assailed by the
Catholic press all over the country,
and, if he did not retract it, at least
endeavored to explain it away, and
to show that he meant no such thing.
The archbishop never said it, and
was no more responsible for it than
was the Kabbi Lilienthal himself.
No Catholic prelate and no distin-
guished Catholic layman even has
ever proposed any amendment to
the constitution in regard to the re-
lations of church and state in this
country, or has expressed any wish to
have the existing constitutional re-
lations changed, or in any respect
modified. The church is satisfied
with them, and only asks that they
be faithfully observed. She opposes
the separation of church and state
in the sense of releasing the state
from all moral and religious obliga-
tions, for that would imply the sub-
jection of the church to the state,
and prove the grave of religious free-
dom and independence, which she
always and everywhere asserts with
all her energy against kings, empe-
rors, nobilities, and peoples — against
Jew, Pagan, Mussulman, schismatic,
and heretic, and it is for this that
they conspire against her and seek
her destruction.
The rabbi says, "First the state,
then the church," which is as absurd
as to say, " First man, then God."
The state represents simply a human
authority, while the church, or the
synagogue even, represents — the
first for the Catholic, the second
for the Jew — the sovereignty of God,
or the divine authority in human
affiiirs, and the rabbi in his doctrine
is false alike to Moses and to Christ,
and as little of an orthodox Jew as he
is of a Christian believer. Yet he
agrees perfectly with Judge Hurlbut
and Dr. Bellows in asserting the su-
premacy of the state or secular order,
and the subordination of the spiritual
order. We do not know whether the
rabbi means to approve or censure
the assumption, by Peter the Great,
of the headship of the Russian Church
and his government of it by the sword ;
but Peter only acted on the principle,
"First the state, then the church,"
and the slavery of the Russian Church
to the state is only an inevitable con-
sequence of that principle or maxim.
The Russian Church, governed by
the Holy Synod, itself governed by
the Czar, presents a lively image of
the abject position religion would be
compelled to hold in every country
if the doctrine of the total separation
of church and state, and the inde-
pendence and supremacy of the state,
advocated by one or another of the
three men we are criticising, were to
prevail and to be embodied in the
civil code.
But let this pass. It is clear that
the rabbi, and therefore the Jews, so
far as he represents them, are to
be included in the great conspiracy
against the liberty and equality of
Catholics, or religious liberty recog-
nized and guaranteed by the Ameri-
can states. Catholics are to be put
down and their church suppressed by
the strong arm of power. To pre-
pare the American people for this
proposed revolution in the American
system, this suppression of religious
liberty, a system of gross misrepre-
sentation of Catholic faith and prac-
tice, of misstatements, calumnious
696
Tke Secuiar not Supreme.
charges, and downright lying re-
specting the church, is resorted to and
]>crsistcd in as it was by the reform-
ers in the sixteenth century. " Lie,
lie lituuily," Voltaire said, though it
was said long before htm ; " some-
thing wil! stick." We do not like to
Kay this, but truth will not ]>ermit us
to soften our slatemeiit or to use
milder temis. There is nothing too
harsh or too false for tlic anti-Catho-
lic press and the anti-Cathohc preach-
ers and lecturers to say of our holy
religion, and nothing can be more
unlike the Catholic Church than their
prctcnt]c<l representations of her — too
unlike, indeed, even to f»e called rari-
caiiires, for they catch not one of her
features. Even when the anii-Cadio-
lie writers and speakers tell facts about
Catholic-t or in the history of the
church, they so tell them as to dis-
tort the truth and to produce the
effect of falsehood, or draw infer-
ences from them wholly unwarranted.
We must, then, be excused if we
sometimes call the systematic misre-
presentation of our religion, our
church, and ourselves by its true
and expressive name, even though
it may seem harsh and impohte.
The batteries they discharge against
the church are not to be silenced
by Iwuquels of roses.
The public has become too well
infomicil as to Catholic doctrines
and usages to pcnnit the repetition,
with much effect, of many of the old
charges and calumnies. Only the
vcr>* ignorant can be made to be-
lieve that the church is the Itaby-
lonian sorceress who makes the na-
tions drunk with the wine of her for-
ntcalions; that she is "the mystery
iniquity"; that the Pope is "the
tn of sin." or Antichrist ; that our
nunneries are brothels, and their
vaults are filled with the skeletons
of murdered infants, of which Luther
discoursed to his friends with bo much
cncc
1
imction in his Ttscliredcn ote
his pot of beer. These things are a
litUe out of date, and do not gau
the ready rrcdeiue they once
The age is all for Ubcrty, for pro
for enUghtenment ; so the aiiti-
lie tactics change to suit the
James I. of England, as did the
cians of France opposed to the LJgDc!
charged the church with being bosifle
to monarchy and the divine right 4fl
kings. The charge now i» that m^
U oppo.<icf) to republicanism^ and ilc-
nics the divine ri^ht of the f>eople.
or, more strictly, of the dcma^guo.
She is said to be a spiritual dcspotiiaa,
the foster-mother of ignorance and
suiicrstilion, the enemy of science
and of progress, of intcliigencc
liberty, individual and social,
and religious. Her religious ho
are dens of cruelly and tyranny,
if she is permitted to cunhnuc «ri
spread her peculiar institutions o
this country, American dem
will be destroyed, and American
crty be but a memory, ctc^ etc,
I'hc cry Ln not now. the truth is
dangcT, the liospcl is m danger,
gion is in danger, but the republic is
in danger, democracy i$ in dnn'.>>^
]il>erty is in danger. The chir
the moment she gets the power, t* ui,
it is argued, abolish our political %y%.
tern, establbh a monarchy, abolisfa
religious liberty, and cut the throat*
of all heretics and infidels, or send
them to the stake to be consumed
a fite of green wood, as Calvin
Michael Scn-clus. And there are
wanting fools enough to believe it
dishonest men enough to pre
believe it when they do not, tho
is evident that the republic is
to pass away, if things go on in
political worid as they arc now goi
and be succeeded by anarchy or
military despotism lung before t
majority of the people will cease
war against the church as onti d
The Secular not Supreme,
697
cratic. But the point to be noted
here is that all these charges assume
the supremacy of the secular order,
and allege not that the church is false,
13 not the church of God, but that
she is hostile to democracy or-demo-
cratic institutions; in other words,
that she does not conform to popu-
lar opinion, for democracy is nothing
but popular opinion erected into law.
Now, as we do not believe that popu-
lar opinion, inconstant as the wind,
is infallible, or that the secular ordv
is supreme, we are not sure that it
would be a fatal objection to the
church even if what is alleged against
her were well founded. The argu-
ments against the church of this sort
are drawn from too low a level to
command any intelligent respect, and
they are all based on a false assump-
tion. Politics are not higher than
religion ; the state is not above the
church ; the secular order is not above
the spiritual; and it is only atheism
that can assert the contrary. To a
terrible extent, the supremacy of the
secular is the doctrine of our age and
country; but Catholics hold it to be
both false and dangerous, as incom-
patible with the liberty and indepen-
dence of religion, with natural morali-
ty, and even with the existence of
natural society, as it is with the sove-
reignty of God. It is the doctrine
of the European revolutionists and
communists, and is sapping the life
and threatening the very existence
of our American republicanism —
has already reduced our government
to be little else than an agency for
promoting the private interests of
business men, bankers, manufactur-
ers, and railroad corporations. Our
elections are becoming a wretched
farce, for the monopolists govern
the government, let what party may
succeed at the polls. The State gov-
ernments cannot control them, and
the General Government just as little.
We will not so dishonor the church
or insult religion as to undertake to
refute these popular charges against
her, and to prove that her authority
is not incompatible with the existence
and salutary working of republican
government. The charges are ad-
dressed to ignorance and prejudice ;
we take higher ground, and maintain
that civil society can no more dis-
pense with the church, than the body
with the soul. The secular is insuffi-
cient for itself, and needs the inform-
ing life and vigor of the spiritual.
The political history of France since
1682, especially since 1789, proves
it to all men who are capable of trac-
ing effects to their causes. There is
no form of government more in need
of the church than the republican,
founded on the modem doctrine of
popular sovereignty, and the jnaxim,
the majority must rule. The habit
of regarding power as emanating from
the mass, as derived from low to
high, tends itself to debase the mind,
to destroy that respect for law, and
that reverence for authority, without
which no government performs in a
peaceable and orderly way its legiti-
mate functions. The American peo-
ple see nothing divine, nothing sa-
cred and inviolable, in their govern-
ment ; they regard law as an emana-
tion of their own will, as their own
creation, and what creator can feel
himself bound to reverence and obey
his own creature ? We need the
ehurch to consecrate the government,
to give the law a spiritual sanction,
to create in us habits of reverence,
of submission, and docility, and to
impress us with the conviction that
civil obedience is a moral duty, and
that we must be loyal to legitimate
authority for conscience' sake. We
need the church to teach us that in
obeying the laws not repugnant to
the divine law, we are obeying not
men, which is slavery, but God, which
«9»
The Secular not Supremf.
is freedom, and the very principle of
all frcerlom. We need her to create
in us high and holy aspirations. lo pro-
duce in us Uioiic high and diisinterest*
ed virtues, without which civil gov-
ernment Is impotent for good, and
powerful only fur evil. No man who
believes not in the sovereignty of truth,
in thesupremacy of right, and feels it
not his duty (o obey it at all hazards,
has the temper demanded in a repub-
lic, and only the church con create it.
A government built on interest,
however enlightened, on senttmcni,
however charming, or public opinion,
however just, is a house built on the
sand. It rests un nothing fixed and
permanent, is without stability or ef-
ficiency, and tends always to fall and
bury the people in its runs. Wc see
this in our own politirj] history. Jt
would i>e ilithcult to tind a govern-
ment more cornipi than ours, that
taxes the people mure heavily, or tliat
does less for the public good, the ad-
vantages wc had at the start bemg
taken into the account. 'J*he good
that has been done, the great things ac-
complished, have been accomplished
by the (woplc in spite of the govern-
ment, and our axord as a nation can
hardly put that of Prussia or Russia
to shame.
We do not choose to ilwell on this
aspect of the case, although much
more might be said. We love our
country, have lieen bred to love repub-
licanism, and have tlie success of the
Amciican experiment at heart The
evils which the hbcrals charge lo the
union of church and state, and hold
the church re^^ponHtble fur, spring, as
every impartial .-lud intelligent student
of history knows, not from the union
but from the separation of church and
state, and the unremitting ctl'orts of lite
civil power lo usuqi tlie functions
of the spiritual power, and to make
the churvh the arcomplice of its po-
licy. The tenible struggles of the
pope and emperor in ibc midtOc
ages had this cause and no other.
The po|H: simply sought to ntaiDUiD
against the emperor tiie freoJom ttd
independence of the churdi,
kingdom of God on earth, tluu
true religious liberty. It is lo
parrial, in some countries the
plete, triumph of the secular over
spiritual, that we must attribute
unsettled. disordcTly, and revolt
ary state of {:onttunporary
throughout the civilized wurlil, thf
hatred or contempt of authority both
divine and human, the dcpressiiULiil.
religiuu, the decline of int
greatness, the substitution of
for faith, a sickly sentiinentalism
a manly and robost pieiy. frce-1
ism or divorce u*/ iitiium fi>r
tian marriage, and the general
ment of character.
The evils are very real, but the
more perfect divorce of the
from the church would not cure ;
lessen, but only aggravate and int(
fy them ; nay, wouhl to all humaa
foresight render them incui
state without religion cjr lu
gation is imftotcnt to rcdrvss
evils or to elevate society, and
tcstantism, which holds from iIk
people, and dc[>cnds for its
breath of life on popular opinion,
no less imiioient than the st.irc.
testantism, having rciamed some
roents of religion from the chi
may, we readily concede, do
thing to retard the fall of a nat
that accepts it, but when a Pro«
tant nation has once fallen, becoi
morally and politically comipt,
ten to the core, it has no power
restore it ; for it has no principle
life to infuse into it above aiui
yond titat which it already ha&.
iitg on human authority, holding
the nation or people, it^i life is
tlic national life ils*.-lf: and, of coi
when llic national lUc grows
The Secular not Supreme.
699
its own life grows weak, and when
the national life is extinct, its own
life becomes extinct with it Cut
off from the church of God, and
therefore from Him who is *' the way,
the truth, and the life," it cannot
draw new supplies of life from the
fountain of Life itself, with which
to revive and reinvigorate the fallen
nation.
This is wherefore there is no hope
for our republic under Protestantism.
There has been a sad falling-off io
the virtue, the honesty, the integrity,
the chastity, and public spirit of our
people in the last fifty years. The
old habits formed under Catholic dis-
cipline and in6uences are wearing out,
if not worn out ; intellectual culture
may be more general, though even
that may be questioned, but it is less
generous, thorough, and profound;
meeting-houses may be increased in
greater proportion than the popula-
tion itself, but theology is less studi-
ed — is less intellectuai, less scientific,
and is more superficial ; and religion
has less hold on the conscience, and
less influence on life, public, private, or
domestic j and we may say, generally,
that in all save what belongs to the
material order, our republic has a
downward tendency. Now, since
Protestantism has nothing more or
higher than the republic, and no re-
cuperative power, how, then, can it
possibly arrest this downward ten-
dency and turn it upward, and save
the nation ? Archimedes wanted
something whereon to stand out-
side of the world in order to move it.
This Protestantism has not, for it
rests on the world, and has nothing
above the world or outside of it, and in
fact IS only the world itself. To eve-
ry one who udnerstands the great
law of mechanic force, which has its
analogue in the great principle of
moral or spiritual dynamics, it is
clear that the hope of the republic is
not and cannot be in Protestantism,
and there is just as little in the civil
order, for that, divorced from the
church and without any moral obli-
gation, is precisely that which needs
saving. The union of the various
Protestant sects in one organic body,
if it were possible, would avail no-
thing ; for the whole would be only
the sum of the parts, and the parts
having no supermundane life, the
whole could have none.
Hence we say that whatever hope
there is for our republic is in the
growth and predominance of the Ca-
tholic Church in the minds and hearts
of the American people ; and there is
a well-grounded hope for it duly in
the prospect that she may before it
is too late become the church of the
great majority. The church has
what Archimedes wanted, and Pro-
testantism has not — the whereon to
stand outside and above the world.
She lives a life which is not deriv-
ed from the life of the world, and is
in communion with the Source of
life itself, whence she may be con-
stantly drawing fresh supplies, and
infusing into the nation a life above
the national life in its best estate,
and which, infused into the nation,
becomes for it a recuperative energy,
and enables it to arrest its downward
tendency, and to ascend to a new
and higher life. It is not without a
reason, then, founded in the nature of
things, that we tell our countrymen
that Protestantism may ruin the re-
public, but cannot save it, any more
than it can the soul of the individual ;
and that, instead of crying out against
the church like madmen, as hostile
to the republic, they shoul d rather turn
their eyes toward her as their only
source of help, and learn that she
can and will save the republic, if
they will only allow her to do it.
Yet we urge not this as the motive
for accepting the teaching of the
700
The Stmiar not Supreme.
church and submitting (o her autho-
rity and discipline. Our Lord says
to us, " Sock first the kingdom of
(^oil and his jusiioe, and all these
things shall be added unto you," but
be docs not bid us or permit us to
seek the kingdom of Cjod and his
justice for the sake of " these things,"
or the iufjuiettiia ; he forbids us to
he solicitous fur them, since it is for
them ihat the hc.ithen arc solicitous.
The only motive for a man to be-
come a Catholic, to bc!ie%'e what she
teaches and to do what she com-
mands, is that she is the kingdom of
C.ofl on earth, and that it is only in so
doing that hecan possess "his justice,"
please God, or attain to eternal life.
Christ did not come, as a temporal
prince, to found — as the carnal Jens,
misinterpreting the prophecies, expect-
ed — an earthly kingdom, or to create
an earthly paradise; but he came as
a spiritual prince to establish the reign
of his Faihcr on earth in all human
affoirs, and over all men and nations,
and whatever temporal good is se-
cured is not the end or reason of his
kingdom, but is simply incidental to
it. It is no reason why I should or
should not be a Catholic because the
church favors or docs not favor one
or another particular theory or con-
stitution of civil government, but the
fact lhat she does not favor a parti-
cular form of civil polity, if it be a fact,
is sufficient reason why I should not
favor it, for it proves that such form
is repugnant to the sovereignty of
God and the supremacy of his law.
As a matler of fact, however, the
church has never condcmneil any par-
ticular form of cml polity or erected
one form or anollier into a Catholic
dogma, and a man may be a mo-
narchist, a republican, or a democrat,
as he pleases, and at the same time
be a good and irreproachable Catho-
lic, if he hold the political power
subordinate to the divine sovereignty.
The church is necessAiy to
a republican form of govemnicd^
but it is also necessary to saaiam aaf
other form, as a wUe, jn ' "fi.
cient civil government. I vf
those we are combating ia not ■
chat Uiey arc democrats or anH^
mocrats, but in holding that the itile
or secular order is sufficient foe it«H;
can stand of itself without ih- a^
of religion or the church, ' cij
ofthespiritual, and hasin ! 1 : . .V.
to brush religion aside as an Pf
nent intcrmeddlcr whenever it » wmr.
in its way, or seeks to dirtair a
ioflueuce its policy. 1'his is a gnM
error, condemned by all rdigitB,
all philosophy, and all exprricncc.
It is the old epicurean error thatra-
eludes the dinne authority from tke
direction or control of human «i£h&
and in its delirium sings,
" I^i [be coils fa Ui Ucep up ktMW Hk"
It is at bottom pure atheism, M>
thing more, nothing less. Ir
pure absurdity. Can the n
stand without the creator ? (.'
contingent subsist without the ;
sary ? Can the body live and per-
form its functions without the km]
which is its principle of life ; the de-
pendent without that on which it de-
pends? In the whole history of ihr
world, you will not find an in-
of a jjurcly atheistical state,
state held to be completely dtv^HirO
from the spiritual order. There if
no instance in all history of a stale
without some son of religion, even
an established religion, or religion
which the state rrcogni/es as :
prcrae law, and docs its best or ■
to enforce. We here, as well as
England, as well as at any time
any Kuropean country, have an
tablished religion which I'l '
tects and enforces on all i
only it is a niuiil;iie<l reli-
gion witliout dogmas, aud > i
T^ Secular not Supreme.
701
rality. If not so, whence is it the law
punishes murder or arson, and forbids
polygamy, or the promiscuous inter-
course of the sexes ? Even Jacobins
erect their jacobinism into a religion,
and make it obligatory on the state
to persecute, to exterminate all who
dare oppose it. Have we not seen
it despoil the Holy See of its inde-
pendence and possessions, confiscate
the goods of the church, exile holy
bishops from their sees and their
country in Italy, and within a few
weeks shoot down the Archbishop
of Paris and a large number of priests
and religious, suspend public wor-
ship, desecrate and plunder the
churches, and banish all religion but
their jacobinism from the schools ?
No state tolerates any religion hos-
tile to its own established religion,
and the most intolerant and cruel
persecutors in the world are precise-
ly those who clamor loudest for re-
ligious liberty.
There is no such thing as a com-
plete divorce of church and state
practicable in any country on earth.
The only question is, Shall the state
be informed and directed by the in-
faUible and holy church of God, or
by the synagogue of Satan ? No
maa who is at all competent to pass
a judgment on the question but agrees
with the Syllabus in condemning not
the distinction, but the separation of
church and state j but the forms of
the union of the two powers, whose
harmonious action is necessary to the
normal state of society, may vary
according to circumstances. In coun-
tries where the state refuses to recog-
nize frankly and fully the freedom
and independence of the spiritual
order, it may be necessary to regulate
the relation of church and state by
concordats; in others, where the
state recognizes the independence of
the spiritual order, and holds itself
bound to protect the rights of the
religion adopted by its citizens, as hith-
erto with us, no concordats are ne-
cessary, for the state does not claim
any competence in spirituals. In
this country the relation between the
two powers has, with a few excep-
tions, been satisfactory, and the
church has been free. But there is
on foot a formidable conspiracy against
her fi%edora, and it is beginning to
be maintained pretty determinedly
that the majority of the people, being
Protestant, and the people being the
state, have the right and the duty as
the state to sustain Protestantism,
and outlaw and suppress the church.
702
Dramatk Moralists in SpanUlt America,
DRAMATIC MORALISTS IN SPANISH AMERICA.
The inith is slowly dawning, at
least to curious minds, that the peo-
ple of the southern half of our New
World have ustes not dissimilar to
Our oftTj. Jndceil, they seek other
arts than lliuse of rcvutution, and,
here and there, hnve other stages
and actors than those which repre-
sent the prtmutuuimUnto^ with all its
maliciuus bombast and insigtiiftcant
'* sound and fur>'." \Vc tan count
poeL*t, novelists, painters, sculptors,
scientists in the ranks of the most
(ti^stin^uished men of our nearest sis-
ter re[)ublic. Cuba, too, rejoices in
the genius of her philosophic scholar,
CabaJlero dc la Luz, and of her po-
4:1s, Heredia and Gcttrudi/ de Avcl-
lancda, with the same spirit which
Mexico brings to her admiration of
the scicntiiic versatility of Sigucnza,
the quaint ideality of Sor Juaua Inez,
and the literary culture of Carpio
and I'esado. Nevertheless, sucli facts
as iliese have nideiJ Lui little in form-
ing the common estimate of Spanish-
American peoples, who are to some
of us scarcely more than a Bedouin
rabble fighting problematic wild-
beasts in the sha[>c of pronouncers,
and struggling through clouds of de-
sert-dust and baltlcsmcke to the
light of freedom, 'Hiat great rude
reserve of race, the Indians, without
which the business of one-half the
continent could not be carried on,
secuis lo be swept out of our moral
consideratiun as wttli a broom ; yet
we must think hofiefully of a race
which has produced an ailbl so ex-
traordinary as Cabrera and a ruler
so endunng and f»er&i4tent as Juarez
— hopefully, ai all events, of their
mere abilities, if mother church docs
not teach us to look with a
and kiudtier e>'e upon their roonl
capabilities. In more than ouc
try of Spanish America wc find
dians among presidents, judges,
ernors, congressmen, wriiets,
and this being the case, historically
or actually, why should it be a
matter of surprise that Spanish Aaw-
rica, with whatever Old Worlt! cd-
lure she may possess in utuun with
native aptitude, should hjvc sook
claims \ipon otu- attention on Ite
score of laste and intelligence P Pad
of these claims wi: prupoae f''^ <"
forth.
The present writer has sat in inc
orderly theatres of Vera Crux ami
Mexico, and seen performances Miih
stantially as good as those of nm
northern capitals. The Zarau.
oijcretlas, of Barbieriand GatzaumiMi.
were as pleasant in 1S6&-69 to ihctf
hearers in the southern republic as
the French comic opera to N<m-
Yorkers, and nevertheless seemed
cent and spirited ; besides, the M<
cans had the good fortune to
Oatzarobidc's personal direction
his i£arz!itlas^ and Oatiainliidc (i
deceased) was one of the ruo*;t popoT
lar musicians of SjKiin, Another cb»
lebrity the Mexicans honored in
person of Jos6 Valero, a gcntlei
like Spanish actor, whose superior
versatile genius as tr3};edian and
median it wnuhl be tUlIicult to
anywhere. lMii(.'n.-unmeiits wi
plentiful in Mocte/uina's city, thr)o|
subsisting, so to speak, upon
ishcd rations. Round about all
flickering pleasures Howed the sir
dark tide of Mexican life-
multitude, its concealed ii;
Dramatic Moralists in Spanish America.
703
settled and common melancholy, not
to be dissipated by any class of illu-
sions, not to be shaken off in a day,
or a year, or any brief terra of years.
Nevertheless, the misfortunes of a
war-worn people found as tasteful
and respectable a solace as their
theatres could afford. Their scholars
were even encouraged to revive and
celebrate some ancient glories of the
Mexican stage; and at the opening
of a season they crowned the bust
of one of the fathers of the Spanish
drama, whom with reason they re-
gard as among the greatest of the
small band of very eminent Mexi-
cans. This laurelled bust was but
one of a number to be seen in the
various theatres, in several instances
perpetuating the memory of Mexico's
own dramatic authors. On the oc-
casion referred to, poems by well-
known poets — and, among the rest,
if the writer remembers correctly,
an eloquent composition by the high-
ly-esteemed blind poet, Juan Valle
— preluded the revival of that cele-
brated comedy. La Verdad Sospecho-
sa, or, The Truth Suspected.
JUAN RUIZ DE ALARCON".
The author of tliis play was Alar-
con, that thoughtful writer who,
on the Spanish stage, ranks with
Lope, Calderon, Moreto, and Tirso.
Strange as it may appear to those
who doubt whether any good can
come out of Mexico, he was bom
and bred in that mysterious country.
What his countrymen do not know
of their great artist, Cabrera, they
are able to tell of their chief literary
glory — namely, the place and date
of his baptism. Documents found
in the royal university of Mexico
established the several facts that Juan
Kuiz de Alarcon y Mendoza was
baptized in that cily on the 2d day
of October, 1572, and received the
grade of licentiate or lawyer from
the university. It was for some time
asserted that he was bom at Tasco
(for whose church Cabrera is said to
have painted extraordinary works) ;
but Chalco, not far from the capi-
tal, has also laid claim to the honor
of his birth. He is represented as
short, ugly, and humpbacked. To
improve his fortunes, he sought the
literary life^ of Madrid, but his first
efforts were deemed of little import-
ance. By the year 1621 he had
written eight acted comedies, of
which Zas Bxredes Oyen (The Walls
Hear) is esteemed the best, as also
one of the finest in any language.
In spite of his physical imperfections
his genius won him admirers, socially
as well as otherwise. In 1628, he
became clerk to the Council of the
Indies, and held his office till his
death in 1639; so that it seems our
author was a contemporary of Shake-
speare, Webster, Jonson, and other
great lights of the English drama.
His comedies are lauded as forming
a system of practical philosophy, inas-
much as they give a delightful veri-
fication of the proverbial wisdom of
his time, and preach capital sermons
from common texts. " Luck and
Labor," " The World's Favors,*' " No
Evil that does not come for Good,"
" Before you Marry see what you
are about," "The Tmth made Sus-
picious," are the suggestive titles of
some of his dramas, which appear
to have lost nothing of their pecu-
liar excellence by pointing morals.
It was Alarcon who said ;
To kill an enemy is argument
Uf tearing him ; but to despiK *od spue htm
Is greater chastisement, for while he lives
He is a witness of bis own defeat.
He tlut kills, victory abbreviates.
And he that pardons makes it the more great.
As meanwhile that the conquereii lives
The conqueror goes on coDquccing.
To give to comedy a •onscieiice
and a purpose is the distinguishing
DraiHatU Mor&Hsts m
iesign of Al.nrcon ; but, while the
public of Madrid never failcil tu per-
ceive the moral of his humor, they
could yel heartily laugh at the wit
of his dialogues and the genuine
comicality of his ^tuations. In his
plays cool reason walked hnnd in
hand ftith sentiment and pleasantry,
xs they do in some of the most ad-
mired comect;cs of our on-n Rtage.
The delight with which the Mexi-
cans witnessed La Vtfdaii Sos/vihi'sa
proved that to Aiarcon belonged
not merely the ingenuity by which
men are amuse<1, bul something of
thai magic by which their o\vn wit
and humor are excited. Alarcon
could give logic to a whim, a fancy,
or a passion. In the I^ueha de las
fhfmesas his lover cx])Ostulates :
If nea«tr'« bitkful lovtr 1 bmvc bv«n,
K^MiDing ibuuKlttletpHcd-, lovmic, •bboiicd i
Whit law allow* to ibee. whMt text s|>[>ruvca
That thou sbouldn b«te mc b«rmu»c I da luve
tbee>
An apology for woman made by
a servant in Todo es I'entum (Luck
is Everything) may be translated
thus:
What Is It (hat wt nottcofidtfmn in (t»!J»>
Incofulancv ol mind t Wc Uui;)ii Ibcm »».
The love of mniKrf } Il"» h Ihlcf lu bwic —
Or tot Uut tiKbiBuui hllow tlirow ■ ctonc
Who !• not (uilty of ihr «cl(-«aBie fault.
Of beinf caiy ^ \Tell, wfaat nust llKr ilo.
Ir no mau pciiereicianil *U (;ct titcd
Al ihe ftiurth day ol" trjlns » Of ti*tn|E hard ?
Whr >)o ^* t^"* c^nn[>l<i" wben we, too, all
Kun la ealretnecf 11 iliUitult out suit
Wi tau it, *Dd U tuy wc tfeiplie.
In GaiuzrAmi^s^Q Cain Friends)
Don Kernando has killed the brother
of Don Fadriquc, ami seeks and
obtains refuge with the latter, who,
however, does not know him. Don
Fadrique, though at length made
aware of the truth, faithfully keeps
the pledge he has given the slayer
of his br<^ther. Seeing this, Don
Fernando gratefully exclaims :
Tbe e«rUi w^rcati tliaa Maad'al ifeO ba Vy
altut ,
F^4'iv»*. KIM, •Ir; fflTft MM w. tfmka. at
do 1 not
ThU deed for you, hut for my hoaor*« mM;
Vox I tuv« plI^hUMl uuo you mty «rai^
In the comedy of Mitdane ftr
Mejorarse (To Change for the Brt-
tcr; or, more Itteralty, Co Change in
order to Ilciter One's Self), a ccrtiu
Don Garcia, who was to many
Dona Clara, falls in love with ho
nin:e I..conor ; whence this dialogiaei
J
t.^tmrr. la It, perizbaiicr. Drm Ciftrcta,
Tha ciutott In Madrid lo lall m iuvr
With Bleoe nod aun: at utM; and tli« •amc
Ctr^ia. Al laaat. If M dlTin« • oIbOv
ttict«
A* ynu. the ciiUam uio t«are th« aunt.
Lt^H^r. A bad one, tbcn.
Lmnm, It n OM W b«
Dad, if nich tnatter be tli» nccaalon.
L*-»mv. Hour can a rcuoa be Tor
ncss.'
Gar<ia. Dm*S Mlf to t>tU«r Is tb« bMl iN
reaMfiL
l.f^K^r. Well, there's • law of coaauiM* I M
what
Doth It obtlc«, wbcreunto doth U rcMth.
If It tM itxhi one beauty tij furawvar
Par a gtcatrr ! Cun«<>nc>'*a oat to low
UncbaiiKcably the tore tnot« bcsuiifu] ;
Tq I«vc tbe t>e« wbat limine** <tu v* c and f
Ho conilant t« who dot)i •^lrt;i(jc (lie more
Happy oomilon.
Ca'iim. t ooolina, *«re«l UJj
That's to be cofnbuit. I»ut li'ft U t>e fooltah.
l.^m*r. Then miBot jrSii lo MM who'll hi
dbcrcrt
llava coafidmce, u dhaof* h to b« ihimhh]
By gain o( Uirei iiut>Jecl r
Gania. ItlacltMr.
Levittr. Will, t>e It to ; «(ul for I tiunk xhmt,
>)r.
A man )iidLU>ut, and IboM leav'U ny anat
To make ihyMU the b«lt«r fo bj at*,
Pray do cicum tat of thy lore, Ae/cm
I live thy nil rctHiance till I htrow
U I've another aud a lairc* hImw.
The discreet Lconor, compromii
by the entangling suit of Don Gj
cia, is compelled to admit the attc
tions of a gallant and rich marquis,*
with whom at bst she ialls in love.
The following passage explains the
rest:
CafvAt. Hew, cfttal I
llan cb«iv«d ID »ooa ?
/ M*/r. Ye», for Ihs hett«r.
Mtmc{» iatfJt), She favs'l hlw, thait, with Ua
own Buwer.
C^n-ia, Uaxnitvful, l« nm thy ditdala mM>|h
Without the Knravatlon— oMkinjc bin.
The tBarquu, bellar I
. . ^ y-.
Dramatic Moralists in Spanish America,
705
Ltonor. Wilt deny the improTement ?
Although in blood thou'rl equal, yet between
Little and ample furtuue, and between
Your worship and your lordship — ?
Garcia. Vea, I grant:
But what effect hast given thy words.
Thy promise, tyrant, if thou haat all changed
By taking better subject ? Where's constancy
If thou hast liked me only when thou couldst
not
Bitttr thyself? She only constant to
Who doth despise the opportunity.
Lfnor. X do confess to thee, Don Garcia,
That's to be conslant, but it's to be foolish.
Here is the " retort courteous " in
its most charming humor. The gal-
lant grace and wit of these dialogues
are evidence of the original art
with which Alarcon could make his
comedy a study of life, and compel
his auditors to think somewhat after
they ceased to laugh. This is the
function of eminent high comedy,
though we may not ask that it shall
elaborate a severe or intrusive moral,
and though we admit its possession,
as in Shakespeare, of the liveliest
poetic qualities. Another passage,
this time from the famous Verdad
Sospecfiosay wherein Don Beltran re-
primands his son, Don Garcia, for the
vice of habitual lying, will further
elucidate the method of Alarcon :
Beltran. Are you a gentleman, Garcia ?
Gmrcia. — I believe
lam your son.
Beltran. —And is it, then, enough,
To be my son to be a gentleman ?
Garcia. 1 tbinic so, sir.
Beltran. —What a mistaken thought !
Consists in acting like a gentleman
To be one. What gave birth to noble houses r
The illustrious deeds of their first authors, sir.
Without consideration of their births, the deeds
Of humble men honored their heirs. 'Tis doing
Good or ill makes gentleman or villain.
Garcia. Tliat deeds give nobleness I'll not
deny.
But who will say birth does not also give it ?
Beltran. Well, then, if honor can be gamed
by him
Who was born without It, Is't not certain that.
Vice versa, he can lose it who was born
With it?
Garcia. — 'Tis true.
Beltran. —Then if you basely act,
Although my son, no longer you will be
A gentleman. So if your habits shame
Vou here in town, an ancient crest will not
Signify, nor noble ancestors serve.
What is't report says to me ? That your lies
Are all the talk of Salamanca. Now,
irt affronts noble or plebeian but
To tell him tb&l he lies, what is't to lie
VOL. xin. — 45
Itself? IfhonorlesallivctbewhUe
On him who gave the lie t take not full
Revenge— is your sword long enough or breast
So stout that you esteem younelf all able
To have revenge when all the city says
Vou lie ? Is't possible a man can have
Such abject thoughts that unto vice he can
Live subject without pleasure, without gain >
A morbid pleasure have the sensual,
The power of money draws the covetous ;
The taste of viands have the gluttonous;
A purpose and a pastime hath the gambler ;
The homicide his hate, the thief hit aim ;
Fame with ambition cheers the warrior ;
In short, doth every vice some pleasure give
Or profit— but for lying, wh&t remains
But infamy and contempt ?
Who could preach with more wit
a brief sermon like this than Alar-
con ? It is no small honor to the
dramatist bom in Mexico that the
great Corneille, who, if we may cred-
it the biographers of Alarcon, partly
translated and partly imitated La
Verdad Sospechosa in his famous
Menfeiir, could avow that he would
give two of his best plays to have in-
vented the happy argument of the
Spanish original. Molifere and Vol-
taire were also among the admirers
of the Spanish comedy, which Cor-
neille at first judged to be the work
of Lope de Vega. Of the general
merits of Alarcon, the following es-
timate by his German critic, Schack,
which we find in a Mexican notice
of the dramatist, will doubtless suffice :
" Happy in painting comic charac-
ters in order to chastise vice, as in
the invention and development of
heroes to make virtue adorable ; ra-
pid in action, sober in ornament; in-
ferior to Lope in tender respect of
feminine creations, to Moreto in live-
liest comedy, to Firso in travesty, to
Calderon in grandeur and stage ef-
fect, he excelled all of them in the
variety and perfection of his figures,
in the tact of managing them, in
equality of style, in carefulness of
versification, in correctness of lan-
guage." To this large and discrimi-
nating praise we may add George
Ticknor's comprehensive dictum :
" On the whole, he is to be ranked
7o6
Dramatic Moralists in Spanish Am
I
ftiih the very best Spanish drama-
tists during the be&t period of thu
National Theatre."
SOK JUANA [NKZ DE lA CBIJZ.
It would not be proper to dismiss
i^m the list of Spanish- Amen f-nn
dramatic -writers Sor Jiiaiia Inci Ue
la Cruz, although the subjects to
which this pious woman yielded her
inventive imagination were mainly or
wholly religious. She wrote, be it re-
membered, in that remarkable seven-
teenth century when a muse of re-
ligion walked through the scenes of
the stage as well as through the
gardens of the convent. Then were
the patriarchs and apostles, the pro-
phets and saints, the chief persona-
ges of a peculiar drama; and events
and circumstancca of the divine
trjj^edy inspired such compositions
as the Loas and Autos. It is upon
one of these laller compositions that
her merit as a dramatic writer rests;
and we are glad to confirm in great
part an opinion of her genius hither-
to expressed by us, by here recalling
the judgment of that eminent Euro-
pean critic of Spanish literature,
Boulcrft'ck, the more especially as
our own Spanish scholar, Ticknor,
seems to have inflicted such ungra-
cious disparagement upon the sub-
ject of our notice : " Much as Inez
de la Cruz was deficient in real cul-
tivation," says Houterwek, " her pro-
ductions are eminently superior to
the ordinary standard of female poe-
try. . . . The poems of Inez
de la Cruz breathe a sort of mascu-
line spirit This poeric nun iwsses*-
cd more fancy and wit than senti-
mental enthusiasm, and wheneverslie
bc^an to invent her creations were
on a bold and great scale. Her
|>aems are of very unequal merit,
and are all deficient in critical culti-
vation. Hut in facility of invention
and versificatioQ Inez de la Cruz was
not iuffrit>r to Lepe de Vtj ■ t
she by no means cour:«
fame. ... In her dramatic wotiu
the vigor of her imagination is pv-
ticularly conspicuous. The colkx>
tion of her poems cunt;itns no ooin^
dies properiy so-caller], but it cO»
prises a scries of boldly conceived
preludes (loas) full of allegorical ia*
vention,and it concludes with a loag
allegorical auto, which is ..-*—-<»
any of the similar pr^ncti. v
de Ve^. It is entitled ^/ Utnas
Nardso, a name by whirh the audtor
designates the heavenly hndcgrooia.
. . . It would be imtK>ssiUIc to
give a brief and at the same time
intelligible sketch of this exiT~- '
nary drama. With regard to
position, it is very une(]ual ; in suuu
respects offending by its bad tatfc^
and in others charming by its bold*
ness. Many of its scenes are so
beautifully and romantically cod-
structed that the reader is compelled
to render homage to the genius of the
poetesK, while nt the same time
cannot but regret the pitch of e»l
vagance tu which ideas really |h
are carried. There is one pccitlij
ly fine scene, in which human
ture, in the shape of a nymph, seel
her beloved, the real Narciisua,
the Christian Saviour." The
ral passage, which in our notice of
writings of Sor Ju.tna wc laid bcf
our readers, would seem to justt
the best praises of our literary hii
riaii, Bouterwek. Ticknor. on il
other h.-uid, speaks of her a& a rr-
markable wom.in, and not as a re<
markable poetess ; and, upon thi
whole, our thanks for the appreciatii
reburnishing uf the ancient fame
an American genius— which, had
shone In Massachusetts three
dred years ago, would be deemed
very rare jewclaraong Northern scl
lars— .ire due rather to the Et
ropean Bouterwek than the Ameri-
hun<i
Dramatic Jlfora/$sts in Spanish America.
707
can Ticknor. The latter obstrvca
that she was born at Guipuzcoa; her
Mexican biographer says at San
Miguel de Ncpanlla, not far from
the city of Mexico, one of whose con-
vents she seems to have directed lat-
terly. Time, place, the inferior sum-
dard of feminine culture, and the
prevalence of a false poetic school,
may account for Sor Juana's defects;
for the rest, the issue (a large one)
Is between Uoutcrwck and Tickoor.
EDWARD GOROSTIZA.
L. .„„„.,
of tlic actual Mexican stage arc Go-
rostiza, Caldcron, and Galvan ; and,
indeed, whatever original triumph that
stage has enjoyed is almost if uot
quite limited to these few excellent
though not glorious names. We
cannot with propriety name that ex-
traordinary woman, Sor Juana Inez
de la Cruz, in the list of Mexico's
dramatists, although, along with oth-
er poetry, she wrote some religious
pieces in dramatic form. Neverthe-
less, the credit which remains to the
literature of the country, after its few
phenomenal names are omitted, is
not iiiappa-ciablc. Concerning Go-
rosttza, Madame Calderon de ta
\ Barca wrote : " Uon Josfe Kduardo
^^£orostiza, a native of Vera Cruz, is
^Hne son of a Spanisli ofHcer, and
^wfhcn very young went to Spain,
where he was known politically as a
liberal. He was distinguished as a
writer of theatrical pieces, which have
been and still are very popular. One
of his pieces which we saw the other
evening .it the theatre — Cm Tig)
Fiin y Obolhi (With Tliee, Bread
and Onions) — is delightful." Let us
add to Madame Calderon's brief no-
tice that Gorostiza won the rank of
lieutenant-colonel in the war against
NaiK)leon; that in iSzj, while an ex-
Uc from Soain in London, he wrote
for the Edinbut^h Review / and that
since then, as minister to Kngland
and to the United Slates, and as se-
cretary of state and finance, he hav
been eminent in the politics of his
native land. In 1S36, he was made
intendant-general of the army, and
during the war between Mexico and
the United States took an active and
heroic part in the defence of Churu-
busco. His efforts as a director of
tlie poor-house, as a friend of edu-
cation, and as the founder of a houses
of correction, are also deemed wor-
thy of record. He died in 1851, at
the age of sixty-two.
Tlic best known of Gorostiza's co-
medics arc tliose calletl The Intimate
Friendy Last Ytai's Juishtons, Don
DiegtiHo^ and Pardon /vr Alt, ilie last
being mentioned by liis biographer
as celebrated. In the play of Den
Di^guita, which may serve as well as
any other to exhibit the character of
Gorostiza's plots, Don Anselmo, a
rich uncle, sends his nephew and
heir, Don Dieguito, to Madrid to
complete his education. While there,
Dieguito falls in love with Dona
Adelaida, whose father, Don Cleto,
is a lawyer. Den Anselmo goes to
Madrid to attend ihc weilding of hi*
nephew, but does not like tlie family
of his son's j/frtw/f, and, accordingly,
he schemes to break off the match.
The mother. Dona M.uia, sees from
a worldly point of view the great
advantage of her daughter's marriage
with Don Dieguito. But now Ansel-
mo tells her that he intends to marry,
which excites her fear that his ne-
phew will inherit nothing from him.
She, therefore, proposes to her hus-
band that Doiia Adelaida shall mar-
ry the uncle, Ansehno, instead of the
nephew, Dieguito. Don SimpUdO|^
a friend of Don Cleto, endeavors to
effect a general reconciliation of in-
terests, and bring about the marriage
of the young couple; but, finding
;'o8
Dramatic W^ansf^n Spanish Amcnca.
that father and mother alike wish to
break off (he match, joins ihcm in
insulting the apparently hapless I>ie-
guito. Don Ansclmo at once per-
ceives that his nephew has been fool-
etl, and that the family of his bc-
iroihed would be glad to cast off
Dieguito in order to capture his un-
cle's wealth. He concludes, ihcre-
fore, to make his exit on the very
day of the proposed marriage, Lik-
ing with him his disenchanted ne-
phew. When the day arrives, he
annnunceft that he has been ruined
by the shipwTcclt of a vessel from
Vera Cruz, and thai he is compelled
to return to his old business of selling
pork, beans, chorolatc, and sausages
to make good his loss. Don Die-
guito, though asked to return to his
allegiance .is a lover, declares that
he is no fool, and prefers a wife who
will not speculate at the expense of
good faith, but will look aHcr her
children. As Don .\nsclmo has told
the family of Dona Adelaide that
his principal loss is in a cargo of
chocolate, that spirited young bdy
vows she will not drink chocolate
again; and the play ends in amusing
recriminations.
FEttVAKDO CAU>EROK.
The next of our dramatists, Fer-
nando Caldcron, was bom in 1809,
and died at the age of tliirty-six,
having been a colonel, a stale legis-
lator, a inagiittraic, and the secretary
of the government of Zacniecas. as
well as an imlustrious writer. The
moict striking of his dramxs are : Th<
Thumej; Anw Bt*UyH, and T%t Re-
turH 0/ the Onsmier, which, says one
of his admirers, are full of noble and
chiralrous sentinicnts and spiritetl
action. Calderon's laJent was noth-
ing if not dramatic ; for even his
lyrics, and especially his Sfltditr of
JJterfy, are characterized by a pciw-
nal fire and animation. ! '
remark.iblc for wannth of -
and his poems, chiefly lyrical, gamed
for him not only in Mexico, but in
otlier Spanish-American rcfiublics. a
degree of favor not ofteo ci '
writers in the southern pi^;
Now World. One of his moit ad-
mired passages is the solitotpiv of
Isabella in 7»^ Tourtuy .-
Ana thU Is llf«. S»ein)C tlio ubl« blcr
r>oroundM.t cowuilicc Um aiu(U) tnovei,
Wbcn !• litt lomt> lite tote Mvlum whsra
Trito pau-« Hbidn. Whrrv U thp Jlf« ihai ksowi
Not welnht of vraef Foi cm la iixiacnu
Kor trtf la imt*. to mai oar bum«a uu
From \aftncy uniA decrepit ■£«.
Chitil, man, arul most unfnriannle •*nin&nklB4.
I'uiauc ihe iTuiclc •nil t\\\i\oty abaile
Whith tilt ■ ■' ■ . - 'T'c<a, ycl never Henl.
Thesnv i niplaliilnr of kit kM><
Vaulti Will irt. Itntteiilc, fulB^U
Tlio tfji'.iiru t!t«: jlllict hi* jnaioi.
Life !• • lerer. • f cuivdilm level.
I< US (r«i>(y i'ii>lcfit UiA mi'l.
Alas! iUplctntmiMin 11* Hkc A Ruth,
WhcnorullDwiKloufnDf wnil with t>inof
Y<t cvcrapiingt dnite bikI \<t\\A hit\*c
To cbMi oar wtili wHh what rjn newt bo.
Csresiul vscaliy. uml fiihtnirnal ni'.
Tbeae nwksUiLi
80 6i<Ies o)tr y<- ' '
A rtlnnal llf ht vl ...,.., ....,;
l-'l«in ih? nat(i>w ix>ntiii«« <•■ lite (cnb. .
Th« blBcli Gloth .... tail th* [-uflla m«
ble . . .
Tbuaitarbly fli>n« tbelhleof llf«. AIa«*
My nld iIiAw* nvar. U'l Mlikli mf li <ril bn
A* the wr«keil uUoi <
Ocauic '■(allRir moo:
Not Ibiiii. not c *n) Uii>u , ^ '.
Nope Rficre hn one Ibat IB n :
AIjciI I Albert ! abali ibou <> .
Poui out lUv lean until our pii'crU »i.>ul*
Unite within the pure etcnilty.
With good reason is this thoi
ful and feeling soliloquy 1 '
Caldtritn's countrytntn, v,:,
situdcs have taught them pccub
syinpalliy with the tristful mood
which he lends expression,
tone and style of tlic {>assage
tragic in a most dignified ^vn^e, anj
rctlett much credit upon Mcxit
literature. A supplcmciii to the vici
of mortality and eternity set forth
Tlie Tvurtiey is contained in a
nient written by Caldcron in sSaj
and as it may intercitl a N'(
public 10 know what a Mt
Am,
Dramatic Moralists in Spantsh America.
709
poet Utinks of the future state, we
extract from it these hupcful lines:
CulJ and coward aiflilts
StiuQ the thought of dckth
Willi unhclicvlnf fear,
Vain- thin ViiiK thai wilhin llie srare
Hav« tovc and joy Ihcir end.
DiilUxiUt who ttcllcvG not
The elorrily divine!
TheilbietclKKlk'I spirit
AwokIk tn rcKiun* hlj,>h
Of frecdoEu and of bllsi
And loTc's wcnx icnUinent,
A sccil sown in hut soul*.
IX-ubt nut God's Itaiul duth jurd It
And lead It up to kitn.
The soul Init bnUbea in tove^
WUch 19 Its esMDM and lu load.
And iwiUtoutlovc would die.
RODRIGDEZ OALVAN.
More praiseworthy, in some re-
spects, than any of tlie moilcm poets
of Mexico, is Rodriguez Galvan, the
Jasl of oiir trio of dramatisls. He
died in 1842, in his twenty-sixth year,
after having without social advantages
acquired a high reputation as a Ijri-
cal and dramatic writer. " At eleven
years," says his biographer, '* he was
placed under the care uf his uncle,
in a book-store at the capital," and
there his nightly studies made up for
the impediments of his daily occupa-
tion, and " his liappy disposition and
Jove for work supplied the w.int of
masters and fortune." An epical
fragment entitled " The Fallen An-
gel," and his ]M)eins, " The Tomb,"
and " 'I'he Girandole," together with
his dramas, " Munoz*' and "The
Viceroy's Favorite," are mentioned a.s
the most noted of his productions.
A sijccimen of his dramatic style is
^■thc following piece of satire on
4he modern stage, from EI Angtl He
Quarda:
I think Uf on mr rauiedjr, and ou
1. llacd, crueJ hard, on all urba arc
V\c. Ilcro'aa roKcoinb come from Rome
,Ot t*anii iieic, an uld man. iKnr.nni,
Pooluh.hu liiciiii a vh'j'A jmliitvu* It-llow :
A line romantic majd who wtepi anJ uliiiclca
In TuihLiJi : itii^R, ihtec buntlrcd nbarf nc Ka|[>
'T'i make tbc peojjle laush ; a [>rui1lsh dama
Who »i>ral(* Kreacb tMdIjr. llcre't the knot.
And the coocluitOD ? Why. 4 vhUlIe ma
The second prompter.
—Or, I win erct-i
Like to a {allaw-iacadaveTousiliai&a
Shock-full of hnnKlnga and adulletlca,
la whkh Ikt trxtn in/amli iJiall t>e shown
The chtldren ol a king of Acajtulcu.
This nau*coui Tood I'll call a ptay-iotaaac«,
AitJ I'll divide it into font wiuare parts,
WUich Tuillicf I'll dlvulo in live full acU.
Tlw tceiie in Atagan. Ibe fincenlh century.
My Bourcci sbaJl be diaicaB uf Uuoiai
And Hugo, the Immoial o«c* of course.
Wbal doea It matter \ 1 traiulat« thom mine.
A uupid fellow comes out and dunluin
Kalf of a tub of poiwri'-ir'vea the tcu
Sttaighc to Ilia maid, because a vain uhl man
Comei with a tnimpet-toDEu: l» bluw and blow
In h» poor oar*. The ifrnorant hind doo't know
Fut two houtv whether he Is dead or not.
Audio the place of calunK upun God
He nakcsa Ions discourH. ThbU tbft mjr
Tliry make Mir playii, and in Ukl* age of tut«
Calduron, Murctn, Alaicon, l^ope,
Arcoalymulcs; and la the tbulie
Their woika shed tlumbcr bjr the buckelfuL
It would retiuire, perhaps, an inti-
mate knowledge of the Mexican
stage as it w.is thirty years ago to
appreciate the special application of
these lines ; but it is plain that the
young dramatist conceived a genuine
contempt for a bloodthirsty and ini-
quitous drama. Wiat, then, must a
writer of ius promise and aspirations
have felt regarding that more bitter
melodrama acted all round him ?—
what must any poet with a tolerable
amount of contemplative wisdom
have thought of that political mad-
ness of which Mexico has been so
long the victim ? Certainly, it robbed
them, as it robbed othere, of peace
and recompense ; but war respects
the stage even when it destroys bel-
ter institutions, and it is probable that
the dramatic culture of Mexico is as
wfll preserved as any of which it can
boast. To Galvan is ascribed the
first effective production on the
Mexican stage of Mexican subjects.
Whether the following fable bears a
more than ordinary soci.^! meaning,
wc cannot say ', but it is an instance
of the poet's hvely manner :
THI ULPISII tKIV.
with pike and laiiteni ai auodown,
A friiQ Dlght-walchBUin of the town
Dramatic Moralists in Spanish America,
711
I
■
Munic, is said to have made her fam-
ous. For one of her poems she re-
ceived a crown of gold laurels from
ihc lyceum of Madrid, and her Catho-
lic devotion was signally manifested
by her poem of the Cross and her
Biblical drama of Saul. Surely, a
most prolific, indusuious, and vigor-
ous wziter was La AvcUaenda, as her
countrymen admiringly call her, not-
withstanding her Isabeltist attach-
ment£. To the name of Avellaneda
let us add (hat of Josi Jacinto M i-
lanes as among the ornaments uf
Cuban literature. His drama of
Cottii< Alarcos^ founde<J upon the
celebrated Spanish tradition of the
name, is noted by I'icknor for its
passionate cnergj'. Milanes seemed
to delight in the themes and scenes
of his own country; but his useful-
nesa as a writer was cut short, we are
inlbrmed, by a wasting infirmity.
SANSON, ha,car:nos, and marquez,
Placido Sanson, Magarinos Cer-
vantes, and Sefior Marquez arc
among ihe most conspicuous South
American dramatists wc can now
call lo mind. Magarinos Cervan-
tes was bom in Montevideo in
1825, and, besides the novels of
Caramunt and The Star of the South,
has written the dramas of Vasco Nu-
flfs and the '/'wo /Missions, besides the
comedy of Jirfranccs Afa/rimoniai/s.
He was one of the principal editors
of an artistic and scientific cyctopicdia
printed in Madrid, and was once de-
scribed as the youngest and most ]iro-
ductive of well-known South Ameri-
can writers. Sanson, who was born
in Santa Cruz dc Tencriffe, 1S15, has
written ten or eleven dramas, among
them Abcnhamet and Herman Diraza,
and has been an exceedingly indus-
trious editor and translator. Senoc
Marquez, who was noticed fifteen
yeare ago as a young poet of Lima,
but twenty-three years of age, yet of
exceeding promise, was known as the
author of a drama which derived its
title from the beautiful legend of The
Floitfer of Abel.
This flower of dramatic poetry, as
its warm admirers regard it, contains
a chaniiing and even what we might
call a religious moial. One of the
best known of its Peruvian critics de-
scribed it as among the most spiritual
creations of the day ; a defense of in-
nocence and charity in a heroic com-
bat against the worldly scl^shness
which devours us; and Markham,
lo whose good taste wc arc indebted
for information respecting the ancient
and modem literature of Peru, af-
firms that its plot is original and in-
genious, and that it is full of good
passages. Abel, the first victim of
selfishness, is described as " the mys-
terious messenger of celestial com-
passion," an angel of innocence. The
innocent daughter of a proud and
ageil veteran becomes the possessor
of the angel's flower of Abel — in
other words, tht: blossom of inno-
cence. This the heavenly visitor
presents to her in a vision, warn-
ing her never to lose nor abandon
it, nor let it leave its place in her
bosom. But, eventually, the fair girl
loses the Hower, and wanders far and
wide over the world in search of it,
pa-wing through many dangers, for she
is unprotected and vcrj' beautihil. At
length, she reaches her mother's grave,
and, wearied and imploring, falUat the
feet of an image of the Clcssed Vir-
gin, in whose hands she once more
beholds her lo.st Mower of Abel.
Prostrate before the ahar of the
Queen of Heaven, tlic spirit of
Ktena abandons the body, and is
conducted to the skie.s by Abel, who
recovers the mysterious flower and
the pure sou] of the maiden.
Kvllecting that our own American
dramatic literature can claim not
I
7t2
hertus Magnus VindicaU
many successful writers, ihe poition
of Spanish Anierica, id respect to ilic
dramatists we haw described, can-
not be deemed contemplible. We
have much yet to Icara of our sister
republics, painful though their pro- !>ibilities.
bicm be to democratic thinkers; txA
we cannot look through a more
cessary and suggestive mcdiuca
their literature to become acqualnti
with their moral capacities a.nd pc
ALBERTUS MAGNUS VINDICATED,
A MOST Striking embellishment to
the text of a literary article is a deep
row of citations at the foot of the
page. Tlie eiTccl may be likened to
that of a broad trimming of lace to
articles of dress, A lace of true point
enhances the rich appearance of the
costlieiit tissue, and a common stuff
may be so set ulV by a Nottingham
trimming as to attract tlie gaze of
all who are passing. If unable to
distinguish the true from the false,
the gazer is astonished by the dis-
play.
Struck by the deep irimmmg of an
article that appeared in a recent
number of the Ameruan ycur/HiI of
the Medical Sienees, we examined it
thoroughly from tlie beginning to the
end. After perusal, wc laid it down
vrith a warm recollection of the speech
of the country member in the VViacon-
sin legisl.iture, who, after listening to
ancloquentoration filled with classical
.quouttons. arose, and said: *' Mr.
»ker, the honorable gentleman
las roamed with Romulus, soaked
with Socrates, ripped with Euripi-
des, and canted with oUl Cantha-
rides, but what has all that to do with
the laws of Wisconsin ?"
It would, however, be entirely out
of place in us to call attention to
this article, were it not for a most
extraordinary sentence whidi it con-
tains, and upon tha we feel
by many considerations, amooj
which our reverence for truth and U
of propriety, lo make sonic ol
tions. The sentence rcferrcU to is at
follows :
*' About the year 1340. at tlic soli-
citation of an ioqutsitive priest. Al-
Ixjrtus Magnus, the liishop of Kaiii-
bon, wrote a ver}- uncpiscopal w<
on ilie Setre/s of \\\'nu»i. It ci
tains much prurient matter whi
will hardly bear translation, and
was deemed worthy of a comi
tar>- by so devout an ecdesiastic
St. Thomas .'Vfjuinas." •
In this sentence, in which ii
great and good men are thus spol
of, we maintain that there arc
least three glaring mi»statcmcol
the iinii, that the work De
Aiuitciiim wa5i written by the Bi
of Ratisbon, Albcrtus Magnust aboi
the year 1240; the second, th^t Al-
bcrtus Magnus wrote the work-
positive affirmation of that fact, as
there were no doubt of its authenticicj
and the third, that St Thomas Aqi
nas ever wrote a cominent.ir)- on
first Xtustatetitenl. — That Uie w<
was written about the year 1:40,
Albertus Magnus, Utshop of Katiaboi
and therefore that it was the
■The ciuKon h trvtm yttJir*! lHiHt^*fkf.
Albertus Magnus Vindicated.
713
duction of a bishop, although very
unepiscopal in its nature. We pre-
mise a short sketch of his life, com-
piled from the Protestant Cave
(Hisioria Li/eraria, Saeculum Scho-
lasticum,§i26o) : Albertus, sumamed.
the Great, a German, was born in the
year 1205. He studied at Padua.
In the year 1221, he joined the Friar
Preachers. He was considered the
greatest theologian, philosopher, and
mathematician of his day. He excel-
led especially in mathematics. In
the year 1236, on the death of the
general of the order, he governed the
same for two years as vicar. He
afterward became provincial of his
order in Germany, fixing his resi-
dence at Cologne, where also he
taught with great applause. In the
beginning of the year 1260, he was ap-
pointed Bishop of Ratisbon by Alex-
ander IV., and was obliged, against
his will, to undertake that responsibi-
lity. He held the same for only
three years, when, wearied out by its
duties, he resigned the dignity, and
returned to his beloved monastery
of Cologne, where he spent his old
age in tlie delights of study. He
died in the year 1280. Such is the
substance of Cave's biography. Al-
though there is some doubt as to the
date of his birth, all agree that he
was made bishop in the year 1260,
and that during that time he had
enough to do in the affairs of his
diocese. The work in question, written
about the year 1240, cannot, there-
fore, be rightly styled unepiscopal.
Besides, all the editions that attri-
bute the work to Albertus say that it
was written by him whilst stopping in
Paris. Thus, in the notes added by
some unknown author to the editions
of 1601 and 1637 these words are
found : " Ego Albertus morans Pa-
risiis " — " I, Albert, staying in Paris."
The first words of the text are, " Dilec-
to sibi." etc As a bishop, we have no
record of his ever having been in Pa-
ris, much less stopping there for a
time. As a very old man, it is said
that he made the journey once more
from Cologne. After resigning his
episcopate, he always lived and taught
at Cologne. We may therefore, with
justice, put down the word unepisco-
pal as inaccurate.
Second Misstatement, — ^The positive
affirmation of the fact that Albertus
Magnus was the author of the work
on the Secrets of IVof/jen. Admit-
ting that our examination has not
been as exhaustive as it might, owing
to the want of facility in consulting
many authorities we should have de-
sired to, what we shall produce we
hope will be sufficient to place be-
yond doubt this one fact, that, if the
work is not wholly to be rejected as
that of Albertus Magnus, it must at
least be granted that it is very doubt-
ful. Our opinion is that it is wholly
supposititious. We have not found
a single authority which does not ad-
mit that it is doubtful whether Alber-
tus Magnus was the author of it;
and the vast majority of critics and
several intrinsic arguments prove that
his name, as the famous one of the
age, was affixed to it to give it noto-
riety. These propositions we will now
substantiate by negative and positive
arguments, some extrinsic and oth-
ers intrinsic, drawn from the charac-
ter of the author and of the writing
in question.
AH admit that the authenticity
of the work is called in question.
We have consulted at least eighteen
distinct authorities in matters of bib-
liography, and have not found one
making the positive affirmation of
the fact ; and some of our authorities,
as, for instance, Cave and Fabricius,
refer to every critic of note up to
their time (Cave to no less than
three hundred and seventy-two au-
thors). Almost all positively deny
?H
Albert us Magnus VitidicaUd.
that the work belongs to Atbcrtus
Magnus. Some make no iiteution
of it at all when !>[}eaking of his life
and labors. Otliera say in general
that many writings have been ascrib-
ed to Albertus, in order to give them
notoriety, which, however, must be
rt'jectcii as supposititious. Thus, the
UncydofaJM Jinfannka^zxi." Mhctt.^'
vol. i-, p. 171, says; "A detailed list
of Albert's works, the genuineness of
many of which it is impossible to de-
termine, is to be found in the Scrip-
tores Ord. PraJkalornm of QuOtif
and Echanl." Klorcn, in his grand
Dutionnaire I/istoriqut, has notliing
at all about the book, and yet he
speaks ai length of Albertus and hi:>
works. Applclon's American Ency-
(Utpaeiia makes no mention of it j neith-
er does HalLini,who would not have
passed by such a book, for he speaks
expressly of Albcrtus's influence on
mc(hcal studies. I'hc Kcgcnsburg
Unht^rsai Realen Bncyclopidie, edi-
tion 1850, art. "Albertus Magnus,"
says : " Sehr viele Schriftcr wurden
ihm spater falschlich beigclegt " —
" Very many works were at a later
period falsely ascribed to him."
These authorities arc, however,
purely negative. AVe shall now bring
forward the positive proofs for the
same fact : a. Critics, b. Urunet. <.
Encyclopa:dias. </. Historians, e. Bio-
graphies. / Editions.
a. Critics. — It will be enough to
bring forward l-'abridus, Boyle, and
Cave, all unexceptionable authorities.
Kabricius, Lipsicnsis Professor, Bib-
iiotliciii Lniiiut media et infima ctta-
fis, after referring to all the subjects
treated of in tlie twenty-one folio
volumes of the Lyons edition, the
only complete one ever published,
speaks of the works which must be
rejected, and among iliem he places
" Liber de Secrclis Secrciarum, sive de
Scireiis Mulirrum, SiTfyt editut icj sup-
fosiius Alberta, gut plus simpiici viic
in eo eitatur'* — "The book on ihe
Secret of Secrets, Or on the Sei-rets
of Women^ often published but fath-
ered on All>ertus, who is more than
once quoted in it." Boyle cntainly
will not be accused of any partiality
for the great Catholic docton> rf
scholasticism. In a long article on
Albertus. >Iagnus, he has !■ is:
"I shall particularly mc:i me
faLsities that have been re{K>ftcd about
him. It h.-i5 l>een said that he deliv-
ered women, and it was taVcn rcry
ill that a man of his profession diould
do the ofiicc of a midwife. The
ground of this story is that there
was a book under the name of
Albertus Magnus, containing scrcnl
instructions for midwives, and »
much knowledge of their art that u
seemed he could not have been b
well skilled in that trade if he fa^
not exercised it. But the upologatt
of Albertus maintained that he is doc
the author of that book, nor of thu
I>€ Secrttis Mutierum." Mc here re-
fers to a note in which he cxplaisa
as follows: "The book J>e Sefertu
Mulimim^ wrongfully ascribed to Al-
bertus, is the work of one of his dii-
riplcs, who is colled Hcnricut dc
Saxonia, with whose name it luu
been printed more than once. Here
flre Smler's words : ' Henrixus dt
Sixom'it, Aibetii Afiix*ii diuipuii^ Shtr
de Seeretis Muhcrnm tmpressus Am-
eustii:,' A.D. 1498, per Antonium
Surg.; and in the CataA^pte 0/ T^tm-
Hufs Ubrsry you will find, ' Hennii
de Saxonia, de Seeretis Multerum, de
virtutibns herbctntm, Upuhtm quorum'
dam ammalium atwrumque, ismo,
Francof., 1615.' It is plain that
bcrtus's name, more famous tt
that of Henry, gave occasion to
supposition." Thus far Boyle.
Cave in hii Ilistoria fJi, ■ -^
no mention of the work as ■.^■^
(0 Albertus.
b. Brunet, the great BUtbority on
twP
Albcrtus Magnus Vindkated.
715
books and editions, in his Manuel
du Librairf^ says ; " De Sectetis Mu-
Herum, opus 147S, in 4", prcmi&re
'Edition dc cet ouvragc, ma!-i-propvs
alhibuS \ Albert -I tr-grand "— " Di &■-
cretis Mu/Urum^ '47^, 4I0, first edi-
tion of thb work, wrongfully attribut-
ed to Albert the Great."
€. Ewy'dopadias. — Edittburgh En-
cy<hpadia, conducted by David
I' BrcwstcT, edition of 1832, art. "Alber-
tus Magnus ;" " The treatise De Se-
\\eretis Muiierum," etc., generally as-
cribed to him, was written by one of
l)LS disciples, Hcnricus de Saxonia."
Penny Eneyelepadia, London, 1833;
*^ There are also collections of sup-
posed secrets which have erroneously
'been published under his name;
^among others, one De S^cretis Mu-
iierwn et Mttura^ printed at Amster-
dam, in 1655, which is believed to
have been written by one of his dis-
ciples." Chambers's Eneyclcpadia re-
jects the work also as supposititious.
d. Uistorians. — NataJis Alexander,
.Hist. Eec, Saiculura XIII., on *' Al-
[.bertus Magnus," concludes his notice
thus: "Liber De MirabU'tbus vani-
ftate et supcrslllione rcftrtus, ,\lberto
, Magno suppositus est, inquil Debrio,
\Disqmsitionum Mtisiiarnm, cap. 3.
.Librum De Seerelis Midierum nee ip-
^sius est ncc dorli cujuspiam esse
^censuerunt Medici Lovanienses, ut
■ lefert Molaiuis in Bibliotkeca Stiera "~~
" The book De Mirabi/ibus, filled with
nonsense and superstition, has been
Cilsely ascribed to Albemis Magnus^
^>says Debrio In his work Essays on
^Ma^^ cap, 3. The Medical Faculty
i of the University of Louvain gave as
their opinion thai the book De Seere-
lis Muhenim ts not Itis nor that of
any leame<] man, as Molanus relates
in his Bibliotkeca Sacra."
Raynoldus, in his Cronata, the
great continuation of the Annals of
Barenitts^ under the year 1 260, para-
graph isth, says: "Hie vero lec-
torcm diligenter raonitura vclim
plura passim Albert! Magni nomine
scripta circumferri, qutc ab ipso nun-
i|uam emanasse cxploraiuni est; cum
magica superstitionc sint foedata, sed
ad conciliandum rei ve! frivola: vel
scelestae auctoritatem, piissimi et sa-
picntis viri nomine subornati simpli*
cibus obtruduntur " — " We wish here
particularly to warn the reader that
there arc many writings extant attri-
buted to Albertus Magnus, which, it
\i clear, never emanated from his
pen; for they are filled with magical
superstition ; but to gain some au-
thority for a trifling or wicked work,
they are palmed off on the ignorant
under the name of a most pious and
learned man." Prof. Hcfcle, the
German historian, in an article on
Albertus Magnus in Wetzcr and
U'eltc's Kireh^n-Lexiion, concludes
thus : '' Dcra Albertus sind vieic
Biichcr unterschoben wordcn, z. B.
De Akhymia und De Secretis Mu-
lierttm^ u. dgl." — •' Many books have
been fathered on Albert, <■..?. Dc Al-
chymia and De Secretis Mulientm,
etc." Cantri, the Italian historian,
in his Universal History, expresses the
same opinion in his chapter on the
" Natural and Occult Sciences."
e. Bio^aphi^s. — Feller, in his Bi&-
graphie Cn'rvcrseUe, says : " Enfm, on
a lui attribuc dc ridicules rccuetls des
Secrets, auqiiels il n'a pas eu la
raoindrc part. On y trouve m^e
des ind^ccnces et des rechcrches
aussi valnes que peu digncs d'unc
religeux " — " Finally, a ridiculous col-
lection of Secrets have been attribut-
ed to him, with which he had nothing
to do. Even obscene tilings arc fuund
in this collection, and invesrigations
as frivolous as they are unworthy of
a religious." Tlie French and Ger-
man biographies consulted by us
agree in this same opinion.
/ Editions. — Dr. Atkinson, in his
Medical Biography^ mentions all the
ri<5
Albertus Magnus Vindicated.
editions of the work from ihe first in
i47Sloi76a The finilediliDn, 147a,
is without the name of the place in
which it was printed ; and of it wc
have seen the judgment of Bruoet.
The editions of 14&0 and 14S1 are
without the name of either printer
or place. The edition of 1484,
August;?, comes out with Henry of
Saxony as its author. Those of i.;SS
and 149S aUo. The earliest editions,
therefore, cannot be quoted as nuking
Albertus the author of the work. It
wa£ pnly iJic editions of 1600 and
tho«c which followed that ascribed
the work to Albenus, and they were
akaost all iwinte^l in Germany or
Hollaiui Docs it not look as if
party spirit hail much 10 do with
these editions f The only complete
edition of the works of Albenus is
thai of ibc Rev. A. ?. Peter Jammy,
S.T.D., in twenty-one ioliu vohiiDes,
printed at Lyons, 1651. This edition
contains do nieniton of the book.
In the authorities thus far qooCcd,
ve have studiously a\-oi«lc>i bring^g
fanraid any b«t those which air
luirenaUy admitted *& standanL
But e%«n should die extrimic icsti-
nxmy thus fiir gircn been
an oa oat side* «c ik . -rlnsk
evkleace woold be quite suudideoc to
settle the qoeigiiiM. To this pome «e
wxU now bnefiy direct aucntno.
ThcK intriiBK argnawnts are diawa
feMi the wn^ itsdf aikd from the
■difcttowp dufacttr of Albatn
Hj^husl The book or i Vm i rocnT
niom saaevhse ifao«t ihc
1*40 or ttjOi, Md wm
pnalcU in Ibc rear t47^ ^^
paaofm iiho«« ciiiotly tlue k
iMeadBd oaly fcr the pcnoik to wbotB
it was d«ec»ed« thai it was ■ cidy «
kita a» a fesnd is aaswr id «• ob-
acMc qpKstiai imy u i ^ hia; «
foCi tlH£ k w sot a bcMi»e ia«B»3-
cd <E« pMamratiaa. bol aefcly a
B Ac pavt
of the vriter to satisfy, as far as be
was able, the inquirieii of his fiicod.
Xaud^, the critic, makes use uf these
two proo& to show tliat Albertus
could not have written the work.
First, AUicnus did not n.ime himsdf
in ihc beginning of the work. He
who commented upon it afl^rrocd
without any proof that Albertus was
its author. The text begins wiUi
these words : " Dclecto sibi in Oimto
socio et aimco," etc — ** To f -1
companion and frien<] in C ;i
the notes added to the eUitioa of
1601 and 1637 these vurds hare
been placed as a title : ^ Ego At
bcrtus moruts Parisus" — " 1. Albcf^
sUying in Paris.** The title has bceo
affixed grattiitously and arliitrarily.
The work is therefore anonyi
Second, Albertus could notj
wriitco it, for hb own autl
often made nse oC \Vc mu«t rrToem-
bcr that the docoraeat m qocstkia ws
only a letter frooi one friend to oAuth-
eti and it certanly would l>c siraap
{at a nun to qoote bis own wcH koovii
wqcks at any time, mttch leas m »
Cuniltar c oCT npomtetye . If he tft-
tiodocrd than at aU, it «r>ou]d be k
some snch Cora as this : **a»ytMwiB
ftad ia my wort co.*' etc The ao-
tbor of this letter qooces .M!bcrti»*i
andioRty at tease fire nncs. We
ha«r TcnSed Ihe foOowin;; m the
editton of 1**- ^'">-"it*T a n : Pa^
49: "That ■ < az^ierstpv^
we mst bote t-^ai these
staJU of ibr
beitus m Ins tif jtiae X^.
poaafaOryaf a t-mnl 4ehi^ i^
av^or sajs: *AaJ
Aai dbe9e thki^ v
bocKKe A}hanibaa
Paje^T.^F^
as,* mt^ Fife t3^ *A«
says ■ ba baek ««.* ««e. W« da
KM as0K ham t^ ftcs oT dbe ^
Albcrtus Magnus Vindicated.
717
thority of Albertus being used to
prove that he could not have been
the author, but from the manner in
which that authority is introduced.
The reader will judge for himself if
our inference be correct. But to us
the convincing proof of the falsity of
the work is to be drawn from the
character of Albertus himself and the
subject matter of the work. The
testimony of antiquity has brought
him down to us as venerable for his
piety and goodness as he was illustri-
ous for learning. He was truly a
good man. He was really an exceed-
ingly learned man. The work as-
cribed to him could have been writ-
ten by neither a good man nor even
a moderately well-educated man.
There are principles laid down in it
which contradict the first ideas of
morality and inculcate unbridled li-
cense. And shall the well-known
works on morality of the great doctor
not be allowed to cry out in his de-
fence ? Shall we say that he has not
only glaringly contradicted himself,
but become the open advocate of
immorality ? When the illustrious
Protestant critic Cave tells us that
Albertus was considered the greatest
theologian, philosopher, and mathe-
matician of his day, he does but re-
echo the voice of each past genera-
tion; and shall we say that he could
have written the work in question, so
fuU of nonsense and superstition,
and contrasting so strongly with his
other writings ? Is not the opinion
of the Medical Faculty of the Uni-
versity of Louvain more just when
they maintain that the work De Se-
cretis MuUerum is neither that of
Albertus nor indeed of any learned
man at all ? These few reflections
should be enough to setUe the matter.
We could bring forward other and
far more convincing reasons in vindi-
cation of this great doctor; but from
what has been said, we think we are
justified in placing the positive
affirmation of the writer ascribing
the work to Albertus Magnus as a glar-
ingmisstatement — as blot number two.
The third misstatement was that
St. Thomas Aquinas wrote a com-
mentary on it. We challenge the
writer to bring a single authority to
prove that fact. We never heard or
saw anything about it before. None
of the great standard critics ever hint
at it; so, not to lose patience, we
affirm that it is the most glaring mis-
statement made — blot number three,
in almost as many lines.
The reader might here naturally
ask, Where, then, did the writer ob-
tain any information on which to
base his so positive statements, so in-
jurious to the characters of two justly
celebrated benefactors of the human
race ? We have met with but one
phrase which could have suggested
the lines in question, and they are
taken from a writer who should not
be brought forward as authority in a
matter of criticism ; for the scurrilous,
filthy, and flippant manner in which
he speaks of authors and books ren-
ders him unworthy of an answer.
This author is Dr. James Atkinson,
who published a Medical Biography^
one volume, A and B, London, 1834.
After admitting that the authorship
of the book De Secretis MuUerum
is a contested matter, he has these
words : " It may be a question whether
the editions (of which I have one in
Gothic characters) of this Libellus
de Secretis MuUerum v/ere not
originally written by Albertus, and
published with a commentary (which
is annexed to it in my edition) by St.
Thomas Aquinas (although usually
'non est inventus') or Henricus de
Saxonia. Is it possible ? " The
character of the author Atkinson, as
manifested in his work, and these
words themselves, are a sufficient an-
swer to any proof to be drawn from
New Publications.
719
is a monument not merely of ec-
clesiastical learning, but of sound
Catholic doctrine, in which the su-
premacy of the Holy See. and the
justice of its cause as against all
heretics, schismatics, and rebels, are
maintained with victorious logic and
overwhelming evidence. Its critical
character makes it especially valua-
ble for those who are studying the
history and constitution of the
church, and we are, therefore, sin-
cerely glad that one volume has
been translated into English and
published, and can only hope that
the others may follow.
The translation has been made by
a Protestant dignitary and publish-
by a Protestant firm, as the title at
the head of this notice has already
informed our readers. This seems
rather odd. We are glad to see a
taste for works like this arising in
the educated world, but can scarce-
ly understand what could induce a
Protestant, sincerely and firmly at-
tached to his own doctrine, to pro-
mote their circulation. The author's
motives are. however, his own af-
fair, and the affair of his own eccle-
siastical connection. We have only
to criticise the manner in which he
has done his work, and for that we
are bound to accord him great
praise. Most judiciously, and to
our very great satisfaction, he has
refrained from giving us his own
opinions in prefaces or notes, and
has left Bishop Hefele in the state
in which he found him of pure, un-
adulterated text. The translation
is undoubtedly substantially correct,
and, so far as we have seen, exact
and accurate in detail, while at the
same time it is smooth, readable
English. We have noticed only
one mistranslation, and that is one
which is wholly indefensible. This
is the substitution of Roman Cath-
olic for Catholic. We protest
against this alteration of Bishop
Hcfele's language, and condemn it
as contrary to literary honesty, and
a real falsification of the text. The
volume is admirably printed, and is
for sale at The Catholic Publication
House, and we most cordially re-
commend it to the attention of all
students of ecclesiastical history
who are unable to read the work in
German or French.
The Priest on the Mission. A Course
of Lectures on Missionary and Paro-
chial Duties. By Frederick, Canon
Oakeley, etc. London : Longmans &
Co. New York : The Catholic Publi-
cation Society, 9 Warren Street. 1871.
Whoever has the happiness of
knowing Canon Oakeley will think
he sees him and hears him talking
when he reads this book. Canon
Oakeley was well known many
years ago as a Fellow of Balliol Col-
lege, Oxford, and one of the most
distinguished of the brilliant band
of converts from that university.
As a Catholic priest, he has been
one of the most laborious and suc-
cessful among the parochial clergy
of London. His long experience
and eminently practical mind make
him unusually well fitted for writing
a work like the present. It is full
of admirable directions and sugges-
tions, amongwhich those on preach-
ing especially attracted our atten-
tion. Canon Oakeley's very remark-
able merits as a writer are too well
known to need our commendation.
The style of the present volume is
well worthy of the venerable au-
thor's best days, and makes the
book delightful reading. We think
it is one which even the most ex-
perienced pastors will find useful
and interesting, and which will be
found to be of the highest value to
young clergymen and ecclesiastical
students.
Catholic Hymns and Canticles, to-
gether WITH A Complete Sodality
Manual. By Rev. Alfred Young.
Sixth edition. New York : The Cath-
olic Publication House. 1871.
Father Young's hymn-book, well
known to many of our schools and
confraternities for the past eight
years, is now enlarged by the addi-
tion of twenty-four hymns to its
first edilinn. The best thing we
can siiy of the collection is that, n(
the one hundred and thirty-one
h'ymns which it contains, not more
than half a dozen arc beyond the
Capacity or unsuitcl to the tastes of
the youth for whom it was designed.
The majority of the melodies are
original, anil not lo be found in any
other book of the kind. Every sen-
son and festivnl of the year is repre-
sented by a chuicc selection of ap-
propriate hymns, and the present
edition is enriched with the popuUr
congregational hymns sung in the
church of the P.-iu]ists during Lent,
and at the meelings of their Rosary
and Christian Doctrine Societies.
We have no hesitation in saying
that it is the most complete and
satisfactory hymn-book for our
schools and sodalities that has been
issued in the English language.
AmutlCAN Hfligiox. By John Wvlss.
Boston: Rutieits Uroihera. 1871.
Precisely what it was that Mr,
Weiss proposed to himself in writ-
ing the series of essays which he
dignifies by the title of "American
Religion." we do not find it easy to
say. He is otie of thu^e more un-
happy admirers of Mr. Kmcrson
who, in paying him the ready tribute
of a more or less perfect imitation
of the style of his speech and the
manner of his thought, have so far
beggared themselves as to leave
their readers in doubt as to what
their own thinking and their own
statement might have been, had
they in fact retained that individu-
ality the rights of which it seems
now only a part of their imitation
to assert. Mr. Emerson's style.
which is the fit expression of the
character of his mind, and in its
w;iy perfection, has the unfortunate
peculiarity of being so tnanncrvd
that the lea^t of his disciples can
successfully, and apparently uncon-
sciously, travesty it. Just what it
Was, therefore, that Mr. Weiss bad
.A«
in bis mind concerning- the new re-
ligion which he de^Lires to see adapt-
ed to the supposed needs of Amer-
ica, we do not know; but through
the fog in which hi% readers arc per-
force doomed to flounder, it seems
as if he believes that the thrte
thousand miles of sen-water which
lie between his native hind and the
Old World wtre a sufficient l;kvef of
regeneration for those burn on tbo
hither side r>f it. The sense of ^n,
the need of an atonement, the rfi-
c«cy of prayer, are etfote idrti
which have served their purpostfia
the past, but which nn Ameriuik
citizen is belter wif^iout. Why
should Yankee Doodle, who, as lit
the world knows, is thu Intcst and
fullest expresMon of whul Mr.WdM
likes to call the " Divine Ii
nencc." bewail sins which BTf
all cither purely imaginary
result of a defective orf^n^
for which he is not to blan
think himself in need of a mi'
with an uflcndcd God, when iK
truth IS th.tt he has only to step w;
to the nearest square inch of lool-
ing-gl.iss to behold the Oiviaitria
himself and settle all outlyjng'ae-
counts by word of mouth 1 iv ■ '
we do Mr. Weiss an injustice. ;
the twelve essays whit:l) ' j
vithime.be mayhavcenib ;;
and better ideas than the t*nly ij-nc
which a tolcmbly attenliv- rej^iimii^
has enabled us to gather i-
But lu us his b'Kik «rrti
be as barren of -
who would wiDii
as it is to ourselves. lt&
cloudiness is here and thi 1
in upon by ■ sort of inan'
of expression when he rt ;'
Lord and his miracles; but > :
wise it offers an unbroken un;'
ity of platitude. It h<tri .
amusing ignorance of all 1 '■
thought alien to either the •
doxy or the rationalism of
England, the provincialism of which
is in very prctiy keeping' %ritb the
significant title which Mr. Wci*s
has chosen for his work.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. Xni., No. 78.— SEPTEMBER, 1871.
THE REFORMATION NOT CONSERVATIVE. •
Dr. Krauth is a man highly es-
teemed in his own denomination, and,
though neither very original nor pro-
found, is a man of more than or-
dinary ability and learning, well vers-
ed in Lutheran theology, and, we
presume, a trustworthy representative
of it as contained in the Lutheran
symboUcal books, and held by the
more conservative members of the
Lutheran Church — a church, or sect
rather, of growing importance in our
country, in consequence of the large
migration hither from Germany and
the north of Europe, and in some
respects the most respectable of all
the churches or sects bom of the
Protestant Reformation, or, rather,
the Protestant revolt and rebellion
against the church of God. Yet he
will excuse us if we refuse to follow
him step by step in his exposition of
• Tht Conttrvativt Rt/ormaiien and itt Tkta-
l^gy : ** Rffrtitnttd in th* AugthurcCtn/tuiOM,
and in tkt Hutory and Liltralurt o/tk* Evan-
gtlUal LutktranCkMrck. ByChwlcsV. Krauth,
D.D., Norton Professor of Theology la ths
Evangelical Luthenta Theological Seminary, aod
Professor of Intellectual and Moral Philosophy
In the Unlreraity of Pennsylvania. Philadel-
phia: J. B. LippincoU & Co. 1671. Svo, pp.
800.
the Lutheran theology, for all that is
true in it we have in the teaching of
the Catholic Church, without the er-
rors and falsehoods Luther mingled
with it. It were a waste of time to
study it, unless we were called upon
to refute it in detail, which we are
not.
That there is much that is true
mingled with much more that is false
in Lutheran theology, we do not dis-
pute, and we readily admit that Dr.
Krauth means to hold, and in his
way does hold, most of the funda-
mental principles, if not dogmas, of
Christianity; but this is no mbre than
we might say of any other system of
false theology, or of any heathen re-
ligion or superstition, ancient or mo-
dem, civilized or barbarous. There
is no pagan religion, if we analyze it
and trace it to its fountain, in which
we cannot detect most, if not all, of
the great primary truths of the Chris-
tian religion, or the great principles
which underlie the dogmas and pre-
cepts of the Catholic Church, and
which could have been obtained only
from the revelation made by God
himself to our first parents before
Entered, according to Act of Congren, in the year 1S71, by Rkv. I. T. Hbcku, la the Office of
the Librarian of CongrcM, at Washington, D. C.
723
Tht Re/orfnation not Conservative.
their expulsion from the garden. Vet
what avails the Uuth false religion
conceals, mingled as it is wiih the
errors that lum it into a lie? It
serves, wlicther with ihe lettered and
polished Greek imd Roman or the
nide, outlying barbarian, only as the
basis of barbarous superstitions, cru-
el, licentious, and idolatrous rites, and
moral abominations. The fundamen-
tal ideas or principles of civilized so-
ciety are retained in the memory of
the most barbarous nations and tribes,
yet are they none Uic less barbarous for
that. They lack order, subordination ;
neither their intelligence nor Uieir will
is disciplined and subjected to law ;
and their appetites and passions, unre-
strained and untamed, intioduce dis-
order into every department of life,
and compel intelligence and will,
reason itself, to enter their ignoble
service, and as abject slaves to do
their bidding. Civilization introduc-
es the clement of order, cstabtislies
the reign of law in the individual, in
the family, in the state, in society,
which is not possible niiliout a reli-
gion true enough to enlighten the in-
tellect, and powerful enough over
conscience to restrain the passions
witiiin their proper Ixiunds, and to
bend the will to submission.
All Protestant sects hold much of
trutli, but, like the heathen rehgions,
they hold it in diiiordcr, out of its
normal relations and connections, out
of its unity and catholicity, and con-
sequently no one of them is strong
enough to recover the element of or-
der, and re-establish and maintain the
•vicn of law in any of die several
departments of life, spiritual or secu-
lar; for the very essence of both
consists in rejecting catholicity, the
only source of order. We therefore
make no account of the principles,
inilhs, or even Catholic dogmas re-
tained by the various Protestant
cbutcbes or sects from Catlioltc tra-
dition. Held OS they are out of tat*
ty, out of their nomial rclatioos^ aod
mingled with all sorts of errors and
fancies, they lose tlicir virtue, becooe
the basis of false religion and KUse
morahiy, pervert instead of cnl^t*
ening reason, and mislead, vrcakeo,
and finally destroy conscience. They
are insufficient to preserve faith and
the worship of God, and naturally
tend to revive in a lettered lutton
the polished heaihcnistn of Greece
and Rome. Their impotence is seen
in the prevailing disorder in llic whole
Protestant world.and especially in the
singular delusion of mcnlcm society,
that the loss of Catholic truth, Ca-
tholic authority, of spiritujility, is
progress in light, liberty^ religion,
civituation — a delusion which cob
the revolutions, the civil commot
the wars between the people ancl
government, between doss and cl
and capital and lalior, the tns
tions and terrible social disorders
the last ccDtuT)' and the present,
as so many evidences of the raarr
lous advance of the modem woi
in freedom, intelligence, religion.
Christian morals. Is not this
delusion that goeth before and lead-
eth to destruciion ?
Dr. Krauth has not advanced m>
far, or rather descended so low, u
have some of his Protestant brethren.
He h-is strong conservative inline
and still retains a conviction that
der is necessary', and that without
ligious faith and conscience order
not possible. He has a dim percep-
tion of the truth, that unless there is
something in religion hxefl, pcmiA-
Aent, and authoritative, even religioo
cannot meet the exigencies of soct
or the needs of the soul ; but, a chi
of the Reformation, and jealous of
honor of his parentage, he thinks
necesiiary lo maintain that, if rcligi
must be fixed and pciuioncut, it m
at the same time be progressive;
TO. J
Tk* Reformation not Conservativt.
7n
thoH talive, and yet subject to the fa iih-
{u\, who have the right to resist or
alter it at will. Hence he tells us,
page v-iii., " The church problem is
to attain a Protestant Catholicity, or
a Catholic Protestanlism," and seeks
to establish for Luthcrattism the char-
acter of being a " conservative refor-
mation." The learned doctor may
l>e a very suitable professor of theo-
logy in a Lutheran theological semi-
nary, or a proper professor of intel-
lectual and moral philosophy in the
University of Pennsylvania, but he
seems either not to have mastered
the categories or to have forgotten
them. Contradictor^' predicates can-
not be affirmed of the same subject.
The Lutheran Reformation and con-
servatism belong to different categor-
ies. That only can be a conservative re-
form of the church that is effected by
the church herself or by her authority,
and which leaves her authority and
constitution intact, by no means the
case with the Lutheran Keformation,
which was a total subversion of the
constitution of die church and the
denial of her authority. In the sense
of the author, conscr^-ative reforma-
pon implies a contradiction in terms.
Logicians, at least (hose we have
Id for masters, tell us that of con-
tradictories one must be false. If
there were ever two terms each the
contradictory of the other, they are
CaihotU and Profisiant. One cannot
be a Catholic without denying Pro-
testandsm, or a Protestant without
denying Catholicity. " Protestant Ca-
tholicity" or "Catholic Protestant-
ism" is as plainly a contradiction in
terms as a square circle or a circular
square. If Catholictl)' is true, Pro-
testantism is false, for it is simply the
denial of Catholicity-, and if the Pro-
tesunt denial of Catholicity is true
or warranted, then is there nothing
catholic, no catholicity, and conse-
luently no catholic Protestantism,
Dr. Krauth has, we doubt not,
a truth floating before his mind^s
eye, but he fails to grasp it, or to
consider to what it is applicable.
"The history of Christianity," he
says, page vii, " in common with all
genuine history, moves under the in-
fluence of two generic ideas : the con-
servative, which desires to secure th«
present by fidelity to the results of -
the past; the progressive, which looks
out in hope to a better future. Re-
formation is the great harroonizer of
the tnie principles. Corresponding
with conservatism, reformation, and
progress, are the three generic types-
of Christianity ; and under tht
genera all the species are but shades,
modifications, or combinations, as all
hues arise from three primary colors.^
Conservatism without progress pro-
duces the Romish and Greek type
of the church J progress without con-
servatism runs into revolution, radi-
calism, and sectarianism; reformatior
is antithetical lo both — to passive per-
sistence in wrong or passive endur-
ance of it, and to revolution as a mode
of relieving wrong." That is, re-
formation preserves its subject while
correcting its aberrations, and effects
its progress without its destruction,
which, if the subject is corruptible
and reformable, and the reform is ef-
fected by the proper authorities and
by the proper means, is no doubt
true; and in this case reformation
would stand opposed alike to immo-
bility and revolution or destruction.
But is the learned and able pro-
fessor aware of what he does when
he assumes that Christianity is cor-
ruptible and reformable, that it is or
can be the subject dthcr of corrup-
tion or of reformation ? Intention-
ally or not, by so assuming, he plac-
es it in the category of human insti-
tutions, or natural productions, left
to the action of the natural laws or
of second causes, and withdraws it
^
tf.mt to
M A wdnoc or m
MfhebiCfato be bdEwvd, vfl»Ar
b* to bv obcyvd— « ba v^ach. k ifac
)iKlC»ent of «mm; Dr. Xcnua'*
tbttWjr of < k t *i opm ta t orcdooks
ChtM Oiflk y cwho di wi in dirdiBdi
b IIk Hngdnm of God on cnth,
fanmfed iw eii j iiw l / bjr the I»car-
Nlc Word lo nunUesi Uke dnrioe
lovr lod aerqr m the redempcioa
and uintioa of aooK aad lo latio-
doc« ind ™*"**^ tlie aoUiociqr of
Cod and the wpFcnucy of hit Uw
in littfMa a&ttn. h it not aa ml^-
•tnelicML, and did not come into tbe
worid aa a *' naked idea," as Gouoc
makilaim, nor is it left to cdch'k irift-
don and vinac to oabodjr it ; but
it eunc into tlic woritl embodied in
fl' n, concreted in tbe church,
»>!> uleaied apoMle aHurcs us
ii ** the tx>dy af Chfikt," whu is htm-
aelf Christuuiity, since he says, " I
am the way, the truth, ami the life."
Neither aa the etid nor a» the divine
in »li till ion. nciihcr u the Uw nur as
the atithorily to keep, declare, and
apply il, ihcn ii the church imperfect,
therefore proffrcuivi; or corruptible,
jRfl l)ierer<ire rcfarmable. lliis is the
Cathulic dactrine, which must be re-
tainril hy Proie^Lintitm if I'rotcst-
antimn in to he CailiMli*..
Tlu> learned profcawir cither ovci-
cvcr is defa cS ic waf h^
by Ac oon m1 niiispiimM u te
bhK aho be aafayect bo 4ccay, tte
ckach our fioaa oac to t»c C*
oooe oovnpc and aa »Bt be «cs.
aa the bas need, lo lefiv^ hex.
mtm(atlf a ayp oa o Che i-*»ird>
not divine, Uat nnplj asj
as is rrery CUae lehckoa of bk^ m
aiiie or ciabodjr Acir Tjuiable cas^
cq^dmu of Ute ifiviac. If this wcsc
Dot tbe pco fcjsu r's ncv, be cuoU
not talk of coos en ratign, progroB,
and rdbimatioa in cooBcctiop with
Christiaiuty, nor tbe cocropoikdcacc
of thoc ir^ ** the three fflfta i c types
of Christianity," for these terms ate
inapplicable to aitytiung
perfect, and can be b>gicalljr
only to what is imperfect
nan. to what is per^xtiblc, corm;
bte, and rcformablc. As there is
one God, one Christ, the media:
of God and men, there can t<
o<ic Christianity, and that must
calhoUc, one and tbe tame in
timet and places. To suppose
generic types of Christiauily is as a
surd ai to kupjKiM.' three '
three Gods, geucrically div: .1!
one from another, that is— three
The Reformation not Conservative,
72$
irists or three Cods of three dif-
ferent types or genera.
Supposing the professor under-
stan'da at all the meaning of the scho-
lastic terms he uses, it is clear that
he understands by Christianity the
history of which moves under the in-
fluence of two generic ideas — no-
thing div-inc, nothing fixed, perma-
nent, and immutable, the law alike
for intellect and will, but the views
and theories or judgments which men
form of the works of God, his word,
his law, or his kingdom. Christiani-
ty resolved into these may, we con-
cede, not improperly be arranged
under the three heads of conserva-
tism, prograis, and reformation, but
never Christianity as the truth to be
believed and obeyed. We do not,
however, blame the I-ulhcran profess-
or for his mistake ; for, assuming his
position as a l^rotesiant to be at all
tenable, he could not avoid it, since
Protestants have no other Christiani-
ty. 'I'hey have only their vurtas or
juiigments of Christianity, not Chris-
tianity itself as the objective reality.
There is progress fy Christianity ;
id that is one great purpose for
rhich it is instituted ; but none in
istianity, because it is divine and
'perfect from the beginning. There
may be reformation in individuals,
itions, and society, for these arc all
jrruptible, but none of Christianity
self, cither as th e creed or as the body
Christ, for it is indefectible, above
aiid independent of men and nations,
id therefore neither corruptible nor
sformable by them. Not being cor-
iptible or capable of deterioration,
w term conservative, however appli-
cable it may be to states and empires
in the natural order or to human in-
stitutions and laws subject to (he
natural laws, has no application to
Christianity or the kingdom of Christ,
which is supernatural, under the di-
:t and immediate government and
protection of God, an eternal and
therefore an ever-present kingdom,
universal and unalterable, and not
subject to the natural laws of growtl
and decay. Dr. Krauih forgets the"
law of mechanics, that there is no
motion without a mover at rest.
The movable cannot originate mo-
tion, nor the progressive be the cause
of progress, or corruption purify and
reform itself. If Christianity or the
church were itself movable, or in
itself progressive, it could effect no
progress in men or nations, indind-
uals or society ; and if it could ever
become itself corrupt, it could be no
principle of reform iu the world, or
in any department of life.
The oMce of Christianity is to
maintain on earth amidst all the vicis-
situdes of this world the immutable
divine order, to recover men from
the effects of the fall, to elevate them
above the world, above Iheir natural
powers, and to carry ihcm forward.
their \vilt consenting and concurring,
to a blissful and indissoluble union
witli God as their supreme good, as
their last end or 6nal cause. How
could it fulfil this office and effect its
divine purpose, if not itself free from
all the changes, alterations, and ac-
cidents of time and space ? Doeft,
not the learned professor of thcoloj
perceive that its very efficiency de-
pends on its independence, tmmova-
bleness, and immutability ? Then
the conceptions of conservatism^
progress, and reformation cannotJ
be applied to tlic church of God,
any more than to God himself, and
are applicable only to what is human
connected witli her. In applying
these ideas to her, the professor, as
every Protestant is obliged to do
in principle at least, divests her of
her divinity, of her supernatural ori-
gin and ollice, and places her in the
natural and human order, and sub-
jects her to the laws which govern
The Rfformaftmnot C&ntfrvStwe:
the historj' of all men and nations
deprived of the su|K:rnatural add re-
maining under the ordtnnry provi-
dence of God manifested throtigli
second causes. The professor's doc-
trine places Christianity in the same
category with all pagan and false
religions, and subjects it to the same
laws to which they are sub)ccte<l.
This being the case, Dr. Krauth,
who is a genuine Lutheran, has no
right to call Luther's Reformation a
cansen\Tih!t Reformation. It mayor
may not he conservative in relation
to some other Protestant church or
sect, but in relation to the church
of Cjod, or to Christianity as the
word or the law of Cod, it is not
conservative, but undeniably destruc-
tive; for it subverts the very idea
and principle on which the church
as the kingdom of God on earth is
founded and sustained. The church
on the principles of Luther's reforma-
tion is subject to the authority of
men and nations, and, instead of
teaching and governing them, is
taught and governe<l by them, and
instead of elevating and perfecting
them, they perfect, corrupt, or reform
it. This is manifesUy a radical de-
nial, a subversion of the church of
God, of Christ's kingdom on earth
if it means anything more than a
temperance society or a social club.
In this respect, the principle of the
Lutheran reformation was the com-
mon principle of all the Protestant
Tefonners. as we may see in the
fact that Protestantism, under any or
alt of its muUiludinous forms, wher-
ever not rcsuaincd by influences for-
eign to itself, tends incessantly to
eliminate the supcm.itural, and to
run into pure ratioiuliixnt or natural-
ism. How absunl, then, to talk of
^ lYolesUrnt Cathohcity, or of Citiho-
Ik Proleslaniism " ! The two ideas
ore as mutuilty repellent as arc
Christ and BcliaL
The church has, indeed, her \!^
man side, and on that side she may
at times be corrupt and in need of
reform, that is to say, the hc->- — 'r
treasure is rrceived in earthen -^
and those earthen vessels '
unable to corrupt or sully the ■.
treasure itself, may he unclean and
impure themselves. Churchmen may
become relaxed in their \-irme and
neglect to maintain sound doctrine
and necessary discipline, and leave
the people to suRcr for the want of
proper spiritual nourishment and
care, even to fall into errors ani)
vices more in ficcordance with the
heathenism of their ancestors tlan
with the faith and sanctity of the
Chrisii-tn. Moreover, in a world
where all chanijcs under the very eye
of the spectator, and new forms
error and vice are constantly sprii
ing up, the disciplinary canons
the church, and those whidi rej^
the relations of secular society!
the spiritual, good and ad
when first enacted, may become in-
sufficient or impracticable in view of
the changes alwap going on in
everything human, and fail to rrpi
the growing evil of the times and
maintain the neceiuary dtsctpl
both of clerics and laics, and tl
fore need amending, or to be aided
by new and additional canons, fi
this legislative and admintstratii
office of the church, not in her d<
m.is, precepts, constitution, or autht
rity, which, as expressing the eternal
reason and will of Goil, arc unaltera^
alilc. reforms arc not only pertnia
lile but often necessary, 'llie cotmc
general, national, provincial,
diocesan, have always had for theij
only object to assist the Papacy
suppressing errors against faith in
forcing discipline, maintaining
tian moraliiy.and promoting the pui
ity and sanctity of tlie Christian
R) unity.
The Reformation not Consen'ativc.
737
We do not deny lliat reforms of
this sort were needed at the epoch of
the Protestant revolt and rebellion,
and the Holy Council of Trent was
convoked and held for the very pur-
pose of effecting sueh as were needed,
as wcU as for the purpose of con-
deninin}; the doctrinal errors of the
reformers ; but wc cannot concede that
they were more especially needed at
that epoch, than they had been
at almost any time pre^ious, since
the conversion of the barbarians that
overthrew the Roman empire, and
of their pagan brethren that remain-
in the old homesteads. Long,
vere, and continuous had been the
niggle of the church to tame, hu-
isnife, and christianize these iierce
id indocile bariiarians, especially
lOsc who remained beyond tlie
oniiers of the empire, and to whom
the Roman name never ceased to be
hateful, as it is even to this day with
the bulk of the northern Germanic
racci The evils which for eight
centuries had grown out of the
intractable and rebellious spirit of
these races in their old homes, and
their perpetual tendency to relapse
into the paganism of their ancestors,
and which h.id so tried the faith and
patience of the church, had been in
a great measure overcome before the
opening of the sixteentli century, and
their morals and manners brought
into close conformity with the Chris-
tian ideal The church, through her
supreme pontifEs and saintly bishops,
zealous and hard-working priests and
religious, had struggled successfully
against them ; and was even getting
the better of the polished Greek and
oman heathenism, partially revived
the so-called Revival of Let-
:rs, or the Renaissance, and was
pursuing, never more steadily or more
successfully, her work of evangeliza-
tion and civilization ; and we can
int to no period in her history
^^>om1
since the conversion of Clovis, king
of the Franks, the missionary labors
of St. Columbanus and his colonies
of Irish monks in Eastern Gaul and
Italy, and of St Boniface and his
Anglo-Saxon companions and suc-
cessors in centra! Crtrmany and the
Netherlands, when refonns were less
necessary, or the bonds of discipline
were less relaxed, than at the epoch
of the rise of Protestantism.
But, granting that reforms of this
sort were especially needed in the
sixteenth century, who had the right,
on conservative and orderly princi-
ples, to propose or to effect them ?
Certainly not private individu.ils on
their own authority, except so far as
it concerned their own [lersonal
faiih and morak, but to the ecclesi-
astical authorities of the lime, as we
see ill the Holy Council of Trent.
Reforms, even if needed and proper
in themselves, if attempted by unau-
thorized individuals on their own re-
sponsibility, and carried out without,
and especially in ojiposition to, the
supreme authority of the church, are
irregular, disorderly, and unlawful.
.\ reform attempted and eft'ecied in
church or state by unauthorized per-
sons, and especially against the con-
stituted authorities of either, is un-
questionably an attempt al revolu-
tion, if words have any meaning.
Now, was Luther's reformation ef-
fected by the church herself, or by
[Krsons authorized by her to institute
and carry it on ? Was it done by
the existing authorities of the church
in accordance with her constitution
and laws, or was it done in opposi-
tion to her positive prohibition, and
in most cases by violence and armed
force against her?
There is no question as to the fact.
Luther had no authority or commis-
sion from the church to attempt and
carry out the reforms or changes he
declared to be necessary; and^ in-
728
The Reformation not C&nservathfC.
laboring lo effect them, he proceeded
not only without her autlioritj", but
against it, just as he does who con-
spires to overthrow the state or to
subvert the constitution and laws of
his country. Luther, then, was not
a conscr\"ativc rcfoniier, but a
decided revolutionist, a radical, a
sectarian, a destructive, and Dr.
Krauth counts too much on the igno-
rance or crcduhty of liis readers in
■expecting them to accept Lutheran-
ism as a " conservative reformation."
A conservative reformation, as dis-
tinguished from or opposed to revo-
lution, is a legal, constitutional re-
formation, effected under the proper
authorities and by constitutional and
legal means. Dr. Krauth himself
would deiipise us or laugh at us if
we should concede that such was
Luther's reformation. It was effect-
ed by persons unauihoiized to reform
the church, against her constilutton
and laws existing at the time, and
to which they themselves owed strict
fidelity and unrescr\'ed obedience.
They wure cousi>irators against law-
ful authority, against their spirit-
ual sovereign, and their pretended
reform was a revolt, a rebellion, and,
as far as successful, a revolution.
It is idle to deny it, or to attempt to
defend Lulher and his associates on
legal and constitutional principles.
The refonn or movement he altcnipt-
ed was witliout and against law,
against the constitution and canons
of the church, and was condemned
and prohibited by the supreme spir-
itual authority, 'fliis is untlcniabic,
and Dr. Krauth kno«-s it as well as
we do, and yet he has the hardihood
to call it a "conservative reforma-
tion " !
But the Protestant pretence is that
Luther and his associates acted in
obedience to a higher authority than
that of popes and councils, and were
justified in what Uiey did by the
■^^
written word of God imd Chiiitin
antiquity. Au appeal of this soct^
on Protestant prindples, from ibe
decisions of a Protestant sect, might
be entertained, but not on Catholic
principles from the decision of the
Catholic Church, for she is herself, ai
all times an<l places, the supreme au-
thority for declaring the sense of the
written as well as of the unwritten
word, for declaring and applying the
divine law, whether naturally or st>-
pem.iturally promulgated, and for
judging what is or is not according
to Christian antiquity. Their appeal
was irregular, revolutionary cvea,
and absurd and not to be entertained
for a moment She authorized no
appeal of the sort, and the appeal
could have been only front her judg-
ment lo their own, which at ttu
lowest is as high authority as tl
at the highest. Luthcrand his
ciates did not appeal lo a higher
or authority against tlie jHjpcs
councils, but to a lower, as D^llinj
has done In asking [lermissiun lu
peal from the judgment »( ix gcn<
counril, to that of a Dational or rat
er a provincial council. The ap[
to Chrutian antiquity was eqt
unavailable, for it was only scttti
their private judgment agaii
judgment of the supreme court,
church denied that she had dc{
from the primitive church, and
denial was sutiicient lo rebut tfai
assertion, in no case, then, did
or could they appeal to or act
higher law or authority than
They opposed and could opiwsc lo
her judgment, rendered by popes
and councils, of the law or word of
God, written or unwritten, or of
Christian antiquity, only their Dun
judgment, which at the best was no
better than hers at the worst.
'Hie simple fact is, Uicre is uo de-
fence of the so<allcd Refonoatic
on catholic, church, or conscrvatit
TIte Reformation not Conservative.
729
principles. It »ou{;ht to reform the
faith, and to chnnge the very consti-
tution of the diurdi, and wherever
it was successful, it proved to be the
suhvereion of the church, and the
destruction of her faith, her authority,
and her worship. Dr. Krauth says
that this was not originally iniended
by the reformers, and that they had
in the beginning no clear views, or
fixed and determined plan of reform,
but ftCTc carried forward by tJte logic
of their principles and events to
lenjzihs which they did not foresee,
and from which they would at first
have reroile<I. But this only proves
that they were no divinely illumined
and God-commissioned reformers,
that they knew not what manner of
spirit they were of, that they took a
leap in the dark, and followed a
blind impulse. If the spirit they
oljeyed, or the principle to which
they yielded, led them or pushed
them step by step in the way of de-
struction, to the total denial of the
authority of the church, or to trans-
fer it from the pope and hierarchy
to Cresar or the laity, which we know
was universally the fact, :t is clear
proof that the spirit or principle of
the Reformation was radical, revolu-
tionnry, destructive, not conser\'arivc.
That conservative men among Pro-
testants abhor the radicalism and sec-
tarianism which the whole history of
lite Protestant world proves to be
the natural and inevitable resolt of
the principles and tendencies of the
so-called Reformation, we arc far
from denying ; but whatever of re-
sistance is offered in the IVotestant
world to these results is due not to
Protestantism itself, but either to Ca-
tholic reminiscences and llie natural
good sense of individuals, to the con-
trol of religious matters assumed by
the civil government, which really
has no authority in spirituals, or to
the presence and constant teaching
of the Catholic Church. " What is
bred in the bones will out in the
flesh." Everywhere the Trotestani
spirit, the Protestant tendency, is to
remove farther and farther from Ca-
tholicity, to eliminate more and more
of Catholic dogma, Catholic tradi-
tion, Catholic precepts, and to ap-
proach nearer and nearer to no-
churchism, to the rejection of all au-
thority in spiritual matters, and the
reduction of the whole supernatural
order to the natural. Faith in the
Protestant mind is only a probable
opinion, sometimes fanatically held
indeed, and enforced by power, but
none the less a mere opinion for that.
The conception of religion as a di-
vine institution, of the church as a
living organism, as a teaching and
governing body, as the kingdom of
God, placed in the world as the me-
dium of divine grace and of the di-
vine government in human affairs, is
really entertained by no class of Pro-
testants, but disdainfully rejected by
all as spiritual despotism, Romish usur-
pation, or Popish superstition.
It is useless to say that this is a
departure from or an abuse of the
principle of the Protestint Reforma-
tion. It is no such thing; it is only
the logical development of the radi-
cal and revolutionary principles which
the reformers themselves a^-owed an<
acted on, and which carried them
lengths which, in the outset, Ibcy
did not dream of, and from which
Dr. Krauth says truly they would,
had they foreseen them, have
shrunk with horror. We do not
find that Luthcranism, when left by
the civil magistracy to itself, and
suffiH'ed to follow unchecked its
own inherent Ian-, is any more con-,
scrx-atix-e or less radical in its devel-
opments and tendency than Calvin-
ism or Anglicanism, that prolific mo-
ther of sects, or any other form
of Protestantism. Every revolution
L
730
Thf Reformation not Conservative.
must lun its course and reach its
goal, unless checked or restrained by
a power or influences foreign to it-
self,rfind really antagonistic to it. The
reformers rejected the idea of the
cliurch as a kingdom or governing
body, or as a divine institution for
the instruction and government of
men, and substituted for it, in imita-
tion of the Arabian impostor, a book
which, without the authority of the
church to declare its sense, is a dead
book. save. as quickened by the in-
telligence or understanding of its
readers. Their followers discovered
in the course of time that the book
in itself is immobile and voiceless,
and has no practical authority for
the understanding or the will, and
they cast it off, .tome, like George
Fox and his followers, for a pretend-
ed interior or spiritual illumination,
the reality of which they can prove
neither to themselves nor to others ;
but the larger part, for natural rea-
son, history, enidition, and the judg-
ment of learned or sci-disani learned
men. Their work has gone on till,
with the more advancetl party, all
divine authority is rejected, and as
man has and can bare in his own
right no authority over man, reason
itself has given way. objective truth
is denied, and truth and falsehood,
right and wrong, it is gravely main-
tained, are only what each man for
himself holds them to be. The ut-
most anarfhy and confubion in the
intellectual and moral world have
been reached in individuabt and
sects said to have " advanced
views."
Such have been the results of Dr.
Krauth's " conservative reforma-
tion " in the spiritual order, in Chris-
tianity or the church. It introduced
the revolutionary principle, the prin-
ciple of individualism, of private
judgment, and insubordination into
the religious order, and, as a necessa-
ry consequence, it has introduced ihe
same principle into the political an<
social order, which depends on rclS
gion, and cannot subsist without it
Hence, the great and damning charge
against the church in our day is thi
by her unchangeableness.her immoi
able doctrines, her influence on U
minds and hearts, and hold on tl
consciences of the faithful, she is t(
great supporter of law and order —
despots and despotism, in the Ui
guage of the liberal journals — juid
chief obstacle to the eiilightcnm<
and progress of society, in the sai
language ; but radicalism and
volution in ours. Hence, the wl
movement party in our times, with
which universal Protestantism syi
pathizes and is closely allied, is
cd by hostility to the church,
cially the I'aiMicy. Hence, tt ai
the Protestant journals of
World and the New are unal
restrain their rage at the dcclarati
of the Papal supremacy and uifalt
bility by the Council of the Vatic
or their exult.ilion at the invasion of
the Sutes of the Church, their ao-
nexarion to the Subalpinc kingdc
and the spoliation of tlie Holy Fi
thcr by the so-called King of Italy.
Why do we see alt this, but because
the revolutionary principle, which the
reformers asserted in the cJnirch,
identically the principle defendi
by the political radicals and revolt
tionists?
Having thro^vn off the law of
God, rejected the authnntv of the
church, and put the faithful in the
place of the pope an«l hirrarchi
wliat could hinder the moverot
party from applying the same ml
versive principle to the (Kilitical
social order ? The right to revolt
tionize the church, ami to place the
flock above the slu-pberd, involves
the right to revolutionize the state,
and the assertion of the right of the
The Reformation not Conservalivt.
731
governed to resist and dqiosc their
governors at will, or at the dictation of
self-styled political and social reform-
ers. Protestantism hns never favor-
ed liberty, a.<i it dainis, and which it is
impotent cither to found or to sus-
tain ; but its claims to be the founder
and chief supporter of modern hbe-
ralism, which results naturally and
necessarily from the fundamental
principle of the reformers, Uiat of
the right of the people to resist and
depose the prelates placed over them,
cannot be contested. If no man is
bound, against his own judgment and
will, to obey tlie law of God, how
I can any one be bound in conscience
b) obey the taw of the state ? and if
ne people may subvert the constitu-
ion of the church, and trample on
Kcr divine authority, why may ihey
Bot subvert the constitution of the
republic, and trample under foot the
human authority of the civil magis-
tralc, whether he be called king or
president ? It is to Protestantism
we owe the liberalistic doctrine of
" llie sacred right of insurrection."
or of "revolution" assumed to be
inherent in and persistent in every
people, or any section of any people,
and which justifies Mazziin and the
secret societies in laboring to bring
iii a bout in every state of Kurope an
^^fattcrnal conflict and bloody war bc-
P^vccn the people and their govern-
ments. It deserves the full credit of
having asserted and acted on the
principle, and we hold it responsible
for the consequences of its subversive
application ; for it is only the appli-
cation in the ]ioliticul and social or-
der of the principle on which the re-
formers acted, and all Protestants
j^HCt, in the relij^ious order against the
^^^uroh of God.
C The principle of revolution, asscrt-
l cd and acted on as a Christian prin-
ciple by the reformers, has not been
j^^ooperacive, or remained barren of
results, on being transferred to mo-
dem [lollticiil and civil society. If
the rcfoniiation, by drawing off men's
attention and affections from the spi-
ritual order, and fixing them on the
material order, has promoted a mar-
vellous progress in mechanical in-
ventions and the appticationit of sci-
ence to the industrial and productive
arts, it has at tlie same time under-
mined the whole political order, shak-
en every civil government to its
foundation, and, in fact, revohi-
tionizcil nearly ever\' modern state.
It has loosened the iKjnds of society,
destroyed the Christian family, erect-
ed disobedience into a principle, a
virtue even, and reduc.c<l authority
to an empty name. It has taught
the people to be discontented with
their tot, filled them with an insane
desire for change, made them greedy
of novelties, and stirred ihein up to
a chronic war with their rulers. Eve-
rywhere we meet the revolutionary
spirit, and there is not a government
in Europe that has any strong hold
on the consciences of the governed,
or that can sustain itself except by
its army. Even Russia, whrre the
people are most attached to their
emperor, is covered over with a net-
work of secret societies, which are
so many consjiiracies against govern-
ment, laboring night and day to re-
volutionize the empire. Prussia, which
has just succeeded in absorbing the
greater part of Germany, and is flush-
ed with her recent triumph over the
French empire and the iinproviscd-i
French republic, may seem to be'
strong and stable; but she has the
affections of the people in no part
of Germany, which she has recently
annexed or confederated under her
headship, and the new empire is per-
va<led in all directions by the revolu-
tionary spirit In which it owes its
existence, and which may be strong
enough to resist Its power, and re-
duce the ill-compacted body to its
original elemems lo-moirow.
Wc need not speak of Austria ;
she may become hcreoAer once more
A power in I'2urope, but she is now
nothing. Volwirianisra, and the spi-
rit generated by the Reformation,
have prostrated her, and sunk her so
low that no one deigns to do her
reverence. In England the govern-
ment itself seems penetrated with
tlte revolutionary spirit, or at least
believes that spirit is so strong in the
people that it is unsafe to resist it,
and that it is necessarv- to make large
and continual concessions to it. It
is a maxim nith the liberals and most
English and Amcnra,n statesmen, or
politicians rather, for our age has no
statesmen, that a government is
strengthened by timely and large
concessions to j)optilar demands. The
government U undoubtedly strength-
ened by ju.st laws and wise adminb-
tratioii, but in our times, when the
old respect for authority has gonc»
ami governments have little or no
hoUl on consciences, there is no gov-
ernment existing strong enough to
make concessions to popular de-
mands, or to the clamors of the gov-
erned, without endangering its pow-
er, and even its exiMencc. The Ho-
ly Father, Pius IX., in the beginning
of his pontificate, tried the experi-
ment, and was soon driven from his
throne^ and found safety only in
flight and exile. Napoleon III. tried
it in January of last year, was driven
by his people into a war for which
he was tmprcpared, met with dkis-
ters, was defeated and taken prison-
er, declared deposed and his em-
pire at an end by a Parisian mob,
before the end of September of the
same year. 'I'he policy of conces-
sion is a ruinous policy; one con-
cession leads to the demand for an-
other and a larger concession, and
each concession strengthens the dis-
affected, and weakens the power of
authority to resist. But F is
adopted the policy, is full.
ted to it, as she is to many false and
ruinotts maxims, and it hHU go luinl
but she yields to her democracy, and
reaps in her own fields the fruits
of the liberalism and revoluiioniMn
whith she has, especially
der ^\'hig influence, so in
sown broadcast thruughoat Kiimp«.
We need not spe.tk of our own
country. Everybody knows it* in-
tense devotion to tK>[mlar M>vcrcitcn-
ty, its h.itred of authority, and its
warm sympathy — in words at lesM
— with every insurrection or aun^
ing of the people, or any p.
of the people, to overthrow t-
tablishcd authority, whether in <
or slate, they can hear of, without
any ini]uiry into the right or wrong
of the case. The insurrection nr
revolutionary' party, it is acsumed,
is always in the right. There is no
more intensely Protestant fjeopic <*
the globe than the American, ami
none more deeply imhucd with tte
revolutionary spirit, in which it it
pretended our own institutions origi-
nated, and which nearly the whole
American prKS mistake for Ihc spint
of liberty, and cherish as the A
can spirit. AVIiat will cnme "
time will not be slow in revealing.
Hut France, so long the leader of
modem civilization, and which she
has so long led in a false dirertion,
sho\vs better than any other naimn
the workinps of the Tt>
spirit imroduceil by the i
Slie. indeed, repdled, after some
hesitation and a Be\'ere struggle, the
Reformation in the rcltgious order;
but through the indomitable cneryy
of the princely Guises and their
brave F^rrainc supporters, Hhom ev-
ery French historian and publicist
since takes delight in denouncing,
she was retained in the comDiamn
of ihc church ; but with Henry IV.
the patii poiUiijue came into power,
aiid Prutebtantbm was adopted and
acted on in the political onicr. On
more occasions than one, l''rance be*
came the diplomatic and even the
armed defeader of the Reformation
agrtiiist the Catholic sovereigns of
Europe. She was the first Christian
power to furm an alliaucc with tlic
Grand Turk, against whom Luther
declared to be against the will of
God for his followers to fight, even
in defence of Christendom ; she aid-
ed the I^w Countries in their rebel-
lion against Catholic Spain, I'rotcst-
ant Sweden, and Northern Germany
in their effort to crush Catholic Aus-
tria, and protestantize all Germany ;
and saw, M-ithout an effort to save
her. Catholic Poland struck from the
list of nations. Twice has she with
armed force dragged the Holy Fa-
ther from his throne, and secularized
and appropriated the Slates of the
Church, and set the example which
the Italian Liberals have but too
faithfully followed. Rarely, if ever,
has she since the sixteenth century,
by her foreign policy, consulte<i the
interests of the church any further
than they happened to be coincident
nilh her own. In an evil hour, she
forgot the principles which made the
glory of the French sovereigns, and
on which Christendom was recon-
structed after the downfall oi the
Roman Empire of the West, and
severed her politics from her religion.
At first a-wcrting with the refortners
and the Lutheran princes the inde-
pendence of the secular order of the
s|tiritual, afterwards the superiority
of the secular power, and finally
the sovereignty of the people or
the governed in face of their gov-
emers, as the reformers asserted the
sovereignty of the faithful in face of
the pope and hierarchy, she made her
world-famous revolution of 1789. in*
augurateil the mub, and has been wel-
tering in anarchy and groaning un-
der despotism ever since.
The accession of lienry IV., the
beau ideal of a king with the Frencli
people, marks a compromise between
Catholicity and Protestantism, by
which it was tacitly agreed that
France should in religion profess the
Catholic faith and obscr\c the Ca-
tholic worship, while in politics, both
at home and abroad, she should be
Protestant, and independent of the
spiritual authority. It was hoped
the compromise would secure her
both worlds, but it has caused her to
lose both, at least this world as eve-
ry one may now see. It is worse
than idle to allcn^pt to deny the so-
lidarity of the French revolution with
Luther's rebellion ; both rest on the
same prinf-iple and tend to the same
end ; and it is the position and in-
fluence of France as the leader of
the civjlized world, that has given to
the revolutionary princijile its popu-
larity, diffused it through all modern
nations, and made it the iVcU^eist^
or spirit of the age. The socialistic
insurrecrion in Paris, and which we
fear is only "scotched, not killed,"
is only the logical development of
'93. as '93 was of '89, and '89 of
Luther's revolt against the church in
the sixteenth century. Its success
wouUl be only the full realization in
church and st.ite, in religion and so-
ciety, of what Dr. Krauth calls '• the
conservative refonnation." The
communists deny the right of pro-
perty, indeed, but not more than did
Protest.ints in despoiling the church
and sacrilegiously confiscating the
possessions of religious houses and
the goods of the clergy. No more
consistent and thoroughgoing l^o-
testants has the worid seen than
these French socialists or commu-
nists, who treat property as theft and
God as a despot.
The Reformation not Conservative.
ni
^hdy at work to pull down the old
h which had hitherto sheltered
and to build a new one for
mselves on its ruins,
e grant the Reformation should
jive been conservative in order to
Bf defensible, but it was not so, it
jr^a radical and subversive. Itreject-
tlie Papacy, tlie hierarchy, the
lirch herself as a visible institution,
d a teaching and governing body,
(id asserted the liberty of the faith-
il to teach and govern their prelates
■ f,id pastors. U is the common prin-
ciple of all Prolestant denominations
t the church is constituted by the
hful, holds from them, and the past-
^iscallcdnotscnL This, we need not
is the subversion of all church
lority, of the kingdom of God
ded by our Lord himself, and rul-
froni above instead of from below.
/t reduces rebgion from law to opin-
„ ion or personal conviction, without
. light or authority for conscience.
. This principle, applied to i>olitics, is
the subversion of the state, overthrows
alt government, and leaves every man
free to do " what is right in his own
eyes." It transfers power from the
governors to the governed, and al-
lows the government no powers not
held from their assent, which is sim-
ply to make it no go\-emmcnt at all.
It hxs been so applied, and the ef-
fect is seen especially in France,
which, since her revolution of 'Sg, has
had no setUed government, but has
alternated, as she altematct to-day,
between the mob and the despot,
anarchy and military despotism.
We so apply it, theoretically, in
this country ; and in the recent civil
war the North was able to fight for
the preservation of the Union only
by pocketing for a time its principles
and forswearing its logic Tlic logic
was on the side of the South;
the force was on the side of the
North; on which side was the
right or the wrong, it is not oui
province to decide. We will only
add tliat wc do not agree at all
with journals that speak of the issues
which led to the war as being decid-
ed by it. War may make it inexpe-
dient to revive them, but the only
issue it ever docs or can decide is, on
which side is, for the lime, the supe-
rior force. We deny not the right
of the people to resist the prince who
makes himself a t}Tant, if declared
to be such and judicially deposed by
the competent authority, but we do
deny their right, for any cause what-
ever, to conspire against or to resist
the legitimate government in the legal
exercise uf its constitutional |)owcrs,
Wc recognize tlic sovereignty of the
people in the sense that, if a case
occurs in which they are without any
government, they have the right, in
concert with the spiritual power, to
institute or reconstitute government
in such way and in such form as the>'
judge wisest and best ; but we utterly
deny that tliey remain sovereign,
otherwise than in the government,
when once they have constituted it, or
that the government, wlien constitut-
ed, holds Jioni them and is responsible
to their will outside of the constitu-
tion ; for thai would make the gov-
ernment a mere agent of the i>eople
and revocable at their will, which
U tantamount to no government at
all. The doctrine of ihe demago-
gues aJid their journals we are not
able to accept ; it deprives the people
collectively of all government, and
leaves individuals and minorities no
government to protect and defend
them from the ungovemed will and
passions of the majority for the time.
We accept and maintain loyally,
and to the best of our ability, the
constitution of our countr)' as origi-
nally understood and intended, not
indeed as the best constitution for
every people, but because it is the
736
Thi Reformation not Consa^'atwe,
best for us, and, above all, because it
is for us the law. In itself consider-
ed, there is no necessar)' discord be-
tween it and Catholicity, but as it is
uiterprcled hy the lil>crjl and secta-
rian journals, itiat are doing their best
(0 revolutionize it. and is beginning
to be interpreted by no small portion
of the American people, or as inter-
preted by the Protestant principle,
so widely di6ruscd among us, and in
the sense of European liberalism or
Jacobinism, we do not accept it, or
hold it to be any government at all,
or as capable of performing any of
the proper functions of government ;
and if it continues to be interpret-
ed by llie revolutionary principle
of Protestantism, it is sure to fail
— to lo&e itself either in the su-
premary of the mob or in military
despotism— and doom us, like un*
happy Krnnce, to alternate between
them, with the mob uppcmiost to-
day, and the despot to-morrow. Pro-
testantism, like the heathen barbar-
isms which Catholicity subdued, locks
the element of order, because it rc-
jecls authority, and is necessarily in-
competent lo maintain real liberty or
civilized society. Hence it is we so
often say, that if the American Re-
public is to be sustained and pre-
se^^•ed at all, it must be by the re-
jection of the principle of the Refor-
mation, and the acceptance of the
Catholic principle by the Ameri-
can people. Protestantism can pre-
ser\'c neither liberty from running
into license or lawlessness, nor autho-
rity frotn running into despotism.
If Dr. Krauth wants conservatism
without immobility, and pmgreas
without revolution or radicalism, as
it seems he does, he must cease to
look for what he wants in the Lu-
theran, C.ilvinistic, AngUcan. or any
other Protestant reformation, and
turn his tlioughts and his hope* lo
that church which converted pagan
Rome, chrii>tiant2ed and civifiaed
his own barbarian ancestors, found*
ed the Chnstendom of the middle
ages, and labored so assidtioualy, ns-
WL-aricdIy, pcrscveringly, and sucoa»-
fully to save souU, and to ad^'astoc
ci\'ili2ation and the interrsis of ht^
man society, from the conversion of
the pagan Franks in the fifth
century down to the beginning of
the sixteenth century, and which KtiO
survives and teaches and governs,
in spite of all the effort of reformers,
rcvolutionisLs, men, and devils to
cover her with dtsgrace, to bcIic her
character, and to sweep her from the
dec of the earth. She not only coo-
verted the pagan barliarians, but sbft
recovered even tlic barbarian DatJoos
and tribes, as the Goths, Vandals,
and Burgundians, that had fallen in-
to the Arian heresy, which like all
heresy is a comprotnit>c between
Christianity and heathcni.sm, ajid
even reconverted the Alcmaimi,
Frieslanders, and others who had
once embraced die Gospel, but ha4)
sul>se<iucnl]y returned to their idols
and heathen superstitions. OoJ i»
with her as of old, and lives, teaches,
and governs in her as in the
ning ; and she is as able to con^
the heathen to-day, lo reconvert
relapsed, and lo recover tJie hci
as she was in the d3)-s of Sl R<
Sl Araand, St Patrick, St, At
St. Columhanus, St, Willebrod, or
Bonifacc. She is tlie kingdom
God, and like him she cannot grow
old, decay, or die. Never ha<i her So*
preme Pontiff a stronger hold on the
con'<(ien<Les, the love and afiectiaDi
of the faithful throughout the worid*
than he has at this moment, when
despoiled of all hi^ lemporaliiks and
abandoncil by all earthly pow«n, r>or
cver were hei pastors and prelates
more sahmissive and devoted to their
chief. Never did she mv>re fully
prove that she i% under the
pfOCC^J
Cettsano and Frascati.
737
tion of God, as his immaculate spouse,
than now when held up to the scorn
and derision of a heretical and un-
believing xvorld. Dead she is not, but
living.
Let our leanied Lutheran profe^or
remove the iilm from his eyes, and
look at her in her simple gran-
Idcur, lier unadorned majesty, and
Kchow mean and contemptible, com-
pared with her, arc all the M>-callcd
churches, sects, and combinations
arrayed against her, spitting blasphe-
my at her, and in their satanic ma-
lice trying to sully her parity or dim
the Klory that crowns her. Say what
you will, Protestantism is a petty af-
fair, and it is one of the mysteries of
this life how a man of the learning,
intelligence, apparent sincerity, and
good sense of L)r. Krauth can write
an octavo volume of eight hundred
closely printed pages in defence of
the J'rotestant Reformation.
GKNZANO AND FRASCATI.
What is interesting to visitors in
'Rome, and indeed in all Italy, is
not merely their stay in certain known
localities, or their sight-seeing within
a certain beaten track ; it is also the
casual observation of less famous
and more intimate scenes, and the
residence in less crowded and more
attractive, because more peculiar,
neighborhoods.
The curious festival, more carnival-
esque than religious, that takes place
every Sunday in August in the Piaz-
za Narona, in Rome, and during
which pedestrians and carriage-goers
wade and splash through a shallow,
artificial lake, produced by the re-
gulated overflowing of the centre-
fountain, is a sight unfamiliar to
strangers and tourists, yet none tlie
less a very characteristic sport, and
interesting especially to such as view
Rome chiefly in a historic and anti-
quarian light. Again, the " Otto-
brate," a species of christianijxd bac-
chanaiia, an innocent merr)--making
answering in some sort to our dear
old familiar gathering of " Harvest
Home," is a thing more often heard
VOL. Xlll.— 47
of than witnessed by flying visitors
to the Eternal City. In October, also,
the Holy Kather visits diflerent con-
vents, and a few ladies not unfre-
qucntly procure the privilege, through
" friends at court," of following in
his train, and thus gaining admit-
tance to strictly euclobcd nunneries,
and being present at touching little
ceremonies performed vcrj- simply by
the Pope himself in the poor, plain
chapels of ttiese volimtary prisoners
of love. Sometimes he says a few
words of encouragement and advice;
sometimes he gives benediction while
the untutored dioir of nuns sing
some simple hymn ; sometimes he
assembles the community, and gives
them his solemn blessing. There are
tlie " Celeslines" (so-called from their
blue veil beneath the black one),
whose convent is in a retired street
not far from St. John Lateran, and
whose cmhstire does nut necessii.ite
a grating, but compels them to wear
their veils down while speaking to
strangers, and not to advance further
than the threshold of the inner house-
door, while their visitor stands with-
6ut the line, yet iacc to face with
them. 'Ihcrc are the Domiuicanes*-
es, near the Fiaxza Trajana, at "San
Donienico e Sisto." whose profession
is impresiively accompanied by the
heart-slim II g ccrcinuny uf prostraliun
beneath a funeral pall, while the
choir sing (he solemn dirge of the
Lk li-cfundis. When these nuns take
the habit and first become novices,
ihcy arc asked, at a certain part of
the service, whether they choose the
crown of thorns or the wreath of
TOfiCft, both of which lie before them
on a table. Of course there is but
one answer, but, the ceremony over,
the T9se, or bridal wreath, replaces
for the day ihc coronal of thorns.
There is a convent of a very severe
order, called the *' SepolU-llve" or
" buried alive," wliose rule is almoiit
inhumanly severe, and has never re-
ceived absolute confirmation from
the Jloly See, but only toleration, or
|>ermission, for such as feel them-
selves drawn to sucli appalling aus-
terities. 'Hicy dig their own graves,
and wear feiten on the wrist, and,
when in Ciult, no mailer how slij^ht,
a placard on ihcii j>acks indicating
their peculi.ir failing. When news
B brouglit to the superioress of the
death of a |>arciit or relation of any
one of the sisters, tlic bereaved one
lis not told of her loss, but it U an-
nounced (hat "one among us has
lost a member of her family ;" and
Mosses arc offered for the departed
wiUiuut any further nicniion of him
or h«.r. Again, there is a Carmelite
convent in Rome, I forget wlierc, in
which a miraculous crucifix has been
prcscrvcil for aliout fifty years — a
strange image, whn-h seems instinct
with life and expression, seems to
speak to and luok at you, fa.-icinates
tlie gaze, and stira ihc least impres-
sionable heart. It is not much s|>ok-
en of even in Rome, that city where
niar\'cls are no longer mands, and
where miracles arc more eredibk
than businos negotiations cL»cwh«rei
but it is enough that in one of these
I'apal October visits to convcols two
persons of calm judgment, botli Kng-
lish. botli converts, aiul one the Bis-
ter of an eloquent and gifted Angli-
can divine, saw it, and declareii that
there was something about it £ir be*
yond the common run of even skA*
fully carved and elaborately chnctled
masterpieces.
To pa*>s from convents to hospi-
tals, the sight during the evening ^
Holy Week at the "TrinitA de i"'-llc--
grini " is something not less inicickt-
ing than the oA-rc-counted giorie* of
the Sistinc Chapel and tlie thrilliac
rubrics of the I'ontificai High Mm«
at St. I'etcr's shnne. Rome in
in this century, a real centre < :
griinagc ; and what cuuld be a ^
er proof of (lie truth of the fan
teaches than this apparently irv
bic fad — this amuMrvnifm m the
eyes of our enlightened progressists?
Men and women, chiefly from the
rural and mountainous districts of
Italy, but also from Hungary^ aftd
Germany, and faiOiful Poland, crnnc
begging their arduous way, in wtn-
pie faith and fervent love, pLiicij-
ly undisturbed by doubts they h.isi*
never heanl discuss«l, by the •■ -j.int
of the age " they luive never drearu:
of as being in antagonism with the
spirit of the church, by die cliildii^
and wilful gropings after rcligiou
rcconstmclicm which they, if ifiHr
knew of them, would call mailnc^-^
and pity as such. They come with
their strange tattered costumes, all
incrusled with ihrt, and embroidered
into peqjtexing paitenis with acco-
mulation of unheeded dust, ind
kntxrk at the door of this gii;-int<r
hospital, where they find a real h.ime
and a ready welcome. Other men
and women, chiefly of the higfaff
clafisc8» and^ like the pilgrims, of tU-
Genzano and Frascati.
739
vers nationalities, come to tend them
and offer them literally the same ser-
vices Abraham offered to the voyag-
er-angels when they stopped, travel-
stained and foot-sore, at the entrance
of his tent. In an upper hall are
laid tables laden with abundant and
wholesome food, of which a portion
is reserved by each wanderer for the
morrow's breakfast, and the disposi-
tion of which, from personal obser-
vation, I know to be as follows : a
small loaf of bread sliced in the mid-
' die, and meat and sauce crammed as
tight as possible between the two
halves thus making a substantial
but somewhat ungainly sandwich.
In a large room on the lower floor
are placed benches against the wall,
with a foot-board running along
them, on which are rows of basins,
with the necessary adjuncts of soap
and towels. The washing of the
pilgrims' feet is by no means a sine-
cure, or a graceful make-believe at
biblical courtesies. It is a very real
and slightly unpalatable business ;
but the grievance is far more the
short time allowed to each person
than the washing itself. The unfor-
tunate feet of the weary pilgrims are
more refreshed than thoroughly clean-
ed by one layer of soap ; and it is
to be wished that the time allotted
could be sufficiently extended to al-
low the work to be well done, since
it is attempted at all. The self-deni-
al of those who undertake this most
praiseworthy and mediasval charity
must be enhanced by the fact that
many tourists come to see this done,
as a part of their Holy Week pro-
gramme, and, being mostly curious
and carping critics of English or
American origin, their comments are
more sarcastic than encouraging.
Here are wildernesses of dormitories,
into which the pilgrims file in slow
procession after supper, singing lita-
nies and hymns. Let any other
country point to such a palace of
Christian charity, to such a freely
supported and admirably managed
institution, and then it may have
claim to talk of progressive civiliza-
tion ! But instead of this, what do
we see but poor-laws, that treat
God's poor as animals, and the state
in which God himself chose to be
born, and live, and die, as a crime
and a moral shame. "Till when, O
Lord, till when ?"
On Christmas night, another beau-
tiful scene takes place in the female
prison, on the " Piazza di Termini,"
opposite the baths of Aurelian, be-
tween the railway station and the
church of the Cistercians, " Santa
Maria degli Loyoli." Yet there is
nothing to describe, no gorgeous ri-
tual, no impressive assemblage, no
pageant to take the eye and divide
the attention. Four whitewashed
walls, an orderly throng of uniformly
dressed women, a few hymns, in
which the voices of the nuns, in whose
charge the prisoners are, lead and
predominate ; a plain altar, an unpre-
tending " Presepio," or representa-
tion of the stable of Bethlehem, and
that is alL Well ! what is there to
say about this ? No correspondent
could fill a column with these details ;
yet they fill the heart of God, and
make the heart of his sinless Mother
glad, as she looks down on the re-
pentant woman whose welfare is so
dear to her in whom there is found
no spot nor stain of guilt. And this
is very different, no doubt, from the
splendidly illuminated altar in San
Ltfigi de Framesi, where the lighted
tapers are pyramidally ranged in
dazzling tiers of shining amber bright-
ness, and where the fragrance of in-
cense struggles hard not to be over-
powered by the sweetness of the hot-
house plants blooming in clusters
around the steps and communion
rails. Very different, too, from the
740
Gensano and Frascati.
arltslic and elaborate "Prescpio" at
Satft Andrea lieila Val/r, where a ve-
ritable stage seems miraculously pois-
ed over the altar, and where all man-
ner of wonderful details of Kastem
scenery, somewhat mixed wjtli pre-
vailing Western conceptions and in-
congruities concerning the Orient, arc
displayed on a magnificent scale for
the edification of ihc peasantry flock-
ing into Rome from all sides. Very
difierent, again, from the solemn ri-
tual of "Santa Maria Maggiore"
(though fhttf has been for ooany years
discontinued, on account of the abus-
es of which it was the unhappy occa-
sion), the ceremonies that renewed
most vividly the scene of the angels'
announcmeni, and the pastoral wel-
come, on the moon - brightened
plains round the stable of Ikihlchem,
the splendor of decoration gathered
about the precious relic of the nide
crib, whose straw, stil! preserved in
this church, is now more glorious by
far than conqueror's coat-of-mail or
emperor's robe of ermine. But what
of this difference, after all ? Path's
costliness of display is earthly still,
earth's poverty and nakedness is al-
most divine, bcC'iuse, whenever earth
became the scene of any of God's
choicest wonders, it was always in a
state of destitution, which he ordained
beforclinnd as a mystical preparation.
God fxsliioned Adam out of common
cLiy, and ICve from a bare rib; his
own birth was in a stable, cold and
foriorn. his life in au obscure artisan's
sliop, littered with cnmmoQ dust,
filled wiih coarse lonls; his death
W.1S on a common gibbet, on a Iwire
inountatn. Common animals, do-
mestic drudges, and beasts of burden
surrounded him at the dawn of his
being : common criminals, rough
men, coarse- minded gazers, were
around him in his last hour. The
only time he rode io any statt-, it was
upon an ass, not a fancy war-sieed with
trappings of oriental magnifi
not even a stately mule, such a»
came later on a recogni/cd and legi-
timate bearer of great dignitaries.
The first men who wclrometl him on
earth were shephenis; the last who
spoke to him were fishermen. B«t
it is hanlly necessary to say more oo
a theme so weQ known and so much
canvassed ; yet it is not unappropriate
to the fmrae of mind which ihis pic-
ture of the midnight Mass in the pri-
son induces and fosters. And just
as it would be good for Any Christ
tian country to be able tu show a
hospital as well managed as il« pjil*
grtm's Home we have glancc-d at, M
would it be even belter could aay
one of the nations of Europe ixNst
to prisons where rej)cntance is taojhl
by the rule of the Gospel a?id not by
the regulations of a bcird of ms^
lr.itc.\ and where confinement foroM
species of oflcnce is not turned tnW
a school of graduation for worse of-
fences still.
The reader will forgive thii rou;
about inirodiiciton to the iwo
tiful reminiscences of which this
per is the subject, for these arc
among the class uf eATnts dAcrf
at the beginning as less famous, but
none nltractivc because tnorc pecti*
liar.
One of them is of a private and
purely personal nature, tlie other of
a public Mr:, but nrrr than rrmim-
scences of Rome usually are.
There is a village about twenty
miles from Rome, and two l»cv..<nd
Aibano, the name of which i\ (.^-n-
zano, and belongs. I believe, to ihe
Chigi family, as docs Uiricia with its
wiKl woods of chesinutft. Ji is on
onlinary hamlet, with its church
standing on a height to which two
side straggling streets lead up. .ind
the front of which is ptreity well hid-
den by the block of irregular huusci
that divide the road ways Foi
Cenzano and FrascatL
741
mnny generations this village had
becQ fatuous for its Corpus Christi
proccssiun, ajid the pecuilar wa.y in
wnich (he prui:cs:.iun's tnick was
more carpeted ihan strewn wiili flow-
ers. Strariijers used to flock to sec
ilie floral festival, and Hans An-
•icTscn, in his /mprvvisatorx^ once
gave the most vivid and jjicturesque
account of ii. Perhaps every one
has not read this description, and few
in this country at least have seen
the procession. In 1S48, the cus-
tom was discontinued, owing to the
unsettle<i state of the country, and
the tendency of the Carbonari to
make disturbances at any popular
gathering Or demonstration, especi-
ally of a religious kind. In 1S64,
things being somewhat tnorc stable
under the protection of French troops
and die promise of non-intervention
on the part of the King of Italy,
the festival of the Infuitata^ as it is
called, w.is again announced, and all
Rome hurried to see it.
It took place in the evening. No
description can do it justice, especial-
ly as its beauty was enhanced by that
most hojiclessly indescribable of cir-
cumstances — the lovclinessofa south-
eni summer's day. Albano looked
from its puny heights ever the wide
plain that stretches to Ostia anil the
sea, covered with dusky gray-green
olive-yards; the blue hills, where the
chcslnuis grow and overshadow the
ruddy wealth of wild niuuulain straw-
berries beneath, rose like cupolas in
tJie evening sky. that was alive with
tiummer lightnings; the bright red
and blue costumes of tlie peasant
women, with their lillle tents of spot-
less linen squarely poised upon their
heads, and their massive chains of
gold and coral vying with their won-
derful sword-shaped hair-pins for
quaintness and for richness, stood
out 'u i)ictures(|ue relief against tlic
dark uackground of the common*
looking dwellings ; through the bus-
tle and clatter of an Italian crowd,
there could yet be discerned the hush
and stillness so familiar to our North-
ern hearts, so congenial to our idea
of Sabbaths and church festivals ; the
noise seemed a distant hum, thc
whole scene a vision ; and over it all,
the spirit of faith that made it what
it was, not a mere idle show to
awake idle people, but a living gath-
ering of living and believing souls,
offering nature's purest gifts in their
virgin integrity to the God of love, to
G€sh Sa(ranuutaio^3A the Italians so
ingeniously and touchingly say.
Both streets leading up to the
church were paved with flowers, in
thick layers, symmetrically portion-
ed out with squares corresponding
to the width of the houses on cither
side of the road. Patterns of great
delicacy were produced by dies
flowers, scattered into petals as thejr'
were, and no leaves nor stems care*
lessly appearing anywhere. Here,
on one large space, were pictured
the arms of the Chigi family, there,
the arms of the bishop of the dio-
cese, further still, those of the Holyj
See. In the centre of one of the
streets, the grand compartment was
taken up by a colored representation
of an altar with candles and a mon-
strance, and the white Host within.
A little lower down was a liny foun-
tain, more like a si|uirt than anything
else, concealeil in a mound of soft
flower-petals. Patterns of gcomciri-
c.-\l figures, of Persian carpets, of
fanciful monograms, filled up the
many squares, while all along tlic
sides, and supported by stakes, ran a
low festoon of box -wreaths, guarding
the flower-carpel from the feet of
the eager crowd.
From above, from the many bal-
conies and terraces, and from the
tools of the tall, old-fashioned hous-
es, the people look down and gaze
r42
fttzano am
raseatu
upon this wonderful tai>e5ir)-. more
clalKiratc and incomparably more
beauiiful than the choicest produce
uf the looms of Genoa, and Lyons,
antl the GoMins — more precious and
more fair than tixe silken hangings
woven of old by the hand^ of queens
and sovereign princesses.
And this is ail for an hour I In a
lew moments, the ptoecssion and the
following muUitudc will liave passed
over the fioral tapestry, ami evciy
trace of its beauty will be gone.
But why not? Its beauty is conse-
crated, and, when it has ministered
to the greater glory of God, its mis-
sion will he over.
Every one knows the incident in
tlie life of Sir Walter Kaleitjh, when,
walking across a muddy road with
his imperious and capricious sove-
teign, Klizabeth of Kngland, the
gallant couxtici's velvet cloak, costly
though it was, was not deemed too
rich lor a woman's footstool, and
doutitlcss the graceful homage was
Considered as very htdc beyond on
absolute necessity of courtesy. /Vnd
shall this display of rarest loveliness
and natural treasures, called the "/«-
^omfa," be thought of otherwise
than xf a cloak thrown l>cncath the
weary feel of the pilgrim baviour?
Our Lord walks through many
lands and tlie way of men's hearts
is very rugged hrre, very treacherous
there, ver)' uneven ever)-wherc. Let
him i)ause htre for a moment, as he
rests his feet on the carpet or cloak
spread fur him. and let him find in a
tew faithful hearts a path ready pre-
pared for him, as fragrant and as
beautiful as this lloral *' via sacra."
The procession leaves the church
by one of the two diverging roads,
and returns by the other. It is a
tegular Italian procession, somewliat
grotesque in our eyes, unaccustomed
to some little peculiarities, such as
winged angels represenicil by chil-
dren in scinty robes of tinselled mus*
lin, and golden paper kites flying
from their tihouldcn, but on the
whole it is edifying in Its very an-
lessness. 'Iliere are many nionki,
walking iwo-and-two, aad bcaiiag
lighted tapers ; children in compa-
nies and socialities with gaudy ban-
ners and streamers, priests iu black
and white, and crvss-bcaren amt
Uiurifers, and, lastly, the smraying ca
nopy under wliit h is borne ti»c Lofd
of nature. While e.irh person in
the procession wjmls his way amon?
the flower patterns, and c~'
spares the ])er1ection of the
as much as passible, the \>x\-
the contrary, carries the Dies:-
crament right over in the tcr
the broad path, and the ctoai
after him in heaving luasscs^ k t.
the track behind them strewn wiiK
remnants of box and olive 1— ' -
and blended hcajjs of cnuhe.
er- petals.
And •io the sacred pageant ts Kfvtx.
The sky is getting cloudy, and Ihnn-
der-drops of almost tropic rain >"■
falling noisily to the earth ; j
hurry home, but long before .-\U',ino
is reached the storm is already (uri-
nous, and bursLi over the darkening
pbin. Many are deuine«l at ihf
inns of the white village whuse gal-
UfK of elm and ilex arc so
round Rome.
By the bye, these ^/ilrn> k-ad frol
Albano to the neighboring village "j*
Krascati, an archiepiscopal see, and
once tlie rcucat of the Cardinal of
York, the la^t of the Stuarts. He
himself, with his unfortooatc broil
is buried in St. Peter's ; but
the village church of which he
titular archbisliop is a talilet to
memor>'. recounting his n^iny virtu«
and the love and veneration in wl
his flock ever held him.
Frascati is the scene of the
remuiiscence 1 have once hcfofci
ft
Gfttsatio and Frascati.
743
en of; one more domestic and more
intimate than the last, and very m-
teresdnij as being the record of an
unusual favor shown to a foreigner
by the Holy Father. Pope Pius IX.
There are a great many villas
around Fniscati, and one of the pret-
tiest as well as most historical is tlie
Villa Falconieri, the whilom abode
of Santa Juliana Falconieri, to whom
a chapel is dedicated in the house.
The grounds are, as in most Italian
villiis, very badly kept (according to
Northern ideas), but in their wild-
ness more beautiful than the trim-
mest garden of Old or New England,
A winding, steep road, bordered with
box, leads to the mansion, whose
wide marble chambent re-echo the
few footsteps they ever bear, and
whoic best- preserved ornaments are
some marble busts and old frescoes.
To the front slrctclies a lawn dotted
with Spanish chestnut -trees, and be-
yond lies au alley of hoary and gi-
gantic cypresses that seem the en-
chanted genii of perpetual silence.
There is a peculiar odor about cy-
press-trees which can never be for-
gotten by one who has been much
among thesegroves of living columns j
and it is a well-known fact that the
charm inherent in a familiar odor is
one of the strongest that exists. Not
only in this alley, a mile long, lead-
ing up through a maze of thickets to
the ruins of Tusculum, but also in a
weird quadrangle planted round a
stone-coped pond, do these trees
stand m their stem and sad majesty.
Here, again, is silence, reigning un-
disputed ; the grand path is grassy
with weeds ; the little cones drop into
it and are never swept away; the
brown branches of the trees fall upon
it in autumn, and remain there till
they decay into the soil ; the water
is sUigoant, and the arti^cial rock-
work in the centre of the pond is
neglected and overgrown with crops
of worthless yet not unlovely weeds.
A landscape gardener would form
and draw out a new map of these
mismanaged acres ; a painter would
shout for joy at this pictures4]ue
frame for a historical lovc-sccnc, and
would transfer the whole to his can-
vas, adding only, according to h«
fancy, the pale moon silvering the
mysterious trees, or the setting sun,
in its amethyst radiance, throwing
golden arrows through the glorious
openings of the cypress grove.
This villa of Santa Juliana Falco-
nieri was once let, now many, many
years ago, to an Englishman, a re-
cent convert, and a well-known and
zealous defender of his newly adopt-
ed faith. He was not unfrcqucnily
a guest at the neighboring monastery
of Camahloli, a beautiful hermitage
embosomed in the woods, and where
the white-robed monks follow a
strict and ascetic rule, very different
from the lives of hypocritical holiness
(hat Protestants and liberahn would
make us believe is the present type
of monastic perfection. One day,
when the temporary owner of the
Villa Falconieri was dining at the
Camaldolese convent, the Holy F.a-
thcr, whose summer residence is close
by, at a Htlle village called Castel
Gandolfo, overlooking the classic
Lake Nemi, came with his retinue to
visit the monks. He also stayed to
dinner, which in Italy and among
religious is in the middle of the day,
and, the visit over, he spontaneously
pnjjiiisedto his Knglish friend to make
another halt at his house, A mes-
sage was sent down in haste lo pre-
pare the \illa, and so few were the
servants there that it was not before
the cavalcade of the Pope was at the
head of the cypress alley that the
end nearest the huuse was swept and
cleaned. The wife and little daugh-
ter were ready to welcome the Holy
Father, as. his host introduced him
I
744
renMano ant
*rascai
into the pretty, picturesque dwelling.
A throne had been temporanly arrang-
ed at the further end of the drawing-
room, and a square of gold-edged
velvet placed at the fccL The " No-
ble Guard," part of the Pontifical re-
linue. took their places around the
room, seemingly a living wall, and
other ecclesiastical attendants group-
ed tliemselves in various comers.
This was an honor seldom bestowed
on any hut Roman princes, aiid then
very sparingly, so th.it it was all the
more a distinguished mark of perso-
nal friendship on ihe part of the good
and fatherly Pope toward his Eng-
lish child. Not long before, those
three, the father and mother and lit-
tle daughter, had knelt before the
Pope, and the ])arei)ls hnd resolved
and promised to embrace outwardly
Ihe religion they inwardly believed;
the child had unknowingly played
with its father's sword, and prattled,
as unconscious little ones do, io the
midst of these grave events.
Now, the child was not forgotten
either, and the Holy Father kept it
near his Uiroue, and bestowed espe-
cial attention upon it, even while he
conversed with the steadfast and
liappy parents. By-aud-by, the No-
ble Guard were dismissed, and bivou-
acked outside the house, under the
chestnut- trees, till it was dark. Then
lanterns were hung on the branches
and on the tall gates, and a regular
illuminalion took place. When the
Pope left, torches were earned
around him and his cortege, all
through the woods that cover the
ground between Froscati and Castcl
Uandolfo. A tablet was put up in
the vestibule or atrium of the villa,
widi the permission of the owner of
the properly, in Lommcmoration of
this signal honor conferred upon a
stranger. 'J'hese details are only a
part of the many-sided recollections
of Uiis day, but, such as they arc, they
come from the lips of an eyc-witni
and wc are not conscious that
are in any degree eiiaggeraled.
Nearly twelve years after this idi
morable \isit, the villa wa£ revisited
by some of the persons who ha
been its temporary occu;>ant.s du:
that occurrence, and it was found
be in exactly the same slate as
fore; the dark cypress alley and
quadrangle, the chestnut-shaded la
and deserted- looking house, showing
no sign of the lapse of time. The
former owner, however — a Canti
Falconieri, 1 believe — was dead,
the property was disputed by t
or three noble iamilie.i. 'I"he c
of Santa Juliana stood open to the
terrace, accessible from theuutaideas
well as from llie narrow inner passage
connecting tt with the house \ and
one side of its tiny walls was the pi
ture of the saint's deai)i-bcd, rcpi
senting the miraculous cornmunioi
by way of viaticum, when the
ed sacrament sank into her
because her sickness was of such
nature as to prevent her fruoi rccci
ing it into her mouth. Below
picture is a long cxplatution of
fact, and a sort of laudatory epitaph
in the saint's honor.
The villa Aldobrandini occupi
one of the most prominent positions
in Ftascati, and commands altenlioa
from its tiers of stone fountains, raised
amphi theatre-like one over tlte other
up the face of the hill, and arranged
so as to let an artificial waterfall
spring down the giant staircase.
Another notable building of tfan
village is the white-walled Capu>
chin convent, a nest among the
trees and rocks, where the little
chapel is railed off by heavy gates
from the poor vestibule, and whero
Uved once a very good and eloijueot;
monk, Padre Silvestro. He loo, lik
the old cardinal, died within the yean
that followed tlic visit of the Pope Co
J
Sonnet.
745
the Villa Falconieri, but his kind-
ness to Httle children and his well-
known powers of language alike
cause him to live for ever in the heart
and memory of those whose happi-
ness it was to know him.
He always seemed to the writer
the very type of Manzoni's renown-
ed *' Padre Cristofaro," one of the no-
blest creatures of that author's world-
famed romance, / J^omcssi Sposi.
And with this mention of him and
his quiet convent — which is now, per-
haps, a desecrated stable or barrack
— let us close this little sketch of a
well-remembered and beloved spot,
endeared to us by many happy
hours spent among its hills and woods,
and by the memory of one of God's
best and purest creatures, one worthy
of more gratitude, more love, and
more appreciation than our poor
heart was ever able to render her.
To her, once our guide on earth,
now our guardian, we trust, in hea-
ven, do we dedicate these few me-
mentoes of our happy companion-
ship in a land whose beauty she al-
ways taught us to look upon as the
chosen appanage of the Vicar of
Christ, and the Jerusalem of the new
law.
SONNET.
St. Francis and St. Dominic.
Francis and Dominic, the marvels twain
Of those fair ages faith inspired and ruled,
AVhen Christendom, alike by darkness schooled
And light, served God, and spumed the secular chain.
Strong brother-saints of Italy and Spain,
The nations, Christian once, whose love hath cooled,
The sects pride-blind, the sophists sense-befooled,
Your child-hke, God-like lowliness disdain !
But ye .your task fulfilled ! All love the one,
Christ's lover, burning with seraphic fire ;
All light the other, from the cherub choir
Missioned, a clouded world's re-risen sun ;
Warriors of God ! for centuries three at bay
Those crowned lusts ye kept that gore his church to-day.
Aubrey dk Verb.
Rom— CoDTcat of St BuonKveatunu
74«
Tkf House of Yorke,
THE HOUSE OF YORK.E.
CHAPTER XI.
FOLEMICI AND THE WEATHER.
Tt is bite !o say that error is most
dangerous M-hen mingled with tmth ;
but never was this saying more appli-
cable than in the com of the Native
American or Know-Nolhing party.
" America for Americans " was not
all a cry of bigotry and exclusion :
the hospitality and freedom of the
nation had been abusetl, and a reform
was needed. But, unfortunately, it
was possible to m.ikc the question a
religious one. The fact that the
greater piart of the crime in cities is
committed by foreigners, and that the
niajoiiiy of foreigners in the country
arc at least nominally Catholic, could
easily, by a lame syllogism, be turn-
ed against tlie church. Hut what
matter how lame the syllogism, when
prejudice props It on the one side
and malice on the other?
Beside this, the masses of any peo-
ple crave an occasional popular com-
motion to vary the monotony of
a peaceful national existence, and
nothing else offered at the time.
The advent of this party was, there-
fore, h propos.
How it used its power, we all
know. It was, indeed, less a party
than an army, for its measures were
violent, invasive, and illegal. Its
street- preachers, from GavazKi donn-
ward, its pulpit-preachers, who coun-
tenanced their brethren of the mob
by more decent but not Ic-ss mali-
cious attacks, its Hoods of foul litera-
ture jwnctrating to every nook and
comer of the land, duping and inflam-
ing the ignorant while it filled rhc
pockets of irresponsible writers,
tors, and publishers — the " (ttmtilU
in Htf^rature" as Voltaire caJled su(
— its mobs and riots, its churches
stroyed and clergymen mnltrcalc
its committee of Massachusetts let
lators, senators, and volunteers
vading and insulting a comni
of defenceless women, all are
ter of history. The spccLicIc waa c
strange and ^c^'olting one, and it wn
one which the countrr is not likdy
to see reiwated with the Kiitnc
suits; for it is incredible that Am
can Catholics would ever again
mit to such a persecution. It
more probable that, should wc
more find our liberties threat
and our sacred places dcsccnicd,
there will be
** Tbirtr ihouMnd ('■orattk men
To MB UtB TBUOa Wfef."
In this movement, the ambit!
town of Seaton was not to be
behind ; but certain circuoutanccs
conspired to check for a while an
great demonstration. I'he utt
peacefulness of Father Rasle. and Uic
undeni.ibly good influence he exer-
cised over his flock, gave no prrt
for overt attack, and the fact th
he was pros|>ering and had huih
chun:h could only be cited as
gerous indications. Besides, Edh
Yorke was, quite unconKciousJy,
shield to the churdi in her native
town. Her uncle's family a&sumed
steadily that no person who doped
for any countenance from them would
Tfte House of Yotke.
747
%ay or do anything offensive to her.
This assumption on the part of Mr.
and Mrs. Yorke would not have had
so much effect, but their children
were more powerful. Carl was the
idol and hero of the young ladies of
the town, and not for worlds would
one of tliem have seen directed to
her that flashing gaze with which he
regarded any person who even re-
motely reficcled on his " cousin
Edith." It did not take much to
freeze that beautiful, laughing face
of his when Edith was in question.
Melicent also had a fair, and Clara
a large, share of the gallantry of the
town, and the former could discon-
cert by her haughtiness, the latter
scathe by her passion, any offender
'against the family dignity. Major
'Cleaveland was also a powerful ally.
Edith was to him an object of ro-
mantic admiration. He insisted that
ahe ought to have a title, and used
playfully to call her Milady and the
Little Countess, and to say that,
though he did not Itkc the Catholic
religion for himself or his family, he
^iiked it for her.
" I naturally associate the thought
of her," he said, " with incense, and
lighted altars, and dim, rich aisles."
And he quoted :
" Wbr, a tfrutger, wh*o It* ie«« h<r
la IM Mfcct even, smilclh MiU)*,
JuMklyou woul<l ■! » lUy,
** AflililtouldanyuUst paint h«r,
lie woald paint her, unaware,
M'lth a halo ruund her hair.*'
Evidently, MajorClcaveland would
[isot countenance anything likely to
suit the dignity or hurt the fcehngs
)f this "radiant maiden"; and Ma-
jor Cleaveland's countenance was
of consetjuence iu the town of Sea-
tOD.
Edith and Edith's religion had yet
another protector in Mr. GriOeth.
►This gentleman was by far the most
popular minister in town, and drew
to himself all the explosive elements
there. His manner of speaking was
lively and theatrical, the matter
amusing. Those progressive spirits
found it delightful to have a pastor
who, when he did condescend to
draw from the Bible, look piquant
texts, such as, Ephraim is as a <ake
thai is half-balud. It provoked a
smile, and that was what they want-
ed. Mr. George MacDonald had not
then been heard of; but Mr. Griffetli
already amused his hearer? by hold-
ing up for their derision" old granny
judgment."
'* Do not believe," he said, " that
God gives all the pain, and the devil
all the pleasure. Indee<l, I do not
insist on your believing that there is
any devil wh-itever.*"
All this was channing to his bear-
ers, so charming that they did not
absolutely re(|uirc him to abuse Ca-
tholicism. Once only a member of
his congregation gave him a hint on
the subject, but the minister's answer
was ready ;
" I do not like to soy the same
things which everybody cUe is say-
ing. If you wish to hear anti-Catho-
lic sermons, go to Brothers Martin
and Conway: they will satisfy you.
I do not suppose that iny silence on
the subject will be interpreted as a
leaning toward the Church of Komc."
" No, sir 1" the genlleman answer-
ed dr)Iy. "It is more likely to be
lookcil on as a leaning toward the
house of Yorke."
Mr. Griffeth rolored, but did not
deny the "soft impeachment." It
would have been useless to deny it,
for his partiality to the family was
evident, though (o which member
of it his especial regard was directed,
was not so easy to say. Well for
him that it was not, or he would not,
perhaps, have been forgiven.
So Edith stood, surrounded by a
The House of Yorke,
guarU of devoted hearts, between the
chtirch and harm.
The physical and menial growth
of this girl was fair to see. It was
like the slow, sweet unfolding of a
rose from the bud, with its baby lip
piuhed thruugli the tureen to the rich
and gracious beauty of the bunting
flower. That morning look wliich be-
longs to the eyes of ingenuous youth
still shed its calm, clear lustre over
hers ; her hair had darkened in tint, so
us to be no longer a shadowed gold,
but a gilded shadow ; and she shot
up like a young pahn-trec, slender,
but with the rounded, vigorous
strength of an Atalanla. She had
that perfect health which makes
mere existence a delight, and she
was perfectly happy, for all her wants
were saiished, and all her wishes
were winged with hope. Friends
she took OS a matter of course. She
did not think much about them, but
loved them ({uietlyi as people do
who never wanted for friends. It is
need or the fear of losing which
deve)oi>s intensity of affectiou.
What she did think of was : How
does the wind blow and the sun
shine ? What are the names of those
worlds in the sky, and how do they
move ? How does the seed sprout
and grow, and what makes the flower
unfold ? Where do the birds go
when they disappear in winter, and
how do they know when to return ?
How docs the snow-flake gather
ilsdf into a &tar-sha|)e, and what
shapes and colors the rainbow ?
Her interest took in also another
subject kindred to these: What dis-
tant people live on the earth ? What
do their eyes see ? How do Oiey live ?
How do they speak ? Her mother's
native land having been far away,
made all far-away lands seem fair to
her; and customs and S[>eccli dilfer-
ent from those she had known did
not repel, but attracted.
By some happy providence in
nature or Iter education, or in bo|
the girl's curiosity and lore of
marvellous and beautiful look
direction, and therefore her dcH{
did not wither like weeds when ch3
hood passed : they grew for ever.
But what M'os best in
Yorkc's growth was that she be|
to perceive the glories of the cht
of God, and, as her knowledge toi
cd here and there at remote pou
to guess at the grandeur, the symme^
try, and the perfect finish of tht
whole structure. She had been asliai
ed of her religion, even while
clung to it, because all the profe
of it whom she knew werc_|>oor
ignorant, and iKcausc she h.id
it mocked by a higher elosK.^
soon learixed that all Catholics'
not like those she saw, a;id that
of the noblest of earth, persons
celling iu rank, wealth, learning,
\inue, had been devotetl children a|
the church. It was a mean rcai
for being belter satisfied witJi it, bo
it was better than no reason, and
led upward, What was it that these
people found to love and reverence!
She looked to see, and, seeing,
also loved and reverenced, not
cause the great did, not because ah]
one else did, but because what frbc
saw was worthy of such homage.
Once attaining this clc\'atio», it wm%
easy for a nature like hers to be
tirely and enthusiastically on the ndi
of God. and to find a beauty
delight in the fact that had
repelled her, to rejoice that the pool
and the ignorant, as well as the net
and the learned, had a pUce in th4
arms of this bountiful MoUier, aiK
that, while human science built a
borious track on which to trawl
ward the heart of (iod, simple humar
love flew straight there, as the
flies to its nest
Father Rasle instructed her ll
eiKi
ant
bcfo
The HoHse of Yorke.
749
roughly, panicuIaTly in controversy.
She must be able not only lo defend
herself wlien attacked, but to attack,
if necessary. Aa yet, of either at-
tack or defence she had had no need
m think. '['Iiai there was strife in
the world, she almost forgot. The
memory of all that had been miser-
able in her past life became as a
dream, or was only real enough to
keep fresh her love and gratitude to-
ward her early friends, and to bar all
intercourse between her and the vil-
lage people. She saw ihem only
when they came to her uncle's house.
Her life was simple — books, music,
and drawing, a little gardening, and
a good deal of riding on horseback.
Major Cleaveland had given her a
beautiful saddle-horse, and Carl was
her teacher and constant companion
in these ridrt. Mrs. Yorke, gentle
soul 1 would have fainted with terror
had she seen the reckless manner in
which these two flew over the ground
when they were out of her sight.
" You have Jiad no exercise till
your checks grow red," Carl would
say ; anil at that challenge ICdith
would chirrup to her prancing This-
tledown, anrl they were off on the
wings of the wind. Thus cloistered
and fostcied, she grew up strong,
sweet, and happy, and with the glance
of her clear eyes kept back yet a
while many a shaft that would have
been aimed at the church.
One marksman, however, was not
dazzled by her. Mr. Conway cried
aloud, sparing not. Denunciation
was Uiis man's forte, and he improved
the occnsion. It wasabout this rime
that Miss Clara Yorke commented
on the astringent qualities of the gen-
tleman's character.
" Why, mamma," Hester Cleave-
land saiil, '* he had even the impu-
dence to cume to my house, and ex-
hort me, and to say that we were all
in danger from the influence of Fa-
ther Rasle and Edith. I got up at
that, and said that, since he had tak-
en the liberty to &|feak to me in such
a manner of my own family, I should
not scruple to excuse myself from
any further conversation with him
then or in future. And I made him
one of my most splendid bows, and
left him alone; didn't I, you beauti-
ful creature ?"
This (juestion was addres-wil to a
lovely, gray-eyed infant that lay in
the speaker's lap, and was followed
by a long and interesting conversa-
tion between the two, the young mo-
ther furnishing both questions and
answers, and in that delightful inter-
course quite forgetting Mr. Conway
and bis im[)udence. What were all
the crabbed old ministers in the world
in comparison to mamma's own ba-
by ? Nothing at all ! " Come, Me-
licent, and sec how intelligent his
expression is when I speak to him.
He looks right in my face."
" I do not see how he could well
help it, if he looks anywhere, since
your face is within an inch of his
nose," remarks Mclicenl dr)'ly.
Hester had at this time been a
year married, and was triumphantly,
we must own, a little selfishly happy.
There was not in her nature a par-
ticle of malice, but she lacked that
sensitive and delicate regard for the
feelings of others less favored than
herself, which makes unselfish per-
sons cautious not to display too
much their own superior advantages.
As her father had predicted, Major
Cleaveland was to her the most won-
derful man in the world, and as to
Major Cleaveland's youngest son,
wonU could not express his perfec-
tions. Their house was, in some oc-
cult way, finer than any other house
whatever, their funiilure had a chann
of its own, their horses had pccuhar
qualities which rendered them more
valuable than you would think, tlietr
The House of Yorke,
very bread and butter had an un-
common flavor nhich distinguished
it from the bread and butter of les:>
fortunate mortals.
The Cleavelands remained in Sea-
ton the first winter after this baby's
birth, greatly to the joy of Hester's
family. The winters passed mther
heavily for them, and it was a plea-
sant break in their daily life to see
Hester's horses turn into the avenue,
with a great jingling of sleigh-bells,
and Hester's pretty face smiling out
from her furs behind them. Even
Clara, absorbed as she was in the
glonou.1 work of putting the last
finishing touches to her first no-
vel — a novel actually accepted by
a publisher, and to be bnjughl out
in the spring — even this inspired
person would start up at that cheery
sound, and run down-stairs to cliat
with her sjsrter, and embrace her ne-
phew, if he were of the party.
Hut there were limes when no one
could come to them, and they could
not go out, but were as close prison-
ers as though walls of stone had
been built up arotmd them. One
might as well have been in the flas-
ttlc as in a solitary country-house in
one of those old-fashioned, down-ea.st
snowstorms. One could see lliem
gatlicc on winter days in a steady
purple bank about the horizon, wait*
ing there with leaden patience for a
day or two, perhaps, till all their
forces should come up, or till the air
should moderate enough for a fall.
There would be no visible clouds,
but a gradual thickening of the air,
the blue losing its brilliancy under
the gmy film, a 6ake sidling down
now and then in so reluctant a man-
ner that it seemed every moment on
the point of going up again. An-
other follows, and another, they co-
quette with the earth, seem to talk the
-^Aaltcr over in the air, finally^ with a
}od deal of hesitation, one after
another settles, 2nd pr-
slorm conies on steadth ,
was a fairy star of whiteness bccoracs
a thin while veil, then an iach-deep
of swui's-down, then a pile thai
clogs the feet of men and bc<asts,
and the wheels or runners of car-
riages, then an alabaster prison.
It is possible to be in a stite of
desolation under such circumstances
and it is possible not to be: that de-
pends on the people, and on the
mood they are in. Some giuan over
the trial ; some, scarcely leas agree-
able, sit down and endure it with .
roost depressing patience ; sonic
the world out, and invent cxpcdi<
to forget what sort of world it
others, wider of mind and heart
clearer of sight, take the storrn a$
comes, and see all the enchanii
of it. In tlial vast hty-flowcr tt
has curled down over them,
shut them in for a time, they find]
honey that sparkles like wine,
out and catch a flake as it falls ; it]
a st;ir, a flower, a fair)' dumb-bdl,|
cross, a globe, always a wondf
'Hunk, then, of the lavish millions
them I
One whom nature holds doce
her heart has sung the SDOw-stonai
•■Ev( ■- , ■■ : ■
Art'' t
One such snow in Seaton fell oB
day quietly, and all night, with a
rising wind, and the next morning
they woke In chaos, lliere was do_
up and down out of doors, but onl
a roundabout. 11icre was a wl
and a whiteness that dimmed off
to grayness; there were no i
posts; a ghost of a pyr.i:
where the barn h.itl l>ccn ; wit
been trees were white giants
toward them, apparently. They
cnetl the:r windows to bmdi
the snow that piled up on
The House of Yorke.
7Si
and were blinded and baffled ; they
opened their doors to go out, and a
solid Parian barrier was laid across
the step, knee-high; they tried to
shovel a path, and an angry wind
and a myriad of little hands filled it
in again. Patrick and Carl made a
desperate effort to reach the village,
and, after struggling as far as the
avenue gate, were glad to get back
to the house without being suffocated.
At the door they found Edith catch-
ing snow-flakes to look at the shapes
of them, and watching with wonder
and delight certain thin, sharp drifts
that a breath would have shaken
from their airy poise, but which the
wild wind never stirred even to a
tremor.
'* If one could only see the shapes
of the wind 1" she said. " Or is it,
Carl, that the" shape of the snow is
the shape of the wind ?"
Clara shook the snow from her
brother's coat, and slyly dropped a
snow-ball down his back; even Meli-
cent forgot her dignity so far as to
sit down in a bank, which enthron-
ed her very prettily. Carl thereupon
called her Mrs. Odin, and Mehcent
smiled involuntarily at the idea of
being Mrs. Anybody. The mother
and father, standing side by side,
watched them smilingly fi-om the
window, and remembered how they
used to play in the snow when they
were children, and felt young again
for a brief moment.
" But the spectres of rheumatism
and sore-throat stand between me
and all that folderol now," Mr.
Yorke says, with a half-sigh.
" Yes, dear ; but it is pretty to look
at," says the wife cheerfully. " And
we elders have the fire, which is
more beautiful yet."
They pile wood on the fire. It
blazes up, and reddens all the dusky
room, and presently Mrs. Yorke
wraps a scarlet mantle about her,
and goes, with a little shiver, almost
to the door, and calls out in the
sweetest little bird-call: "Come in,
children, come in ! You'll take cold."
" Mother looks and sounds like an
oriole in there," says Carl. " Come,
girls 1"
They all come in with very red
cheeks and bright eyes, Edith run-
ning to show her aunt a large star-
flake before it melts. Mrs. Yorke,
bending to examine it, breathes on
it, and it changes instantly to a spot
of water on Edith's dark-blue sleeve.
The two young Pattens, who have
developed into clever scapegraces, are
pushing each other into drifts at the
back-door, and pretending not to
hear Betsey's stern calls to them to
come to their work. When she ap-
pears at the door with her hands all
ready to administer summary chastise-
ment, they elude her with the skill
of practised gymnasts or of children
used to dodging blows, run under her
very elbows into the kitchen, and are
busily and gravely employed by tlie
time she has turned about and come
back. Patrick sets his face resolute-
ly toward the barn, where are cer-
tain quadrupeds to be cared for, and
flounders as if he were himself a
quadruped, and becomes a lessening
speck, only the head visible, and
finally, when they begin to think that
he is lost, triumphantly pushes the
barn-door open, and is greeted by
a neigh from the horse, a shake of
the head from the cow, and a wel-
coming cackle from the hens.
That evening they had music
Melicent played brilliantly, and Clara
sang them an elfish old song :
" ' Wh* patters >m late at our gyie-wiodow ? '
* MJtber, it's the cauld sleet.'
' Come la, come in,' quoth the canny gude-
wife,
' An' wann thae frozen fecL' "
When it came time for prayers,
Mr. Yorke read that exquisite chap-
ter in Job wherein God speaks of
752
The House of Y<trke.
the iacomprclicnsible mysteries of
•power aiid wisdom hidden in the
things thai he has made.
Carl, finding himself bored, lean-
ed back in his chair, and clasped his
hands over the top of his head. The
leaning back brought within his
range of vision the fold of a dark-
blue gown, the toe of a small shoe,
and a p.iir of lovely folded hands.
He turned his face a little, and look-
ed at Edith, who had drawn her
chair near liis, and as he looked his
face softened, and he unconsciously
changed his careless position to one
more reKjiectful. He saw her pro-
file, with the lustrous eyes steady as
she listened, and so uplifted as to show
their full size. The firelight played
over her quiet face, and made shine
a curve or two of the large braid of
hair wound round her head.
When Mr. Vorlce read: /fast i/ttnt
enUred ifsto the itore-houses of the
sno7t\ or hast then hehfhi the treasuret
of the hoilt etc., she glanced at Carl,
and smiled. She had known that
he was looking at her, and was pleas-
ed that he should. Carl had .1 par-
ticularly pleasant way of looking at
his cousin which she felt as a flower
may feel the sun. It was as though
they were talking together without
words, and he knew her Thoughts
without the trouble of speech.
When the reading was over, Edith
said good-night to each one, kissed
her aunt on both cheeks, and went
up to her chamber. The last good-
night was to Carl, who opened the
door for her.
" He has beautiful manners," she
said to herself as she went up-stains,
" He says so much without speaking
ft word. He seemed to say good-
night, but lie did not speak. I think
tl)at, when we go to heaven, we shall
all talk in that silent way. How
odd that Cati and I should begin
now !"
She wrapped a shawl about
and stood before her crucifix, lootifl^
at it, and recollecting herself Itcfne
saying her prayers. *' When 1 am
going to speak to Carl or to Dick,
or to any one, I tliink of him. If I
were going to speak to a king. I
should think of nothing else, and mjr
heart would beat quickly. I aa
going to speak to the Onewbomakes
kings."
She bowed her head with a cala
reverence. But that was not whatilw
wanted. Her heart craved etDOtiofc
" I am going to speak to the Son vi
Clod. He was poor, he was dcspi»>
ed and rejected. When I was ite
poorest, i had my little attic to sleep
in, but he had not where to lay hii
head. O dear Lord 1 it was pittftiL
I will never, ne\-er tuni you out ia
the cold !"
When Melicent softly entered her
room, next to K<lith's, and stopped 1
moment, hesitating whether to speak
to her coushi, she heard her breathe oat
as she laid her head u{»on the pillow.
" In the name of the Lord Jcass
Christ, 1 lie down to sleej) I"
Melicent stole noiselessly away
from the door. She could not ad*
dress any trivial word, even any
word of common aifcction, to one
who had just lain down to siccy
in the name of the Lord Jrsas
Christ. It made sleep seem awfiil
and sacred as well as sweet. It
made guardian angels seem po&ubte,
even necessart-. " How beautU'sl
the Catholic religion is in some of iK
forms!" she thought, and. after a
moment, knelt, and said a short pmy<
that she also might be guarded di
ing the night, and that the
would not refuse to let her also rest
in his name. She felt a sease of
safely in having her cousin near, and
the door of Edith's chaiubef seemed
to her like the door of a shrine.
The next moming when they wak-
kSlk.
The House of Yorke.
753
ed, the windows were all of a glitter
with sunshine, and wrought over by
the artisans of frostland with samples
of every landscape under the sun —
cliffs with climbing sprucc-trces. sil-
verysauded deserts with palms, an
infinite variety. The sky was a daz*
idling clearness. Tl»e eanli was like a
stormy sea that had suddenly been
enchanted into a motionless and in-
effable whiteness ; the wave curl-
ed over, with the spray all ready to
slide down its back ; the hollows were
arrested in their sinking, the ripples
frozen in their dimpling.
'ITien when evening came there
was a grand dijplayof northern lights,
i2t pitched their tents of shifting
}se and gold, with flags flying, and
lies marching, and stained the
low with airy blood.
Carl stood in the cupola with
"Edith and Clara clinging to him,
both a little uneasy, and told ihcm
)ries of Thor, Udin, the Bifrost
ridge, and Valhalla. What they saw
was the Scandinavian gods carousing,
he said ; or, no, it was a repetition
of that fierce battle of olden time,
ifhen, at ni<;ht, spectators saw the
lead arise from the field, float up
ito the air, and fight their battle
•t»vcr again in the sky, that wild le-
gend that Kaulbach painted on can-
vas.
"Carl," Edith said hesitatingly,
" I think that the truth is more beau-
tiful than any legend."
"But we do not know the truth
about northern lights," he replied,
taking a scientific view of the matter.
She hesitated a moment. She
was not used to speaking of what
came nearest to her heart. But Fa-
ther Rasle had given her a charge:
*• Whenever you have a chance to
sny anything beautiful about God, say
it. That is your duty."
•' Wc know that God made them,"
i< faltered.
VOL. Xllf. — 48
•' Oh 1 that spoils the poetry of it!"
Carl exclaimed involuntarily. " Par-
don me I but to speak of God is to
remind me of long, sanctimonious
faces and disagreeable ways, and of
a frowning on everything graceful
and grand and beautiful."
•* It isn't right] " she said eagerly,
forgetting herself; " for it is God who
has made everjUiing grand and beau*
liful and graceful. When you see a
fine picture, or a piece of statuary, or
read a good book, you think of [he ar-
tist, and admire him. Reading a play,
the other day, you said, ' What a soul
Shakespeare hadl' and 1 heard you
say once that Michael .\ngclo was a
god ; and last night, when Mclicent
played a sonata you liked, you ex-
claimed, *71iat glorious Beethoven!'
Why not say, ' That great God! ' when
you see the northern lights ? Be-
sides, God made Beethoven, and
Michael .\ngclo,and Shakespeare, and
taught them everything they knew,
I do really think, Carl, that the truth
is more beautiful than any legend.
Why isn't it as fine to say, ' J'/if G&deJ
friary ihmuierelh^ as to talk about Jove
throwing thunderbolts ? I don't see
anything very admirable in Jove.
And why isn't it as subhme for the
sun to hang and shine, and the world
to go whirling about it, because God
told them to, as for Pha'bus to drive
the chariot of the sun up the East ? "
She turned her face, rosy with earn-
estness and northern lights, and
looked at him with her shining eyes.
*' Why, Edith," he said, " you're
going to be a poet ! "
She shook her head, and hung it a
little bashfully. " No, I am noL But
King David was a poet."
And so the matter dropped. But
Edith had spoken her word for God,
and may be it had not been entirely
lost.
Perhaps we may be allowed here
to say a word hi defence of the
;54
The House of Yorke.
weaiher as a subject of conversation.
The assertion ihnt Americans, and
e&peciully New Knglaiidcn, com-
mence ail acquaintanceships and all
social conversations with an atmcH
spheric exordium, has become class-
ical, and to mention Oiac on any
given occasion the weather was the
subject of convereation is to intend
to be facetious. But let us f)ucstion
tlie gcMxl sense of this mo<:lcery. Arc
not ihe countless ph.vws of the many-
sided weather as noble, as beautiful,
AS profitabie, and as harmless topics
•of conversation as ninety-nine out of
a hundred things which people do
4alk at>out ? Is a dull or a wicked
speech, a dull or a wicked book, a
fashion, a horec, your neighbor's
character, a caucus, a candidate, even
a song, or a bit of weather on canvas,
a finer topic ?
Ah, the weather ! — skies of infinite
•changes, inexhaustible palette in
which the painter's imagination dips
>its brush ; calms, nature holding her
breath; winds, the nearest to spirit
of any created thing ; clouds, the
aerial chemists of light ; showers,
oversowing spray from fountains sus-
pended in air; rains it^ a^Krjpcv n
the skies ; fogs, filmy veils which all
die lung's men cannot tear aside;
droughts, continents in a fever ; c-oU,
tlie horror of nature, at which iW
small streams stiffen and die, the
mountains whiten to ghosts, and
even irod shrinks ; heat, natorv'i
angel of the resurrection Uawinj
thtuugh the gulden suti - it
calling the flowers out of ti
and bringing the binls from
would that nil the bad. the uiu....:.
table, tlie silly, the cold, the com-
plaining talk that on this earth vcscs
the ear of heaven could be chasgc»i
to sweet and harmless talk of the ix'
finitely -varying weather, and of
who planned its variety!
After Uiis protest and aptral
can be said of the Vorkcs,
any intention of reflecting on iIkP
intelligence, that tlic weather Iiad a
good deal to do with their cntci
ment, from the spring round throi
the circle of flowers and snoirs,
beside Uie melling drift tlicy
the first May-flowers niakin|^
rosy act of faith in the comiDif'
mer.
CHAPTER .\il.
CARL SCKS HIU5KLP IN A CLASS DAKKI.V.
The summer we arc thinkinpof was
iS5i,aud in the June of it F.dith had
her sixteenth birthiby duly cele-
brated by (he family, ami Clara pulv
hshed her first book, an event of slill
greater consequence to them.
In the June of this year, also, the
Hon. Mr. Blank came down to de-
light and instruct the %oiers of Scaton.
Mr. Yorke was highly plciscd by
this announcement. He had known
the gentleman in lloston.and th^ughi
him eloquent. Jt would be pleasant
to see and hear a man of note once
more. ** Come to think of ii, Amy,"
he said, " we ha\'e been txiriedl
fuUT years, seeing nobody ontndei
the town. It will be truly rcfr
We must have him here to dinner
tea. and wc must all go to hear
address. It is to be in a tent oo
fair- grounds."
Mr. Yorke was quite ' ^j
interested. He had becii
sedusiaa long enough to appi
the value of a little excitement. 11
called on Mr. Blank at hix b(
the evening of his atT)\'al, antl
very conlial and agreeable hall
lallung chiefly of penonal
TIte House of Yorke.
755
and old friends. Two or three other
gentlemen who were paying their re-
spects to the senator withdrew after
a few minutes, to Mr. Yorke's satisfac-
tion. They were persons whom he
did not at all like.
" I am worn out," Mr. Blank said,
leaning back in his chair, and poising
his heels on the back of another chair.
" I have made forty speeches in thirty
days. But it pays. The excitement
is immense."
Mr. Yorke was rather ashamed to
ask what particular issue created this
excitement and palaver. The truth
was, he was a little behind the times.
His four years had been years of
vegetation, and he scarcely knew what
his old friends were about He had
been so much engaged in filling up
the maw of his avenues, coaxing ex-
otics to bloom for the first time in his
gardens, and reading novels — ac-
tually reading novels — that he was
politically in the position of a man
who had had a four years' sleep. He
was mortified and astonished to re-
alize at this moment that he had been
going over the Waverley novels again,
when he should have been reading
the papers and keeping the state of
the nation in view.
His embarrassment was relieved
by a loud shout that rose from a
crowd collected in front of the hotel.
The gentleman for whom this ap-
plause was intended took no notice of
it, except by an impatient shake of
the head. He sipped a little from a
tumbler at his elbow, and calmly
lighted a cigar.
The shouting ceased, and the Sea-
ton band — not the cast-iron band
this time — broke out in their finest
style.
" Confound them ! " ejaculated the
senator. " Do they think I want to
hear their noise ? I am tired of
Dodworth's and the Germanlans ;
but this ! Why, it's all trombones."
The music ceased, and the shout
went up again.
*' They will have me out," groaned
the hero of the hour. " I've a great
mind to be taken sick. Couldn't you
go out and say I'm sick ? "
" No, sir," Mr. Yorke said deci-
sively, " I could not."
'* Well, couldn't you go out and
make a speech for me ? You're about
ray build. It's easy. I could say it
in my sleep. Honored — free and in-
telligent people — your beautiful town
— glorious cause, etc. Fill it in as
you like."
Mr. Yorke laughed. " I'm about
half your build, and my voice is as
much like yours as a crow's is like a
nightingale's. Go along. When
you've embarked in this sort of thing,
you must take the consequences."
As another and still more impera-
tive call came up, the honorable
gentleman rose with a yawn, and the
two stepped out into the balcony.
" My dear fiiends," began the
speaker in silvery-clear tones, " words
fail me to express the feelings which
move my heart when I listen to this
generous welcome." (Applause.)
" Well for you that they do," pa-
renthesized Mr. Yorke.
"Your approval honors you more
than it does me," resumed the sena-
tor. '* For what am I but the mouth-
piece by which you speak, as the
thunder-cloud speaks by the light-
ning ? The mass of the people
gather the truth, and it is their fire
which informs the leader, and incites
him to utter it forth. They are the — "
(Immense applause.)
" The idiots ! " exclaimed the orator.
"They have broken into my best
paragraph where it can't be mended.
I must wind up."
" The fame of your town has
reached me," he went on. " I have
heard of it as a place where freedom
is not only loved, but adored, where
7?
The House of York
opiiression is not only hated, but
tnimpktl on; and tci-day, when I
drove over the distant hills, and saw
ihc while sfiires of your churches
riiinK out of ihc forests, they seemed
to nic like waniint^ iliigeni pointing
heavenward, as tliough the genius of
the pUcc bade inc remember that
the angelic Jiusts were witnessing if I
and if you were faidiful to the sacred
trust placed in our keeping." (Tem-
pests of applause).
"That always takes," remarked
the senator to }iia companion.
"Spires arc trumps."
" My friends, to-night I am but a
voice to you, but to morrow we shall
meet face to face. Let not a man be
mis."nng. Seaton expects ever)- voter
to do his duty. Again I thank you
for your kind welcome, and wish you
one and all good-night."
" What do they think a man is
made of when they call him out to
speak in a fog thick enough to slice
and butter ?" grumbled the orator,
getting into his chamber again, and
dropping the curtaiu between him
and t second burst of music from
tlie band.
Mr. Vorkc raised his eyebrows
slightly, am] punted out his under-
lip. " What glorious things have
you heard of Sealon, and where ?"
he inquired. '* I was not aware that
it was famous."
The senator fmLshed the contents
of his tumbler, an>l wiped his mous-
tache carefully. " 1 have heard that
it is an infernally rowdyish lilttc
hole," he answert:«l. " I didn't care
about coming here, but it was in my
stumping progranmie."
Mr. Yorke took leave, and went
homewani very soberly. He was
disappointed and depressed, and na-
ture seemed to sympathize with his
mood. Tlic road was muddy, and
in Ihc thick fog and darkness he
could scarcely see the path at the
side of it. When he turrteil into tiv
private way tliat led to his own
house, the trees crowded about, dnp-
ping, uncomfortable, and '" ;
as if they had met to :
clerk of tlie weather, aud cudki^at
measures fur the putting doirn of lhi>
Scotch mist that was presuming u
K^fog a free, enlightened New Enf-
lami forest When he reached the
gate, Mr. Yorkc Ic-med on it a mo-
ment " Oh! for the laws of the \.j>
crians !" he e.Tclaimcd,
'* Charles, is tliat you ?" aikcd «
soft voice near.
"AVhy, Amy!" retumcti the go-
tleman, starling.
" I was looking for you," Ma
Yorkc explained, taking her husbanfi
arm. " I hale to have you come ■>
this road alone."
Her thin ilrcss was damp, bo
hands cold, her heart nuticring. She
had been walking up and down tlK
avenue for the last hour, listening for
her husband's step. How did sbr
know what might happen to fiia?
The people were violent, and be w«
uncompromising and bold. Oh ! wb«
had she ronsenic*! to return in that
place where her youth had beco
blighted ? No good had e\cr carot
to her there, nothing but sorrow.
" O womiui, woman 1 how you d9
torment yourself I" Mr. Yorke e>ua-
lalcd. '• Vou will have it thai we
are in danger. You will hjve it that
we arc being hanged, drawn, and
quartered, if we are ten minutes l>e>
yond the time."
♦' Would you rather wc should cjir
twihing about you?" his wife asJecl
ta-mulously.
*' No, dear," he n-i \
know that your fears . . , _ _>n
to your loving."
1lie next day Mr. Vorkc and hi»
daughters went to hear the addnaa.
Ktlith remained ni home with her
aunt, u'ho never went into a crairti.
Sa
The House of Yorke.
757
The road, the lent, and all about it
were full of people. The enthusiasm
was immense. When the sjieaker
appeared, the audience stood up, the
men shouting, the women waving
their handkerchiefs — what for it would
be hard to say. Probably they did
not know themselves, unless they
meant to express thus their admira-
tion for success. For ihis man was
(he very embodiment of worldly suc-
cess. Wealth and honors had come
to him, not unsought, but without
toil, and with tittle deserving. Suc-
cess showed forth from his smooth,
handsome face with its bright eyes
and ready smile, even fronilhc plump
while hand, at whose wave thousands
of voters said yea or nay. His ex-
pression was one of pleasant excite-
ment and self-complacency, such as
a man like him may naturally feci in
such circumstances. He was a fluent
speaker, had a musical voire, and a
graceful niAnner.
Mr. Vorkc listened to his exordium
h great and anxious interest, and,
from generalities the orator gra-
dually became more specific, his face
darkened. It was, in fact, nothing
more than a Know-N'othing tirade,
itli the usual appeal to the pas-
ns instead of the reason, and the
old hackneyed abuse of tlie clergy,
Mr. Yorke rose like a tiger. '* Come,
Is," lie said quite audibly. " I
can't listen to any more of this
^tta.sb."
^K His daughters followed him qutet-
^^y ; but, their seats being prominent,
[ they could not get out without excit-
ing attention, and the first to sec
them was the speaker. He faltered
a litde in his speech, and a faint co-
lor rose to his face; but he recovered
himself immediately, and waved his
hand to stop the hisses that were be-
ginning to rise. Ilut he felt the de«
fection. He knew well that he was
a politician, not a statesman, and he
would rather have liad Mr. Yorke'a
countenance than that of any ten
other men present.
Mr. Yorke did not dine with the
senator that day as he had promised
to. " When I made the engagement,
I did not know that you had become
a wire-jmtler," he wrote briefly, in
making his excuse.
Mr. Bbnk's face paled slightly as
he read the note, but he crushed it
carelessly the moment after. "Charles
Yorke was always a hunker," he re-
marked
" Carl, I want you to print a lead-
er from mc, this week," Mr. Yorke
said to his son that evening.
We have not said that Carl, hav-
ing finished his law-studies, instead
of practising, bad undertaken the
editorship of the Seaton HeraU.
" I am afraid, sir," the young man
replied, " that, if you print your lead-
ers in the Nerali, you will have to
pay the expenses of the paper, and
insure the office against fire and
mobs. At present the circulation va
very small, and I dare not say a
word against the party in [)Ower."
This paper was not, indeed, a very
prosperous slieet; for the editor could
not lower himself to the m.ijority of
the people, and they could not raise
themselves to him. His politics were
too little violent, his tone too gentle-
manly, his literary items and extracts
too pure and high in lone.
Major Cleavdand and Hester were
taking tea at the homestead, and,
when after tea Edith went up-siairs
to read a letter she had just received.
from Dick Rowan, there was quite
a warm discussion of the events of
the day.
"After all, Mr. Blank is a strong
speaker," Major Cleaveland said.
" A strong speaker !" exclaimed
his father-in-law. " He is rank, sir!"
The ladies interposed a little.
" I'm not a Know- Nothing," Hcs-
ter's husband snid ; " but neither do
I condemn them. Their charges are
not all false. The Catholic party
proclaim iheir theory, which is very
fine, and say nothing about the abus-
es which creep into their practice ;
their encmiL'S denounce the abuses,
and give them no credit for their
principles. 1 think that the gist of
the trouble is this : neither party will
distinguish between the church and
tlic clergy. When the body of Ca-
tholics will check their pricsLs the
minute they slep out of their pro-
vince or abuse their power, and
when non-Catholics learn not to con-
demn a religion for the sins of indi-
vidunl professors, then we shall have
peace."
The ladies and Carl went out into
the garden, and left the two gentle-
men to their discussion.
" I often wonder, Carl, that you
express no opinion on these subjects,"
his mother said. *• Vou must have
opinions. I almost wish, sometimes,
tJiat you would argue."
" Which side do you wish me to
prove ?" he inquired listlessly. " I
can prove either."
She sighed. " How you do need
rousing !"
He put his arm around her as they
walked up and down the piazza.
" My opinion is, lilite mother," he
said, " that opinions are a bore. Who
wants to be always listening [o what
other people think on subjects ? Not
one thought in n milliard ]s worth
putting into worffs. I am sick of
words, of gabble, of inanities."
*' Ves, my son." she said gently.
*• But one expects a man lo give
hh opinion ODce for all on religious
questions."
" It is not a religious question,
mother: it is a question of religions,"
the young man replieil wiili a sort
of impatience. " TJiere is no great-
er bore than that same question..
Why does not each person bdicvo
what suits him, and bold his tongoe
about it, and let every other do the
same ?"
" But truth 1 but truth >" said the
mother.
Carl shmggcd his shoulders. " Eve-
rybody thinks he has it sliut np ia
his rranium."
" What ! you renounce religion ?^
she exclaimed.
" Not at all," he said. *• They are
so many spiritual gymnasiums where
people exercise their souls. They
are very pn-tty and amiable for wo-
men, and for men who nectt them ;
but there are those who do not need
them."
** Carl, you break roy heart T* liii
mother cried out, gazing thnni^
tears into her son's face. The boy-
ish look had gone out of it. There
were weariness and sadness in it, and
hardness, too.
Carl was in a bitter mood thjt
day, but he tried to soothe the i-iin
he had given. "I'll do anyi!
he said laughingly. "I'll tuiu ca
tholic. I'll goto hear John Conway.
I'll read the X" Dau^tkr.
I'll teat h a Sun^ class,"
^lith came smihng out llirongh
the door. " Such a nice letter frooi
Dick !" she said, giving it Co ber
aunt. " And see, Carl, hen: tt a
little handful of sand from the ^-
hara, and here is an orange-blossom
from Sorrento. It looks quite fnah."
Dick Rowan bad that delightful
way which so few letter-writing tra-
vellers know of making their dcscni>-
tions more vivid by scndir '■
liisiraiions of them. Wt
the south, he would say. " While yon
are in the midst of snow, there is a
rose-tree in bloom otitside my «rin<
dow. Here is one of the buds."
He had emancipated htm:sclf from
the letter writL-rs, and succeeded per-
fectly in his own way.
The House of Yorkc,
759
The next afternoon Mrs. Yorke sent
for Mr. Grifieth, and saw him alone.
" What have you done lo Carl ? "
she excrlaimed. " Are you making an
infidel of him ?"
The minister, confounded, tried to
excuse Carl and defend himselC
The inten-iew was not a pleasant
one, and Mr. (Iriffeth was glad when
it was over. He went out into the
sitting-room where Meliceni and
Clara sat; but their constrained man-
ners did not encourage him to stay
long. They suspectcti the subject of
ihe conversation he had been holding
with their inoilier.
Edith sat on the piazza outside,
studying. Her person was not in
sight as he looked from the window,
but a flutter of drapery on the breeze
betrayed her presence. Mr. Griffeth
merely bowed to the sisters in pa-ssiug.
and went out on to the piazza. Kdith
sat in a low chair wiih a book of
German ballads on her knees. By
her side were a grammar and diction-
ary. She was translating, watching
thought after thought emerge from
that imperfectly -known language, as
stars emerge from the mists of heaven.
She glanced at ihe minister with a
smile tJiat was less for him than for
the stanaa she had just completed.
" Salve ! " he exclaimed, bowing
lowly.
" I am translating a song from the
German," Kdith said. " Is not trans-
lating delightful ? It is like digging
for gold, and finding it, I have just
got a thought out whole."
The song was that beautiful one
which has been rendered :
" The fislil Is ilonc : an<t, far away,
Tba thuntkriDK ito>M! of btllle «^e\\
While ht>nicwBr<i. Kind. 1 wctwl uij- way,
Tn meet the suallght of h«i «yc«."
Edith was looking very lovely.
The vines curtaining the end of the
piazza where she sat shut het into a
green nook to which only the finest
sprinkle of sunshine could penetrate.
The light, moving shadows flecked
her white gown, and all the floor of
the ]>iazza about her,
" Making ■ qutet Image of illsqulat,"
and a flickering in her hair. Car),
who was always dres&ing her out in
some fanriful way, had fastened a
drooping bunch of white lilies in her
braids, and the petals, Ijnng .igainst
her neck and check, showed the dif-
ference between silver-while and rose-
white. Her beaming face made a
light in the place.
Mr. Grifleth, stooping to see (he
poem, laid his hand on the book she
held, and she released it so suddenly
that it had nearly fallen to the floor.
" It is beautiful," he said, reading
it aloud. " Can you not fancy your-
self that golden-haired lady, and that
some warrior is coming home to lay
his honors at your feet and claim his
reward ? "
Edith looked away quickly, and
let the air take the brightness of her
face. He gazed steadily at her, and
wondered for whom the brightness
was, or if it were only a girl's vague
romance.
" I like soldiers," she said after a
moment, and, though quiet, th^-e
seemed a slight stateliness in her man-
ner. " My grandfather was a soldier
all his life, and was as used to it
swunl .15 I am to a fan. Mamma said
that one of his mottoes was, * Never
reckon the forces of an enemy rill
afier the victory.' It was written in
one of her letters lo papa. If t were
a man, 1 should wish to be a soldier."
"[ also am a soldier; I fight the
devil," the minister said, with a slight,
bitter laugh.
'* Do you c^mquer him ?" she askeil
simply, but with the faintest little
mocking smile.
Mr. Griffeth ignored the question.
" You have golden hair, like the lady
of the song," he said hastily. " If I
76o
The House of Yorkc,
were <t soldier. Edith, and cAme home
to you from battle, would you wel-
come rae as that lady did her lover ? "
He touched her hair with his hand as
he spoke.
A bright crimson color swept over
her face, and she stood up iniitantly,
drawing away from him, her eyes
spailding. Kdith Yorkc's innocence
was not of that kind nhicli is divorced
from dignity and delicacy, and smiles
at freedoms from everybody.
" Pardon rac!" the minister stam-
mered, and at the same momcal,
to complete his discomfiture, per-
ceived that the curtain lo the window
directly behind them had been drawn
asidc.aud that Mrs. Yorkcstood Uicre.
Rushed and haughty, with a look in
her eyes which he had never seen
Ihcrc before.
His case was desperate, he knew,
but he made an effort lo recover. " I
forgot my self," he said ; " but I assure
you I meant no harm."
" What harm could you have
meant, sir?" said the lady, drawing
herself up.
It was not lui easy question to
answer.
"You have probably made the
misukc of supposing that the young
ladies in my family arc as free in their
manners as those in some other
families you may know. It is a mis-
take. I have taken care that their
education sliall second and con6rm
what is always the impulse of a re-
fined nature : (o regard such free-
doms as offences when coming from
any one but the one cliosen to receive
all favors."
Mr. Griffeth might apologize, and
(he apology be civilly received, but,
when he walked away from that
bouse, he felt that he would not be
welcomed in it again. And so the
church in Seaton lost a friend and
found an enemy. The next Sunday
the most bitter anti-Catholic scnnon
of the season was preached from the
Universalist pulpit.
A few weeks after caine a peremp-
tory letter from Miss Clinton. Sb«
wanted L'-arl to come up to see ber.
What was he burying himself tii lite
country for ? Was he raising lur*
nips "i Was he going to idony tome
freckled dairy-maid? If he was,
she did Dot wish to set eyes on him.
What did they mean by It-
to die alone, without a rel.>
her? It was unnatural I It was a
shame ! Let Carl come at once. If
he pleased her, she would provide
for him.
Miss Clinton's promises wae txM
very trustworthy in this respect, for
she had successively endowed and
disinherited every one of her rela-
tives and frieniU. Ilut that was no
reason why her request should be re-
fused. She was a lonely old wot
and Carl must go to her.
He consented rather rehiclandvj
protesting that he would only stay
week. But, when he got there,
was not so easy to tear himsclfawayJ
*• A newspaper to edit ?" cried ih^
old lady. " What signifies a nci
paper in a little couiitr)' town ? Ni
body ever reads it."
" Not when / edit it ?" says Ci
with a laugh.; He found the old lady
amusing.
" No, not even then. Master Vi
nity," she replies. *' Suy lierc, Carl.1
It is miserable to be IcU alone so.
I sha'u't keep you very long. Vou
shall have any room )'ou chooKcj
and money enough lo be respcctoblcvj
and you may smoke from morning,
lo uigiiL There is only one thingj
you may not do, I won't have a dof ]
in this house, for two rc^isuns: bAi
might go mad, and Ite might wonyj
my caL Will you slay ? Old
pie live longer when they have rouiif
ones about li I'm"
lonely. Bird ,,.t)ts
Tht House of Yorke.
76t
religion, and reads the Bible when
she thinks 1 don't see her. 1 know
she is searching out texts that she
thinks will fit ni)' case. I am getting
old, Carl, and I forget a Httle the ar-
guments against all this superstition.
'I'hey are true, but I forget them ;
and sometimes in the night, or when
I feci nervous, ihe nonsensical reli-
gious stories I have heard come up
and frij^htcn ine, and I have nothing
to oppose to them. Alice torments
mc, too. She is so sure, she looks so
much, she goes about with her religion
just hke a lilUc child holding its mo-
ther's hand, while I am sure of noth-
ing, and have nothing to lean on but
this stick " — holding out a cane in
her shaking hand.
" It must be comfortable to believe
so," she went on, after two or three
gasping breaths. '* I cn\y the fools
who can. But I can't. Sly head is
too clear for (hat. And 1 want you
here, (^arl, to remind mc of the ar-
guments that I forget, and to talk to
rae when I am nervous. Tliey tell
me tliat you are a frec-lh inker, and I
know Uiat you are clever. Stay, for
God's sake 1 I suppose there may
be a God."
Cari shrank from the wild appeal
in that i'rightencd old face; shrank
yet more from the horrible task as-
signed him. Unbelief, as he had
contemplated it, looked gallant, no-
ble, and aspiring ; but this unbelief
sccracd like a glimpse into that per-
dition which he had denied. In this
old scoffer he felt as if contemplating
a distorted image of himself. It was
as if he had been asked to commit a
crime, a sacrilege. There was such
a crime as sacrilege, he .saw.
But he could not refuse lo stay.
*' Perhaps it would be belter for
us both to look for arguaients
against than for our theories," he
.said gravely.
Anything, so that he did not leave
her, she insisted. Indeed, she want-
ed his masculine strength more than
anythingelse. Everj* one about feared
her, or was tenderly careful of her,
but this young man had already more
than once good-naturedly scouted
her notions. He was one to be fear-
less and tell the truth, and she felt
safe widi him. Besides, he was a
man, and clever, and it would not
hurt her pride to be influenced by
him. If her insensible and selfi^ih
heart felt no longer the necessity of
loving, it still felt the equally femi-
nine necessity of submission and sa-
chiice. Already in the bottom of
her heart was a faint hope that Carl
might insist on having a dog in the
house, and that she might show her
dawning fondness for him by con-
senting — a greater concession than
she had ever yet made in her life.
CHAPTER Xtll.
A RIVAL FOB EDtTK.
Dick Rowan came home in the
spring of '53 tu begin a new life. In
the first place, he was to have
a ship of his own. Mr, Williams
had a beautiful ship almosi ready to
launch, and he was to be tlie master
of it. He was to name it, too, that
had been promised him; but what
name he meant to bestow was as vet
a secret to all but himself. What
could it be but the Edith Yorket
He had other matters lo settle, too;
he must become a Catholic. He
had promised Edith that he would,
if, on reading, he found he could do
so conscientiously. He had read a
good deal, more tlian he hkeil, in>
deed, and saw nothing to object to
762
The House of Yorke.
Besides, the fact that it was Edith's
religion and the religion of his fath-
er's boyhood was a strong argument
ill its favor. There was one other
aflair to settle, the thought of which
made the color drop out of his
cheeks, and hts henrt rise in excited
throbs. He had studied it over and
over during this last voyage, and his
mind was made up. Kdiih was al-
most seventeen years old, and he
meant to speak to her. She must
know now, if she ever would, wheth-
er she wa.s willing to be his wife.
Perhaps something said to him by
Captain Cary had hastened his de-
cbion. The captain had seen what
his studies were, and been vexed by
them.
" You arc going too far, Dick,"
he expostulated. •* A man never
should cliange his religion for a girl's
sake. Slie won't like you any the
belter for it. Besides, Dick, 1 can't
help saying it, you arc making a fool
of yourself She will marry Carl
Yorke."
Dick stared, reddened, then grew
pale. " I think not," he said decid-
edly. *' Don't say that again, cap-
tain."
The first thing to be attended to,
then, was his religion. He must l>e
a Catholic when he met Edith. Be-
sides, if rchgion gives strength, he
would feel better prepared to put hia
fortune 10 the lest. He went, there-
fore, to a clerg)'man immediately.
" I do not wish to read any more,
sir," he said. " I do not like the
way in which learned men prove
their arguments to be true. It is loo
ingenious. It always seems to me
thai the other side could be just as
well proveil, if one were clever
enough. I am willing tn believe
whatever is true. I cannot swear to
any doctrine, cxcejrt the existence of
a God and the divinity of Christ.
Tho.te two truths I would stand by
with my life. For the rest, I caa
only say that I place my mind
heart passively in the hands of Vti
and ask him to direct them. I
do no more, except to say il»i, tl
do not believe, neither do 1 dial
lieve anything that has been pr<
cd to me. Perhaps my head
a very good one; I dare say it \%
I certainly do not like Hubtleiies.
seems to me that «ll necessary ti
may be known and believed by
very ordinary intcllcrt with very mo-
derate study. What I want in
gion is what I find in the face»
some of the poor people whnm
see here at Mass in the early
ing, and I don't l>cheve they Rat
that out of books, or got it theni'
selves in any way."
" You are right," the priest said.
" What you saw in their ia<-c5
faith, a jnirc gift of Cod. But
believe baptism to be necessary
salvation ?"
** I am inclined to think so,
not sure," was the reply. " I f I wi
sure, then 1 should already hai
faith, which is what I come to
for. If it is necessary, I wish for \x
The pncst mused. This wu n(
a very fervent penitent certainly ;
but he was a sincere one, and in
fine, earnest face the father rvad
latent fervor and power of
conviction which wofjld be all
more precious when aroused.
Dick mistook the father's w\i
for hesitation, and )iis real impatienc
broke out " I am uneasy, sir," he
said ; " I wish to be one thing or an>
other."
The priest looked at him. •• Wbl
do you mean ?"
Dick pau.<wd a minute, rr^in; hU
head on hts hand, then raised
bright, clear eyesL.
*• What I say to a rpriest goes
further f* be said intetrogatit
"Vour confidence is safe wilh
mc."
" EdiUi said that I should tell you
everything," Dick muttered, half to
himself, and for a moment his drea-
my eyes seemed to contemplate the
picture his mind held of her saying
so. A smile just titirretl his lips, and
he went on. " I was bom an out-
law, bir. The conventionalities
which keep many people straight
had nothing to do with mc Then
I iikc adventure, and am hard to
ftigliten. I have been about, and
seen all sorts of people believing all
sorts of tliinj^, and one son was as
goad as another, as far as I could
fcsee. The effect of this is, of course,
:io make one liberal ; but such a lib-
kcrality. if a man has not a settled
^religious belief, unhingci the princi-
.pies. There have been limes when
pi have thought that it wasn't much
matter what I did. I had half a
mind to run away with Edith, and
turn privateer."
"Who is this Edith?"
'■ She is a htlle Catholic girl who
was brought up with me, sir. I'm
going to ask her to marry mc, and I
think she will. She is the only person
in the wt-rld whom I depend on, or
who has any influence over me. I
believe in her. -She is as true as
steel. And she believes in me. I
can't fail her, bir. Itiat thought has
kept me from harm so far."
*' It is a poor reason for lieing a
Catholic," the father said in a dis-
satisfied tone. " It is a weak hold
on virtue when your motive is an
affection like this."
The young man smiled wiih a
sudden recollection.
" When we were at St. Michael's,
last winter, there wiis a great storm,
and a vessel was ttTecked close to
the coast. We went down to the
shore to see, but nothing could be
done. One man »wam to or was
washed to a little rock not far from
the shore. 'ITiere he lay clinging,
with the waves breaking over him.
He couldn't have held on long, and
we could not get to him any way.
But Captain Gary brought out a big
bow and arrow of his that always
reminded me of Ulysses', for no one
but the captain, I believe, could
bend it, and, in a lull of the wind, he
shot a little cord over to the man, and
the man drew it out. Hope revived
his strength, I suppose, and it seem-
ed as if the tempest waited for him.
We tied a rope to the cord, and a
latgcr rope to tliat, and he drew it
out, and tied it to the rock, ^uid we
saved him."
The priest smiled. " Very true.
We rise, we are saved sometimes by
degrees, and this little hold may be
tied to a stronger. Oo out into the
church, and make the prayer of the
blind roan, ' Lord, that I may re-
ceive my sight' To-morrow morn-
ing I will baptize you. I find you
sufficiently instructed."
That evening Dick made a re-
quest of the priest " When men
were to be knighted, in oKlen times,"
he said, " tliey use*! to keep a vigil
in the church. Now, if by baptism
I am to be made fit to enter heaven
at once, changed from a child of the
devil 10 a child of God, why, tt is
worth thinking about h is a great
thing to happen in a man's life, and
it happens but once. I would like
to keep a \-igil in the church. I
could think there better than any-
where else."
The priest hesitated. He hardly
knew what to think of this mingled
coldness and fervor.
*' Besides,^' the young man added,
" you say that Christ is there bodily.
I would like to watch with him one
night. It seems to me wrong to
leave liim alone there now, when he
is to do so much for me to-morrow."
7^4 A Page of the Past and a Shadow of the Fnturt.
The priest consented. " But do
not fancy ttiat the Lord is alone,
though liis earthly children forsake
him," he said. " Doubtless the
place is crowded with angcU and
archangels."
Dick ga2ed steadfastly at the priest,
and fur a moment lust himadC
" Then, perhaps," he began hesi-
tatingly, but broke off Uiere. •' No,
if he bad preferred (he company of
angels, he would have remained in
heaven," he said. "It will be no
intrusion. He comes here to be
with man."
Night came on, the church was
locked, and all was dark save a small
golden (lame that bunied sus[>endcd
in air. A watcher sat far back in
one of the seats, but after a while
drew nearer, Mill shting, not kneel-
ing. The whole place was full of
silence and a sense of waiting. In
the shade, the stations Iniiig unseen,
but not unfclu He had seen them
that day, and they spoke through
the dark, " Here he fell ! Here he
was struck I Here he was nailed lo
the cross ."■
There was in this darkness
silence such a vacuum of tlie earlhli
that the heavenly seemed to bi
through the thin wall of sense and
flow around the soul.
When the priest came in at daj
break, he found his penitent
trate before the altar. After Md
was over, the baptism took place.
The fatlier was struck by the coun^
tenance of his convert. It wore
rapt and exalted expression, and b*
appeared to sec nothing of what «:
visibly before liis eyes.
'* tJod bless you I" he said to IMc
on going out of the church. " Coi
to sec me. And for a while try I(
think of Uod entirely, and not
Miss Edith Yorke."
" Sir," said Dick quietly, ** I haff
thought of Edith Yorke but oi
liince 1 enteral the church tost nigbtj
and then it wasasthnugh the Ulci
Virgm put her aside and stood
her place,'*
TO n C0MT1NCBO.
A PAGE OF THE PAST AND A SHADOW OF THE FUTU
I r is, perhaps;, hardly to be beUcv-
ed, in this new country whose mental
geology grows ami changes so quick-
ly that one stratum of thought and
of circumstances is gone even befurc
one h;ui hud lime to analyze it — it is,
perhaps, h.ardly lo be believed that
the shadow of the penal laws in the
mother-country should still cloud
with lingering tuuchcs tlic remini-
scences of a yet unladed life. Young
people whose idc<xs and education
belong lo this century can still re-
member one of those priests of ol»
one of those silent champicn^— wboi
the English law made outcosls
tlieir kind, and ioit game fur tbcii
enemies.
Such a one was James Duckci
the pastor of a scattered fluck thai
covered the pUim of Grcshom '■'' »-•- '
tone memory, lo the fort of i
the last standpoint of lite " lost tjuic '
uf die Stuarts.
A Page of the Past and a Shadow of the Future. 765
The way in which his retreat was
discovered, by a party of Catholics
from one of the large country-houses
of Gloucestershire, was very amusing
as well as interesting.
They were returning from a pic-
nic at a charming old Tudor manor-
house, one of the seats of the Mar-
quis of Northampton, by name
Compton-Wyniatts, and where the
family tradition asserts a portion of
the Royalist army to have lain hid-
den the eve of the terrible battle of
Edgchill. The house is full of holes
and hiding-places, sliding-panels, and
trap-doors, great ghostly chambers,
and funereal beds, not to mention
the vast cobwebbed garrets which
the soldiers are alleged to have occu-
pied. It has a very deserted appear-
acce, and, indeed, its owner hardly
ever lives there; but it is picturesque
in inverse ratio of its desolation.
Just outside the front courtyard is
the lawn, shaded by chestnut-trees,
and here the picnic took place.
Returning home, and passing
through the hamlet of Brailes, two
miles from Compton-Wyniatts, the
party observed some curious things
lying on the roadside hedges. Upon
examination, they proved to be ec-
clesiastical vestments, and evidently
genuine Catholic property, ritual-
ism being as yet unknown in the
country districts of England. It
turned out that they belonged to
Mr. Duckett, and the whole party-
repaired to Mr. Duckett's house.
This was a cottage in a little garden,
with a hay-field between it and the
old parish church, Protestant now,
but once the only home these costly
vestments should have known. There
was the old man, the priest of the
past, in the homely peasant garb,
now abandoned by the peasants
themselves, in coarse blue woollen
stockings and a snufT-colored coat,
and leather garters at the knee.
Huge-buckled shoes were on his
feet, and a thickly-folded neckcloth
was wound stiffly round his throat.
I saw him myself, later on, when the
existence of this living relic of the
penal days was better known among
the county circle. The lower room
of his cottage, stone-flagged and bare,
was a little school where a few chil-
dren were taught catechism and read-
ing; the upper rooms were reached
by a steep wooden staircase outside
the house. Here was a '* large upper
chamber, furnished," and this was the
chapel. It was as cold, and bare,
and poor as it could well be; the
roughest workmanship was display-
ed in the altar, the rails, and the
benches. The raftered and thatched
roof that was immediately above was
broken and untrustworthy, and the
rain of the last thunder-shower had
discolored both it and the floor be-
low. The small sacristy, off the
chapel, was in the same state of
decay and dilapidation ; hence the
damage done to the vestments that
had been put out in the sun to dry.
Mr. Duckett had treasures here that
many modem churches might, and
with reason, have envied. The vest-
ments — especially a white cope and
a gold-embroidered chasuble — were
very rich and beautiful, and such as
must have been, no doubt, a gift from
some persecuted CathoHc family to
the persecuted temple of God. But,
better still, there was a small leaden
chalice, said to have been used by
many of the martyrs of Tybum, by
special permission given in considera-
tion of the difficulty of obtaining gold
and silver vessels for sacred purposes,
and of the probable sacrilege and
spoliation the known existence of
such vessels would provoke. And,
among other things, there was also a
little bell, wide and round, like a loW"
crowned hat, and four little clappers
inside, making a sweet chime when
766 A Pogf of the Past and a Shadow of the Future.
the bell was shaken. This was after-
wards co]iic(l by the modem artificers
of Uinnmyhain, but they could not
txaiisniit to their copy the mcUow,
time-harmonUcd lone of the original,
in Mr. Duckett's sitting-room, a
small, unpretending, ami homely
nook, was the portrait of his revered
and Ijeloved patron, liishop llishop,
in Mr. iJuckclt's youth thi; only and
supreme ecclesiastical authority in
England. The priest was an old
man now, seventy-five or there-
abouts, but his heart was tnie yet to
his friend and patron, wliose prawjcs
he w:is never tired of repciUing. He
told, al«J, how, although parishes had
been formed around him and churches
bad grown up at his side, yet once his
duties carried him on midnight rides
and to ilistanccs of forty or fifty miles^
for a silk-call or a promised and occa-
sional Mass at some one of the many
places that claimed his care. Broad-
way, a \-illage at the foot of the Cotes-
wold Hills, just at the crjge of the fruit-
ful plain or vale of f iresham, was one
of these stations, and now, as for many
long years past, there stands in its
midst the I'assionist Monastery of St.
Saviour, the nontiate house for the
province of Great Uritain, Two hun-
dred Catholics and a spacious church,
model schools under government in-
spection, an<l confraternities of many
kinds, have turned the far-oA' hamlet,
where a few stray and liunted Catho-
lies were hidden, into a very centre
of rchgion for twenty miles around.
Wordnorton, the hunting-Iwx of the
Due d'Auinale. and C hipping- Camp-
den, a thriving little mission on the
opi»ositc ridge of the Cottswold, are
botii served from the monastery at
Broadway; and so great is the per-
sonal ascendency of the monks, and
so universal their popularity, that ihey
need not fcir the letter of the law, and
do often contravene it by walking
abroad in their monastic habit.
Here is one of the cham
have occurred in the straj
of Mr. Duckett's early lal
while all this is happening
him, the calm old man waits J
summons in the same honidj
unobtrusive dress he has san
by his daily work in the vincy
Christ.
It is said, and I belie\-c wiilv
— al least, I hopt so — that Ih
nastic garb of all religious i
was originally modelled oil
cc-trse habiliments of the p(
and simplest of mankind — the
herds ojid husbandmen of the
working niral districts. If so, i
gests a ver>' beautiful and &
happy thought, anil brings befo
eyes the many parables in
God's church is likened to a
a vineyard, an orchard, a %\
Tillers of llie soil and sowers x
grain, reapers of the harvest an
terere of the vine, are priests an
cons, bishops and monks; a
Ihrough sacred history runs
touching parallel. Nowhere
ligion without her crown of n;
weaving: the blossoming rod
the sreptTc of Christ's juh&il
are one.
And so, lo return to our fric
priest and pastor of a forgoti
happily buric<l age of persecl
God's vojcc called kim in tiro
among the many who daily wi
the temple's outer court be
chosen lo blossom forth in n
life, and to wear his robe of glor
nobler place than that where h
clothed himself like the poor ai
unnoticed, and only wore by s
the sacred garments of his pricn
He died in the year iS66, if |
take not, and his place was fill
a young man, newly ordained,
to l>ear witness how suddenl]
stale of things had died awaj
another had come in its stvai
A Page of the Past and a Shadoiv of tfte Future. yC"^
cni
also, perchance, (u point out to us —
too secure in our present saicly — that
as quickly as freedom had foUQweii
peri.ccution, so wc should be ev^
ready to &ee ptmiccutiou follow free-
dom.
And in these days, surety, we dare
not tliink such a past as that of Eng-
hsh religious intolerance so far ftrom
us as that it should never draw near
us again, and renew ilself in many
sliapcs of tyranny and horror. And
this, not only iu England, where
religious persecution may suddcidy
emerge from the apparent extreme
of religious inditference, and where it
may be earned on, some day, on
members of all Christian communities,
no longer in the name of a state
church or a general catechism, hut
the name of rabid hatred lo a
reator, God, and senseless chafing
against any constituted authority —
not only, I say, may this happen in
England, but in other lamLs, F^stem
and Western, old and new.
I We see it to-day in red-handed
France and J udas-lungued Italy ; wc
may see it elsewhere to-morrow. Per-
secution IS an instinct of the brute;
what is not after its own kind, it has
no desire lo si>are. The prevading
I stems of philosophy — ifwcmay so
[grade the word whose first mean-
g is love of wisdom — tend to [he
lOtheosis of the brute, and the ncga-
lion and indignant repudiation of
anything in man above the brute.
Wlicn this task shall be completed,
id man tiiutated into the right usage
his newly-discovered nature, what
wc to expect but fiersecution in
c form or another from the new
s of the creation, the new mon-
hs of the system of materialistic
eraacy ?
'Ilierc is a new and subtle alchemy
running through the so-called moral
Krld, the Areojiagus of modern
ikcre. Of old, all things might
be resolved into component parts, of
which ^Iti was infallibly one ; now,
all men must be rcsolvetl into per-
ishable parts, ot Mhich each one is
stamped witli the brand of the brute.
It is a sad contrast, and no doubt
it would be needless to defme which
of the two is the more hannful theory.
Let us pass now from the life of the
hidden i)a.stor of an obscure village
to an incident, perhajrt hardly better
known, in the career of one of the
apostles of a great and glorious city,
the same who&e comeliness has been
so cruelly brought low, and whose
desolation at this moment reminds
one too forcibly of the plaint of the
prophet Jcremiali over doomed Jertt-
salem.
The Pfcre dc Ravignan, whose
name is a household word in Franc*
and whose inlluence over the youngH
men of his day was something all but
miraculous, was summoned one night
to attend a sick-calL A carriage w.is
in attendance; the two men who had
come for him represented the case as
of the greatest urgency, but refused
to Uke him with them unless he
suffered himself to be bhndl'olded.
After briefly hesitating, he compli&l
Willi this strange request. The times
were dangerous, revolution was hover-
ing like a storm over the state, secret
societies were in ever-watchful and,
almost infallibly secure fermentation.
He himself was a well-known man, a
representative man, one whose voice
was ever raised uncompromisingly
against die foes of law and ortler —
one whose life was everj- day exposed*
in consequence of his grand fearless-
ness of conscience, to the machuia-
tions of hidden and treacherous ene-
mies. A less suspicious man miglit
have feared a snare in this sir.inge
condition of blindfolding a pricfct
called 10 a death-bed. but the blood
of the old race of g(niilhamiim
that was fast disappearing, added to
the courage of the consecrated line
of God's ministers that never rti^ap-
pcars, made the Jesuit sirong in this
hour of peril, and he forgot himself
to think only of Oie sinking soul to
whose aid he wa» summoned. Hetook
the holy oils and the viaticum with
hira, and left the house in the Kue
de Strvres in the carnage that was
watting at the door.
They drove off rapidly ; his com-
panions pulled down the blinds, and
efTectually shut out any daylight that
might straggle in. llic motion of the
vehicle, however, and the many sikI-
den jerks it gave, indicated turnings
and comers as being constantly
doubled, and even suggested the not
tudikely idea that thifi wa.i done on
purpose, with the object of confusing
the priest's recollection. The two
men preserved a dead silence all the
time. At last the carriage stopped ;
the door was opened, the Pfere de
Ravignan hcli>eti out, and conduct-
ed up a wiile Btaircasc ; doors were
oi>ened and shut, and then the ban-
dage was taken from his eyes, and he
found himself in a large anteroom,
handsomely and massively furnished.
" In the end room of this suite of
apartments, you will fmd the person
who re*iui[es your ministry," said one
of his guides.
He passed room after room with
the windows darkened, and rich fur-
niture giving a sumptuous air to the
large and airy saloons, but order
reigned everywhere. He saw neither
sign of confusion nor heard any
sound of sorrow, nothing to indicate
the presence of death or mortal sick-
ness. He began to fear that in truth
he had been snared by secret enemies,
and that it was his own death he had
to expect as the de'wurmfnt of this
solemn masquerade. The last door
w:u reached ; a curtain hung acro.ss
the entrance, and the chamber was
darkened. One lamp burned in the
768 A Page of the Past attd a Shadau.
furthest recess. He looked in vmio
for signs of sickness; there were nooc:
The roum was a drawing-room, and
was furnishe<l much like the zaL.
But soon a form rose to meet hiiBit
coming slowly from the luvunooB
lounge near the solitary lamp. It
was that of a young man, very Kami-
some, and &shional>ly dressed. He
looked pale and anxious, and hn
hancLt trembleil slightly as he roofed.
Yet sick to deatii he certainly waa
not. Was this his executioner, of
some part of the ghastly nf
his own coming d»>om ? , ^at
paused, and the young stcaik);er aaiJ,
in eager, hollow tones :
*• Afon f^r^, it b for mr th«i yot
arc here. 1 am going to «ltc. I JaB
be dead within twenty-four boon,
but I obtained this favur that 1
might first make my {>cace wiili
God."
'* My son, what docs this mrsn?**
asked the priest " You arc n •
" No; yet I shall not aee to- mor-
row's sunset. I dare say no moiC
1 must make my rmr
.Alt hour went by . nn Diy»
teries that [>avi unseen and urMlreaoK-
of by the careless world soothed and
comforted the doomed man, Wc
know nothing further, nor can wc
ever know aught concerning llus
dreatl interview on the vcT\* IhteKhold
of invisible death ; but. the priest's duly
done, tlie young man craved b^
blessing and his prayers, ami took
an ogoni^ing farewell of the U»t b«>
man being who was to show hha
mercy and promise him forgivcnett,
Reluctantly, sorrowfully, the ptie<t
parted from the victim, and wended
his way through the sf)lendid rooau,
whose beauty now seemed so bule-
ful, as though it were but the rr6ne>
raeni and gloss of ' ■ -y
mairk that hi'l the ti)t
At the door of the anteroom, the
same silent guides were watching his
Skad^nv
Future.
return, and, agaui blindfolding him,
led him out uf the gates tiiat dosed
on such strange mystt-rica, and hid
irom view such appalhng pos&ibilities
of horror.
How many raiglil there have been
of these human holucaust^, immo-
lated in silence, perchance without
the graci:>us respite allowed this one
victim! How many might there
have been, perhaps priests, beguilod
by a lure such as he had thought his
own carrying-off to be, and never
allowed to go forth again, as he was
being providentially helpetl to do !
And what other crimes besides silent
murder n^ight have taken place tn
[that mysterious and seemingly de-
fnon-guordcd bouse I
These and other thoughts not un-
flike them must have presscil jiainful-
'ly on his overstrung mind, as with
the same precautions, turnings, doub-
lings, and joltings the I'tire dc Ravi-
gnan was driven back to the house
of his order, the sinister guides in
whose hands his life had helplessly
and inevitably lain for several hours
preserving yet that impenetrable si-
lence and seemingly respectful be-
havior, which in themselves were
enough to shake the courage of most
men.
'J"hc hoHse was all astir. Every one
had been anxious for the safe return
of the superior from his mysterious
and perilous errand ; for perilous they
had intuitively felt it to be, and had
indeed once attempted at first to
follow the carriage. This, liowever,
had been cleverly frustrated by the
weil-instnictcd driver.
Search was made next day by the
secret police for any house answering
the only description the priest could
imperfectly give j inquiries were insti-
tuted concerning the disappcit ranee
of any person answering the minute
description given by the confessor of
his young penitent; but although the
VOL. XIII. — 49
police swore tliat they knew every
house, and could put their fmgcr
upon every individual in I'aris, y«
not a single trace could be discover-
ed of anything unusual having taken
place in the city.
And there the iu)'slcry remained
and was forgotten, and came to be
related only as a talc of dread and
wonder, and was only known to few.
Kven so the secret organization it-
self^ for nothing but vagueness sur-
rounded its palpable though ever-in-
visible existence, and some believed
that the parti pritrt invented stories
of its horrorsj and others thought
they exaggerated the importance of
its influence.
Then came '48, with its wild vol-
canic outburst all over t^urope, and
under the name of freedom a mo-
dern Vehmgericht convulsed and tor-
tured the civilized world. Those who
had pooh-poohed its existence or un-
derrated its strength were the hrst
to crouch before its explosive power.
Persecution began again, for we all
know the story of revolutions, and
how the final court of appeal was
always death. What mattered it
that the persecutors handled the axe,
the guillotine, or the rifle, Imtcad of
the scourges, the/wrw, the swords of
the Roman lictors ? Amphitheatres
there were, and wild beasts to tear
the Christians in pieces, although the
former were called public squares,
and streets, and garilcns. and the
wild beasts were hideous human
forms. One Archbishop of Paris in
'48 was shot down — perhaps by
chance, but who can tell save only
God ?^on the barricades, as he w.is
trying to quiet the infuriate rabble ;
another Archbishop of Paris follow-
ed him in '71, more foully murdered
in shear demoniac wantonness, be-
cause order and auUiority were re-
presented in his person, and because
to be a child of God was a burning
•
7/0 A Pagt of ihe I\tst and a Shadow of ike Future.
reproach ofTered to the godless and
soulless Cumtiiunc.
Thus, two 3gc3 of persecution join
hands wiihin a short half-century,
an«I in one life, yet in il$ prime, two
figures ore prominently anil personal-
ly interwoven : the old |K:asant priest
who almost drcadetl to have the
sanctuary lamps lighted for fear of
aliraciiny unwclconic notice, so im-
bued was he with the idea that be-
fore the law a Caihohc must need
be a criminal; and the intrepid Je-
suit, having secret dangers in the
fulfilment of his ministry, and know-
ing full well that, before the self-styl-
ed law of lawless tiberty^ to be a
priest is to be nothing better Ihan a
dog.
Some (altc lightly of these things
that are passing as of mere ebulli-
tions that cannot fail to be quelled ;
but where is the [jowcr to quell, the
power to charm these serpents, to
humanize these wvages ? tione
from the kings of the earth, who
have abjured the aid of religion, who
have expelled her from the schools
and colleges, and repudiated her
oiTices in the most solemn and ten-
der relations of life. Gone Irora the
philosophers of this ccntur>', who con-
trol the thoughts of mQliuns by pan-
dering freely to their passions, and
whose first axiom is that everything
that is natural is ti'^ht. Gone from
the timid ftohticians, whose precari-
ous objc::t Ls not the happy and
steady consolidation and progress of
the state, but the maintenance of
themselves and their creatures in of-
fice, and the increase of their hoard-
ed fortunes, fione. too, from the
poets and artists, who should clothe
truth and religion in digniAed and
attractii-e forms, but whose dearest
aim is but to court popularity by en-
couraging vice. Gone, in a word, from
all whose mission it is to r.itse and
gtiide the people, situply because
they 6nd it more profitable lo
with and follow them.
And religion stands this ilav
our divine Lortl stood cr
\\\ ihc Garden of Gfthsci:>
lukewarm and timid disciples in
numbers, and with a Judds stn
with honeyed words to bctmy
The sword she may not use, nor a.
earthly we.i]>on; for» if Go^l
have it so, could he not send her
twelve legions of angels? But n
she stands as he sloo«I, unarm
and when she preached with t
voice of princes and comnunde>l
through the month of statesinen,
one attacked her, even as the J
did not apprehend Jesus when
taught opcidy in the synago
But when worldly power was la
away, when concordats were brok
when heresy rose up in her inii
the enetuii-s of the church fell ap
her, and in their onslaught tore
kingdoms by the root and iranipl
order in the dust. Tbecrtiahcd
look lo her — ^ they shall took npon
him they have pierce*) "—imploring-
ly, but they had tie<l her hands M^
had crippled her in the daw of their
triumph, ami the di-luge breaks over
them and annihilates them, while it
losses the chuich on its turbid waves,
and at each angry toss only lifts the
Ark of the Covenant safer and hi
er toward heaven.
\Vc in.iy be only at the beijinni
of a scathing trial ; wc may be
most at its end. We have seen
blood of the martyrs flow once m
we have seen '71 rival '9,^. and
Mazas Prison rctlcLt the aM
Carmes ; elsewhere we see 1
of blood not yet let loose, Imi HkIi
im)>aeicndy behind the spirit of
lege and spohation. IVrhaps this is
hour before the dawn ; perhaps o
the fmt watch of the night. But
us not think tli.it the nineteenth
turv bears a charmed lilc, and
Sancta Dei Genitrix
771
we dwellers in it have a prescriptive
right to a safe and easy-going exis-
tence. We must he for the church, in
her, with her of hei; be hers in spirit
and in truth, " not merely pause and
hesitate at the threshold, or linger
within the outer courts." This is the
hour of conversions, for the next may
be the hour of martyrdom. And
above all, it is the hour for sound
philosophy, that will lead us firmly
by the hand into the haven of faith,
and show us that, to be a good citi-
zen, one has need to be a perfect
Christian,
Truth is one; and just as water
will rise to its own level, so all par-
ticles of truth, will lead to the foun-
tain of truth. The church has solv-
ed all problems, and fulfilled all
yearnings, and realized all ideals
long ago ; and while men are seeking
what they severally want, the church
has offered it to thousands of their
forefathers before they themselves
were ever bom to seek it.
SANCTA DEI GENITRIX.
Mother of God ! My Queen is simply this.
For this elected, the eternal Mind
Conceived her in its infinite abyss—
With the God-man co-type of human kind.
And she, when came the wondrous hour assigned.
Conceiving her Conceiver, girt him round,
And held in her Immaculate womb confined
That Essence whom the heavens cannot bound !
Then brought him forth, her little one, her own;
And fed her suckling at her maiden breast —
The only pillow of his earthly rest,
And still for evermore his dearest throne
O Lady ! what the worship faith allows ?
The Eternal calls thee Daughter, Mother, Spouse I
772
Liquefaction of th< Biood of St, JanuariMS.
UQUEfACTION OF THE BLOOD OF ST. JANUARI
Os the nineteenth day of Septem-
ber, there will be gathered together
from five to eight thousand persons
in the granii cathedral of Naples, lo
witness again an fjccurrcnce which,
though it has been witnessed thou-
sands of tinaes already, never falls to
fdl the beholder with astonishment
and awe. Perhaps one-half of the
crowd may be from the city of Naples
itself. A large portion comes from
other parts of Italy. Many are from
Austria, Illyria, Hungary, Bavaria,
and Prussia, Russia, England, France,
and Spain. Some are from the West-
em lieraisphere. .-Xnd Moors, Kgyp-
tiaas, Arabs, and Turks, ever travelling
along theshon.'softhe Mediterranean,
are here, too, raising their turbaned
heads among these thousands in the
cathedral, as intent and as filte<1 with
emotion as any around them.
'Ilie greater part of that crowd
believe that they arc witnesses of a
deed done by the direct will and
power of God — a miracle j aud very
naturally their heans are filled with
awe and devotion. Others, again, are
in doubt what to believe on the point ;
but they have come to see, and to sec
exactly for themselves what really
docs occur. Others, aga'm. are sure
beforehand that it is all a trick. They
will spare no pains to detect the
fraud.
AVhat is it they arc all assembled
to sec ? The large cathedral in
which tliey st.ind fronts on a little
square to the north. At the southern
extremity is placed the grand sanc-
tuary and high altar, with a large
and rich basement chapel underneath.
On cither side of the church above,
there are, as is utuul in
churches, small side chap'els
altars; but about the middle
western side a large anrhway
admis^on lo a very targe chapd
day the centre of attraction.
might call it a small church.
Neapolitans name it the Tcs^n
\b cruciform, and a well ' id
dome rises above the iiu m
its nave and transept. I'owan
western extremity, and oppositt
crowded archway or entrance
the cathedral, stands its clc
high alur ; six other altars oc
the transept and sides. The
altar stands about 6vc feet foi
out Irom the solid stone wait <
building. Behind that altar, ii^
massive masoury of the wall,
double closet, closed by strong i
door^, and secured by four I
From this cJoset, at nine a.m., is
taken out a metal life-sized bust,
to contain what remains of the fa
of the head of Sl Januariu-s. b
and martyr, who was put lo deal
the year 305. Tliis bust is placi
the main altar, at the Gospel
Next, an old and tarnished silver
is brought out irom the other
of the same closet. All cyci scfi
ize it. The from and the back
or, rather, both faces of it, for
arc alike, are of heavy glass, sea
fastened to the silver frame,
ing through these plates of
interior of the case is seen t
two antique Roman vials of
held sccua-Iy in Ihdr p
and t>etow by rude masses
ing. black with age. The via'
of difierent patterns, both
774
mon in the museums of Roman anti-
quiiie^. Tlie sinaller one is empty,
save some patches of stain or pclliclc
adhering to the interior of its sides.
The other one, which might hold a
gill and a half, is seen to contain a
dark-colored solid substance, occupy-
ing about four-fifths of the »\rdcc
within the vial, lliis substance is
held 10 be a portion of the blood of
the same martyred saint, gathered by
the Christians when he was decojiitat-
ed, and ever since carefully jircscrved.
Ordinarily it is hard and solid, as it
well may be fifteen hundred and
sixty-odd years after being shed.
Tlie case, or reliquary, as it is pro-
perly called, is borne to the main
altar, and a priest holds it midway
between the middle of Ihc altar and
the bust, that is, about a foot from
the latter. Praycre are said ; hymns,
p&alms, and litanies are recited by
tlie clergy kneeling near. Mean-
while, from time to time the priest
moves the reliquary from side to side,
that he may see whether the exi>ectcd
change of the substance within the
vial has taken place ornot; and he
presents it to thebystanders crowded
around him un the stef>s of the altar,
that each one in succession may rev-
erently kiss it and closely scrutiiii/c
its coudition. At length, after a
greater or smaller lapse of time, [>er-
haps in a few minutes, perhaps onlj
after several hours, perhaps after
many hours, the solid mass within
the vial becomes liquid— perhaps
instantaneously, perhaps ra]jidly, at
times more slowly and gradually,
several hours elapsing before the
change becomes compictc. Some-
times only a portion of the mass be-
comes liquid, the remaining portion
floating :ui a i>tiU hard lump in the
liquid portion. This ch.-ingc is what
is known as tke Uquefactien cf tht
htoodof St. yaauan'us, and Is what
these thousands have crowded the
Liquefaction of the Blood 0/ St. jfanua.
Tesoro chapel and the cathc<!n
witness.
U has occurred repeatedly each
year fur centuries back, it occurs
in public under the eyes of thousauJi.
Accounts of it were written by learned
men and by travellers before the in-
vention of printing. In these latter
centuries, accounts of tt have been
publislwd in Latin, in Italian, m
Polish, in English, French, Gennaxi,
and Spanish — we presume, in every
language i>f F.urope. Some are wri
ten by devoui believers in tlie miracle
some by candid but i>ery>lexcd
ncsscs, who examined for thennselv
and arc afraid to come to a coo<
sion ; while others that we have
arc filled with such mistakes, bo4h
to persons and events and to csta
lishcd regulations, that we felt l
writers had themsdves seen little or
nothing. They had merely got a
hint from one and a suggestion from
another, and had fillet] out the
mainder from the storehouse of th<
own iinap illation.
We ;irc privileged to insert a full
account, written by an American ejic-
wiuic&i* ID 1864. We are unwilliog
to abbre\'iale it loo much, although
the render will find in it thoughts we
have alrcidy expressed or ouy here*
after have to dwell on :
1 hud (or yenn ileirnnined ibat, if
ever t had n chance. I wouM (co \.n N*-
pres to ficc inysctr the celebrated miracle.
Tills year gave me the deaited oftporiooi-
tr. and 1 wuuld not neglect It. Lcaviacj
Rumc t>y lailwav, on Seplember 17. \\
rcaehrd Naples ibat evcnln|>. and rarli*]
the next morning went to ihc calhcdial'
to Introduce myteir, 10 say Ma«t, ind
to take a pre|iatatoTy look. The eatfa«>
dnl is an immciiM: scini-troihic buitdiDg,i
dedicated to the B)cb«cd Virgin, to 5l.J
Janiiarius. and 10 oihri palton aainti of
the city. St. januatius, a native of Na-J
pics, wat Di»hop of Betievenio (a diy
Mtae ihitt^ milc'. Inland), and watapprs'
hendrd in the days of persecution uadtr
Dtoclctian. held tn prison, cxpOMd la
Liquefaction of the Uhod of St. yanuarius.
775
I til
1^ fr.
ttie wild bca.sls witlioul harm, and finally
bcliciidcd near Puuuoli, abmii five miles
from NajilcK, in ihc year 305. His head
and body were taken by the riiristians,
and iiansporicd — ptabably by ni^hl, ccr<
lalnly in secrecy — across ihc bay la the
souihcrn shore, and were ciuonibcd, bo-
twci-n Mount Vesuvius and Uie sen, on
the farm of a Christian called Marcian.
It was the custom of ihv Christians to
gather, as far as ihry possibly could, the
blood shed by their tnaitj'rs. and, placJa^
a poition of it in glass vials, to deposit
such vials in (he lunibs. In the cata-
Lombs at Rome such vials in a niche are
Ihc suiirsl sign that a mailyr was there
deposited. You can 5till see some of
Ihem, ur fiagmenlsuf them, in the opened
vaults ur niches uf the calacumbs. The
tiaU within havo a thin, dark-reddish
cruAl, showing still wheic the blood
reached in the glass. A few years ago,
a chcntiical analjsis of a jiutiion of such
ciust or |jcllidc, made by diiecilon of
his Holiness, fully confirmed this histo-
rical and traditional statement of its oil-
gilt. Such vials are also to be sc»n in
multitudes tu iho Vatican and other
Chrlscian museums, and in the churches
to which ihc remains of the martyrs have
been Iransfericd. As St. Januaiius was
a prominent Christian, and as his mar-
tyrdom attracted the earnest alteniion of
all, we may and should naturally sup-
pose that his cii>e w.ts no exception,
and (hat a portion of the blood was
gathered in \i\$ cii&c, and. as usuaJ, lluit
the vials containing it were deposited
with the body in ihc tomb.
In the Tear 385, peace having bceti
lly icslorcd, and Christian churches
uili. and things quieted, the remains of
£1. Januarius were folemnly uansfertcd
from their original rcsting-ijlace to Na-
ples, and wcic placed in a church or
chapel dedicated 10 him. and situated
just outside the city vails. San Cfnnarv
fx/yj mums still stands. though, of course,
ihc firiil building has Wen rephiccd by a se-
cond, a third. 1 believe by a (onr;h church.
Here, henceforth, near their martyr and
patron saint, the Neapolitan Christians
wished to be buried. And when an oath
was to be taken with the most binding
force and obligation, ii was ndmiuisieu'd
and (aken bcfoic the altar where lay en-
shrined the remains of this great Ncapo-
lit.in satnC- In i;ourse of lintc — it is not
precisely known when, or by what arch-
bishop'-ihe head of St. Januarius and
the amfulite or vials conuinioj; his blood
were transferred intn the ctiy, and placed
in some church — probably in the caihe-
dial, where we know that, eight hundred
years ago, they were catcfulty and rever-
ently preferred in the cathedral, Tnora
or treasury, as they called the strong,
vaulted chamber of stone in which the
tclics of the saints were safely kepi.
The body of the saint was left in the
church extra ttiurof. It was aflvrwardK
taken to Elencvcnlu, thence Tu MunTu
Vcrgine, and in M97 was tTansferrcd in
Naples, and now lies under the principal
alliir of the subleiranean crypt or base-
ment chapel, beneath Ihc sanctuary of
the catliedral.
The cathedral itself is, as I s.iid, a
large serni'Golhtc bnildirg, over three
hundred feel long ami one honihrd and
livenly wide.lulty, well-propririioiicd. anil
filled with columnii, frescoes, marbles,
statuary, paintings, and gilding, vcrv
bright and very clean. It fronts on a
small square to (he north. The sanctu.
ary is at the souihi-tn end. lii the west
side of the building is a lat^e, open arch-
way, about thirty feet broad and forty
feet high, with a lofty open-work railing
of btooccd tneial, and of very artistic
design. A foldmg-door in this railing,
of the same material, opens twelve fceC
wide to usher you intoanatlier ^ood-sizeU
church or chapel, called the new /'nnrv
or chapel of St. Jaiiuaitus, commr^nced in
160S, by the city, in special honor of the
saint, and in fulfilment of a vow, and con-
secrated in 1640. It is nearly in the
form of a Creek cross, over a hundred
feet fiom east to west, and about eighty
from north to south. The ams are about
forty (eel wide, and at their intersection
a cupola rises 10 over a hundred (cct
above (he level of the floor. It is said
this chapel cost ha|{ n million of dollars.
If so, the city faihcrs got the full worth
of thcit money in rich marbles, In mosaics,
frescoes, htunie and marble statues, and
in every sort of finest decorations. There
is a cumplcto service for this chapel.
enlifHy distinct from and independent
of that of the cathedral propcr-~a dean.
twelve chaplains, other minor assisraniii
as needed, and a thoroughlj' supplied
sacristy, in thi« 'J'en'iv chapel arc no
less than seven altars; the main one, 10
the west, opposite Ihc entrance from the
church, another grand one. and lwo
subsidiary ones on cither side of the
cbaoel. There is also a fine organ. The
77«
Ligitcfaciion of H
it, yamtffrms.
main alur suads about five re«l forwaid
1*1011) tlic rear wall of ihc building, leaving
ibua a commodious passage-war boiwcen
ibem. In the massive stone wall iiaclf,
to the rear of ilm main altar, afo two
'flfinoriea. Adjoining rach oiber. In one
of (hem, that lo ihc south, the relic of the
head of Si. Januarius is kept; in ibe
other, to the north, ate preserved the
viaIs cnni;iining liis bluoj. Tba«e nt
morlcs, vliirh I mi^ht call a double ar-
moiy, a(c in thn solid raxsonty. and are
closed by strong yill metal doors, about
Ihi'iy inches bioad and fitly inches high,
each sc-curud by an upper and a luwor
luclc.
So much I saw at this visit in the
CAlhcdtal and in the chapel. The after-
noon I devoted in a visit to PuzxuolJ,
and the scene ni the maityrdum of St.
Jaouarius and bis six companions. On
the u-ay. wc stopped to look at ami enter
the reputed lonib of Virgil, and wc pass-
ed through the grotto of PosiUppo. As
Ihc carriage rolled on over the smooth
macadamised road, ihe Bxy of Naples
sticicbed away on our lefi in all its
bcauiy, smiling and rippling in the Scp>
Icmbcr bccczc, just as il did on Ibe day
they were beheaded. Itcforc us was
Puizuoli, once tbe bcaoiiful summer re-
sori .-tnd waicrinfi- place for Ibe richest
nobles of ancient Kome. olten graced by
the prcseiKc of liic emperor himself, and
still a place of pretension. On our
right, hills and vincvatdsand olive groves
stood now as ihcj- stood then. The pal-
aces mid houses which the saint looked
On are all gone ; but iheir solid stone
foundation w.-t11s have not purished, and
other houses of mnrc modern aspect rise
on iheiii. Tbe mineral springs at Ihe
fool of the hills ate still the same, and
in tbe same repute; aad hundreds are
Itill going to them, or moei us returning
after their baibs. Merc and there, atong-
Bide our smooth mi'Klern road, we see
patches of the old Roman pavement.
large, irregularly-shaped slabs of haid
Clone, lytnf; now niiicb less evenly than
ihey did when senalois, and roriNuls, and
prefects, and Roman nobles loved to
walk aloTi); this toad, to enjoy Ibe bcao-
iiful scene, and In diink in (he healthful
evening bieries that came to them over
Uic Medileiianean.
We readied Hufzuoli. and its narrow,
crocked sireels Sionn led us to the sum-
mit of a knoll or hpiir of the hills, now
1 little back of ibe modcin city. llei<
the ancients bad place«l iheir a
atre. Its remains ate Mill well
cd. The galleiies fur the di^il
aeals for the spectators — ii coul
I$,ooo at least — the arena, whi
gladiators fought and frti, and
wild Ifcasis tore each olhcr or di
ihcir human viclints, are all stil
easily ie<:o|;ru£cO. Wc riilcrcd
ot mason ty chambiir undrr ihe loll
Here Ihc viaims were kept uoiil t)
came for thrusting them forth I
arena in the centtr. It li now a
wiib a single plain altar, at whi<
is celrbiatcd from lime to time,
live lamp hangs down from tbe
masonry above The walls ar
and void uf ornament. The plao
lliilc drcoiation. Who can knee
and noi feci his heart swell as
members Sl Januarius and faia ci
ons kneeling and praying, and X
their summons? It cainr. and lb<
led forth. Wc went, too, lo the
Here they stood, sasialned by il
stancy of faiih. Thcie is the set
uf tbe piefi^ct and his attendaa
otficets. who condemned these Chi
lo death by the wild beasts, ani
come to look on the bloody <
There, all around, rising backwan
above row. arc the scats, filled |]
thousands hoarsely scrcamiQH,
L'Mn:lutMj /f the lu'ti H To their
answered the angry growls and tc
lions and panthers, shut in ihd
beneath — tliosc Tece<is«t in the m;
below the lowest, the front rank ol
For one or two days past tbe beati
been deprived of their fond, ifa]
might he more furious and e^crj
tragedy. Excited by the clamoi;
deneJ br hunger, firnxird. loo, pt
by the sight of Ihe victims, wbo:
could see ihiough the bats of their
—for perhaps ther had already b
perienre of Mirh feasts — the beasts
cd impatiently from end to end ol
small prtsoftt, glared and gr
ihrougb Ihe bars, or impattenlly
to tear Ibem down. The pirlect glv
aignal - the inuttiiitde is hvithrd In
expcctali'in, The sorvitois hat
ward lo the edge ^f the Mat* abo
with cords and pulleys are aflioj
wards the henvy doors in their gn
The iron giate* nipiiTSl the ston
mounts, ifoon out (rum behnr ii
arena leap ilie taremius wild
They rush on. each one intent oa -.
LiqitcfactioH of the Biood of St,
I ti.
a victim. They crouch, ^» \% their na-
ture, for a final spring, fASlening iheir
glaring eyes on the ma<'t>'r8 ; but they
iprinfi not. The eye loses its glure ;
the stilfened tnane and brisiling hair
berome smooih, and, with moans almost
of affection, they draw themselves gently
over the sand up to the martyrs, and
fawn on (hem and lick their feet.
Tlicre will be na bloody tragedy here
ICMJiy. God vouchsafes to the pre*
feet Timoiheus and to these multitudes
another proof of the saintly character
»nd heavenly anihoTity of these men
whom they would stay. Some, we may
hope, were awed, and beliered, and re-
turned to their homc» with hearts yield-
ing to the grace of God ; but not »a the
prefect, nor the majority of that crowd.
Sorcery ! Witchcraft ! Chaldcio super-
Sliiion !" they cried. "Away with the
"angcrous magicians ! If they can do
this, what can they not do? Who Is
sale ? Slay them at once I" The prefect
ordered them lo be led out to the top of
a neitrhboring hilt, and to be beheaded
on its summit in the sight of all and as a
ivaraing to all. Wo followed the steep
and narrow old Roman road up which
they must have walked. The rains have
not yet washed away all o( the old Ro-
man pavement. Vines xnd olive-trees
and flowers of richest hues shade it and
beautify it now, and were not wanting to
it in those days of Imperial ]uxur>'. To
our martyrs it was the road to heaven.
No earthly beauty could cheer them us
they were cheered by Christian faith and
ihu firm hopes of quickly reaching a
blessed inimotlalily. We reached the
spot of execution, the level top of a
knoll, overlooking nonie pan of the city,
ihc beautiful b.iy, Puizuoli. and much of
ihc neighboring country. A little church
stands here now, served by a small com-
munity of Capuchins, who hold the faith
of the martyrs, and try to imitate their
virtues; who seek first the kingdom of
heaven and its righteousness, and hope
that, like the martyrs they honor, they
tnay pass from (his consecrated spot to
the abode of bliss. Here the saint and
his six companions were beheaded. The
Capuchins showed u» in the church a
stone, now inserted In ihe wall and care-
fully preserved, said 10 havfrbren stained
bv- his blood, and stilt to show the stains.
They said, loo, that, when the blood of St.
Januai ius Ijrjuefies in Naples, these stains
grow moist and assume a brighter red-
dish color. This I had no opportunity of
verifying. Here, too, we might almost
guess Ihe route down the precipitous
sides of Ihe hill to the waters of ihe
bay. almost under our feet, by which
that night The Christians bore the body
of the saint to their boat. Across the
bay, hre or six miles oiT, we could see
Ihe houses of Torre dell" Annunzlatn,
ne»t where they landed with it. A little
back lay the farm of the Christian where
they entombed it. A Dcnediciirte nio-
nasiery from the »ixth century mnrkcd
the spot. . . .
As you may welt suppose, nigtit over-
took us before we got h^ick lu Naples.
The next morning, I went to the cathedral
•gain. It WAS the i^lh of September,
the festival proper of the saint — the day
of hi« m^irlyrdom and entrance into
heaven. Tlic exposition of his relics,
during which the liquefaction usually
occurs, commences at nine am. I was
at the door of the chapel at half-past
eight. I found Ihc chapel ulnr:idy cram-
med and jammed. Still, way was made
for me somehow. I went lo the sacristy,
and was then conducted*- back to the
chapel, and into the space behind the
main altar, in front of the armories, to
await the hour appointed. Of course,
the crowd could no* yet enter the sanc-
tuary of the main altar, much less pass
behind the altar. Only five or six prlvl-
, Icged persons were there. M:is5 was be-
ing celebrated at the altar itself. That
over, we sal and w.-iilcd, and I nskcd
questions on the ^ll-absoibing subject.
Since ilic building and opening of this
new 7V/0/V chapel — - that i«, since a.d.
1646 — the relics are in the keeping of the
Archbishop of Naples and the cily au-
thorilies conjointly. Everything is regu.
laied by the long and minute agreement
then entered into by all parlies. I said
each door of llie armories has two locks.
The archbishop keeps the key of one,
the city authorities the key of the other.
The armories cannot be approached ex-
cept through ihe open chapel, and cannot
be opened, B.ive by violence, unless both
parlies are present with tlieli keys.
I was patiently waiting for nine o'clock
to strike. Our number was increasing.
At last there joined us behind the altar
a fall, thin, gentlemanly in.^n.all in black,
about forty-tive >*ears of age. He was
introduced lo roe as Count C . the
delegnte today on the part of the city.
He bore a large red velvet purse or bas
ffB Liquefaction of thi Bleod pf St. 7^ntiarii/s.
with ^Id coids ind bniding. very rich
in its workraanUiip. Opening i(s mouth,
he drew (urih iwo good-siccil, long^han-
dtcd ajiiiqiic keys wuh complicated
wxrds. Tlicy were connected by a siccl
chain, strong and liglii, about bltcca incbes
in length. The cardinal, Uutio Sforza,
is absent in Rome, driven into exile by
Victor Emmanuel's government ; but
before leaving he g.ive lii« l(ey& in chvrce
to one uf |)ie chief ecclcsiaKtics of the
city in bis stead. Accordingly, a c^iiion
of the Ciilltnlnil soon njipeared, bearing
another rtrd velvet b.ii;, nomcthing lilce
the f\t%t, but not so rich, and, moreover,
ftoraewhal faded. lie, lou, iwk out of
his tag two good-si»ed. lung-handled
keys, cqujlly anliifue in their luok and
compliriitted in ibcir wards, and similarly
connected by a steel chain. Cuunl C
inserted one of bis keys in the lower
lock of the armory to the south, and
lutncd it, Wchoard the boll shoot back-
The pious-looking canon was short, and
the upper lock was raihct high, so they
placed some ponable steps in position.
He «»cended them, and inserted one of
his kej-s in the upper lock. That bolt
shot b;tck, loo ; and be swunff the heavy
metal dour open, Wc looked iolo the
Inleiiur of the armor?', about two feel
wide, three and a>tiall or four foet high,
and >ialcen or Incnly inches deep, in the
masonry of the wall. It was lined with
slabs ol while marble, and a scarlet silk
curtain hung down towards the front. A
llitck metal partition divided it from the
oilier armor}'. One of the chaplains of
the Ttsaro ihcn mounted the steps, and
took out from the armory a life-siaed
bust of Sl Januarius, of silver gilL A
tnitrc on the head of it, and a short cope
which had been put on the slioulders,
designated his episcopal cliaiactci. In
the bead of this bust are contained the
iclics of the bead of the saint.
Wc know precisely when this bust was
made; for in the spring of 1306 an
entry was made in the accaunt-books uf
Charles of Anjou, then sovereign of Na-
ples, stating how much silver and how
much gold fiom the king's treasury bad
bccfl given to a ccnain ailificcr as male-
rials, and how much money was paid to
bim for his work titan ship, in making this
very bust. In making it, he modelled
the features after a very ancium bosi of
the saint, still existing in Puuuoli. In
the arcbiepiscopal dtaty, relative to Si.
lanuftrius, under the date uih Scpism-
ber, 1660, there Is a long account siailag
that, it being perceived lUat t}»c tdtos
inside this bust bad becotne sonebow
displaced — M well Uiey might afici 35$
years — the cardinal arcbbifthop, on ihar
day, in the presence of aJI requtMw
wimcsscs, bad the bust opened by a
goldsmith ; hirascif rcverenf)\ to^k oa|
the relics, and held ihom '< > uls
until the guldsmitb had rep ' Ja-
mage; that his eniineoce tlico revucM-
ly replaced ihe relics, p^opf^«ty ynrlrit.
and liad the bust closed n« beforo. aad
inall ihiscaiefully obserrrd tlic ptrscrlp-
lions of canon law. Since then, eveff-
thing has hoca untouched.
Four other chaplains, with torcbea, u-
tended the chaplain whom I saw cake
out this bust, and it was h ^ - -rr*
cession round to the front ^r.
and deposHcd on the ali.ii ., n;
where the missal would siaoiI w.i \ ■
Gospel is read. They then iriuiiu:^ :v
the armory.
Count C with his second kejr ■■-
lockeil the lower lock of ibc other — Um
noitliein armotr- The little canoa agstn
mounted the steps, unlocked the oppcc
one, and swung back the ntctal door.
We looked into the armory ; \\ «as juH
the fellow uf the 6rkt — sixc, raarbie Un-
tng, red silk curtain, and alL Tlte uac
chaplain then, as before, took out (!■
reliquary containing the Ain^Hlf^e or *(als
of the blood. I will dcscitbe it. Con-
ceive a bar or thick plate of ^iUer. aLost
two and a-half inches wide and atNB]
sixteen inches long, to he bent umil U
forms a ring or circle of about 6ve inches
diameter. Lei a circular pt - < ' ->
of the requisite diameter be i 1
firmly fastened lo the •?
ring on one side, and -^
glass be also inserted .*»<j
to the other edge. You will tbu>
as it were, the centre-piece r.i .-
sor}'. five inches across and t'
half inches through, with a -1. v.
and glass plates lormmg the front
rear. On the top. let there be a liitJc '
namcnial scroll-work, chciubs and
wingA, and a central stem rising upwi
and bearing an oval crown three iac
by two inches, and above iliat >
cli;);anily. worked silver crucifix- tlcl(
the circular lim, attach a round, XuAU
bar of silver, about one inch m dij
anil three inrbrsluag. It will terre
a stum to hold the rcliquArr by, or
foot nhicb may be mseiicd into m oj
Liqutfaction of the Blood of St. Januarius.
779
ins filled to recehre \U The K)iquai7
may thus be kepi uprigbt, whethei ii be
placed on a sund on the alur oi put
■way in its armory. This reliquary is
iUoag and plain, with very little orna-
mcQUiioo on ihc silver, but ihai, they
say. In very good siyle. Inside ibis
frame, OI case, or icliquan,-, between the
front and rear gla-ss, and pcifcctly viMble
ihroitgli tliem. &tand Ivioamfuilt or vials
of glass, )kiI)i fasiencd lo the silver rim
ai top and at boitona by rough, irTe^uLar
masses of dark soldcrinK. 'Iliey ate held
lo be the identical glass vials in which a
portion of the blood of Sl januarius was
pouied at tlic time of his mariyrdom,
which were laid in bis tomb, and, in jSs,
were brought with bis body lo Naples,
ami which have ever since been caicfully
;uid levorcntljr preserved. They are of
tlio old Roman paticras and cnaierial.
One majr see hundreds of just such vials
in the museums of Naples and Rome.
One of them is long and n.iriow, like a
modern vial, yet not so even and 5ym-
meirical. The Deck, too, does not nar-
row in [he manner of modern vials. A
fillet runs three or four times round ii
just below tlie neck. Perhaps it was an
urnamcnt ; more probably it iras intend-
ed by the maker to prevent (he little
vial from slipping wbcn held between
the fingeis. The other ampulla or vial
is of a dinTetcni pattern. Its height is the
same ; the neck is a hiile higher up, and
is encircled by a single fillet of an un-
dulating curvature. The lower portion
swells out until it is two inches in dia-
meter, and the vial would hold. I judge,
«boul a gill and a-half. In the interior
of the first itutj>u}iii. I s»>v twa patches
resembling the pellicle which I had seen.
It Rome, left on the innct surface of the
glass vases after the martyrs' blood ori-
ginally contained in them had entirely
evaporated or passed away. The other
vial, THB AMPULLA, contains a substance
ordinarily hard, dark, with a teddith or
purple hue. and tilling ordinarily three-
fourths of the space within the vial, per-
haps a little mure. This substance is
held to be a portion of thv blood of St.
Januarius. still ictained in this vial, in
which it w:ii origirtally placed on iicp-
teniber 19. ad. 305.
In this description of the reliquary and
tlio ampnilit, I havo, uf course, summed
up the result of all the careful and scru-
tinizing observations which I had the
opf ortuoity of making. 1 have not been
able to learn when this silver reliquary or
case was tiiadu. No entry is found set-
tling the point, as in the case of the bust.
The style of ornamentation on the silver
case and on the crown would indicate
about the same epoch of an. But I am
inclined to think it the earlier made of
the two. Charleii uf Anjou showed him-
self to be too liberal in the matter of the
bust to be suspected of bcinit a niggard
in picpaiing the reliquary, and those
coming after him would have Ivlt bound
to be guided by the example of bis libe-
rality. It was probably made some time
before the year 1300, possibly even by
Roger, Kingof Sicily, who vi&iicd Naples
about A.U. 1 140.
Uut to go back. As the chaplain look
the reliquary out from the armory, he ex-
amined it, and Mid, "^1 dur\i t pitno" — " //
ii hard and fuUy In fact, thi larger vial.
as he showed the rcliquar)' round to each
one of the eight at ten persons behind ihe
altar, and as I most clearly s;>w it, was
filled to the vcr>' top, 1 could not be mis-
taken in that; but whether ihe contents
were liquid or solid. I really could not
tell. For the vcr>' fulness prevented any
change being visible, at least 10 my eyes,
in that uniformly dark mass, crcn if the
cuiitonlfi were liquid, although the reli-
quary was moved freely from side to aide,
held horizontally, or even rc?er&cd. Alter
we bad each one venerated and fully
examined the reliquar)-, the canunv with
his attendants bearing torches, bore it in
piDCcssiun to the front of the altar, and
showed it aloft to the people. 1 followed
immediately behind, and ascended the
steps of the altar with ihein. On the
platform in front of the altar, we were
four: I. The chaplain, bo'ding the reli-
quary in his hands by ihe sicin I have
spoken of. He stood facing the altar, or
leaning over it. between tliu middle and
the Gospel end. where now stood the
bust. 2. In front of the bust, and clos«
to the first chaplaia, on his left, stood a
second chaplain, bearing a lighted taper
In a silver hand candlestick. He would
sometimes bold this in such a pusiiion,
eight onen inches off from the icliquaiy
and behind it, that the light from it would
shine on the interior, so that Ihc observer
would not be troubled by the ie[|ccrion
ol the ordinary light from the suilacc of
the plate of gUs» next lo liirn. 3. Count
C , the city delegate, stood at Ihe right
of the first chupULin, and, therefore, iu
front of the middle of the aliat. It is h's
78o
Liquefaction of the Bhod of $t» yanuitrxn:f.
curorn dut}- not to lose si|;bt of the picd-
uuB reliquary from (he moment the doors
or (lie ;irmoTy arc opened bi nine am., until
it i-( replaced there, and duly locked op.
at>oiit half an hour afler suiimi. lie
cannot retire from his post at any lime,
unless his plncc Is supplied by an alier-
nale dclei'ntc, who has been chosen, tind
who, I niiKlnld, had promised to come by
tl A.M. 4. Nekttu Count C . I stood,
or lather kni-lt, until the people crowded
soon me thai I positively had not room
to continue in thai positioa.
The t>eo|>lc, now that llie Mans had
bocn uter for twenty minutes or so, had
entered the sanctuary, or had bc«n iniio-
duccd into it. They completely filled
(he space vrithio the rails ; they stood
crowded on the steps ; they crcn invaded
the pl.i(fonn itself, not a very larfie one.
forcing the attendant chaplains, who had
borne (he torches in the procession, and
vrho now remained to join with the two
chaplains at ihe altar in the prayers, to
rvtire somewhat, and kneel in a Rfoup. off
at the end of the allar ; foicej the count
and inysclfuf necessity to stand : and jtisi
left a liiilc room for the two chaplains 10
turn In, b.ircly ftufficicni.
As I stood up. [ could see the crowd.
The chapel was filled ; there nro. yoa
know, no pcwsor seats in Italian churches;
all were standing as closely as possible
logetlicr. The sanctuaries of the side
chapels were equally ciowded ; men stood
on the steps and platforms of ihrir altars ;
llie very bases of the columns wcie turned
to itccount lo afford a lofty standing room.
And sucli a crowd *. Karnest, inlensctt
curiosity was marked on every face. The
way it mingled with awe and devotion
WHS at limes niiher Judtcrous. Hands
were clasped in prayer, and heads were
bowed, and the lips were reciting some-
thing^ most devoutly : when up ihe head
would be almost jerked, eye-glasses, spec-
tacles, and, a little further olT, opera-
glasses and lurftneites would l>c levelled
at the rFliquar\- for a minute or two ;
and then down with (hem, and again at
the praj-crs. There were Frenchmen.
Germans. En/tlishmen, Spaniards, and
Americans; straniccrs of every nation.
And these bad made iheirway, of cour»e,
closest to the altar ; at Icist they prc>
dominated in my viciniiv. In the boily
of the chapel, the Neapolitans and Italians
tlood. The crowd reached 10 the ratlin)*
under the {land archway, and beyon<l
tbai filled the west aUlc of the cathedral
churck, im4«lfeicbc4 aoto«s die
ihe east n '"^ " •* " '* v^p^ivnu.
The last m '>te«C
These N.-i *' 'f'-''
and brimful uf \\
always eaceediiiKv ■-^'
roaniivf , jjavc lull way |u
and wore praying aloud
The coniBKtn people of N
babil of suoduUting thcit
■peaking, tunning up anii down Ihr
gamiu in « way quite novel to ui, Yvu
heard those tones. no| tnhat w w i — I.
(fOHi the ibouunds who were praying ■
various pitches. Some were in x^otifM
chaniing or haif-stni;ing the liiaibo .
»ome groups were reciting iha iscary
dcvnully: others united In the a«* o4
faith, hope, and charity ; an "icn
in pratersand hymnsappT<> ibis
occasion, and in their own NcajMiIiiaa
dialect Tome it termed s perfect BataL
Uut no one could for an lasunt IcMik oa
them, and doubt the carnesiiw** ol their
faith and the intensity of tlu -e.
My attention was soon .m
group. Of rather line, of a scmi: ^^\ % i^ujy
women, from 50 to So rears oif at«, att«v
along outside the sancruary railiog, \tim
the ceaire d(.Ktr of 11 to (he Go«f>el end.
They all }bincd in one cltoriJA. Tbey aJ
spoke so loudly, their ton*« weie m
earnest and modulated, and iW'ir >^.»iria
made them so pioroinont, ir4
who they were. 1 was i.-1>': ibs
ancient matrons of ' w
Naples who have eiei > iM
blood •relatives ol the ^atnl ; and, by r|j|tf
of presctipiion and usa^e. i\\t\- •xrttpy
that position along the ali-^ ^4■
easlons of (he eapositiou • - ■.«
They were evidently poor, vciy pwr. ll
touched mc lo see here a dignity ef
descent claimed and rvcognizvid lai !»
yond ihat baaed on wealth m woiUll:^
position — a dignity which nobles migM
rtnvc III vain, and yet from which tJNit
poverty and dally drudgery do oM
debar ihe«e simple souls. I aaid Any
were old. Among ihem atuj Hew \n
(bem stood younger wumen and gifU*
other members. I piesuine. ol tbrir fiaat*
lies, who at present played in lower I0*««,
inaudible, ur, at least, nut DOlfceaUe.
in the crowd o( sultJued vuKe* Whrs
they bernmc gtandmoihcra. t prvaaae
they will lake more promiuvni potillaw^
and (rel piivilcgod to r ■■■^' •'•-jt vnfcM
in shriller rones. 1 th' ,4 ibfta
was one excepiloo. I ti..i... , ._,t-ar. b«tt-
like, treble voke, which geoerilly led
(hrir chorufi of litanies or praters, and
which never seemed (o tire. Bui I was
mistaken io ihc eiipposition. I at last
Ir^iccd llie voice. It was that ofan elderly
woman who will scaicdy see sixty again
She stood in the line, tail, thin, emaciated.
Her brow was lofiy ; hef eyes cleat, and
blaiing with animation ; her cheeks
sunken in, not a tooth left : and. as she
spoke, her broxd chin seemed to work Dp
and down a full inch. She wore a clean,
old, faded calico gown, without any starch
in it ; and around her head was wound,
like a turbnn, a bright, slifTcncd, led and
yellow bandanna, reminding me some-
what of the respectable colored maumaj
I had seen in the South. Her \'oice was
clear and sweel, and she made free use
of it. Others might tire, or rest, or stis-
jiend their clamoious prayers for a while ;
bill slir,no. she never tired, and her voice
was ever heard among the rest, like a
clear trtimpcl slop in a full organ. It was
delightful, at last, to wnich her occasion-
ally, as she kept her eyes fiied on the
bust of the saint on (he altar, and every
feature of her countenance kept changing
to express the sense of her words. Were
she not in church, her hands and arms
and whole body, I am sure, would have
Joined in the movemenis. As il was, she
confined herself to bowing her head, or
turning il slowly from side to side, ye|
alwiiys keeping her eyes fixed on the
aliar. I had seen, m;tny limes, earnest,
siknl. tearful prayer. Here I witnessed
equally earnest, noisy prayer. 1 might
come lo like it, but only after seme time
and after many trials.
Wliile this universal hubbub of prayer
was filling the church, the chaplain, still
holding the reliquary in his hands by the
stem beneath, bent over the altar, and,
with Ihc other chaplains and those of Ibe
bystanders who joined in, recited the
Afiserere and other psalms, and the Alh-
inasiaa Creed, and various prayers. His
face glowed with the intensity of his feel-
ings. He kepi his eyes earnestly fixed
on the icliquar^', from time to time mov<
iltg it over from side to side, and cKamin.
ing it. Sometimes ho rubbed the glass
face, front or rear, as necessary, with his
white pocket-handkerchief, that he might
see more clearly the interior. Sometimes
■he other chaplain held the candle In a
proper position to aid his inspection. In
about five minutes, he turned round with
ihe reliquary to the people, and held it
up, with tho candle behind il, that all
might see. lie let those near look as
scruliniaingly as they wished, reached 11
to each one of the ten ot fifteen on the
platform and upper steps to kiss it, und.
If they chose, as, of couise, they did, to
examine it. at sis or ten inches distanrc.
He then turned to the altar as before, and
Ihe litany of the saints was recited, with
someoiher prayers. In about five minutes
more, he iig;im turned towards the people,
and gave the immediate bystanders an-
other opportunity to examine the reli-
quary closely as before. Then ngain to
the altar for other psalms, hymns, and
prayers. Tliis alternation uf prayers at
Ibe altar, holding the reliquary near the
bust, and of presentations of it lo the by.
slandcfSand the crowd, every live minutes
or so, continued for over half an hour.
But no change was visible. Once he Irft
the altar, and making his way — I could
not imagine bow — into the crowd outside
Ihe lunctuary in the body of iho chapel,
gave to those lo the right and left ot bis
route a similar opportunity. On another
occasion, he went down ag,'tin ; hut this
lime be turned to the right, and went
along the line of " relatives." How their
fervor inctcased, bow their drmonstm*
lions became more energetic, their words
more rapid, their chorus fuller, Iheir
voices louder and shrillei I He camo
back : but still no change. The alterna-
tioos conlinueil as before.
At last, a little after ten o'clock. I saw
a change. 1 think I was the very hrsi to
perceive it. On all the previous times
and up to ihis, the amputla or vial was
perfectly full, as 1 bad seen it when first
taken out of the annorr. I now noticed
a faint streak of light between the sub*
stance in the vial and the top, or, rather,
tho mass of solder into which the top of
the vial entered. I was sure it had not
been there before. I could scarcely see
il now. This time, as on several other
occasions, ihe chaplalD came twice or
thrice around the rrng of immediate by-
standers, those at Brat in front courte-
ously giving way that others might in
turn come forward. Bui I, of course,
retained ray place. As be came round
the second time, and approached me
again — I was within the line or semi-
circle — I saw thai the streak of light was
now clear and unmistakable. Il caught
the eye of an earnest little Frenchman
who, far the last half-hour, had been
pressing against me, at times lather ia>
A
783
Liquefaction of the Blood of Sf. Xanuarius.
confcnicnily. Hebuistrij{litoui: " Don't
you 9€< ihc light in il? Il is changing!
It is liqucfyiDgT Tbe chaplain now
looked at it aitcniively. moved il frora
aide lo side a lililc, rubhci the glasses
wilhhiR white handkcichief. looked ajpiin,
hill went round ilic circle of by Mandeis a
lliird lime. Asain he examined it. By
this liina the Mrcak of light had become
half AD inch t^road. He moved tbe reli-
quary from side lo »lde slowly. We saw
the vacancy now left above yield and fol-
low hia motions, just as the air bubble
does in a spirii-Icvcj. clearly showing Ibc
contents of ihc rial to be new perftith
liquiJ. Some looked on in fiilcnl awe ;
some shed tears ; srtme cried oui, " Afira-
eat$ I mtinnfifof Tlie cKajilain waved hif
nhiie linndkerchicf in signal thai it really
was M). Rose-leaves in quantities were
thrown up from ihc crowd outside the
sanctuary, and rained down on U5. A
dozen little birds that had been held cap-
tive in the baskets with tbe roses were
liberated, and rose circling upwards to
the windows of the dome. The grand
organ Imrsi out in tlic Te D^um. The
vast crowd with one voice look up the
hymn, almost drowning the full tones of
(he insirument. The bells of the c:«thcil-
rat lower, in full cbiiaes, sent the annooncc-
mcnt over the t\Ky. and the hills and
valleys around, and over the qutci waters
of the bcautilul bay. All the bells of the
other churches ol Naples chimed in, and
quickly thr cannons of the Castle of Sant*
Elmo joined in tbe chorus with a grand
national salute.
Meanwhile, hundreds were approach*
Ing the altar to see with their own eyes
that the blood was liquid, and to venerate
the relics. Another chaplain now relieved
tlie first, and continued to present the
icllquary to those who were crowding up.
I sittl retained my position. The hlotxl
continued to diminish in volume, until i(
sank so as to be a full half-inch below
the neck of the vial. It was perfectly
liquid, and. when the reliquary was turned
or Inclined, il ran off the upraised sides
of the ampulla at once leaving no more
trace behind than would so much water.
Alter hah an hour or so, the bust arid
the reliquary were carried in procession
out from the chapel into the cathedral.
The procession moved down the western
aisle towards the doors of the church,
luroed into the grand nave, and advanced
uplolhesanctuapi-. 'Iliebust was placed
un the high iliar, and th« canoiu of fhA
cathedral replaced the clMp1ai<
Taoro chapel In the dutr of pi
the rcUquary to the people, as
proachcd in undiminished nu.
rcncnie and tnapeci li.
At eleven. I said Mass at the all
r had witnessed the liqurfaciif
(he .Mass. I went into the irhi
spent another half-hnur theie.
sands pouring in from the s.|f
Mill flowing in a constant ^ireas
the high altar. A little after
left. . . ,
Next morning, I said M;i9s
the same aliarai eight A.M., and U
o'clork was again at the doot
armories. Count C came p
with his bag of key*. So did
canon on the part of the archbl
was totd that the sacred relfr*
mained exposed all dar, after I
Ihc hiK'h aliar of the caihrdral, i|
remaining liquid all the lime;
about dark, they had, according
been brought back to Iho 7>f»n»
and had been locked up. as usua
night, in tbe armories. This
they were lo be again brought oat.
C and Ihc canon used their
as yesterday. The bust was ta
and carried in procession lo tbe
the altar, as before. Then ihi
armory was opened, and the i
was taken out by the chaplain,
hard, and at its ordinary level,"
and showed it to us. The bk
stood in the amfuHa, not, as yce
filliDg it. but reaching on\y to
inch below the neck, leaving nbo
fourth of the space within unoo
It was certainly solid and harti
turned the reliquary to one side
other without Its moving at all.
held the reliquary upside down.
blood remained a firm and u
mass, attached lo the bottom of i]
up-Iurned ampnila. It wascaniej
altar. We stationed ourselvcfl
yesterday. The sanctuary waj fil
visitors, but not so crowded a<
former occasion. Tfac chapel, ^
not so densely jammed. Non^
forced to stand out in the rhui
want of room. Tbe " relatives"
their post, and [iraycd fust as
hul the miracle having occurred
fea«l itself, ihey wer« satisfied
would occur, as a matter of taut:
day of tbe cxposilloa tlirougboi
ociavev At least, so I lead ibel
Liquefaction of the Blood of St. yanuarius.
783
tenances, wtiich were le» neivouslT anx-
ious than yesicTdny,
The chaiilain cvinmcnceJ llie Mittrtrt,
th« DtUf fHormw miiitum. and sundry
prayers, llic clergy joining in. Every iivc
minutes or so. \w turned to ^llyw the reli-
qunry to ihc people. e»peclatly. of course,
10 iboKC initneilialely around the altar.
In just sixteen minutes after we had
readied ilic altar, the first symptom of tho
coming change showed itself. As (ho
cha(>lain held the reliquary for a moment
complciclv icvcrscd. and steady in that
position. I noticed that the surface of Iha
blood within ibc ampuUa, now, as he held
it, underneath, showed a tendency to sag
downwards, as if it were softening. Soon
again. I saw that around Ihe edge, where
it touched the glass, ii had ch.inged color,
and was of a brighter red than in the
middle, and seemed vciy soft, almost
liquid. In face, as he would incline the
reliquary to one side or another, the
entire mass within h<.-j>an soon gindually
to slldu down and occupy ihc lowest
position. Still, though soft, il was thick,
and could ^carctrly be caJlod liquid. Then,
in two or thicc minutes more, il became
still softer, until i( was quite liquid, with
a lump, neverlhelcss, which seemed lo
remain hard and to Boat in the liquid
potltiin. To day, as the gla&s was moved.
U)e liquid woulJ run ofT.ofcourse. Kul.
whereas ycsicrday it left ihe glass quite
clear and clean, as water would ilo, now,
on ihu contrary, it left a reddish thick
liogc behind, which only slowly sank
down into the general mass. After a
while, luo, Ihc tlood seemed lo froth, or
show bubbles on lis surface — it> Mi, as
the Italians say. I remained over half
an hour more to sec it. and I noiiced that
at ibe end of thai time the lump had dis>
appeared, and all was quite liquid. Tho
frothing coniinued.
After this. 1 was invited 10 go into the
saciiMy. where ihey showed me ihe
Superb i-cclcsiaslical ^-e^tmcnls belong-
ing to Ihc cliapel — the mitres, necklaces,
chalices. ciboriums,aslensuTies, iind other
lich jewelry — in great pail, the gifts of
emperors, kings, and other nobles and
wealthy onci. who, for centuries past,
have given thetn as oirerlnfjs to this sane*
mary on occasion of their visits. Fin-
ally. 1 had to tear myself away. Return-
ing for a few momcnis lo the chapel, I
found the crowds still approaching the
aliar to examine and 10 venerate the
relics.
Reluctiolty t left the oithednil, and in
a few hours a railway-train was bearing
mc fast and far au-ay from Naples.
I have thus, my dear S . set fonh
minutely and at length what 1 saw. They
say th.1t in the liquid blood one may still
sometimes sec a smxil fragment of straw
tloaiing about. If so, it must have beca
taken up with the btood when it was
gathered al the execution of (he saint,
and must have glided unperccived into
the im/^.'/j when tlic blood was poured
into it that day. A young friend with me
thought be caught a glimpse of il. Ilia
eyesight is keen, which, you know, mine
is not. Anyhow, [ did not see it. I need
not tell you of various other little points
of which the Neapolitans speak, as I had
DO opportunity of testing them or verify*
ingthem myself. I have told you, simply
and sttaiKhlforwardly, what fell under my
own experience.
Our readers will not regret the
length of this account of the lique- ■
faction, so full and minute in the de*
tails. The letter from whidi \\c ex-
tract it was written immediately after
the visit of the wriier to Naples, from
notes made at the time, and while
the impressions left on his memory
were siill ft-esh.
It was not necessary, in a letter
like that we have made use of, to
enter on the discussion of mooted
points of archseology. ITie writer
simply sets fortli the opinions which,
after more or less of examination, he
tell inclineii to adopt. We say here
that there is a difference among writ-
ers as to the year in which the body
of Sl- Januarius was transferre*! from
the original sepulchre to the church
of San Gennaro extm muros, and
there is still a graver ditfcrence as to
the precise place of the original
tomb. Some have held thai the exe-
cution took place on a mun: cle%'3t>
eii spot on the same hill which the
letter mentions — about a quarter of
a mile distant from the church of the
Capuchins — and that this church
marks not the site of the execution,
AS the letter holds with the NeapoU*
784
LiqtufaclioH cf the Shod of St. yanuarius.
ten archxologbta, but the site of the
firat leroporary intermcm, from which
the body was borne to Xapltrs, twelve
or fifteen years later than the jcar
assigned above. The&c arc mmor
points on which we may let antiqua>
rics argue at pleasure.
In another anicle, we purpose to
examine the character of the fact of
the liquefaction of the blood of St
Januaxius, according lo exact records
of its history for Kveral centuries
back.
For the present, we close with the
latest account of its occurrence whidi
has fallen under our eye. The Hi//
Ma// Bui/j^f,o( May 26 last, has the
following: "The blood of St. Ja-
nuarius seems to have been lately in
a more perturbed state, if poRsible^
than ever. 'J'he Li/ter^ Catlo/ka of
Naples gives an account of some un-
usual appearances presented by this
relic, on the 6lh inst., one of the
annual occasions on which the holy
martyr is honored in the cathedral
of Naples. On the day in question^
Saturday, May 6, at a q
four P.M., the reliquary bcii
out of its tabernacle, whi
remained since the i6th ■
ccmbcr— the feast of the
— it was found j»artly liquH
laid up. It continued in
state during the procession
cathedral to the church of
and, after thirteen minute
crs, the sign of the rairacl<
en, the portion which had
hard being perceptibly siill
solved, so as to show that
de bad taken place. Gra4
ing the kiaung of tlic ret
the congregation Rt Sr. C
came entirely ?,
turn to the ■ ^ , c<
what had taken place ilurii
few years, it was found to
pletely hardened. When
to tlic chapel of the 7r/«(
solved anew, and now en
remaining tliick and gluiiq
in that state was Uid
ten r.M."
TO H rornnvKD.
Lucas Garcia.
785
LUCAS GARCIA.
noM THK tTANISH OF rMNAK CAIALLXKO.
* Ih %st age when kU impressions are effaced by the double hammer of civilization and Incredn-
lit^, It is toucUnc and beautiful to see a people preserre a st^la diaracter and Immutable
beliefs."
Eastward from Jerez, in the di-
rection of the Sierra de Ronda, which
rises in a succession of terraces, as if
to form a suitable pedestal for the
rightly named San Crist6bal, He the
extensive Llanos de Caulina. A bare
and uniform road drags itself for two
leagues through the palmettoes, and
makes a halt at the foot of the first
elevation, where a lazy rivulet widens
in the sun, and, stagnating in sum-
mer, changes its waters into mire.
On the right is seen the castle of
Malgarejo, one of the few Moorish
edifices that time and his faithful
auxiliary in the work of destruction,
ignorance, have left standing. Time
makes ruins, groups them, crowns
them with garlands, and adorns them
with verdure, as if he desired to have
them for places of recreation and
rest; but the barbarian ignorance
gives no quarter — his only delight is
in dust ; his place of repose, the de-
sert waste ; his end, nothingness.
The angles of the castle are flank-
ed by four large towers. These, as
well as the walls of the whole enclo-
sure, are surmounted by well-formed
turrets, perfect still, and without
notch or break in their beautiful uni-
formity. The castle took its name
of Malgarejo from a knight of Jerez,
by whom its reduction was accom-
plished in a manner so curious, that
we cannot resist the inclination to
VOL. XI n. — 50
relate it, for the benefit of those who
are imacquainted with the tales of
partisan exploits that abound in the
annals of Jerez.
In the beginning of the thirteenth
century, a hundred and fifty Moors,
with their families, occupied the cas-
tle. They went clothed in white, ac-
cording to the custom of their na-
tion, and mounted gray horses. Shut
up as they were, they procured their
subsistence by foraging the country
at night, and carrying to their strong-
hold whatever booty they could seize.
Malgarejo resolved to get posses-
sion of this formidable place. It was
surrounded, at that time, by a wide
moat This moat — opened by the
Moors for their protection, and after-
ward serving them for a sepulchre —
no longer exists.
The Christian cavalier had a slave
that was a most accomplished horse-
man, and to him he promised liberty
if he would swear to devote himself
to the proposed undertaking. The
slave, agreeing, was entrusted by his
master with a mare of singular agili-
ty, and was directed to train her to
leap a ditch, which was to be en-
larged, by degrees, to the width of
the one that surrounded the Saracen
castle.
This being accomplished, Malga-
rejo called together his followers, dis-
guised them as Moors, caused them
to cover their horses with white
cloths, and, one night, when the gar-
786
,veas
Tuon had sallied out upon a raid, up-
proached the fortress. Those williin,
taking his host for the one they were
expecting, viewed its oppro^h with-
out suspicion. When the Cliristians
caiuc nearer, they s:iw ihcir mistake,
^iid would have rai&cd the bridge,
but the slave of Malgarejo had al-
ready leaped the moat, and cut the
cords, so that it could not be lifted ;
and the yh-fzanos made ihenisclvcs
nijuters of the castle.
The sight of this strottghold, over
which the destroyer Time has passed
leaving as little trace as would the
footstep of a bird, transports the be-
holder to the past with such vivid-
ness of illusion, that he is surprised
not 10 sec the pennon of the half-
moon fluttering above its towers, and
misses a snowy turban from behind
ever)' one of its turrets. No filter
place could be found for the repre-
seotalion of a fight or of a tourna-
ment between Moors and Christians.
'llie road lo Arcos leaves on its
left the sleeping stream and the
deail fortress, (vjthin whose precinct,
like ants in a skeleton, laborcra ply-
ing the tools of peaceful husbandry
are moving.
Ascending this first step of the
mountain, the traveller crosses other
plains, covered as far as the eye can
see with rich harvests, and, finding
no nearer inn or stopping-place, takes
his siesta at the grange of La I'enu-
ela, formerly the proi>crty of ihe
Carthusian fathers — an order so pi-
ous, so severe, so worthy and re-
spected, that ll)c country folk still
ask each other, '* And was there in-
deed a power that could, and a hand
that would dare to touch such men
jind such things ?"
As the country rises, it covere it-
self with olive groves, as if it would
shelter white and ancient Arcos in
the pride with which she pre<erves
her title of city, her venerable privi-
leges, and her state pore
spite of decline, or, bet
spite of her sriU life^ in Cb4
the progress that waits
march of time — a progra
gentle, deliberate, and spoi
True to the guerilla t
Moorish founders, Arcos
the traveller, wearied w ith
alternately advancing aiM
until, passing between two I
he enters unexpectedly int-
beautiful for situation as i
and delight even tliuse wh
ly moved by the cTharnis
or the enchantments of
resque.
One afternoon, in the
or thereabout, a crowd i
might have been seen
poor-looking house in, the
San l-rancisco. From ti
they had carried, on the
day, the body of one who
its mistress, and the netglil
now uniting for the totuf^
iiuired by the rigorous
which is observer! by the p<s
which manifests the instinct
tesy and dignity that dtsiingui
For all etiquette and all c
are founded upon Ihcae l*a
are not the ridiculous and s
things, either in publii: or
life, that the revolutionary
the age. and the anxiety tc
from ever)* rein, material an
would make us belie\-c Ccf
and clirjuctte, in the right
tion of the words, arc cxter
dud, disposed so as to give
to things divine, considerati
resi}ect to things htrnian.
Uq entering the house. iSie
assembled in the parlor of tk
t:r'%habitatum.^ O'
was onolher, which i .
■ A Immw Mmciimtft eoautat i
mita of ftfNTuneaM (or AMlnci I
one tbmi « hmbltauoti.
Lucas Garcia.
7^7
a neighbor for the accommodation
of the men.
Upon a mat in the middle of the
apartment first mentioned was ex-
tended a handkerchief, into which
each person, as he entered, threw
one or two copper coins, destined
for the stipend of the Mass of San
Bernardino. This custom is observ-
ed not only among the poor, but
also among those who are well-to-
do, for this Mass must be owed to
charity. Let sceptics and rational-
ists explain this as best suits them.
We look upon it as an act of humi-
lity, joined to the desire of uniting
many suffrages. And although we
may be more impressed with terres-
trial honors, such as a splendid fu-
neral, a showy catafalque, and a proud
mausoleum, the fervent petition of
the heart, the coin given in charity,
the prayers of the church, are better
suffrages for heaven. In a comer of
the room, upon a low chair, was the
principal mourner, a little girl of
eight years. Wearied with weeping
for her mother, and with remaining
so long in one position, she had
leaned her head against the back of
the chair, and fallen asleep — for
sleep is a lover of children, and has-
tens to their relief whenever they
suffer in body or spirit.
*' Poor Lucia," said one of the
mourners, a kinswoman of the de-
ceased, glancing at the child, " how
she will miss her mother!"
" This was the thorn that poor Ana
carried to the grave fastened in her
heart," observed a neighbor.
" But," asked another, " of what
did she die ?"
" Only the ground that covers her
knows what ailed her," answered
the relative, " for Ana did not com-
plain. If she had not been so thin,
you might have drunk her ; as yellow
as a waxen flower, and so weak that
a shadow could have knocked her
down, no one would have thought
that she was on her way to Holy-
field."
" She died of a broken heart !" ex-
claimed an energetic-looking young
matron ; *' all the world knows it ; and
because we have an alcalde that is
afraid to strap his breeches to the
work and cast out of town with the
devil's sling these trulls of strangers
who come among us to set up drink-
ing-houses, and chouse married men,
to their perdition and the ruins
of their families !"
" Yes, yes, the alcaldes have eyes
of fishes for all these things," said the
relative of the deceased, "just as they
have owls' eyes for some others. But
they'll get their pay, woman ; for
though God consents, 'tis not for
ever ! "
" Yes," answered the first — " con-
sents to the death of the good, and
lets the bad live, and crow on. God
reserves the justice of heaven for
himself. The rod of earthly justice
he puts into the hands of men ; and
a fine account they'll have to give
of the way they use it ! I'd like to
break the one our alcalde carries
upon his shoulders!"
" Neighbor," said an old woman,
" you are more hasty than a spark
from the forge ; you attack like the
bulls, with eyes shut. Think whom
you are speaking of; and bear in mind
that ' evil wounds heal, but evil
fame kills.' Poor Ana was never
well after her last confinement.
Death does not come without a pre-
text : the summer pulled her down,
and September finished her; for
' from friar to friar,* God be our
guard !' "
" Of course. Aunt Maria," retorted
the young woman, " it's quite proper
for you, because you are aunt to
Juan Garcia, and cousin to the al-
* aSth of August, St. Augustine ; 4th of October,
St. Frincis.
Jss
Lucas Garcia.
caliie, to say so ; for * with tca&on or
without it, aid us God aod our kin.'
Hut I tell you tliat iny Jose is not to
set hts foot innde of £a Lem^t*
giii'sltop; and I'll see that he don't 1
A man may be as honest aa Job,
bul ill ' the huuxe of the sou|>-iiiakcr
he tluU doc&n't fall &l:i>s.' And say
what you please, you who arc a
widow, with the coolness of age in
your veins, I shall not go bark of
what I have 5aid. ' He that jumps
slraijjht, falls on his feel,' and 1 say.
and rvsdy it : tliey oughi to flay
alive the K^^od-for- nothing calamary
of a shc-scrgeanl, with her sentry-
box figure, and face darker than an
oil-sktn, so fuU of pock-marks that it
looks as if she had fallen into a bed
of L'huik-[)ea:i, and more hair on
her lip than a grenadier! Remem-
ber the proverb, 'Salute the btarded
woman at a dbtance !' "
" And her children," said the mour-
ner — •* little imps that she keeps so
greasy and ne(;lct"i«l 1 They look
like a nest of calamariei."
" Itut she thinks tlieui little suns,"
added another.
" Ya !" cxclaimeH the fint who
had spoken ; " said the black beetle
to her young ones, ' Coinc hith-
er, my liowers T and the owl calls
hers ' drops of gold.' Who ever
saw such a thing, sirs," she contin-
ued, growing excited — ^^ who ever
saw anything so wicked as to dupe
a inimeil man, the father of chih
dren, rum him, pull ilown his house,
and murder his wife by mchesl And
this is known antl [Kmiittedl I tell
you, sudi a thing i>inks deep !"
** Yes, it is worse than stabbing
witli a knife," exclaimed one woman.
" It cries to God !" aJded another.
" It is a scandal of tlie monstrous
kind." proceeded die first. " Poor
Aqo, though 1 did not see inQch of
her, I I&ved her well. Atmod
is not miUlcr than she was«
meek and free from malice as
in the handH of the buictt
menl men I There is a d
them that pull their clothes
their feet; and that is the rca
dear Lord wculd not wear bi
but always drcised in a tunic,
" Come, daughter,** said A
ria, " noihing is mended by i
tioii, nor by spitting out the
Let us pray for the soul of
parted, for that U what wU
benefit her."
These words were the Bi,
complete silence. Audi Mai
her rosary, the rest folluwing
ample, and, after saying the
contrition and a .solemn cm
ceeded to recite the rosary
rejieaiing three times after
ternoster, and instead of the
Mary,
*- O Lofd. t»]r ifcy lelluiu mtnj^
the Others answering in chonu
"Cnint to ibe Kiitb uf tbe (klthAJ
|)«ac««iul %\aTy."
Nothing was now heard
mourning room of the woiiie
tlic grave murmur of the pray
suppressed sighs of pity and i
The other i>arlor jireurnted
dificreul spectacle. The widow
reiic as a glass of water, and cu
frcsli lettuce, now that the dsy
burial had passed, considered h
dispensed from the attitude of
ing, anil smokcii, listening anit
ing to all. just as tmul, as if
had cnterct] his house and de)
wtthuut leaving cither trace c
pression of his awful presence.
Tlic indifferent ones followi
cx.iniple, so that, had riot all
cloaks, no one woul.i
thai this was a con< '
butcof love and respect to
had ended, and of sympathy with an
overwhelming sorrow. The only
figure that appeared to be in harmo-
ny with the object of the reunion
was that of a boy Ihirtcen years old,
the son of the deceased, who sat
near his father with his elbows rest-
ing on his knees, and his {a.ce buried
in his hands, weeping inconsol-
ably.
" What kind of day has it been ?"
asked the widower.
•' UnheaUhy," answered one.
" And the sky ?"
*' Patched ; I think the rain is not
far off. There was fog this morning,
and ' fog is the rain's sponsor and
the sun's neighbor.' "
" The wind will soon sweep the
cobwebs from the sky," said a third,
" for it blows from sunset side. The
rain is shyer than sixpL-nccs."
" No matter," .inswered ihe first,
"last year it did not rain till All
Saints ; and a better year, or another
of the same piece, hasn't been seen
since the crcition. Laborers, farm-
ers, and tenants all got tired of gath-
ering, and liad more than. enough^ —
the barley, in particular, grew so
thick that you couldn't set a spade
between the blades,"
" The month of January is the
key of the year. If the sky docs not
open in Januar}-, there will be no
harvest."
" Hola ! Uncle Bartolo ! " all c.x-
claimet^, as a small, vigorous old man
entered the apartment. *' Where do
you hail from ? where have you been
ever since we missed you from
here ? "
Uncle llartolo, after offering to
the mourner the usual condolences,
seated himself, and, turning toward
his interrogators, replied :
"Where do 1 come from? The
district of Donana, without var)'ing
from Ihe most direct line. Since the
French war ended, and I look the
road, I have been water-carrier* to
the yi/u Sirs, t They have (hem there
in Donana of all complexions^legiti-
uiate, grafted, cross-breed, and !iu|>-
posititious, even English. Cabailtros!
Deliver ua; blit those Swiss nf the
French are the ones ! Stout fellows ;
very while ; very ruddy j very fair-
haired, and very puffy. But as to
spirit, they have no more than they
flrink; and grace, they have not any.
They carry their arms like the sleeves
of a capote, and set their feet down
like |>estles. ■Whenever I saw those
feet that resembled ja&eques, J I used
to say to myself,
Styni of ■ f<>od beast vc'
For talking, they make use of a
kind of jargon that, in my opinion,
they themselves don't understand.
'Hicse parleys that I don't compre-
hend displease me, for I never know
whether I am being bought or sold.
" There was one— ihc size of a
tunny-fish — they called Don 'Turo.^
He fell to me. To see him blowing
and sweating over those sands made
one pity him, for a league finishes
them ; ihc sun offends them ; the
heat makes them we.ik, and dissolves
them entirely. That platter face
would persist in doing everjthing
contrariwise, as they do it in his
country. Once he took it into his
head to use my clasp-knife to eat
with, .ind cut himself. Willi ilint he
got out a medicine-chest as big as a
surgeon's. * Co along ! ' said I to
myself, 'aspidcT bit me, and I bouwl
the wound up in a sheet.' He was
as hard-hearlcd as a comer. .Another
time he made up his mind that he
ought to shoot a partridge, and.
* At»*«m, wster-cirrler, fkJ>I »r k sefrantor
very Uhorinu* person.
t L*t tftiiu, ih« Vmi Sim. Tfaat h to nr.
Knn<l folka Ui>t mutt t>c Iremieil lo the ViU4
(yau1, Inttcari of ihe tu (tbov) ul cuinno«i t>mi>lo.
; Ja^ti/u*, a dumky Uir«e-iluttcil rcuci u>e<l
In tbc McditenmACan.
I Ansro.
790
Lucas Garcia.
ihuugh I luld him il was again^ the
law to shoot partridges at that season,
he fired, aud would have fir«l if his
father had stood before the mouth of
his guu. He £red and killed an ur-
raca,' 'Sir,* said I, *what has your
hoDor done ? ' Says he to me, ' Kill-
ed the partridge.' • Why, sir, it is
n't a partridge, it's an u^t^ca.' * It's
all right,' said the big bungler, quite
<:ompasedly. ' Hut it '\% not right,'
answered I ; * the killing of urracas
is prohibited.' ' -\iid who prohibits
it ? ' he asked, pulling on his face of a
lion. * I have my liccosc, that cost
nic three thousand reals.' ' Uut, sir,
that is for large game — you under-
stand ? 'ITic iirracas mustn't be
lalled. You comprehend ? ' Says he
ID tnc, * In this country oi SuUitima
Alttria ' — for, as 1 have told you al-
ready, he said everything revetscd.
as they do in his—* in this country
there':* no end of privileges, and do
the vcr%' urracas have them ?*
'• Thai question was so foolish, or
else me.int lo be ironical, that I did
n't care lo set httn right; so I told him,
'Yes, privileges that were granted lo
them in very ancient times, by DiJfiit
L'rrtUti herself,' He took nut a blank-
book and wrote that down. 'Let
the b.Tl| roll,' said I in my jacket, 'it
isn'l my business to stop it.' "
*'Bui, Uncle Bartolo, why may they
not kill urracas in the disuict ? "
asked a young man.
'* ik-causc tliey arc the ones that
planted the pine woods," answered
Uncle Uartolo.
'• Oh ! none of that I you arc not
talking to platter face," replied the
you til.
'* So I perceive, since his swallow
for novelties was too big ; and you —
for a blockhe.*\d of those who believe
only what they sec— haven't any.
Xevertbelcss, sir, that the unacas do
plant the pines is a truth as
as a house. They open i
cones, and pick out tlic seeds
Being very saving birds^ ihi
those that they can't eat ; atn
very brainless ones, they fui
about it and never go back
for thcin ; and (he seeits spn
it were not true, why ww
dukes prohibit the kUling of
when they are thicker in iha
than sparrows on a thrcshm
Therefore, AJonso, no one t
' 'l"his camel can't enter the cy
needle'; for, of two silly b
one that always keeps his bill
more silly than the one that
always open. iUit you were <
from the beginning; and,
grow older, you arc gaioin
Bias, that ate horse-beans,'*
" And at night, uncle, wl
those |>eople do with ihc
there in the province ? '* as
listeners.
" Ilie Englishmen ate aiul
for their honors are made liul
order that they may always be
things into their mouths. '
the reason they are so fat ai
riaiter-face loUi me one daj
an air as if <lod had just rev*
10 him — that 1 was able to
long without getting tired bcc
was lean ; and that he would
thousand doltari, or some sue
to l>e as lean as I. I answ
shouting to make him unde
better — ' Your worship has
cat gti3/iu/uf • to dry up yonr
and raw onions and garlic to si
your senses."
" And Ihc S|>aniards— how dii
pass the evenings. Uncle Bart
'■ The Spaniards ? Talking th
the very siitdies of their gam
bawling till you would have U
they were echoes: and qua
* Acoanoti dUioa llMlBW«B«Clk»
people
about things of the government. For,
nowadays, cvL*r)'l)0(ly wants to
know everj'lhing himself, and lo com-
mand : the very beetles set up their
tails and complain of a cough. I tell
you, sirs, there are no more such
Spaniards as there were in the time of
the French war. We were as one man
then, and all of one mind. Now
there are moderates and extremists. I,
who am an extremist only when it
concerns my gun, my wife, and my
children, could wish the devil would
^Y away with 50 much gab. It made
me want to say to them : ' Gentlemen,
where there is less tongue, count on
more judgment,' and ' so much grass
chokes the wheat,' "
" One night, one of the You Sirs
called me, and wanted to know if I
was in the war against Napoleon.
' Yes, sir,' I answere*!, ' I was a
guerilla.' * Well, then,' said he, • you
just come here, for 1 am going to
read you the n-ill he made.' "
" What ! did that man make a will,
Uncle Bartolo?" asked some of the
oldest of the listeneR.
" Yes, and before he died, it Is
supposed.
" ' Hut, your worship,' I asked,
' what had that kingdom-thief to
give away ? Did they not then make
him throw up everything he had
taken ? *
"The You 5irhad an open book,
and began to read. Gentlemen, that
s^tarrcn* in his will, went on distri-
buting everything, his goods, his
arms, his body, and his heart. I was
perplexed. * Well, what do you
think of it, uncle?' said his ho-
nor, when he had ended. * Sir,' I
answered, ' from what I can see,
that unbeliever thought of every-
thing ; but neither in his life nor in
his death did he remember his soul.' "
'* Why did you join the guerillas,
Uncle Bartolo ? " asked one of the
company.
" What a question 1 " exclaimed
the guerilla, looking at the one who
had asked it, and weaving himself
backwarrls and forwards with much
composure.
'* ' He that asks does not err,'
Uncle Bartolo."
" Yes, but this is a ctsc of ' He
that asks does not err, and I ask if
they bury the dead with the de-
ceased?"'
** What I mean is, when did you
leave your house, and how did you
happen to fall in withlhe/fl/^/j/a/"*
"Va! those are other questions,
Lopez. Some French horsemen
came here — they call them iolaseros
(cuirassiers) — my wife was more
afraid of them than of a contagion.
and every time slic heard the clari-
onets, she Mould say to me, in a
fright, ' They aresounding the cliarge.'
* No, xvife,' I would tell her, ' they
are sounding the prenionitum* One
day the comet — they used 10 call
him Tri/w/-/— came in tipsy, and in-
sulted my nife. I, who was not
afiraid of any three that might come,
and never stopped to think of con-
sequences, said to him, ' Out of here,
little soul of a pitcher, and Rirab-
bas cut a slice from you !' With tljt
he drew his sword, and would have
cut mc, but I snatched my knife, and
finished him at once ; and then,
catching up mantle and blanket, took
the wind for the mountains. I stop-
ped in Benainalioma with the Padre
Lovillo — and there you have it alL"
" 'l"he Padre Lovillo was the cap-
tain of the partida ? " questioned a
youth.
" Yes. the Padre Lovillo. CaniUh .'
Th.it was a man you could call a
man! No talker — not he ; but the
words he used were few and good.
* OfficourtDK.
* PifUnns, or putf.
792
If any one wanted to brag of his
doings, he would say, ' Let them be
seen, not heard. You understand,
cacklcr ? Slabs with steel, not with
the tongue ; balls of lead, not of
wind.' Sirs, ttut man was ready for
everything, as you would have de-
clared with two tongues if you had
had them. When we were going to
attack the French, he used to say,
' Listen, sons, our fathers died for
iheir counlT)-, and we arc not to be
less than tbcy.' Then, drawing his
sword, he would shout, ^ Now let us
see who has pluck 1 ' and charge like
another Santiago,* and we after him,
as if be had ]ed us to Paris in Fnmce.
Wc felt nciUier hunger nor weari-
ness ; it was a fight widtout drum or
trumpet, but it made Uie Frenchmen
^iver. They named us the * Bri-
jtBffrftof the Black Mountain,' and
were more afr.iid of us than of the
iraincil soldiery.
" Don Turo, who knew that I had
been a tty^u, called me into the
parlor one evening, and, when he
had squeezed himself into a chair,
told rac to sit down. I began to
wonder where all these Ma^^tes were
going to end. | Surely, I thought,
he cannot want me to clenn his gun I
But I waited for the mountain to
bring forth, and presently he asked
me to explain the trafica ). of guerilla
fighting. When I saw him come
out with that ladder, I gut angry,
and told him, ' No ;* that rav pro-
nouncing was very bad, and his un-
derstanding worse. But all the
others insisted, and, not to seem
disoMiging, I repeated a very good
and wcU-versed poem, that was go*
ing the rounds then."
"And what was it about. Uncle
Banolo?"
*Tlit pttfOB of Sp«la.
tBrifkBda.
; To kiTc inH(irla(« as to I be rv*Mll of uy-
UilnC-
Lu<tti Garaa.
" U relates a convcrsa
Malapan'and that Ind
Duke of JV." t
*■ Go on, uncle, say it," cxc
all present.
The fullowiiig rotiumce, wfa
old gucnlla recited, was vny
lar at that time among the
It owes its humor to the £u
neither its unlettered oo«npo«
those who recited it, had any
cion tliat they were giving a
lure. They considered it a fl
and probable account of what
t^e place between Na|)alcQ
Murat when they saw th
troops vanquished. Ks'eti tl
dusion is in no way tncoi
with their ideas of the antcc
and characters of the pcnona
A's/. How i« ihLv IrWnil itmm'^ f
Wkjr U< you htr« tft-.a f \
Wby hive yon left lantx ixpftaJ f
M'hat keni you out ot SfiBin }
SpTAk CHI. acul cltM'l tIcUy ;
Wc lure no UtD« lo MWtc ;
Tell me, in \titM euL-t.
U'lwl hu bappeMd (Mr*.
Mw. IU«y. fir, If ytn picas* ■
Slir, do not pnas mw «o i
Only kt ■■•eel t>rc*»^
I'U Ull TOH *')»l ■ know-
But, fim, witd tat • cbftir,
TlMt »■»• KM wt Btty uk*
wbiteiwUriMtiwuit.
For, UmImA. ny tcga wIm.
Ami K^xlow t to •««
l*Niof 1MI Ihe tin of Kpatn
iio well iTith yoo •( im.
kfmr Sire, yoa in inhl»li«ft ;
Bui let the MMttcr ga,
Fui UiluKi of iiK>nt icconnt
YiMit tnaicsiy kkould know.
And. come to wbU waKi
Wlihnut any nun tal*—
Fo-, bclwvc m* or bm, tlTB,
All I tell yoM U tnta.
i!
AV- Wby-wh*' '■■■
Good l!c»»en», *■
Wtwl have x<»9 V
To pHl you •■ ubuu-. ;
JVH'. CrtU Eaipern of V
Your force ba* bacn In v«l« ;
Noi dM aanctlet *r%A~
Vuu caoaul «on)U«t Spain-
• ,tf«^. tiBd : >Ur«r, (Mrt; mom flv«a
Spanhh mUter* lo Il4ii>a|jartfi
f Uonl, Duk« ol B«r|.
m
1
Lucas Garcia.
79Z
No notice will they take
Of your promises of pay,
And peace, ■.□<! mok to all,
And bull-fights every day.
Naf. But, my soldiers, do not they
la the mountaiDs still leouUn ?
Mur. Yes, captives they remain
With their general, Du^m,
And the eagles of France >
And every sword and gun
Might as well be a disUff,
For Castados and his men
Hare settled their account.
Na/. Fettel Because you tell It,
The tale I must tKlieve ;
From another 1 would not
A word of it receive.
No doubt, in Ztragoia
Our cause has better speed,
Id humbling them at last
We surely must succeed,
Mnr. All your force Is useless;
The knaves wiLl not submit.
If you wish to lose France,
And make an end of It,
Send it to Zaragoza,
It will find a bloody tomb.
And remain there, burled.
Until the Day of Doom.
Naf. Can nothing, then, be done
With those troops of Arragon ?
Mnr. We have none that on them
Will venture to advance.
Nafi. But MoDcey's triumphant
In the kingdom of Valence i
Mnr. Sire, he has dropped his ean.
And slunk away, ashamed ;
Those Valencians have a way
Their enemies to tame.
They mount on swiftest steeds,
And, running a swift career.
Unhorse the astonished foe
Before he is aware.
Nap. It seems, then, that maxims.
And lying, and caution
Uave failed in that country ;
UuL who had a notion
That Spain would be equal
To France in a contest t
We now can do nothing
But send for Funcst.*
Mur. And how can he get here.
When the Portuguese men.
With the Spaniards united,
Have him closely shut In,
W^ith sentinels stationed \
No help can avail him.
For surrender he must,
When eatables fait him.
The best thing to do, Is
To yield to their clamor.
And give back the king
Tliat Spaniards all honor.
■ Funrtlo. Nickname given by the Spanish
■oldiers to Junot.
Perhaps, aire, IF-^wldt him
Appeased and delighted—
They will let our troops go.
Your throne may be righted ;
For upset it they will
At the rate they are making.
And cut off your head.
And from me be taking'
My fine dukedom aXVtr :
Or, If we escape, sire.
The fate I am dreading.
Well hare to sweep chimneys
Again for a living.
I've forgotten the trade.
And lost my dexterity ;
But you, who were master.
Would mount with celerity.
N»p. Only a pitiful knave
Such memories would renew.
Mur. Well, sire, !f Uiat don't suit,
I've another thing In view ;
We'll seek a brighter sphere.
And a foreign city find.
Where through the streets we'll rove,
Crytog " Sci-i-tseors to grl-lnd,"
*' And which did he do, uncle ?"
asked one — " sweep chimneys or
grind scissors ?"
'* He sweep chimneys /" exclaimed
Uncle Bartolo. " Such people al-
ways fall into feather-beds! They
carried him to St. Helena — beyond
Gibraltar — where he had it quite
comfortable till he died raving, after
the denl had helped him to make
that wiU."
" Here comes Uncle Cohete," said
a man who sat by the window.
" Make him a sign to come in,"
said the person nearest him, in a low
tone.
Uncle Cohete was a simple, good
old man, who acted the merry-an-
drew for the purpose of obtaining
alms for a religious house of which
\i^-VQ&demandante^ He could mi-
mic to perfection the songs of all
birds; the near and distant barking
of the dog, the mewing of the cat ;
and so excelled in imitating the pe-
culiar hiss and crackling of a kite in the
air, as to have obtained the nickname
of cokeU (kite), by which he was
knowa He had, besides, a stock of
* One who ukt alms for cbarltable puipose*.
^ Lncas
simple verses, balljds, riddles, and
odd scraps of liumor, which he would
repeat wiih inimitable expression and
drollery. Tlie sources from which
he drew his supplies could not be
told. Tills, he had leameil in a
(own on the Llanura; that, in a vil-
lage of the Sierra j another at the
fireside of the manse. But, in his
mimicry of the birds, they themselves
had been the teachers, aided by un-
usual flexibility of organs, and great
patience and perseverance on the
part of the disciple. Kor, in .ill
branches— whether important or in-
significant—perseverance yields great
results.
It having been intimated to Uncle
Cohete that the company wished him
to tell something diverting, lie began
by saj-ing T^rc Commtjmimrnfs of (he
Jihh Man and the I\x>r Afan — a col-
lection of ironical precepts, which
enjoyed great |>opularity at that lime
— as follows :
" The commandments of the rich mao,
nowadays, ore five, nimely :
" llic first. Tbou shall tuT« no end of
ifloncy.
"The second. Thou shall despise all
the TC5t of the wotld.
"I1ic third. Tfaou shall eat ^ood beef
and Kood mutton.
"Tlie fourth. Thou sbalt cat Octh on
Good Fiiday.
" The fifth. Thou shalt ddnk both while
Wiue and ml.
** ThMv mm IDS nil me nts are todudcd in iws ;
Lu all tM fvi Bw, Mul BOCblotf iot yuu.
** The commandmeais of U)c poor man
arc fire, namely :
"The first. Tliou slult never have any
money.
•" Ttie second. Tliou thalt be despised
by nil tlie troild.
"Theitiiid. Thou shall eat neiibet beef
nor mulioii,
*' The fourth. Thou shalt fast, even If
it be not Good Friday.
" The fifth. Thou shall taste neither
the white wine nor the red.
" Thnc cominandin«nt« arc iru.iui!
Sciilcli tbyielt, mnd bear cvci^l
luve af Gud."
" Uncle, did nut the son
Syintoi* who is heaping jq
you an alms ?" asked one.
" No, he gave mc not
swercd Uncle Cohete.
" Like father, like son." s
Bartolo.
" Next year, uncle, , ^^ hJ{
pile, for * when the fields
saints have.' "
" Uncle Cohete, take il
coppers, and tell us Th4r C
menis of the New Imzu,*
man who had called him in
"The commandiDcnu of ilie
arc lea, namely :
" Tlie fitst. Let there be ou
Sjtain.
"The secom). Let the world
side-down.
•• The tlilfd. Let cirery one pli
mnn.
" The fourth. Let not a stoct
come from America.
' The fifth. Let there ba do
draliing.
"The sixth. Let the new I;
(torn abroad.
" The 6«irenih. Let there he f«
pic that aie ntrt wauled.
"Tbecij^hih. Let litem dlstri
cuils in Navarra.
" The ninth. Let every OM*
for himself.
"The tenth. Lei all be at varii
" TlieM conmanilncnt* arc Incluilvd I
Sosse uy yev ind allwn Mr no."
"Tell us a riddle, uncle."
"Fifty ladies and five gi
the fifty ask fowl; the five a&k
said the old man, of whom
and the kind of life he led, tu^
the personification of ready ani
humored odedience.
" The Kosory I 1 knew tha
a little boy. " Tell another,"
• Rob ibe Mian.
J
" Tbe miKlle of Lady Lcanor
Siuks ta Ibe riiret, but corecs Uie tkore."
** We give it up, uncle."
"It is the snow, gentlemen."
At this moment they were inter-
rupted by the ringing of the sunset
IkU, and, all rising, stood with un-
covered heads.
" Will you recite the prayer, Uncle
fiartulo," said the widower.
Uncle Baitolo repeated the Ange*
Ins, adding a. Paternoster for the
deceased. And now the grief of
the sobbing child in the comer broke
forth in bitter crying.
" Stop thai, Lucas t" said his fa-
ther. " Vou have been going on in
that way, hie! hid like an old wo-
man, for two days. You ought to
have gone into the women's room.
Let me hear you cr)'ing again ! Yuu
understand ?"
" Let me tell yoN, Juan Garcia,'*
said Uncle Bartolo, ''that you are
the firist man I ever heard rebuke
the tears of a son for his mother !
You see me, with my years, my beard,
and my guerilla life; well, I lemem-
bcT mine, and weep for her still !
"But, uncle, 'frown, and frown
again, of a bad son makes a good
one.' Lucas here is a regular Afar-
cia Ftrnamit'z^ brought up in the
folds of his mother's skirK 1 must
teach him that men resist, and do
not allow themselves to be overcome
by tribulations."
Uncte liartQlo shook his head.
*' Time and not ointment will cure
the patient. If you had died, his
mother would not have been the one
to rebuke your son for the tears he
shed over you."
Juan Garcia continued his former
lifL-, abandoning himself with more
liberty to the wicked woman of whom
ihe friends of his dead wife had spok-
en at the eondeliment. She wns call-
ed La Lcona m allusion to her na-
tive island of Leon, where she had
married a sergeant, who was after-
waid sent to serve in America. Like
all bad women, La Luona was much
worse than men of the same class,
inasmuch as, in the subtle organi-
zation of woman, the delicacy that
is given to her for good turns into a
rehuement of evil,ajid her instinctive
penetration into malignant sagacity.
Not satisfied with having attracted
to herself Juan Garcia, who possess-
ed a small patrimony, Ui Ltona, im-
pelled by the bitter envy which a
lost woman feels toward one who is
honest, undertook to \cndcr him in-
diD'crent to his wife, and succeeded
not only in this, but also iii causing
him to ill-ireal and abandon her.
Juan Garcia was a weak man, easily
subjugated by those who knew how
to obtain an influence over him, and,
by way of compensating himself for
tliis complaisance, very obstinate and
overbearing in his treatment of oth-
ers. l)y degrees, it came to pass
that his mistress would not receive
him with favor unless he brought
her, as an oHering, the relation of
some act of coldness or cruelty to
the victim whose only crime was
that of affording, by her right, and
by her silent and prudent endurance,
the most patent condemnation of
the conduct of these two, a con-
demnation at! Uic more ignominious
because of the great purity of man-
ners which prevails in country places.
And in order to gain oiu assertion
credit with those who are disposed
to accuse us of partiality for the
country people, we hasten to say
that tills purity may naturally be at-
tributed to the wholesome influence
of labor, which, in putting indolence
10 flight, puts to flight witli it the
vices it generates, and to the blessed
poverty, which, being without the
k
796
Lucas Garcia.
means of satisfying them, hinders
Iheir birth. Having convinced uti-
liwri-ins iviih tliese r«asnns, we will
add to them others of our own ;
namely, tlic ••alular}' tdcas of morali-
ty and rooted principles of honor
that many centuries of Catholicism
have fixed in the hearts of these
people — principles renewctl, in each
successive generation, by the un-
changing real Hml is the property
of religion, and that never wearies or
grow lukewarm.
Like all other general rules, the
above has its exceptions. Juan
Garcia furnished one. His unkind-
ness, united with the griefand shame
Ilia conduct caused her, had cer-
tainly hastened the death of poor
Ana, whose last act of aflcciion as
a wife, and duty as a Christian, had
been to forgive him, Alas ! the
soul of ihe husband was so deeply mir-
ed that even this saintly death could
awaken in it neither pity nor re-
morse. Not that he was utterly
perverse, but his eyes. like those of
many another in this world of error,
were covered hy one of those veils
which must fall on the day of God's
judgment, when the light of truth
will be the first punishment that
awaits the willingly blind
His boy andgjrl remained orphaned
and neglected, ^nd would have been
entirely forsaken but for that active
charity which makes women consti-
tute themselves fervent protectors of
the helpless and severe judges of
the wrong-doer. The wives of Juan's
neighbors took care of the children,
and obliged htm to feed and clothe
them, freely casting in bis face his evil
conduct, while, with imperturbable
coolness, they prescribed to him his
obligations.
Ah charity ! — some proclaim and
others compa-hend thee ; some would
guide thee, and thou gui<lcst others!
Why art thou not found in the pal-
aces that philanthropy btiili
thee? Wily dost thou appear
thy brightness in the dwclltng«.
poor, delighring thyself wi
widow's farthing? It is b
thou wilt be queen and not a
I1ie children could not be
ed for the death of tbctr
Isolated as they wcre» all the
mcnts of their hearts beca
verted into love for each oib«
sorrow for their loss,
Lucas, however, who wi
ycajs older than his ststrr. i
beat to enliven and distract he
'■ Don't rry so, Lncia," he :
her one night, not long aft
(Ondolement. " Mother will doI
back for crying, and you tnal
cry. What shall I do to
you?"
llie child made no answer.
"Sliall I sing you a mmanci
Lucia inclined her he.id m
ot assent, and the boy sang
clear, sweet voice the fullowin
lad:
\\a\y Savtoyr of La Iau,
Tckcli anlilM') tongue how u> nil
S llilos thai lui>l>"i<'tl In SAt-lHa,
KikI'1, anil wurthilir. anil «vll-
(If a Riolhff wtiu llrrd Ihrr^,
Aad tt>u diuxhUrs Dkai ahe Iwd ;
One WK* hgwblc, mill. *ih1 (ckmI.
The olhei oive wn^ pt«a(l ■nd (Md.
Tbcy maiiv wiLb l«ro brother^
Who lie btnthcrs but In imidk —
tender Ihr sam« roal otiituTMl,
Hui tn nniliint eIu Uib aatn*.
The vi>utic«' »«'!» Ill* poilion.
And \r.xe\ rhe whnlo in r<'*f ;
The cliltr fiJIawa Uie ploac^.
And wuiks In tiis 6etd alt day.
Tbcn ibe yowD(er dira, and Icmn
Hn wir«. all alnoe and poar ;
Her chlldioa w««p fur tifcad.
And Uic tr<k> her »Wrr'4 4c»n>r,
frv.vl'^lt. "liiUod'«K*me.«ikicr.
And f»r h)* tveet Mntktf'i fak*.
Givr DiY Inil' iihildraa bt«u],
AikI liik Mdtd in pavfDvnl Uhc"
■' Go, Marv." crie* ihc uu<i.
" ''cR"'. take v<w^e" a-wrar -
Wat lay l<it belter than ruurs
t'lwfl our (re.l.lltiff-iUr •"
Wn^li^ a ■ ; ■ '1,
llie poor B)
ToVnovrhir
The ne<EbUut>ati( id \4in.
Of the (wftoT uf hei btivM
Skc bBd nail* a roMs iai pnyv;
The Good Gerard of Cologne.
m
To our Lady of the Buds:
And now she enters there,
And, with her little children,
BeTore the altar falls
or our sweet princess Mary,
And on her name she calla.
Now, homeward in the evening
The good brother turns his fret ;
Finds Uble spread and waitiag,
And be sits him down to eat.
He talces a loaf and breaks it.
But throws it away again,
Kor blood runs out of the brea^
On bis hand he sees the stain.
Then he takes and breaks a notber.
But still the red bluod tails—
" Oh ! what is this ?" astonished.
To his trembling wife he calls.
'• Tell me, I say ! what Is it f "
For to tell she isaltuid:
" In vain to me, this morning.
For bread my sister prayed T'
*' And she that, without pity.
To a sister refuses bread.
To God's Mother doth refuse It,"
Then the angry husband said.
Six loaTes the young man gathered.
And in haste to the abode
Of his sister and her children
He straightway took the road.
The window-shutters were closed.
And locked were windows and doors ;
But the gleam of many lights
Shone out through the apertures-
Shone on SIX angels of God,
All kneeling upon the floor
Round six bodies of mother and children
That would never hunger more.
" Farewell, my soul's dear sister.
And sweet nephews of my heart I
Though gold I have, and plenty,
I would gladly give rny part
For yours in the blessed country
Where sorrow is all forgot.
And the labor of life exchanged
For the eternal better lot \ "
" And did she let her sister starvt?
to death ?" asked the child, her
eyes refilling from her already sur-
charged heart.
"Yes, yes; she was a good-for-
nothing ; but don't cry, Lucia, a
story isn't a thing that ever happen-
ed."
•' If it had never happened, they
would not have put it in the ro-
mance," said the litde girl.
"They made it up," replied Lu-
cas. " Don't you beheve it, dear.
When I am a man and can earn,
the least piece of bread I may have,
I must divide with my heart's little
sister. You know that before moth-
er died she put you in my care, and
I made her a promise never to for-
sake you."
" And will you keep it ?"
" So may God give me his glory!"
"And if you ever forget it, I am
to sing you this romance, to put
you in mind of what you say now."
"That is so; you must learn it"*
And the boy set himself to teach his
sister the romance.
TO » COHTIinTBD,
THE GOOD GERARD OF COLOGNE.
BY RUDOLF OF EMS, VASSAL AT MONTFORT (THIRTEENTH CENTUHV).
coMriLio Arm thx cbkuax or caxl nhkock.
In the new cathedral at Magde-
burg the bells were ringing for the
first time. A large crowd gathered
to witness the consecration of the
church, founded and richly endowed
by the Emperor Otto the Great He
went up the aisle before all the peo-
ple, not, as was then the cus-
tom, to lay down gifts at the new
altar of God, but, with erect brow,
he stood, and thus he spoke : " There
is no gift in my band for thee, O
798
Th€ Good Gerard of Cotngm.
Lord; but when 1 lift up my eyes,
whatever I behold around me is njy
gift to iliK I This church I buitt for
the glory of thy name, und 1 endow-
ed it and made it so great that tite
song of kings tliink it an honor to
bow to its prince-bishop, and serve
him. The heathen that troubled thy
people, sec I conquered iheui with
my strong arm — the Wends, the Sarbs,
and the Hungarians, they bowed
their heads to my sword, and iheir
knees lo thy glory; and I made thy
name great in all the pagan lands,
and crecteil churches and bishoprics
to thy honor. And now show me
to-day, O my Lord, that thou hast
seen my fool going in thy path, ihou,
who wiJi give glory from heaven lo
him who spreads thy glory on earth."
Thus the emperor spoke before all
Ute people. And lo ! a voice sound-
ed from heaven as the voice of an
angel in anger, and it spoke with a
voice like thunder rolling in the
mountains : " Olio, king on earth,
see, the King in heaven had put a
chair by hts side for ihce lo sit upon
it, and tliou hast despised ii in thy
vanity ; he had prepared for thee a
crown of glory, and thou hast taken
the crown of pride that made angels
iaJl. He has heard with little plea-
sure the thoughts of thy heart, that
asks for the highest place. Know,
(hat place is for him who most serves
God in humility and purity of heart ;
that is, for the good Gerard, the mer-
chant in Cologne, whose name is
written in the book of life. And now
go and learn from him what is agree-
able lo God, and then confess that
thy glory is vain and tliy doing but
little. But know, that not readily
will he si>eak to thee; well would he
lay down his life rather than let the
feme of his righteousness sound up
to God by words from his own
mouth." When Otto hnd heard this,
he bowed his head in shame and was
h
humbled. He mounted his
horsCf and with tlircc of his
rode over (o Cologne; Am
citizens who came to ^i
pcror in die vast hall, <
a tall man with a long white
and [he step of a youth ; uul
he asked the bishop who sat
side who that man was. he
in answer: "That is the goo*
ard, the richest merchant in Col
Then the emperor spoke lo
assemhicil people: '* I came
ask your adnce, as 1 am in
need of iU But I was coun
and e^-cn commanded, not to
but lo one of you, and for th
J choose thee, O Gerard ! Thou
est to me rich in wisdom and
ence." And Gerard an.twered,
ing before the emperor ; " ShflJ
alone to give my advice, while
are so many worthier ones X
Itut all the people said : ** O
thy choice is good ; ihcre is n
in tliis hall bis eijual tn wiai
So the emperor took Gerard
hand, and led him to a chambci
by, and locked the door aftct^
and they sat down on one
Gerard by OUn's side. Thett
said : " Gerard, it was to
that I came here ; pray tell me
did it happen that the name
was given to ihee? I wouh
like to know." " O great king
swcTcd Gerard, *' I do not kno
self what that means; there a
many Gerards here ; people onlj
tne that name to dlstingubh me
them." " Gerard, thou art dec
me!" the emperor cnlletl out
Gerard answered: "Oh! no,
king, I should deceive lliec if I
oiherxnse. Never did I merit
name, and it was often a ban
me ; because, while the world
me ' the Good,' it reminded nie
seldom 1 did what pJc.^wd God,
ten do I send tlic p'jor man
The Good Gerard of Cologne.
799
with a mean gift, whilst God gives
me richcj ; I give him sour beer and
black bread, I give him an old gown,
whilst many a new one I had, and
would not have missed them. I al-
ways have liked to go to church
where the service was shortest, and
when I had once prayed with my
whole soul, I thought that would do
for half a year. Therefore, O king !
do not ask me what I have done to
deserve that high name." The em-
peror said : " Gerard, thou must give
me a better answer, for I have sure
knowledge that thou hast done a
great deed for God's sake, and I
came to hear the account of it from
.thy own mouth; therefore speak!"
" Oh ! spare me," called out the good
man, "spare me, most gracious king!"
But Otto replied : " No, no ! thou
only awakenest my impatience, and
I tell thee thou must yield to me
at the end, if even much against thy
will i" Then prayed the good man
in his heart: "O God! look at thy
servant ! My king is angry with me,
and I cannot resist him any longer.
So if I reckon with thee, O Lord !
and praise myself for the little good
I ever did, do not thou turn away
thy grace from me, for what I say, I
do it much against my will." And
presently he threw himself at the em-
peror's feet, saying : " Ten thousand
pounds of silver I have in my cellar,
take it and spare me the answer I"
" Gerard," said the rich emperor, " I
thought thou wert wiser. Such a
speech only excites my curiosity. And
I will tell thee, thou canst reveal me
everything, and it will be no sin to
thee — so I swear before God." Then
the good Gerard said, arising from
his knees, and sitting down : " God
knows my heart; he knows that, when
I do now as my king commands me
to do, my heart is full of grief, and
vanity is far from it."
II.
THE GOOD GERARD S STORY.
" When my father died, he left no
small fortune to me, his only heir.
But as I was aymerchant, I thought
to double and double again my pos-
sessions, and cause my son to be
called * the rich Gerard,' as his fath-
ers had been called before him. So
I left him such fortune as would be
full enough for him, and took all the
rest, fifty thousand pounds of silver,
and carried it to my ship, together
with food for three years' voyage.
Experienced sailors were in my pay,
and my clerk was with me, to write
my accounts and read my prayers.
So I went to Russia, where I found
sables in profusion, and to Prussia's
rich amber strand, and from there,
by the Sea of the Middle, to the
East, and there I took in exchange
silk and woven goods from Damax
and Ninive ; and well I thought a
threefold gain should be mine. Then
my heart began to long for wife and
child, and with great joy I told the
mariners to turn the ship homeward.
But a storm arose, and water and
wind were fighting for twelve days
and twelve nights, and threw my
ship to an unknown land, where a
beach gave us shelter. When the
sun shone again, and the sky looked
clear, I saw villages and hamlets
and fertile fields as far as my eyes
could reach, and near the sea a large
city with pinnacles and high walls.
We went to the port, and I found it
full of merchandise, a rich and state-
ly place, not unlike the old Cologne.
I went on land, for I saw the gov-
ernor of the city coming to view the
goods in the port,and many a knight
and vassal rode by his side ; and I
thought to go up to him and ask his
protection. But when I came near
Tlu Good Gerard of Cologne.
an end, if God in his goodness aud
grace had not given liis advice in
my hcail. For I fell asleep, and
in ray sleep 1 heard a voice of God's
angel, who spoke to mc these words:
' Awake, Gerard, God's anger is call-
ing thee ! Did he not say in his
mercy, " What thou givest to the
poorest of my brethren, thou givest
unto me "? What thou givest to the
needy ones, thou Icndcst to the
Lord; and doubt in him is great sin
to thee 1' Then 1 awoke and fell
on my knees, and thanked God that
he had given ine shame and repen-
unce in my heart, and humbled nic
so as to save me from sin. The
next morning my host met mc at the
gate, and with anxiety he asked what
it was my wish to do. Aud I an-
swered : * I am willing to make ex-
change with thee, O Siranamurl if
thou allowcsi mc one thing; give
back to the prisoners tlieir sltqi and
(Ul they brought on it, and give them
food and mariners, and whatever
they need to go home.' And the
governor answered : ' Dost thou think
me a thief, O Gerard? I thought,
friend, thou knewest me better. Not
one penny's worth will 1 keep from
the prisoners, and theirs shall be
whatever is needed for a safe and
speedy voyage.' After that he gave
me his luiiiJ, and we changed thus
mine and ihinc. Then the prisoners
were told of what had happened,
and they were cloUied as became
them, and refreshed, and when they
beheld me, their thanks and tears
were such that my t-yes overflowed,
even against my will. And I saw
the women's great beauty, and Irene
their queen, and though the earthly
crown was taken from her, there was
the crown of beauty and loveliness
on her brow. Then my clerk read
prayers, and we went to sea ; the
right wind blew in our sails, and
bore ua quickly outward. When we
came near the coast of England, I
vou xni. — 51
spoke to the knights: ' Tell me, who
of you were born in Kngland, that
ihey may go on their way home now.'
And they answered : ' From Xorway
only came Queen Irene with two
of her maidens ; all the rest of us
were bom in Kngland.' I said to
the knights : ' Go home, then, witli my
blessings, noble lords 1 and if I did
what pleased you, think of me
with a friendly heart. Let King
William know, and also Rcinemund
of Norway, that Queen Irene is in
my house and under my protection,
and that I am ready and willing to
give her up whenever they claim her.
When I send my messengers lo you,
pay them back, O knights ! what 1
left for your sake in the strange land
of the heathen, if it so is convenient
to you. Then they thanked mc so
that I had to hide from their embrac-
es; and we p.irted with many tears;
and they went their way, I mine.
" Soon 1 washomc again. My wife
and son welcomed me gladly and
with thanksgivings, and after I had
told them all, they led Irene to toy
house. And Queen Irene lived in
my house like one of us for many a
month, and ray wife la\-cd her, and
all the women of my household and
friendship, and she taught them many
a fme art, such as lo embroider with
gold and thread of silver and pearl.
And God gave his blessing to my
trade, and 1 prospered, llut every
day, Irene's loveliness grew more
lovely, aud when I saw her so gentle
and smiling, I forgot my losses, and
my joy was greater than seventy-
fold gain would have made it. So
passed a year, and no message came
from Reincmund, nor from William,
the King of Kngland, and I beheld
with sorrow that my queen's mind
was grieved, though she hid her
tears from our eyes. That I took
to my heart, and said to myself,
' I bought our sweet queen free from
great pain, and now I must see her
Th« Good Gerard of Cologne,
803
Lord has done great things; honor
and fortune he might still give thee
back; wait here awhile, and be of
good cheer!' And I sent my va-
let to him, to attend to alt his needs
and wants, but I went to my prince
the bishop and told him the wonder
God had shown to us, and asked
him to help me with my son Gerard
and teach him a Christian's dulj".
So I called my son away from the
side of his brijc, and after he liad
heard the talc, so full of man*cl,
the bishop asked him: 'Wilt thou
then separate, Gerard, what before
God is united ?' Then he answeret,!
us, and he said : ' What do you think
, of mc ? Shall I give up my love and
^happiness and rest and peace ?'
|Biit the bishop spoke : ' Yes, my son,
lou shall !' And my child began
Pto cry at these words, and I cried
pvith him, and he put his arms^round
my neck and saidj ' My father, then
let it be so !' and my lieart felt joy at
these words. Shall I tell thee what
my heart felt when I saw King Wil-
liam greet his bride ? ! am old as
Ihou art, O emperor 1 but I know
not without jealousy thou wouldst
have beheld ir. And in my heart I
thanked the God of goodness who
had given so wise counsel in my mind
that my blessings now were greater
than what gold or silver could ever
have bought for me. After that I
filled my ship and took them over
to England, and great was the joy
of thefour-and-lwcnty knights on be-
holding their king and queen, and
jof the whole people, and great were
leir thanks lo me, and only with
■great pain could I hinder them from
bestowing all their riches on me, and
making mc a prince and a great man
among them. But I will not repeat
to thee all they meant to do to me,
and the praises they gave me ; for
God knows, in all my life I cannot
deserve them. And when I came
home, the peoi>lenx3dc much of mc,
and called me ' the good ' ; though
thou knowcst now, as well as I do,
that I am not good. It was only
by the angel's voice that my doubis
were taken from mc ; I was full of
fear to lose my goods, and weak.
Besides, 1 am a sinner and am proud
and vain, so that 1 have been prais-
ing myself before thee, O emperor !
while, couldsl thou see my heart,
many a fault thoo wouldst obser\-c
within."
III.
Before Gerard had finished spealP
ing, the emperor's heart grew large
within him and made his eyes over-
flow ; for tears are a blessing which
God sends from heaven. He felt
shame and repentance, and these
two re-created his heart, and his mind
was healed from all false glory. And
he said : " Gerard, I tell thee, betttrr a
good deal than silence is what thou
hast made known to me ; for my
heart was sick with vainglory, and
pride overgrew the good deed. I
had built a great house to the Lord,
and the thought of that poisoned my
heart, so that it asked for reward.
But what I asked has turned against
me as a punishment, for no heart is
pure that seeks for glory only, When
1 then praised myself at my good
deed, God sent mc to thcc lo leani
true humility and charity. Truly
thou art good; for thy heart was not
moved by the praise of this world,
'lliou hast given thy goods for
poor prisoners, thou host taken the
wife from thy son, and refused the
riches of England in humility and
charity, only for the sake of the Lord
thy God. Well, my ride to thee
has brought mc benefit. But thou,
O Gerard! pray the Lord to have
mercy upon him that prides in vain-
glory ; pray for thy emiicror to our
God in heaven."
S04
Egyptian Civilisation according to
EGYPTIAN CIVILIZATION ACCORDING TO THE
RECENT DISCOVERIES.
MtQM THM COntM««<nAirT.
PKELlMlNARy OBSERVATIONS OW THE
ANTIQUITY OF EUVFIIAN CIVIU*
ZATION.
The most striking fact respecting
the Egyptian monarchy is its anti-
quity. " Forty centuries look down
upon you from these pyramids," were
tlic subhme words of Bonuparic; but
they do not express enough. The
progress of archaeological science
shows that the rtign of the Pha-
raohs began more than three thou-
sand years before Christ. M. JJun-
sen gives the date as 424$ s.c-r and
M. Mariettc 5004, but with some
qualt&caiions that sliould be men*
tioned. " Egyptian chronology,"
says he, "pieseJils diflicuUies whith
no one, as yet, has surmounted.
. . . To all dates before the
tiroc of PsamnicUchus I. (66$ B.c),
it is impossible to give nnyihing
but approximations, which become
more and more uncertain as we re-
txde. . . . This uncertainty in-
creases in proportion as we go back
from the present age ; so ttiat, ac-
cording to the methods of computa-
tion, there may be two Uiousand
years' dttlerence in assigning the dale
of the Egyptian mon.irchy."*
While fully admitting the reason-
able qualifications of the learucu
• M«ilrUc. A'fitite Jei/rimr/fMn-r jV^nmiirH/i
»^P*nt ^amt U* CaJwrirt frn-ttni'tt lim At»M*
Sn/^f. AliuiMidrle. 18^4. ll mav be writ 10
TMMik hero that llic ■nl>r(ullr u( !)>« EfoptlAn
dfttion ti \iy DO tucni iif<<; - ii ilie
Sep4n*Kliil, »\ Mxr. Mri|;n*r r. ' ■*»-
•d WMk un Lr Mt^ndt fnmit'j , . . - ■ -■.••■I (!>'
Putt, ifiny. I'alni.
director of the Egyptian ami
it is no less certain, from t
coveries already made, that Ch<r
of the Pharaohs extends bark
tliiny centuries before the Ch
era.
Another characteristic of this j
cient nation, which is no less m
able, is that ii manifests all the
of civilization from the bc^in
" It is a phcnoroaion worthy
most serious attention," says CI
pcllion^I'igeac, '• that Egypt vkis
ed in Itiose remote ages all ilac
religious, and military iastitutioi
dispensable to the prosperity
great nation, end all the cnjoyi
resulting from the pcrfecttun o^
arts, the advunrages assured hj
authority of the civil and xc\\{
laws, the culture of the scicnc43,
a profound sentiment of the di
and destination of man."*
** Egyptian civilization mas
itself to us fuliy developed
tlic earhcst ages, nnd huctrei
ones, however numerous taug
little more,"! says M. Mahctte.
^ What is most catraordinary i
this mysterious civilisation is ifa
had no tufanc)'. . . . ^STP
this re<Lpeci as in so many oth<
an exception to the laws to i
the Indo-European and Semitic
have accustoryed us. It docs ni
" -S"*?/' anritmrnt, ^f ChtBpatU«»il
rar». lEjg.
Tf^i ■ ■ ' ' ■ '
,..{,., ■
the < "
the most Recent Discoveries,
80s
gin with myths, heroic exploits, and
barbarism."* The autiior wc have
just quoted sought in vain, u-ith all
his mind and learning, for the cause
of thijistrange phenomenon. " Egypt,"
says lie, "is another China, mature
and almost decrepit from its birch,
and in its monuments and hiittory
there is something at once childlike
and old."
This ingenious explanation excites
a smile, but not conviction. Rather
than admit revelation — tliat is to say,
the intervention of the divine agency
in the creation of man and the forma-
tion of primitive nations— many learn-
ed men ofourday prefiT to take refuge
in the most singular and Inadmissible
theories. Acconling to them, lium:ui
society must "commence with myths
and barbarism," and man himself witli
the savage nature of the brutes. But
they arc forced to acknowledge that
Egypt is a decided exception to this
theory. ^
" Tlie gigantic labors of the Suez
Canal in removing the immense .iccu-
mulations of sand, so often amassed
as if to preserve the past history of
the world, have not revealed a shigle
vestige of uncivilized men who, be-
fore the deluge, were scattered over
the rest of the earth." f
To resolve the problem of ancient
Egypti;in civiHzation, wc propose an
explanation more conformable to the
traditions and the dignity of the hu-
man race. It is true, this explanation
is not new, for it was evident to the
sages of pagan times a long time be-
fore it was fully unfolded by Christian
philosophers. Socrates taught that
*' the ancients, better than we and
nearer ihe gods, had tnansmilted by
tradition the sublime knowledge they
* S, Rcnia. Lti Antiquitit rt Ut FtmilUi
^Kiyf4a {K*vmt dts Oeux UeuJ*t, for April 1,
♦ H. Dafrenc. MonUnr OfficUl for Jtily ■,
1M7.
had received from them." Plato
adds that " the earliest of mankind,
is.<!uing from the hands of the gods,
must have known them as well as we
know otur own fathers, and that it is
truly impossible not to believe the
testimony of the children of the
gods."
What the wise men of Greece per-
ceived through the thick veil of pa-
ganism, we behold clearly by the
light of Christianity and Uie Holy
Scriptures. It seems to us a sini|)le
thing to beheve that the Kgyjuian
nation, the first founded, not many
centuries after the deluge, must have
been organized according to the prin-
ciples of the national law of which
the descendants of Noah h.id not yet
lost the tradition. "If we believe In
the truth of the Scriptural accounts,"
says an illustrious promoter of social
reforms in England,* " we must also
behevc that when the families de*
sccnded from Ham and Japheth be-
gan their long migrations, they bore
with them the religious traditions
they possessed in common with ihe
children of Shem.
"As to those who will not accept
the testimony of the book whicli, to
give it the most unpretending of its
august tides, is the most anuiciit and
most venerable document of human
history, we could reply that the rea-
soning still remains the same. The
progress of ethnological and philolo-
gical researches furnishes us with evi-
dent proofs of a continued migration
of the Touranian and Arjan races
towards the north and west from
places necessarily undefined, but cer-
tainly from the vicinity of the nomad
patriarchs. On the other hand, no-
thing shows that their traditions have
a different source fron» that given in
the Book of Genesis—llie diree divi-
sions of Noah's iamily. If, then,
• GlftditMie.
Mi
8o6
Egyptian CivUi£athn according to
every ilung seems lo demonstrate the
iiitimittc connection uf these primi-
tive races wiih the Semitic tribes,
how could the descenilants of Ham
and Japheth have left behind the trrc-
ligiuus traditions when, for the finit
time, they left their brethren ?"
The descendants of Ham. ances-
tOTS of the fir^ Egyptians, douhitc's<;
preserved, with their religioxis tradi-
tions, the moral principles that guar-
antee the existence and perpetuity
of domestic life, and the notions of
the arts indispcn<wible to itK romfort.
"With the human race," says llos-
suet. " Noah preserved the arts; not
only those necessary to life which man
knew- from the beginning, but thoise
subsequently invented. I'he first arts
wliich man learned, apparently from
his Creator, were agriculture, the du-
ties of pastoral life, the fabrication of
clothing, 3n<l perhaps the construc-
tion of habitations. Therefore we do
not sec the rudiments of these arts in
the East, in tiiose regions whence the
human rare was dispersed. This is
why everything springs from those
Unds, always inhabited, where the fun-
damental arts remained. The know-
ledge of God and memories of crea-
tion arc there preserved."*
The ruins of ihe Tower of Babel
still show to what a degree of ad-
vancement the art of building had ar-
rived, and the details given us in the
Bible about the construction of the
ark display an amount of nautical
knowledge which must have been
transmitted tj tite skilful boatmen of
the Nile and the bold navigators of
ancient I'hccnicix
We will not extend these prelimi-
nary obse^^'ations, which we think
throw sufficient light on the origin of
Egyptian civilization, the incontest-
able antiquity of which is as enigma-
tical as that of the Sphynx to the as-
* Bomtt, Dinmmrg tmw tUMHrw mmiffttltr.
tODishcd eyes of tlie modem
A truly learned man, who
self by his (Qnff'ren<es in t
naparle thoroughly conv
the discoveries of contc
Egyptology, and who is not
to seek light irora ro'clation
as from scknce, has resolved iIm
1cm in the following terms: **
is not, in the first ages of the
tian monarchy, the l«ast trace
rude beginnings of a nation in
fancy. Indeed, wc should noc
that this country never pa&scd tl
the savage state, and th.it,
truths reveaird to the patriarch
adulterated by the race of H
still retained sviticicnt light :
rcmam satisfied with tnalcriol
mcnts alouc"*
l^t us now endeavor to
trale. by die light of thcMr prini
as far as we can into the la
of Kgn^ti^n antiquities.
BOOK FIRST.
llfE SOCIAL ORUAMIZATIOIf.
I.
DOAIESTIC RKGULATt
The institutions which are thi
guards of family life and of pre
are essential to society aiul th
petuityof a nation, and these To
tions of the social life seem to
been as firmly established amo
ancient Egyptians as their own
mids. The sacrcdness of the
lie was the result of unity of ma
and respect to parents, and its
tuily was assured by the rights
niogcniiure, which were univ.
fldmitled fni'm the royal family
to that of the most humble lai
This was die fundamental pn
•Rot»lau, HiU»irt
tOrwH, p. Si.
tmr •/■ A
the most Recent Discoveries^
80?
of family life and of society. There-
fore we sec Pharaoh in the Holy
Scriptures resist all the plagues God
sent upon Egypt for the deUverance
of the Israelites; but when the first-
born of the Egyptians were smitten
in one night, Ihe king yielded at once,
for the whole nation felt that a blow
had been given to the very source of
its existence.
The Egyptian monuments of every
age priave that the paternal authority
was universally regarded with great
respect. On a great number of stehe
collected by M. Mahcltc in the mu-
seum of Boulak are these words;
" Oblation in honor of the head of
tlie house." ( Here follou*s the name.)
" The religious laws of Egypt ob-
liged families on certain days in the
year to present offerings to deceased
parents. One stela, consecrated to
the memory of Entcf, who lived at
the beginning of the twcllili^y nasty,
is only a representation of one of
these festivals. Entef is seated be-
side his wife. His sous and daugh-
ters present themselves before him.
Some are saying the prescribed pray-
ers; others bringing food and per-
fumes. The last scene depicted is
interesting from the variety of repre-
sentations. Besides parts of animals
already sacrificed, the servants are
bringing live animals."*
We may judge of the sentiments
of the ancient Egj-ptians with re-
gard to paternal authority by the
following passages from au ancient
document, the authenticity of which
•has never been contested :
"The son who receives his father's
advice will live to be old. Beloved
by Clod is obedience. Disobedience
is hated by God. The obedience of
a son to his lather is a joy, . . .
p. «.
he is beloved by his father, and his
renown is on the lips of the living
who walk the earth. The rebellious
son sees knowledge in ignorance, and
virtue in vice; he daily commits all
kinds of frauds with impunity, and
lives thereby as if he were dead.
"What wise men consider death is
his daily life. He keeps on his way
laden with maledictions. A son
docile in the scr>-icc of God will be
happy in consequence of his obedi-
ence. . . ."•
We cannot help recognizing in
this precious document tlic moral
ideas of primitive times, the tradition
of which Is so faithfully preserved in
the Bible. The fourth precept of
the Decalogue is found here almost
literally: ** Honor thy father and
thy mother, that thou mayest be
long-lived upon tlie land."
Upon a mortuary stela described
by M. Mariette in his Notue du
Mm^e lie Boiihq (No. 44, p. 72),
Mai, the defunct, is seen receiving the
bondage of the members of his family.
" One of the sons of Mai is called
Men-Nefer. For some unknown rea-
son, his name is erased from the list
of the family, and, in fact, hi« whole
image is hammered down. Another
son Hkewi.sc incurred this mark of
infamy, which is only given ^to the
proper name of the jiersonage."
Respect to parents naturally leads
to that for the aged. "The Egyp-
tians have this custom in common
with the Lacedcemonians," says He-
rodotus ; " young men, when they
meet their ciders, turn aside for them
to pass; at their approach they rise
from their seals."
The obligations of parents towards
their cliildren were stricUy enjoined
•Link mnnl irc«tl«o bv Phtah-IlM«f». wbu
lived in Ihe rciKii nf AfiM'Tatkera. the lait lilng
but one of Ihr tillh (l>-nul>*~|MiU]r itaBitlauit
t>y M. Clubu Ui tbt &tvmi ArtikM., ml. uts,,
firit tcrin.
i-
8o8
Egyptian CivUi^sation acc&rdtMg to
in aiicienl Egypt, as is evident from
ii curious passage from Diodgrus,
which, ai the same time, shows how
the inannen> and laws favored the
fecundity of marriage, the only
source of a robust and imtnerous
population :
*' Parents ore obliged to rear all
their offspring in order to increase
the population, which is regarded as
the chief source of the prosperity of
a kingdom. . . . Tbcy provide
for the support of their children at
little expense, and with incredible
frugality. They give them very sim-
ple food : the items of the papyrus
which can be roasted, roots and
stems of palustrinc plants, sometimes
raw, sometimes boiled and roasted,
and as all children go unshod in
that temperate climate, the parents
do not estimate the expense of a
child before the age of puberty to
be more than twenty drachmae (a
lilUe less than twenty francs).
••The children of the common peo-
ple are taught the trade of their pa-
rents, which they are to practise for
life, as wc have remarked. Those who
are ininated into the arts are alone
charged with teaching others to
read."
So simple and natural a system of
education must have singularly fa-
vored ^he fruitfulness of marriage
among the maisses and the number
of children was not less among the
aristocracy. We see from the sim-
plest monuments, where the funeral
honors rendered to the head of a
family by all hLs children are painted
on a woo<i panel, or sculptured on a
slab of calcareous stone, that their
number, including both sexes,3mount-
ed to eight or a dozen, or even more,
and the more elaljoratc monuments,
indicating distinguished families and
the upper classes, render the same
testimony as to the large number of
children in each family — as in the
sculpture at Thebes, which |p'
li:>l of nine male children of
Meiamoun, and a greater
daughters. In this rcsjie
cient Kgjiitian nation dilTcrcd
people of modern times." "
The inequality that wcigfai
heavily upon woman among ai
nations is not found in Egypt. •
men, on the contraf)*," &ays M.
ette, " held a prominent |K»itii
a family. The rights they tabi
were not absorbed in those of
husbands, and tlicy were transii
intact to their children. At
epochs, the family monuments
named the moll)cr to the cxcli
of the ^tlicr. In the inscripti
the ancient empire, conjugal
tion is frequently expressed, in
licate ami touching manner."
it h.os l)een remarked, and with
son, that the women who pbiy
great n\^ in the history of ihc
dynasties enjoyed in private ]
liberty of action quite foreign b
manners of most Oriental natior
" It is by tlie social position o
man," says M. dc Bonald, ** tha
can always determine the nature <
political institutions of a pco|>le
Erjypt, where wc find llie t)-p< a
social organization, the law stil
ted the husliantl to hi« wife in h
of Isis, whicli means th.Tt this dc
dence was inspired by religion
morals, rather than rommatidc
law. Neither divorce nor p<
amy was known there." ♦
The elevated condition of
in ICgypt is attcsteil by the rm
mcnts, which show her sharing
her husband in the direction of
family. §
Charapollion-Figeac has giv
curious details respecting the pci
\ [>■ Hoaild. TktfritJm /Vwi l f . VuL J
% ClMiii|'u)licni-l'iitc»c.
thi tttost Rtctnt Discoveries.
S09
customs of wcaJihy fumilics, the garb
jand toilet of the women and chil-
Idren, and the peculiar characteristics
of the Egyptian race :
" The head was habitually uncov-
ered ; the hair curled or plaited; a
wooUen mantle was sometimes worn
over the tunic, &nd laid aside when
they entered the temples. The wo-
men, besides the tunic, wore ample
vestments of linen or cotton, with
large sleeves, plain or stripciJ, white,
or of some uniform color. Their
hair was artistically arranged. Their
heads were ornamented with ban-
deaux, and their cars and hands with
rings. A light slipper was worn on
the feet. They went out with un-
covered faces, accompanied by some
[of the numerous female servants of
'the house. Dressed also in ample
robes of striped cloth, these scnants
had their hair braided and hanging
down over the shoulders. ^They
also wore a large apron, like their
dress, with no jewels or other orna-
ments, and held themselves in a re-
spectful posture in the presence of
the lady <>^ the house. Girls issuing
from childhood were dressed like
their molhcrs, with the exception of
the ornaments of the head, and chil-
dren of both sexes wore ear-rings as
their only omamem (or dress) for
the first five or six years.
" They were a fine race, tall in
stature, (generally somewhat slender,
and long-lived, as is proved by the
sepulchral inscriptions of those over
eighty years of age. But exceptions
to these general statements are found
among the Egyptians as among
other nations. We only make a
general statement of the principal
features of their physical nature, ac-
cording to the monuments, in accord
with historical accounts, Herodotus,
who saw Egypt before its complete
decadence, declares that, next to the
Lybians, the Egyptians were the
healthiest of people. The great
number of mummies of men and
women which have been opened cor-
roborate tliis testimony." •
liossuet, in his Disceurs sur tllit-
toire uttiverseUe, gives a bold sketch
of the physiognomy of the Egyp-
tians, and shows the result of their
manly training : " These wise Eg)-p-
tians," says he, "studied the regimen
that produces solid minds, robust
bodies, fruitful women, and vigorous
children. Consequently, the people
increased in number and strength.
The countr)' was naturally healthy,
but philosophy taught thtm that na-
ture wishes to be aided. There is an
art of forming the body as well as
the raind.t This art, whicli we have
lost through our indifference, was
well known to the ancients, and
Egypt acquired it. For this lauda-
ble end, the inliabitants had recourse
to exercise and frugality. . . . Races
on foot, horseback, and in chariots
were practised with admirable skill
in Egypt. There M-crc not finer
horsemen in the world than ihe
Egyptians.
" When Diodorus tells us they re-
jected wrestling as giving a danger-
ous and factitiotis strength, he had
reference to the excessive feats of the
athletes, which Greece herself, though
she crowned the victorious wTestlcr
in her games, disapproved of as un-
suitable for free persons; and Diodo-
rus himself informs us that the Mer-
cury of the Egyptians invented the
rules as well as the art of forming the
body.
" We must similarly modify the
statement of the same author re-
specting music. That which the
Egyptians despised, according to
liim, as tending to lessen courage,
was doubtless soft, effeminate music,
which only excites to pleasure and
t Dlodurus.
8lo
Egyptian Civilisation aeeordtng to
false tenderness. For the Egyptians,
so far from despising music of on
elevated character, whose noble ac-
corilii exalt tlic mind and heart,
ascribed its invention, according to
Diodorus himself, to ihcir Merciny,
as well as tite gravest of mu&ical in-
struments.*
" Among the varied exercises
which funned a part of the inililory
education, and arc sculpiured on the
nuracrous monuments, are found
complete gymnastic rules. Nothing
could be more varied than the atti-
tudes and positions of the wrestlers,
attncking, defending themselves, re-
ceding and advancing by turns,
bending down or tumbg over, rising
up again, and triumphing over the
opponents by dint of strength, art,
and skill. In these exercises the
UTestlcrs only wore a large girdle,
that supported and favored their
eJorts."
A fortunate discovery by M. Mari-
etlc enables us to contplcte the por-
trait of the Egyptian race. A statue
found in the Necropolis of Sakkarah,
near Memphis, represents a person
standing wearing a plain wig.f the
arms close to the body. He is walk-
uig, with the left leg advanced.
"This fine monument," says M. Ma-
nelte, " is at once a perfect model of
the Fellah of the middle provinces
of Eg>pt and a s[)eciraen of the
irarks of art in the ancient kingdom.
The person represented is tail and
slender, with a small hand, ilic eyes
■ BonuH. tU*t0uri amr FNUttlrt mmn. Tho
l>UM|(ii troll) Diodornt nrhkh tavpircri the ••(«•
cloul tcflecUutii of Iho U)u«trlou« ItMluip of
Meant is thi*: " Wreulins anil aiuUc v« dot
allpwcri la balauiElit, tm, accorilinK lath« Efvp.
tUn ticUct, tli« (JAilf exct<:t»e of U>e bdily (ivca
yntmi! mrfl ivot bealUl. but ft tnitlicttl strentth
whkti U [xciudlrial. A« la munc, u Is runWil-
crcd tiol only itwieia, Imt Injurious, &s niulBriac
)hc mini) ul uiaii claminalc"
1 1 be Uixe wifH) 90 ofien faunil on t)i« niwin.
intinti of Ihc ancieni nionarrtij-, wmn by bolli
MXn. Illielbe tutban.wcrr apicacrvMUVOgkliul
ihc arilnt ul the luu'a rayt.
wide open, the nose short
the lips somewhat thick, but
in expression, and the checks
The breadth of the should<
markable. Tlic breast is
like the race itself, the hips ai
and the lean and muscut
seem formed for racing."
II.
THE CLASSIFICATION OF TUK ]
The Egyptians, the 6rst to
izc a truly civili^cii socict/i
divided into distinct cLii^ses, ia
the occupations of the diflc-r
lies were hereditary. The iwfl
inant classes were the succrdoC
military-. Inferior lo them w
agriculturists, shepherds, mci
artisans, and boatmen, on who
volved the cultivation of the
the care of the Qocks, commei
trades, the means of commune
and transportation on the Nil
the canals that covered the Ian
To understand tlic stnengt
pennancnce of this organizatii
must revert to its origin. The
instiiutioDs of ancient nations
beginning depended essential
the family — the foundation
society. 'Ilie children were na|
inclined to follow the occupaiii
their parents. The necessity o
viding for their own livcliho(
soon as they were able, an<l
facility of working uinler the
tion of their fathers, induced th
embrace the occupation to
they had been accustomed frai
fancy. It was thus that not
agriculture, but all the arts, t
and sciences, became bcrrdi
the family. Once ha\-ing a
of subsistence, it was ii.-ttural
deavor to preserve it Idenli
interests drew together those
•Uoradatnt; Dimfonis Stcvln.
followed the same trades, which led
to the formation of corporations
united by ties uf blood and itimilarily
of pursuits.
The Egyptians were probably the
first nation to systematically apply
these principles. *' They were not al-
lowed," says Bossuet, " to be useless
to the country. The law assigned
ever)' one his employment, which was
transmitted from father to son. They
could not have two professions, or
change the one they had; but then
every employment was honored.
There must be some pursuits and
some people of a more elevated con-
dition, as eyes are needed in the
body, but their brilliancy docs not
make them desj>isc the feet or the
baser parts. Thus, among the Kgyp-
tians, the priests and warriors
were particularly hoiiorcil: but all
trades, even the lowest, were esteem-
ed. It was considered culj^ble to
despise citizens whose labors, what-
ever they mij^ht be, contributed to
the public wch'are. By this means
a]l the arts were brought to perfection.
The honor which tended to develop
ihera was everywhere manifested,
and that was done better to which
they had been accustomed and in
which they h.id been c.xi>crienccd
from childhood.
" But there was one pursuit com-
mon to all — the study of the civil
laws and the requirements of religion.
Ignorance of religion and of the re-
gulations of the land was inexcusable
in any rank. Kach profession had
its own district. No inconvenience
resulted from this, as the countr>-
was not extensive, and with so much
system the indolent had nowhere to
hide themselves. "•
We recognize the genius of Bos-
suet in the clear outlines he has drawn
of the plan of organized labor, suited
*Dounct, HUtnrt KnnttulU.
to the State of things, as well as the
fundamental principles of all society.
The respect for family life and tradi-
tion, the maintenance of social har-
mony and the grades of society, the
protection of honored labor, are all
remembered in this admirable sketch
of the political economy of the an-
cient Egyptians.
But we must nol, nevertheless, con-
clude that professions were rigorously
hereditary and the castes unchange-
able. Ampere proves the contrary
by means of the sepulchral inscrip-
tions discovered in the tombs con-
temporary with the ancient dynasties.
Tliey show, in fact, that a great
number of marriages were contracted
between persons of different classes.
" What destroys the hypotheses of
exclusive professions," says that
learned academiciaji, "to which each
family, and consequently each raste,
was supposed to be devote<l, is, find-
ing one member of a family in the
sacerdotal state, another pursuing the
military- life, and the remainder en-
gaged in some civil profession," •
It is true the monuments, a fune-
real distinction of the upper class-
es, never mention the laborer or tlie
artisan ; but it is reasonable to be-
lieve that, among a people so regu-
• Dtt CiUtti tt df la Trnmifiuten A^rrJifAtrt
dtt Prf/fwtism itaiit t^ntifmnt KgyfU: m
ntemuir jtubliilied in Ike yeurmai g^ttirat d»
f ! mtrtiflttit fmNifUe, and In Vul. X. of lh«
Krr-nt ArehMe^^tte. Amp^^re pTOT« bjr tkli
\^mn\tA HuJe ilwi ''ihtrc wcrrno i-^i^/rarnoDS
tbe aiii;ieiit KEy]iLlaiis in the nti ict !i«nnc of ibat
woni, ■« li \\ uteJ ir IndU, (or eMtnpk." Ila
very uli\la> tnnly ripla'n.i bow a sUglit inexact-
□csi ill tbe tiKturin ut llctodi>iu« anit nioJonu
re«pectlnff hcrcdtUry tnnsmtMiun In Iha cbM
of )>iU-«u anJ wattion, "sudiccd to found (Mi
this mhetiUnce of putsu:u amt 1Kb scturation of
claSMl to Kf;vpl. a Ihcary Uiat enrfeil by b«.
comins ccmi'lclelf Ciiuticoui." M. KfESor. la
Speaking of hrrdlitary profewiuns, »«v»: " It li
known INal every degree of Uin inrlal vcxloln
ancient EEy|>l rested on this fottrKlillnn. It wu
foralnnic time bclkyeil. accordtoff to llcrodottn
■ml Dioilarus. that ihc E^TVpilaa c««tcs were
absuliilely csckiuvc ; but an inteicMini; nicnicili
by J. J. AiDpire (iB(S> jfrovei the cunliary. nnij
«cicnilnc iliscrivcricj dallir confiim the iruib of
hh obiervaUon* '* {ItuiUtimJfU Sf:MfJ'Ei*-
m»mit Jpircjii/*', June, t8<^.)
J
8ia
larly organized, the diflirrent classes
were goverDcd by tlie same laws and
ciutoms. Jn large families, like those
of primitive times generally, liberty
of vocation easily harmonized with
hereditary professions. One alone —
that of llic swineherd — was rigorously
hereditary. Those who pursued this
employment were obliged to marry
among themselves, on account of the
invincible repugnance fell for the un-
clean a::imals tliey had charge of.
Herodotus says the Egyptian swine-
herd alone, of all the nation, could
not enter into any temple in the
counlT)'. No one would marry their
daughters or give their children lo
them in marriage. They could only
marrj- among themselves,"
Ilk
DIVISION OF LANDED PROPEKTV.
The law concerning the landed
property contrititited no less than the
hereditary professions to preserve a
distinction of classes and the social
gradations. "Ail the land/' says
Diodorus, speaking of tlie institu-
tions of ancient Kgypt, " is divided
into three parts, 'llie first and
largest belongs to the priesthood.
who are greatly respected by the
native jwpulation on account of thetr
religious functions as well us for
their thorough education. Their
revenues are expended for the sacri-
fices, the maintenance of their subor-
dinates, and their own wants. The
Egyptians thinlc the religious cere-
monies should not be ch.ingcd, that
they should always be performc<l by
the same functionaries, and that
these sovereign counsellors should
be above wauL In fact, the priests
are the chief counsellors of the king,
whom they aid by their labors, their
advice, r.nd their knowledge. By
means of astrology and the impcc-
Egyptian CivUizaiion acc^t
tion of the sacrificia! vJrt
foretell the future, and
useful examples of deeds taken
the sacred books. It is not hei]
in Greece, where a single mai
woman has charge of tbc sacet
functions. In Egypt, those who
occupied in the K3cn5ces and
duct the wor:»liip of the gods
numerous, and Uiey transmit
profession to tliejr descend
They are exempted from taxesr
they rank next to the king la
iiou and privileges.
"The second part of the land
longs to the king, the revcn
which ore employed for the expc
of war .md the mai: - of
court. The king rc.^ wx
his own income, witliuut having
couTW to the jiursc of any pa
individual.
" 'Ilie remaining portion of
land bq^ngs to the soldiers and
those who are under c- •
the military leaders, .Si
tached to tlicir country, oit ai
of the wealth tliey (KMseas^
brave all the dangers of war to
fend it. It is. in fact, absurd
aurust tlie safety of a
men who have no interest
common welHire. What is
remarkable, tlic soldiers, living
at their case, increase th« poji
tion lo such a degree that the
cmment is able to dispciivc
foreign troops. And tbc cliil>
encouraged by the example of t
fathers, eagerly embrace the mih
life, and are invincible by
bravery and experience."*
* DliMloru*. With th« eir^nt.-Mi if
Cibxilou* TVUtlnM, ckslly fay
m)rUinl<>fir«l rhnracirr. We '
tfvdIU* Uie Idumlinit ilrui-* i/ki.><i'ii
raooeniinc Ui« nMioer*. Iiw. aAd
of kflcioit Eiiypt. Ilo luJ rMIrd
hltntclf, iikI (li'l no( ilepmil on Ihe
oUmt*. ■• W>Bliro."Mrilw,-|S«
nnritOir rnm'netl. nhkh are fit
nmitl* of ttM ICi;y)>i<«n pi Iv^lbood.''
■teUiig ikal be rUttcd ibM twunuy imilff
the most Recent Discoveries.
813
I>iodanis, as is known, was a con-
temporary of Julius Cicsar and Au-
gustus. '
In addition to what Diotlortis sa^-s
of the military class, \vc will add the
following extracts from Herodotus:
'•Twdve acres of excellent land were
given, under the first kings, to each
head of a family." (He is speaking
of the sainc class.) And a little
further on : " Each soldier possesisiis
twelve acres of land, exempt from
taxation."
This distribution of the landed
property is similar to that in France
in feudal times, and which still extsLt,
to a degree, in Kngbnd, where the
clergj' and aristocracy possess the
greater part of the land.
The two first classes were exempt
from taxation, but the priests were a:
all the expense of public worship,
and, although the royal trcasify pro-
vided for the expenses of war, the
soldiers e\'idenlly had to provide, not
only their own supplies and equi[>-
mcnt, but also for the expenses of
military organization; and, like our
ancient noblesse, they alone had the
glorious privdegc of paying a tribute
of blood.
We have not a sufficiently clear
knowledge of Egyptian civilization
to state the law of succession with
certainty, or how the prescrwilion of
the patrimony of each family was
preserved.
Modern publicists, confounding
stability with immovableness, have
thought the power of bequeathing
property did not exist under tlic an-
cient laws of the East. This opinion
seems incompatible with the nature
my, vn nf Ijkii*. ilurinj (be ie«th Olrn)p'><l. he
a>I(ls: "iJiKlnn; out liuveU In Kfiypt we liail In-
UrcourM » llh itu.ny prkMn, anil concctHd with
ft KtMt number of Rtltlaiilan cnroy«. After
cucfully collccUiiE all tbe liifnrmatloa we couli]
fini OQ Ihe sutijit't. nd cMmininfr the «c-
countl of blstCiLaiit. «tc liave only ailmiticd Into
our Dunlioa fa^:U BGncrally rccdved." I.lb.
lU.
of the paternal authority, which was
carried 10 a sovereign degree in the
families of primitive times. Does
not the Bible represent Ihe patriarch
Jacob on his deathbed disinheriting
Reuben, the oldest of his twelve
sons, and giving his inheritance to
Judah ? And this scene, so well re-
lated in Holy Scripture, took place
in Egypt itself. It is true, the de-
scendants of Abraham had preserved
the Uadilions of the patriarchal life
more perfectly than the Egyptians,
but the latter, as wc have seen, also
professed great respect for the pater-
nal authority, the rights of which
must have h.-irmonizcd with the re-
quirements of the principle of heredi-
tary professions. A passage from
Diodorus seems to decide the ques-
tion in diis sense: "The legislator
regarded property as belonging to
those who had acquired it by their
labor, by trammisshn^ or by gift."
However this may be, it is certain
that all the land, according to Hero-
dotus and Diodorus, belonged origi-
nally to the king, the priestliood, and
tlic military class, 'i'liis division of
the landed property must liave great-
ly contributcii to the stability which
is 30 distinctive a characteristic of
the Egyptian nation. The hereditary
transmission of the land in the sacer-
dotal and military cKisses effectually
assured a solid basis for their prepon-
derance, and at Uic same time gua-
ranteed the independence and dig-
nity of the aristocratic classes. They
were thus fully enabled to second the
king in the government, administra-
tion, and defence of the country.
lY.
ORGANIZATION OF LABOR.
Ancient Egypt, from an agricul-
tural poin: of \'iew, "is in some re-
spects worthy of attention. Certain
Si4
Egyptian ChiHsation ace^rdimg to
modern wiilers have supposed the
memlKTS of the military class culti-
vated tlicir own lands, as the legio-
naries of ancient Rome, but this sup-
position is irreconcilable with the les-
tiiuouy of llie ancient historians who
visited Egypt Herodotus says they
were " not allowed to practise any
mechanical art, but were skilled in
the art Oil war, which they tran,srait
from father to son." This point is
settled by the following passage from
Diodorus: "The agriculiurisis |)ass
their lives in cultivating the lands,
which are leased them at a mode-
rate price by the king, priests, and
warriors."
As to the sacerdotal dass, absorbed
in the religious observances, the admin-
istration, the study of the laws and the
sciences, it was impossible for its mem-
bers to engage in the cultivation of tlie
land, which, as we have seen, they leas-
ed. Noiwiihsianding great research, no
infonnaiion bos been obtained about
the economic condition of the agri-
cultural class. \Vc only know, from
the extract quoted from " Diodorus,
iJiat tlie land was leased at a mode-
rate price. The stability which pre-
^-ailed in Egypt, and the principle
of hereditary )>rofessions, induce us
10 believe that private estates general-
ly had a kind of entail, so the same fa-
mily of husbandmen lived from gene-
ration to generation on the same land.
This principle of stability was emi-
nently favorable to the moral and
material welfare of the Cunily, as well
as to the progress of agriculture.
" Reared from childhood amid ni-
rkl occupations, they acquired more
experience in them than any other
nation. They perfccdy understood
the nature of the soil, the art of irri-
gation, and the time for sowing uid
harxcittng, a knowledge they acquired
partly from their ancestors and partly
by their own experience. The same
observation may be applied to ll*c
shepherds, who tohcriicd the
their 6ocks, and passcfl thctff
lives in rearing them ; thusji
the knowletlge acquired fro«
fatliers.
Tlie other iiidtuttiiol d&iM
no less prosperous. They
hcritcd their octiupations.
bratcd publicist states that
Kgyptian artisans held no prop
'io prove tJic truth of such J
sertion, it roust be shown ih
were reduced to a state of
which is formally contradii
iJioflorus, as wc shall see p
and it is not confirmed by a
recently discovered monura
may be safely aflirrucd that
sans of ancient Egypt, with
ceplion of those attached to
pies or public works, had a •
right over ihctr trades and^
of tlicqi labors, llie
land was denied them,
reason to believe they co:
their dwellings and the little
Uiat surrounded them.
Champolhon-I'igcac, who
his brother in the sciences
profound knowledge of the
pursuits of ancient Egypt,
the people of that country
" plates of glazed canhcn
rush-baskets, and their sit
pynis." •• 'llic lower classes,
in another place, " generally
short linen tunic called n
confined by a girdle around
and sometimes with short
trimmed with fringe at the en
V.
SOCIAL COMDTTTOM Or TOC
CLASSES.
Notwithstanding the Hght
the wonderful di5co%*cnes of
science have thrown on the
rcpi
wit
^
of ancieiU Egypt, we still lack precise
information respecting the inicmal
organization of the corporations oc-
cupied in manual labor. Wc only
know from Diodorus Uiat they be-
longed to the class of ciuzens — that
is, ihcy wcrc//w men, "There arc
in the kingdom," says he, after hav-
ing spoken of the two dominant
classes, "three classes of dttzats:
shepherds, husbandmen, and am-
sans."
Labor among the ancients was
not always a mark of scnitude.
In retracing the origin of the ancient
nations, as far as the light of history
diffuses its rays, we find agriculture
and the industrial pursuits carried
on everywhere by free labor.
'ihe monarchical andaristocratical
government contributed not a little
to the maintenance of stabihly in the
artisan families, by preserving ihent
from the fruitless agitalioiSs into
which the working- classes are fatally
drawn under democratic governments.
Diodorus shows this admirably in
the following passage, to which we
invite the attention of the reader :
"It must be considered that the
arts have greatly developed among
the Eg\'piians. and arrived at a high
degree of ficrfeclion. It is the only
country in which a workman is not
permitted to fill any public office, or
empjoy himself in any other way
than that assigned him by law or by
inheritance. IJy this restriction, the
workman is not diverted from his oc*
cupations trithcr by the jealousy of
his masters* or by political affairs.
Among other nations, on the con-
trary, the artisan is almost wholly
absorbed in the idea of making a
fortune, some by agriculture, others
through commerce, and some carry
on several trades at once. And in de-
mocratic countries, most of them fre-
* Probtblr •Hperiotndciiti li m««iit.
quent the popular assemblies and in-
crease disorder by selling iheir votes,
whereas an Kgyptian artisan who
should take a part in public aHaini,
or worked at several trades at once,
would incur a large fine. Such are
the social divisions and political
constituuons the ancient Egyptians
transmitted from father to son."
What a contrast between the arti-
san of the old Greek republics, " fre-
quenting public assemblies and ex-
tending disorder by selling their
votes," and the workman of the
Kgyptian monarchy, peacefully pur-
suing the occupation of his fathers,
happy and contented amid pohlical
agitations which must have been very
rare under a r/}pme in which tradi-
tional customs were religiously ob-
served I Thus, with the exception of
enforced labor on the public works,
we arc not unwilling to admit the
fidelity of the picture Charaiwllion-
Figeac has drawn of the condition
of the laboring classes in ancient
Egypt: "The extraordinary fertility
of lUe soil, the beneficent climate,
the wise laws perfected by experience
and sanctioned by time, the active
and benevolent administration, con-
stantly occupied in promoting and
sustaining public order in the coun-
try as well as the city, the inevitable
influence of religion upon a pctjple
naturally rchgious and impressiona-
ble — the most religious of men, ac-
cording to Herodotus- — allow lis to
believe that the masses in ancient
Egypt were happy, and that, occupi-
ed and laborious, moilest in their
manners and wishes, they found in
labor a source of durable pleasure."
hy this wise social organizatioOf
M-hich kept each one in his place,
the artisan remained faithfully de-
voted to his pursuits, as the hus-
bandman to his labor. They botli
fully cn)oye<i the stability so neces-
sary to success, llut, as we shall
I
m
Egyptian CivUisatwn according to
sec, the liberty and well being of the
workmen of all classes were affected
by llic friglitful labors imposed on
them in tlic public works^
BOOK SECOND,
THS TOLiriCAI, LEGAL, AND ADMIXISTItA*
TIVE INSnTCTtOKft.
ROYALTY.
The keystone of the social cdi-
6cc in the nncient kingdom of Egypt
may be regarded xt royally. The
crufm W3S hereditary in the male
Imc in the order of primogeniture —
brothtrr succeeding to brother with-
out surriung children. In case of
no son, the daughter succeeded her
fiither, and he whom she espoused
was the queen's husband, but not the
king.
The king, through the different
members of his family, presided in
all the branches of the government
and public administmtioa, thus giv-
ing perfect unity and complete mo-
narchical power. " In fact," says
Champolliou, " the dignities of the
different orders were reserved for the
king's sons by the laws of the coun-
try. The oldest son of Sesostiis
bore the tides of Fan-bearer of the
king's left hand. Royal Secretary,
Basilico-granimatist, and Commander-
in-chief of the Anuy. The second
son was also Fan-bearer of the king's
left hand, Royal Secrctan*, and Com-
mander-in-chief of the Royal Guard.
■|*he third son added to the two 6rst li-
lies th.at of Coramtuider-in-chief of the
Cavalry*. The same qualifications
were also given to other princes, and
seem to have belonged to all (he
royal generations, as well as several
sacerdotal and civil titles, such as
])rophets <a class of priests) of dif-
lercnl gods, high-priest of Ammon,
and supreme head of diffi
functions." Thus the kii»,
iraicd in his Crniily the mt
tJtit offices ill the army, tlv
ministration, and the pricstb
Finally, the better to
the principle that all powci
nity had their source in th
the princi[»al leaders in the
administration received tb
the king's cousin, relative, o
Such was the real natu
roynl power in the eyes
Egypt
" The Egyptians werB
considered the most gratefi
toward their benefactors.
sidercd the best guarantee o
(o be a reciprocal iiilcrcban,
vices and gratitude. It is i
are more inclined to l>e
others when a real benefit
derived firom the gratitud
obligctf It was from these
the Egv-plians respected and
their kings as if they were g
sovereign authority, divindjr
red, according to their bcl
wilt and power to ditTuse
•K3& to them a K' Tib
While ginug i- . ra
divine character to the rovol
ty, the wise legislators of ol
did not the less take the pre
suggested by a profound Ice
of human nature, of restrict
monarchical power witlun j
of iuiipiring the king with
inclinations, and of prvvcnt
from evil-doing. "In the fit
the kings of Egypt did not
free and independent a life
kings of other nations. TN
not act according to their o
Kvcrythtng waa regul.ited
not only their public;, but th
private life. They were serve*
tDiOdMW. *^
J
the most Recent Discoveries,
817
bondsmen or slaves, but by the eons
of the chief priests, reared with the
greatest care, and more than twenty
years of age. The kcig, thus served
day and night by real models of vir-
tue, would never be countenanced in
any' blamable action. For a sove-
reign would not be worse than any
other man if he had not around him
those who flattered his desires. The
precise duties of the king for every
hour of the day and night were fixed
by law, and not left to his own in-
clinations. His first act in the morn-
ing was to read the letters sent from
every direction, that he might be
thoroughly informed of all that had
occurred in the kingdom, and act in
consequence. Then, after bathing,
putting on magnificent garments, and
assuming the insignia of royalty, he
ofiered a sacrifice to the gods. The
victims were led to the altar; the
high-priest, according to custom,
stood near the king, and, in presence
of the people, prayed the gods aloud
to preserve the king in health and all
other blessings as long as he fulfilled
the laws. At the same time, the high-
priest was obliged to enumerate tMfe
virtues of the king, and dwell on his
piety towards the gods and his meek-
ness towards man, representing him
as temperate, just, magnanimous, op-
posed to lying, loving to do good,
the complete master of his passions,
inflicting on the guilty the least pun-
ishment merited, and recompensing
good actions beyond their value.
After the addition of similar praises,
the priest ended by an imprecation
against all faults committed through
ignorance; for the king, being irre-
sponsible, imputed all his faults to his
ministers and counsellors, on whom
was invoked the merited chastise-
ment. The high-priest acted thus in
order to inspire the king with a fear
of the gods, and habituate him to a
pious and exemplary life, not by a
VOL. XIII. — 52
bitter exhortation, but by attractive
praises of the practice of virtue.
Finally, the king inspected the en-
trails of the victim, and declared the
favorable auspices. The hierogram-
matist read some sentences and use-
ful accounts of celebrated men from
the sacred books, that the sovereign
might select an example by which to
regulate his actions. There was a
fixed time not only for audiences,
but for exercise, the bath, and, in
short, for every act of life. The king
was accustomed to live on simple
food. He was allowed veal and
goose for meat. He could only
drink a certain quantity of wine that
would neither produce repletion nor
intoxication. In a word, the pre-
scribed regimen was so regular that
it might be supposed ordained not
by legislators, but by the best physi-
cians, aiming only at the preservation
of health.
" It seems strange for a king not
to be at liberty to choose his daily
food, and still more so that he could
not pronounce a judgment or take
a decision, or punish any one through
passion or caprice, or any other un-
just reason, but be forced to act
according to the laws fixed for each
particular case. As it was an esta-
blished custom, the king could not
take offence, and he was not discon-
tented with his lot. On the contrary,
he considered his a very happy life,
while other men, abandoned without
restraint to their natural passions,
were exposed to many inconveni-
ences and dangers. He thought
himself fortunate in often seeing
other men violate their consciences
by persisting in bad designs, influ-
enced by love, hatred, or some other
passion, while he himself, emulous of
living after the example of the wisest
of men, could only fall into venial
errors. Animated with such just sen-
timents, the king conciliated the
fian Csvi/isati
affection of his people os that of bis
family. Not only the priesihooil.
but all tlie Egyptian nation were
less solicitous about tlicir own fanu-
lies and possessions than about llic
safety of the king* All the kings
incntione<l followed this politiral r/'
gimf for a long lime, and led a
happy life under these laws. Be-
sides, they conquered many natiunit,
acquired great weallli, adorned the
country wtih wonderful works and
moniimenis, and the cities with rich
and varied ornaments." f
We have thought proper to quote
this long passage from Diodorus, be-
cause it clearly shows how the Egyp-
tians regarded the duties and uttri-
butes of royalty. A limited know-
ledge of their sentiments makes us
feel that Diodorus must have faith-
fully destribed the regulations main-
tained by the priests Irani the begin-
ning of this ancient monarchy. Until
the taiest times, that is, till the Roman
conquest, the prince, called to the
throne by his birlli, was enthroned
and consecrated in a general assem-
bly of the priesthood convoked at
Memphis, ** in order to observe the
legal ceremonies prescribed for the
coronaiioiu" %
When we examine the sacerdotal
order, the influence it exercised over
the king, in keeping him within the
limits of moderation and justice, will
be perceived.
The veneration of the Egyptians
for their kings led them from the
first to render them divine honors.
•*L^pt,"s3ys M Marictie, "had a
genuine woTslitp fur its kings, whom
.they styled beneficent go<ls, and re-
garvled as the 'Sous of the Sun." "
tlftit • '- moultiof 1*1 -'hcA
V 1^1. :ic[(>t>^ the II "*:
'• I li«ir 'ivitcD HI ocUbw qI Uie fctr\|j iior injr
own lAib^r."
: Decree at tgA a.c., fmiad on the RoHUa
--*-
"The urcus (the asp)
the brows of all the king^
found adorning ihe forehea
of the gods. 'The Asp
grow old/ &ays PlutAJch
Ohiris), *aDd, iliough witho
of locomotion, it n^nv-**
facility.' The )
it as the emblem ■
of the sun and its coi
heavens."
The sentiment of loyaltf
ried so far among th i
it was considered a d < .
kings even in titc (.apnccs
lantasy and pride. They
those who w^cre bad while ill
reserving the right oi jud^
after their death.
" What look place at the
their kings was not ore of
proofs of their atiarhnient
for the honors rendered tu iJ
ore an incontcstalilc proof of
of aifection. When one of tl
died, all ihe intuhiunt*i m
rent their g.imienis, - M
pies, ab:itained from
celebrated no festivals for
two days. Every one pa^
prescribed numl>cr of ilays
tiun and mourning, as for ttw
of a cherished child. DuH
time preparations were made foj
nificcnt funeral, and on the
they placed the chest contai
body of the deceased at the i
of ll]c lumb. They then pro
according to the law, to pai
mcnt on all the king had don
his lire. Every one h.id the
nuking his accusation. Tbq
pronounced a pancgjiic,
the praiseworftiy deeds of th
Thousands of auditor:* appltt
if the k'mg's life had been
reproach ; if otherwise, they
sed their disapjirbval by m
Many kings, through the op
of the people, were deprived
the most Recent Discoveries.
819
able burial. This led their succes-
sors to deal justly, not only for rea-
sons already mentioned, but for fear
their bodies might be treated ignomi-
niously after death, and their memory
be for ever cursed." *
"There are still to be seen in
Egypt," says ChampolUon-Figeac,
" testimonies significant of this custom.
The names of some sovereigns are
carefully effaced from the monuments
they had erected during their reign.
They are carefully hammered down
even on their tombs." Among the
names of the kings thus condemned
after death, Champollion mentions
that of Pharaoh Mandou6i, of the
eighteenth dynasty. Wherever this
name stood, on all representations
of the king, or on the edifices he
had erected, it is carefully effaced
and hammered, though expressed by
the image of the god Mandou, whose
name he bore. The systematic sup-
pression of this king's name on all
the public monuments can only be
explained as the result of one of
those severe judgments passed by
the Egyptian nation upon wicked
kings after their death.t
" There was in Egypt," says Bos-
suet, " a kind of judgment, quite
• Diodonis,
t It could also be expAtned u the effect ol ft
reftctioD which often accompanies a chaDRC of
dynasty. M. F. Lenornuint regards this judg-
ment of kings as a mere fable. " The king whea
dead," says he, " was as much of a god as when
liying." Doubtless, but the Cscsars were also
during their lives raised to the rank of divinities,
which did not prevent the Romans from killing
several. Wc see no dtfficultjr in admitting the
explicit testimony of Diodonis, corroborated by
the opinion of ChampoUton the Younger as well
as his brother.
extraordinary, which no one escaped.
. . . This custom of judging kings
after their death appeared so sacred
to the people of God, that they al-
ways practised it. We see in the
Scriptures that wicked kings were
deprived of burial among their an-
cestors, and we learn from Josephus
that this custom was still kept up in
the time of the Asmoneans. It led
kings to remember that, if above
human judgment during their lives,
they must be subjected thereto when
death reduced them to the level of
ordinary mortals." *
Notwithstanding so many wise
precautions, the kings of Egypt did
not always pursue the course so
clearly marked out by the national
traditions and the interests of the
nation. More than one Pharaoh,
intoxicated by sovereign authority,
made his subjects experience the
heavy hand of tyranny. The nu-
merous changes of dynasties (thirty-
one are reckoned before the conquest
by Alexander the Great) also show
that the nation more than once suc-
ceeded in overthrowing the despotic
government of those that abused
their power. But, through all chan-
ges of dynasties, and in spite of the
struggles of rival families, the Egyp-
tians always remained faithful to the
monarchical principle, indissolubly
attached to its institutions, customs,
and manners. " At no time," says
Herodotus, "have the Egyptians
been able to live without kings."
* Bossuet. Hitiotrr univ., 11. 177. The Isnal
ites probably borrowed this custom from th*
EgyptUos.
830
Mr, Carlylt and Ph't Bouhours.
MR. CARLYLE AND PERE BOUHOURS.
Crying injustice and endlc&s
lieartbumings are caused in social
life by the falsehoods wliich mali-
cious or fuoli&h people slteltcr under
Lhc fmniliar quutaiion rubtic, " said
he " or " said she." For these we
may charitably and to some extent
allow uncertainty of human memory
to go in extenuation.
Ri&ing above the circle of cack-
ling go&sip, we know that, out of a
dozen witnesses solemnly adjured to
testify as to words spoken in simul-
taneous hearing of all the twelve, it
15 rare to find any three of them
agreeing as to the precise form of
locution used, even where they accord
as to meaning and signification of
the phrase they report.
We pass from the spoken to the
written woni, and aie struck with the
fact dial, even in literature and in
histor)', the too common neglect uf
cunscieniious accuracy of dtadons,
ID accepting them at second hand or
from a i|uestionabIc source, is the
fruitful c:tuse uf wrong judgment of
events, false estimate of men, and
undiaritableness without end.
If it is sought to hold a man re-
sponsible for opinions wliich he has
deliberately written and printed, he
is in justice lo be held answerable
solely by his own record, ucidier
more nor less. No occaaion is there
here for conflicting testimony. If
arraigned for those opinions, let the
accuxalion run — i/niisimis verbis —
with what he has wriiicn. Other-
wise, Ilaw filial will be found, and
indiclmcnl sternly quashed. Scriffa
matunt — ^his opinions are recorded,
and no subse>xncnt version may be
vary
heard from him to
lion therein assumed. N
fore, in justice, shall you od
verse parol testimony in g
unlnendly gloss or cxplana
hold him responsible for m»
he has adv.anccd or assumed.
With swift instinct, wc All i
reported verbal utterances mi
a man whose prejudice or
passion cvideiidy colors hts c
and stimulates his imagination
aUhoiigh the excuse of mia
ml^i understanding is noe a<fi
where the repetition or cJtat
printed words is conccmn
when A writer ts quoted in thi
of ridicule, blame, or &arca
should suffice to put the reai
inquir)'. Before 1
by vouches for tfj-
let him luok well to it that
is not tampered with, and
passage, as given, he not m
not to say changed — by
addition. A mere comma
or too litllc, as wc well know
make sad havoc with a s<tt
and turn truth into falsehood.
Old uudiors, and even so;
careful writers down to the p
da ' ' ' ri
re-
au
in t-. .-- -:,'!■ ', ^^uM
ane unable to verify the conro
of the passage cite^t ; thus th
the btudcn of proof on the re;
named by them,
A remarkable inslanre of tV
Icct of some such pre
here mentioned may !
somewhat familiar citatioa
Mr. Carlyle and Pere Boukours.
821
and, we may add, made celebrated —
by no less & literary authority than
Mr. Carlyle.
It occurs in one of his most admi-
rable productions, entitled Th( SiaU
of German LiUra/ure.
This essay, which originally ap-
peared, in 1837, as ail article in the
Edinbui^h Rtruw, is rich 'u\ literary
research and ugorous thought.
It is valuable not only for what it
sap concerning German literature,
but concerning all literature, and is
most generally enjoyed and best
remembered by reason of its elo-
quent pillorying^ and remorseless
flagellation of one P^re Bouhours,
wlio, as Mr. Carlyle informs us, pro-
pounded to himself the pregnant
question : Si un Aikmand feut avmr
di teiprit? Indignantly the great
Scotch essayist thus bursts out upon
the unfortunate Frenchman: "Had
the Pere Bouhours bethought him of
what couatr>* Kepler and Leibnitz
were born, or who it was that gave
to mankind the three great elements
of modern civilization, gunpowder,
printing, and the Protestant religion,
it might have thrown light on his
inquiry. Had be known the Xftehc-
iungen- Litii^ and where Mdneekt'
Fuths, and Fauit. and the Ship of
Fools^ and four-fifths of all the popu-
lar myi]iolog>-. liumor, and romance
to be found in Europe in the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries,
took its rise ; had he read a page or
two ot* Ulrich Hutten, Opitz, Paul
Flcmniing, Logan, or even Loben-
stein and HoSmanswaldau, all of
whom had already lived and written
even in his day; had the Fbre Bou-
hours taken this trouble, who knows
but he might have found, with what-
ever amazement, that a German
could actually have a little esprit^ or,
perhaps, even something better ? No
such trouble was requisite for the
Pfcre Bouhours. Motion w vmuo is
well knovra to be speedier and surer
than through a resisting medium,
es[>eciaily to imponderable bodies ;
and so the light Jesuit, unimpeded
by facts or principles of any kind,
failed not to reach his conclusions ;
and, in a comfortable frame of mind,
to decide negatively that a German
could twt have any literary talent.'*
Now, if Pfere Bouhours really said
what is here attributed to him, this
fulmination, all obvious as it is, can-
not be looked upon as unprovoked,
and we may listen with sense of sat-
isfied jushcc to the dreadful sentence
pronounced upon him, which is sub-
stantially that, incarcerated in the
immortal amber of this one untimely
joke, the helpless Jesuit be doomed
therein to live; *' for the blessing of
full oblivion is denied him, and so
he hangs suspended to his own noose,
over the dusky pool which he strug-
gles toward, but for a great while
will not reach." To these remarks
Mr. Carlyle adds the very sensible
reflection : '• For surely the pleasure
of despising, at all times and in it-
self a dangerous luxury-, is much
safer afttr the toil of examining than
before it"
'J'his condemnation and sentence
are based on a detached phrase se-
parated from its contexts, and Mr.
Carlyle fails to tell us in what con-
nection or in what work was made
the unfortunate speech for which the
French writer is thus beaten with many
stripes.
Might it not be that, read in its
proper relation, his words signify
something very different from the in-
terpretation placed upon them as
here severed ? So true is tliis that
what Pfcre Bouhours really wrote
has a very different signihcation.
Investigation demonstrates this and
more, and show.s that Ptrrc Bouhours
not only did not mean to express
whatishereattributed to him, but that
822
fr, Carfj'/e itnd Phre Bonhourr.
he did iiot even use the words thus
thrust upon him aa his own.
Indeed, the ill-used Bouhoure is
introduced and dispatched so very
summarily, thai the reader of tlic Ed-
inburgh essay scarcely obtains more
than a glance of a Utcrnry criminal
rapidly judged and sent to swifl exe-
cution.
Let us see for a moment what
manner of man this Bouhours ap-
I>carcd lo the people of hia day and
generation. As then known, he was
a writer of high reputation {/tors
iigne) and the auihorof several works,
wmc of which are still read and re-
published. Wc find certain of his
books on the shelves of our largest
American libraries, and a few days
since, m lotriking casually through a
catalogue of publications made { 1 869)
at the Armenian convent in Venice,
AD interesting spot well knou-n to
American travellers, we noted two
eilttions of Bouhoum's Crtristian Mt'
iii/aHens, one in French and one in a
Turkish tran-slation.
Uouhours is also the autlior of a
French translation of the entire New
Testament, which is remarkable for
its fidelity and its purity of dic-
tion.
It is the version adopted by Lalle-
mant in hts Rfjletti0ns on the Nitw
Testament. He also wrote Remarks
nmt Doubts eonceming the J^encl%
Langjidgr, and Ini^enious 77toughts 0/
the faihtrs. His Maiti^re df hun
tenser is held by the best critics to
contain much that evinces acutenc&s
and delicacy uf discrimination. Boa-
hours was always quoted and refer-
red to by his contemporaries with
deference.
His Life of St. Fronds XavUr was
found worthy of an Kngltsh trans*
Ution by no [ess a celebrity than
the Eni^lish poet Drydcn ; and La
Hari}e, who is openly unfriendly to
Bouhours, says of him, " C'ctait un
liomme lettr£ qui savaSt
ct I'LspagnoL"
The passage incorrectly
Mr. Carlylc occurs in jUs j
a'Ariste <t d'Eugine^ a sni
cimo volume puL'lisbct] in 1
These Eniretietss or trom
arc supposed to be hdld by
tlemen of literary taste, who
a variety of subjects pert
polite hterature.
One of these topics is ihft
language, which is assum
the best of all modem lai
possessing, as it docs, the
uniting conciseness with d
and purity ivith politeness.
(]ue?tion of his native ton{
patriotism of I'^re Uouhours
him into terms of exccssi\x
The French language, in his
combines every excellence. |
Spanish he characterizes as ;
torrent flooding its banks a
spreading the country ; tlic
as a gentle rivulet ; the Frcnct
jestic stre.im that never quits i
The Spanish, again, he comi
a proud beauty, bold in del
and splendid in attire ; the
to a painted coquette, ever orn
cd for effect ; the French, to
dcst, agreeable larly, who, if
ently prudish, is neither uocr
repulsive. Then, he adds, o
pronunciation is the most
and plM^ing.
I'atriotism of so warm a ch
as this, after elevating Fren
guage and literature so freely
expL*n»c of the Spanish and
would hardly be likdy lo x.
German very high.
Accordmgly, in >new of the
preponderance of heary
learned disquisition over that
of German literature which
be classed as |>olished anij
P^re Bouhours did really |
the question.
Mr. CarlyU and Pere Bouhours.
823
SI UN ALLEMAND PEUT ETRE BEL
ESPRIT ?
—a proposition very far from iden-
tical with that which is attributed
to him by Mr. Carlyle, namely :
si un allemand peut avoir de
l'esprit ?
The variation simply being that
Bouhours did not, as here alleged, de-
cide negatively that a German could
not have any literary talent, but que-
ried if a German could be a wit.
Truly a distinction with a differ-
ence.
Hallam, seldom incorrect in such
matters, presents the matter fairly
in stating that the Pfere Bouhours
*' proposed the question whether a
German can by the nature of things
possess any wit."
The misrepresentation made is a
serious one, and the citation as correct-
ed deprives Mr. Carlyle's thunder of
its noise, and extracts from his sar-
casm all its sting.
We believe it was Thackeray who
said that, notwithstanding his pro-
found respect and deep veneration
for the twelve apostles, they really
were not the sort of persons he
should care to invite to a festive
dinner party.
P^re Bouhours would doubtless,
as readily as Mr. Carlyle, concede to
Kepler and Leibnitz all the merit
the most enthusiastic German could
claim for these great men as shining
lights of science, but would hardly
credit them with the ability to write
the Xenien or edit tlie Kladderadatsch.
When Bouhours published his Eh'
ireiiens, it is very certain that, if Ger-
man literature shone in wit, the fact
was not knoAvn west of the Rhine.
Indeed, Mr. Carlyle himself, a few
paragraphs further on, unconscious-
ly records the fullest vindication of
P6re Bouhours. With a patriotism
quite as fervent as that of his victim,
he informs us that " centuries ago
translations from the German were
comparatively frequent in England,"
but to support this statement can
only cite Luther's Table Talk and
yacob Broehme. Enumeration most
scant and melancholy! The essay-
ist then goes on to say : " In the
next century, indeed, translation ceas-
ed; but then it was, in a great mea-
sure, became there was little worth
translating. The horrors of the
Thirty Years' War had desolated
the country; French influence, ex-
tending from the courts of princes
to the closets of the learned, lay
like a baleful incubus over the far
nobler ruins of Germany ; and all
free nationality vanished from its
literature, or was heard only in faint
tones, which lived in the hearts of
the people, but could not reach 7tnth
any effect to the ears of foreigners."
But as though not satisfied with
a general statement which should
justify Pfere Bouhours, Mr. Carlyle
continues until he makes the justifi-
cation clear in terms and specific by
dates, telling us : '* From the time of
Opitz and Flemming to that of Klop-
stock and Lessing, that is, from the
early part of the seventeenth to the
middle of the eighteenth century,
they [the Germans] had scarcely any
literature known abroad, or deserving
to be known."
Now, Dominic Bouhours, bom in
Paris, 1628, asked the famous ques-
tion, Si un Allemand peut itre bel
esprit? in 1671, and died in 1703.
Thus his earthly career was com-
prised precisely within the period
specified by Mr. Carlyle as that dur-
ing which the Germans were with-
out not only belles-lettres, but any
literature whatever deserving to be
known.
But, going back to the middle
tH
.atfyU am
JffUi
trt.
agn, Mr. Cirlyle, strangely enoagh
holds Bouhours rcspofutble, becsasc
of liU want or familiarity with the
A'uMunjif/$-Zift/, Reinctkc-Fuiki, and
other raonumciits uf early German
titnaturc- " Had he known the
NUbflungen-lMd" is asked mock-
ingly. This is hardly just, when wc
reflect that no one better than Mr.
Carlyle knows that Germany of the
Bouhours period was itself, in the
mnin, ignorant of and profoundly
indifferent to the merits of these re-
markable productions. Only long
years alicrward, following on ages of
oblivion as to their very existence in
their own country, were they brought
to lights and it is principally owing
to the exertions of the comparatively
new Komantic school that modern
Germany has been made acquainted
witli tlie lilthebtHgtn-Lifti and other
great middle-age i>oems.
It \s true that liodmcr in Switrer-
lanil first put a portion of the Nube-
b»*>s?rt (" L'hritnhiiilc's Revenge") in
priut, in 1757; but, as Mr. Carlyle
has elsewhere infonneil us, it was
August Wilhclm Sthlegcl who " suc-
ceetied in awakening something like
a universal popular leeliiig on llie
subject," and he refers to this and
the like poems as "manuscripts that
lor ages havr lain dormant/' and
now come " from their archives into
pubhc view." "a phenomenon unex-
pected till of late " — suting thai " the
A'lPrJtH^n i<i welcomed as a prc-
ooui aatiooal poisessioci — iru v tnd
pfitr tis tmtuhtt cf nr^kft:' Ftoa
which it would appear that, at his
p* r ' ' vjn, in 1671, must be fa-
Di X precious lutkinal po«-
•BBnon ' oi the Gcmiaw» which they
tJMsasclrcs, before aad after tiut
pcnmL ue«ted wUh ^centttnes of
occlcct.*' Bcui« a Jesuit, k ». of
ooMK, cmiocMily pfoper, aocanlaig
10 % onC'^Moorctl cQntoa in Kafkifc
IkecMvt^ tint he shoukl be Nwde
retponsible for everything
tsh Inquisition and Orij;
eluded.
Mr. C:.-^' ' - -'rioticaBf;
e)'es to 111 .-:ioTttiice
fcrcncc touching Oermon
c\*en when claiming for Great
only a lesser density of ign
conceniing it than afiRicted Fi
Writing as late as 1837, he
admits that the literature and
ler of Germany **are still very
rally unknown to us, or, '
worse, misknowii,*' ihat its
and tawdry ware " reached Eo
before " the chaste and truly
lent," and that " Kotecbuc's oi
spread faster by some nfiy
than Lessing's wisdom." Ai
British ignorance, it is admit!
not confined to German lit
" For what more do we kno
thus Mr. Carlyle diochca the
tion — " of recent Spanish or 1
literature than of German ; of'
and Manzoni, of Campacaan
jnvcllanos, than of 'I'^k and
ter?"
Realty, when wc coniemplal
enhghteoed Englisbman of
thus held up to our gate, how
withhold from the abused F
of 1671 OUf profwinil a»lm
Now, if, on rcflt
estimates the impuuuon
literature of a lack of wit
as aaenoos ofeoce — ^if
octiocablc and
6oabouT9*9 quef7.
51 CK ALLKltAMD PKUT
Bsnrr?
he need noc ^ bsdt iwro
for a criminal of vbocn to
n***ptf We tsBTV n
koB one of (hU if^Xi.
decade — bat.
'•A a bviBf coij-f^u.
diitifigwslied oac Hcse is
Our Lady of Lourdes.
825
of the words in which he offends, and,
if we are not mistaken, he may be
found m Mr. Carlyle's bailiwick :
" There is, perhaps, no nation where
the general standard of wit and hu-
mor is so low as with the Geimans
— no other people at least are so
easily entertained with indifferent
jokes" [Saturday Ervictu, London,
March 18, 1871).
OUR LADY OF LOURDES.
riOH TBI FSBNCH OP HENXI LAKKUEE.
PART IX.
VII.
PASTORAL LETTER OF THE BISHOP OF
TARBES, GIVING HIS DECISION REGARD-
ING THE APPARITIONS WHICH TOOK
PLACE AT THE GROTTO OF LOURDES.
" Bertrand-Severe Laurence, by the
divine mercy, and the favor of the Apos-
tolic See, Bishop of Tarbes, Assistant at
the Pontifical Throne, etc. To the clergy
and faithful of our diocese, health and
benediction in our Lord Jesus Christ.
" Beloved co-laborers and most dear
brethren : In all epochs of humanity, mar-
vellous communications have taken place
between earth and heaven. At the com-
mencement of the world, the Lord ap-
peared to our lirst parents to reproach
(hem with their disobedience. During
the ages which succeeded, we see him
conversing with the patriarchs and pro-
phets.\ The Old Testament is often noth-
ing more than a history of the heavenly
apparitions with which the children of
Israel were favored. These favors did
not cease with the Mosaic law; on the
contrary, they became, under the law of
grace, more striking, more numerous.
In the infancy of the church, those times
of bloody persecution, the Christians re-
ceived visits from Jesus Christ and the
angels, who came, sometimes, to reveal
to them secrets of the future or to deliver
them from their chains ; at other times,
to strengthen them for combat. Thus it
was, according to a judicious writer, that
God encouraged those illustrious confes-
sors of the faith, when the powers of earth
united to strangle in its cradle that truth
which was to save the world.
" These manifestations from the other
world were not the exclusive lot of the
first centuries of Christianity. History
attests that they have been continued
from age to age, for the glory of religioD
and the edification of the faithful. Among
these heavenly apparitions, those of the
Blessed Virgin occupy a prominent place,
and have been an abundant source of
blessing to the world. As the traveller
journeys over that part of the earth
which has been the home of Christianity,
he everywhere meets temples consecrated
to the Mother of God ; and many of theM
owe (heir origin to an apparition of the
Queen of heaven. We already possess
one of these blessed sanctuaries, founded
four centuries ago, on account of revela-
tions made to a young shepherdess,
where thousands of pilgrims repair yearly
to kneel before the throne of the glori-
ous Virgin Mother Mary to implore her
for special favors.*
"Thanks be to Crod Almighty !— for,
among the treasures of his infinite bounty,
he has reserved for us another favor. He
desires that, in our diocese of Tarbes, a
new sanctuary should rise to the glory of
Mary. And what instrument has he made
use of to communicate his merciful de-
signs? One which would be the very
weakest In the eyes of the world — a child
of fourteen years, Bemadette Soubirous,
one of the daughters of a poor family of
Lourde^"
Here the bishop gives a summary
of the apparitions. The reader is
* Notre Dame de Gantoon.
826
Our Lady of Lourdrs.
aware of them already. Mgr. Lau-
icocc then proceeds to discuss the
tacts:
"Such, in sub&tance," lie furllier con-
linucs, "if tlic ;iccoiint wc oursclvt-s
heard Uom llcmadciic, bcruie ttie com-
miulonerfl aAscrotiled (o reexamine ihc
iifiiiir.
" Thus, iliis young girl has seen a being
calling 1ic(s«lf llie Idimacutalc Concep-
tion, who, allhougti appcaiinff in bumun
fonn, w:a5 neltlicr Keen not lieard Ity any
of ibe numerous spectators prcicnt at Ihc
scene. It vras consequently some kind
of a stiprriiaiural beinff. What Is to bo
tboucht of such an event ?
" You ate wtfll .iwaie, dearly lielovcd
brethren. \\ytX ilie chlirch exercises a wise
deliberaiiait in deicrmtninj^ nupcrnaiural
facts, niiU tliat she dcmandti cciiaiii iwoof
before mlinitlinftlltom 10 be divine. Since
llie oiif(inal lall. msn lias been iiablc lu
many cirors, pariicuUrly in tills mailer.
If not Jed astray b^ his rcAwn. now weak-
coed, he lias MiflTcred himself lo become
the dupe of the evil one. Wlio docs not
knuvr that the dci-il sometimes transforms
himself tnio an angel of light, in order
to draw us into his snares ? Thus the
beloved disciple warns us not to believe
evtry spirit, bul to try ihc spirits if they
come Irnm God. 1 his trial wc liavc
made. The crcni of which we arc treat-
ing has liccn, for (our years, the object
of Diu solicitude: ^e have followed ii
througBout ils various phases. Wo have
CDosulicd ihc commission, made up gf
piouE, learned, and experienced priesta,
who have examined fact.^, questiuncd (he
little girl, weighed and deliberated con-
cerning all. We have, also, invoked ihe
luUiotiir of science, and remain firmly
convinced tlui the app-uition was super-
oaiaral and divine, and, consequently,
that what BernadeKc saw was really and
inily Iho Most Ulcsscd Virgin Mary.
Our conviction is based upon (he tcsti'
mony of Ueinadettc but, more especially,
upon (he events which have transpired,
and which can bo explained only by sup-
posing sumo heavenly inlofveniion.
"The tc^limuny of ihc Utile giil aObrds
■II the wcutily ttiui on be desired, llcr
sinceiliy cannut be doubled. No one
who C'lmes in contact with het can fall to
adniiie her childish simplivity, candor,
and modcHy. \Vliile everybody (s eij-
gaged in discussing lbe»e marvels, she
keeps lilcoce ; Uie speak
questioned, and tlicn < '
without allcciailon, an/
gcnuDuancss. Slie rcluid-t. ri>i
clear, and precipe aoswrrs to C
tions which arc put lo Iter, »a<j
the impression of ruubt perfect <
of whac slic says.
"Though snbjcrrled lo rude
has ucvei been shaken by thte
most generous otfers she has
with perfect dif-iitlcicstcdncss.
perfectly confti&ic-r^l. she has m,
her oiigirud si.iicnicnts tbroug
numbetlesA examinations she k
gone, without adding or witi
anything. Tlic sincvritr of Ha
is, thcrefore.lncorttcstabia. Wi
it is uncoitiesicK). Those who fa
posed her luvc lendcrcU her this
at least.
" Hut, admitiinK tfiai she has
tended lo deceive otlters. ha
been herself deceived? Has >fa<
agined that she saw soa
nulhlng, in fact, existed? 11
the victim of a halluciiiation
sense dispUiyed io her answers
accurate rnind, a ijulct ii'
a sound judgment, suri
I let religious scnttinmia iia\
sct^ed the ch3tat:tcr of cnibu
ing has been rciuark- ' -''
gill indicaiingintcll':
eccentricity of clw-...;^
of the senses or morb(d a
piedisposo her to imaglna
kind. She has had this nslon,
but cijihtecn limes ; then, it has
suddenly, when nothing coiild k
paKd her for what was ahoi
place ; and, during the formic
daily expected it. she saw not!
days, though placed in ctrcuni
llrely similar lo those of the
occasion.
" Hut what look place dnrli^p (
of ihefc apparitioiu? A '
formallon was ed'ected in ;
self, llcr cuuntcnanco aiiui
expression, her features were
saw things which she hail nrvi
fore, and beard ■ ]angua;{e
does not oidlnarily understan
which she preserved the memory.
combined clrcumstanres do ruit
Ihc possibility of hJJiuaruilon
little %\t\ h.ts rrally seen and
being who calls herself ihe Imta
Concepiion ; and. since wc
tfTe
I stint
h
Our Lady of Lourdes.
827
plain this phenomenon naturally, we are
forced to attribute it to a supernatural
cause.
" The lesiimony of Bernadette derives
additional force, its confirmation, we
should say, from the wonderful events
which have accompanied it throughout.
" If the tree is to be judged by its fruits,
we can certainly say that the apparition
described by the little girl is supernatural
and divine. For it has produced super-
natural and divine effects. What, then,
has happened, dearly beloved? Scarcely
was the apparition made known, when
the news spread with the rapidity of
lightning. It was known that Bernadette
was to visit the grotto daily for a fort-
night. The whole land is astir. Streams
of people flow to the place of apparition.
They await, with religious impatience, the
solemn hour. And when the girl appears,
rapt and absorbed in the object of her
ecstasy, the witnesses of this prodigy,
moved and softened, are melted in a sen-
timent of admiration and prayer. The
apparitions have now ceased, but the
throng continues. Pilgrims come from
distant lands. Every age and rank and
condition is to be seen kneeling before
the grotto. What sentiment moves these
countless visitors ? Ah ! they come to the
grotto to implore the special help of the
Immaculate Mary. They prove by their
recollected mien that they breathe the
divine atmosphere which surrounds these
hallowed rocks, already become famous.
Christian souls are strengthened in vir-
tue ; men frozen up by indifTerence are
brought back to the practice of religion ;
hardened sinners are reconciled to God
when Our Lady of Lourdes has been in-
voked in their behalf. These wonders of
grace, which are complete and lasting,
can have no author save God. Do they
not strikingly confirm the truth of the
apparitions ? If we now pass from effects
wrought for the salvation of souls to
those which concern the healing of bodily
ills, how many prodigies must we not
recount?"
Our readers have not forgotten the
breaking forth of the spring, at which
Bernadette drank and washed, be-
fore the assembled crowds. It will
be superfluous to repeat these de-
tails. The bishop continues ;
" Sick persons have made use of the
water, and not without success. Many,
whose diseases have resisted most ener-
getic treatment, have suddenly recovered
health. These extraordinary cures have
been noised abroad. Invalids from all
quarters have sent for this Massabielle
water, when unable to transport them-
selves to the grotto.
" How many infirm have been cured,
how many afflicted families have been
consoled !
" If we wished to call for their testimo-
ny, countless voices would be lifted up
in acknowledgment of the sovereign ef-
ficacy of this water. We cannot here
enumerate all the favors obtained : but
what we are obliged to say, is, that the
Massabielle water has cured desperate
invalids who had been declared incura-
ble. These cures have been worked by
the use of water devoid of any healing
properties, according to the acknowledg-
ments of skilful chemists, after rigorous
analysts. Some cures have been wrought
instantaneously, others after using the
water tmce or thrice as a drink or lotion.
Moreover, these cures are permanent.
What power has wrought them ? Some
organic power? Science answers nega-
tively. They are, therefore, the work of
God. But, they refer to the apparitions ;
these are their source ; these have inspired
the sick people with confidence. Hence,
there is an intimate connection between
the cures and the apparitions. The appa-
rition is divine, because the cures bear
the seal of divine power. But that which
comes from God is true ; and, therefore,
the apparition which Bernadette saw and
heard, and which gave itself the name of
the Immaculate Conception, is the Bless-
ed Virgin herself. Well may we cry out ;
The finger of God is here ! Digitus DH
est hie.
" How, then, can any one fail to ad-
mire the economy of divine Providence ?
At the end of the year 1S54, the immortal
Pius IX. proclaimed the dogma of the Im*
maculate Conception. The whole earth re-
schoed the words of its supreme pastor ;
Catholic hearts trembled with joy, and
everywhere the glorious privilege of Ma-
ry was celebrated by files, which will
ever remain graven in the memory of
those who witnessed them. And, behold,
three years afterward, the Blessed Virgin
appears to one of our children, and says :
I am the Immaculate Conception: hora
will I have a chapel built in my honor.
Our Lady of Lourdes.
829
town of Lourdes ; that this apparition has
erery guarantee of truth, and that (he
faithful have solid icason for believing it
to be certain.
" We submit ourselves humbly to the
judgment of the Sovereign PontifiF, to
whom belongs the government of the
universal church.
"Art. 2. We authorize in our diocese
the worship of Our Lady of the Grotto
of Lourdes ; but we prohibit any particu-
lar prayers, any canticle, any book of de-
votion, to be published on this subject
without our written approbation.
" Art. 3. In conformity with the desire
of the Blessed Virgin, several times ex-
pressed during her apparitions, we pro
pose to build a shrine on the site of the
grotto, which has now become the pro
pcrty of the Bishop of Tarbes.
"This edifice, on account of its steep
and rocky foundation, will require great
labor and expense. We need, therefore,
to carry out our design, the assistance of
the priests and faithful of our own dio-
cese, of our country, France, and also
from abroad. We appeal to all generous
hearts, and particularly to all persons of
every country who are devoted to the
worship of the Immaculate Virgin Mary.
"Art. 4. We address with confidence
all institutions of either sex consecrated
to the education of youth, to the congre-
gations of the ' Children of Mary,' to the
confraternities of the Blessed Virgin, and
other pious societies of our own diocese,
and throughout France.
"This, our pastoral, shall be read and
published in all the churches, chapels, se-
minaries, colleges, and hospices of our dio-
cese on the Sunday following its reception.
"Given at Tarbes, in our episcopal pa-
lace, under our seal and signature, and
the counter-signature of our secretary,
January 18, 1S62, being the feast of the
Chair of St. Peter at Rome.
" + Bertrand-Sre., Bishop of Tories,
" By order, Fqurcade, Canon-Secniary,
VIII.
In the name of his see, or, rather,
in that of the church, Mgr. Laurence
purchased from the town of Louides
the grotto and the surrounding lands,
and the whole group of Massabielle
rocks. M. Lacade was still mayor.
He it was who proposed to the mu-
nicipal council to cede to the church,
the bride of Christ, those places
which had been consecrated for ever
by the appearance of his heavenly
Mother. He, also, signed the deed
of transfer.
M. Rouland authorized the sale,
and also the erection of a church in
perpetual memory of the apparition
of the Blessed Virgin to Bemadette
Soubirous, in memory of the foun-
tain and the numberless miracles
which had attested the heavenly vis-
ions.
While the vast temple dedicated
to the Immaculate Conception was
slowly rising, stone upon stone, Our
Lady of Lourdes continued to show-
er blessings and graces upon her
clients. At Paris and Bordeaux, in
Ferigord, Brittany, and Anjou, amid
solitary and rural scenes and in the
heart of popular cities. Our Lady of
Lourdes was invoked, and answered
with unquestionable signs of her
power and goodness.
Before closing our recital and pre-
senting the picture of things as they
now exist, let us narrate two of these
divine histories. One of them forms
an episode in the life of the writer
of these pages which nothing can
ever efface from his memory. We
give it as we wrote it down nearly
seven years ago.
PART X.
During my whole life, I had always
enjoyed the blessing of good sight
I was able to distinguish objects at a
great distance, and also to read with
ease when my book was close to my
eyes. I never suffered the least
weakness of sight after whole nights
passed in study. I often wondered
and rejoiced at the strength and
clearness of my vision. Thus, it was
830
Our T^y 0/ Lourdts.
a great surprise and a cruel disen-
chanirocnt wlurn io June and July,
18G3, 1 fcU my eyesight becoming
gradually weak, unable to work at
night, and, finally, incapable of nny
use, so that I was obliged 10 give up
altogether reading and writittg. If
I chanced to pick up a book, after
reading three or four lines, some-
times at the first glance, 1 felt such
weiikness in the upper part of my
eyes as to rvadcr it impossible to
conliDue. I consulted several physi-
cians, and principally the two famous
oculists, iJesmares and Giiaud-Tcu-
lon.
The remedies prescribed by them
were of little or no avail. After a
slight re&l, and a treatment principal-
ly comjMised of iron, I had a slight
respite, and once read during a con-
siderable portion of the afternoon.
But, the following day, I rdapsed
into my former tonditiou. Then I
began to tr)' local remedies, applica-
tions of colli water on the l>all of
the eye, cupping on the neck, a ge-
neral hydropathic treatment, and
alcoholic lotions around the eyes.
Sometimes I experienced a slight re-
lief from the weariness which general-
ly opfircssed them, but this was only
for a moment. In short, my disease
assumed all the appearances of a
Uironic and incurable malady.
According to advice, I condemn-
ed my eyes to absolute repose. Not
content with putting on blue eye-
glasses, I had left Paris, and was liv-
ing in the country with my mother,
at Coux, on the banks of the Dor-
dogne. I had token witli me a young
person, who acted as my secretary,
writing at my dictation, and who
read to me the books which I wish-
ed to consult.
September hnd arrived. This
state had lasted for three months. \
began to be seriously nlomied. I
felt a gloomy foreboding wliich I daicd
not communicate to any oa
family shared the same np
sions, but likewise shr^uik fn
nifesting tlicm. We were b(
vinced th.ii my sight was ^
both sought to reassure one
and to conceal our muiiu
ety.
I had a most intimate fii
whom I had confided {rom b<
all my joys and aorron-s. I <
to my secretary a letter to
tvhich 1 describcil my s-vi co;
and Uie fears vihich I hafl for
turc. llie friend of whom I <p4
Protestant, as is also his (vi(e.
twofold circumstance rccjuircs
mentioned, lirave rcasoiu
me from giving his nonie. W
call fiim M.dc .
He answered my lotter a fe^
afterward. His letter reached
the fifteenth of September, ana
prised me greaUy. I iraosc
licrc, without changing a word
" Mv Df.ab I-'riexd : Yourfe
ga^•c me great pleasure ; but,
hare told you before, I long td
from you in your own haitAc
A few days ago, as 1 rctufl^^H
(.'^uterets, I passed througl^^^
{in the neighborhood of Taib*
visited the famous grotto, and
about the extraordinary thiogi
have been taking place tliere
the cures produced by the wab
cases of diseased c)C5. I coil
recommend you to tr)' it- If
like you, a believing Catholic,
boring under any illness, I wouli
tainly try this chance. If it
that invalids have been sudden}'
ed, perhaps your name may
number. If it be not true, wh
the risk ? I may add that I
sonally interested in this matter.
the experiment succeeds, whi
imjKirtant fact for roe to
would be in the presence of a
culous event, or, at any cit£,an
1
m
Our Lady of Lourdes.
831
whose principal witness would be
above all suspicion."
" It appears," he added in post-
script, " that it is not necessary to go
to Lourdes itself to take the water
there, since you can have it sent.
It is only netessary to ask the cur6
of Lourdes; he will forward it with-
out delay. Certain conditions have
to be fulfilled of which I am not
perfectly informed, but of which the
cur6 of Lourdes will tell you. Ask
him also to send you the little pam-
phlet by the vicar-general of Tarbes,
which gives an account of the mira-
cles that have been most thorough-
ly proved."
This letter of my friend was well
calculated to fill me with astonish-
ment. His was an exact, positive, and
at the same time a lofty mind, not at
all liable to the illusions of enthusiasm,
and, besides, he was a Protestant
Such a piece of advice coming from
him, in such an urgent manner, filled
me with amazement. However, I
resolved not to follow it.
" It seems to me," I replied, " that
I am to-day a little better. If this
improvement continues, I shall not
have need of your proposed and ex-
traordinary remedy, for which, be-
sides, 1 have not, perhaps, the neces-
sary faith."
And here, I must confess, not
without a blush, the secret motives of
my resistance.
Whatever I may have said, it was
not faith which was lacking; and, al-
though ignorant of particulars con-
cerning the water of Lourdes, except
through the impertinent remarks of
certain ill-disposed journals, I was
certain that the power of God could
be manifested by cures here as well
as elsewhere. I will say more : I had
a ^'cret presentiment that if I tried
this water, springing, as some said,
in consequence of an apparition
of the Blessed Virgin, I should be
cured. But, to tell the simple truth,
I feared the responsibility of such a
favor. "If the doctor cures you,"
I said to myself, " every account is
squared as soon as you have handed
him his fee. You will be in the same
condition as everybody else. But if
God cures you by a special act of
his providence, it will be quite an-
other affair, and you will have to
amend your life and become a saint.
If God gives you back those eyes of
yours with his own hands, how can you
ever let them rest upon objects which
draw you away from him ? God will
demand his fee ; and it will amount to
more than the doctor's. You must
give up this and that bad habit, you
must acquire such and such virtues,
and others that you know nothing of.
How will you do all this ? Ah !
this is too hard 1 " And my misera-
ble heart, fearing its own weakness,
nevertheless resisted the grace
of God.
Thus it was I rebelled against the
counsel given me to have recourse
to this miraculous intervention —
against that counsel which Provi-
dence, ever hidden in its ways, sent
me by two Protestants, two heretics,
outside the church. But my strug-
gles and resistance were vain. An
interior voice told me that the hand
of man was powerless to cure me,
and that the Master whom I had of-
fended would return me my sight,
and lead me to a new life, if I would
make up my mind to use it well.
Meanwhile, my condition was either
stationary or slowly becoming worse.
In the early part of October, I was
obliged to go to Paris. By an un-
looked-for chance, M. de and
his wife were there at the same time.
My first visit was to them. My
friend was staying at his sister's,
Madame P , who lived, together
with her husband, in Paris.
" And how are your eyes ?" asked
832
Our La^y of Lour^s.
Madame de as soon as I had
entered the parlor.
" 'ITiey arc always in the same con-
dition ; 1 begin to fear that they are
gone."
«♦ But why have you not tried Ihc
remedy that I proposed? 1 have
a strange hope that you will be cur-
ed."
"Pshaw!" I replied; "I confess
that, without precisely denying or
showing myself liosiile, I have but lit-
tle faith in tliis water and apparition.
It is perfectly possible, I admit; but
as 1 have not examined the matter, I
neither assert nor contest; I wash my
hands of the whole aflair, and do not
intend to have anything to do with
U."
" You have no valid objections," he
answcrnl. " According to your re-
ligious principles, you are bound lo
Ijelieve at least the possibility of such
things. Very well, then, what is to
prevent you from making a tnal ?
What is it going to cost you ? It
can't do you any harm, for it is no-
thing but natural water. Now, since
you believe in miracles and in your
religion, it seems to me that you
ought to be moved by two Protes-
tants; and I frankly confess that, if
you arc cured, it will V»e a terrible
Bigumciit against mc." Madame
dc joined her entreaties lo those
of her husband. M. and Madame
P , who are Catholics, inoiited as
wannly. I was driven lo ray last
enlrenchments.
" Well," said 1 at last, " let me tclt
you the whole truth. I do not lack
faith, but 1 am full of weaknesses,
faults, and a thousand mUeries which
are entwined with the most sensitive
fibres of my nature. Now, a miracle
would lay upon me th« ubiigation
of giving up evcr)'thing and trying
to become a saint; and I do not feel
equal to the responsibility. If Go-i
cures uc, liow do I know what he
will ask of me ? But if
succeeds, we can settle i
witli money. Vou think
graceful, I know ; but it
but tlie truth. Vou havi
that my faith has been
Vou have thought that I
the miracle should not si;
is not BO. i shoidd be ^
tliat it might succeed."
My friends vainly tried t
me that I was cxaggcratii
sponsibility of which I spo
" Vou are none the less
seek after virtue now than
racle had been already wor
M. dc . « IJesidcs,
the physician does cure yi
be none the less a favor J<
and you will have just the
sons for struggling against Ji
and passions."
This did not seem to me
true ; and the logical mii
de probably admiUcd
,10 itself; but he w-is b«
calming my apfirehension^
ducing me to follow his adv
Vamly did I endeavor tt
the pressing earnesincvt of
and his wife, and my fncnd«
e<.l by promising to do wha
desired.
" As soon as [ get a
will write to Lourdcs; but
late at this hour of Uie day.'
" But I will do, will I
swercd my fnend.
" Very wdl," said I, «
breakfast with me to-morre
Ca// (ff Foy, I will dictate
after breakfast."
*' Why not do it now ?
save one day."
Paper and ink were at
dictated aletter to the curiol
It was posted that evening,
'I'hc next day, M. dc —
(0 see mc. " My dear Ct
wifl, *' since the die if
Our Lady of Lourdes.
833
are going to try this experiment, you
ought to go seriously to work, and
fulfil the conditions which are requir-
ed in order to make a success. You
must pray. You will have to go to
confession, and put your mind in the
proper state. You know that all this
is a prime necessity."
"You are right," I replied; '* Iwill
do as you say. But you must ac-
knowledge that you are a queer Pro-
testant. The tables are turned; to-
day you are preaching to me my
own faith and religion, and I own
the contrast is not much to my ad-
vantage."
" I am a man of science," he an-
swered. " It is perfectly natural that
I should wish to see all the condi-
tions carried out, since we have
agreed to try an experiment. I
should act in this manner if we were
dealing with physics or chemistry."
I confess, to my shame, I did not
prepare myself as my friend had so
wisely advised me. I was in a very
poor spiritual condition ; my soul
was distracted and turned to evil.
I recognized the necessity of throw-
ing myself at the feet of God ; but,
as I had not been guilty of gross
and brutal sins, against which nature
reacts with such violence, I delayed
from day to day. Man is more re-
bellious against the sacrament of pe-
nance while he is being tempted, than
after he has been crushed and hum-
bled by the sight of his crime. It is
more difficult to combat and resist
than to ask for mercy after defeat
Who does not know this ?
A week passed in this manner.
M. and Mme. de inquired daily
if I had heard any news of the mi-
raculous water, or any word from the
cur6 of Lourdes. Finally, I receiv-
ed a note from him to the effect that
the water had been forwarded by
rail, and would shortly reach me.
We awaited its arrival with great
VOL. XIII.— S3
eagerness ; but, strange to say, my
Protestant friends were much more
impatient than I. The state of my
eyes continued the same. It was ab-
solutely impossible for me to read
or write.
One morning, Friday, October 10,
1862, I was waiting for M. de
in the Orieans Gallery at the Palais
Royal. We breakfasted together.
As I had come to the place of meet-
ing some time in advance of him,
I employed myself in looking about
the shops and reading the list of
new books in front of Dentu's li-
brary. This was enough to weary
my eyes. They had become so weijc
that I could not let them rest upon
the largest signs without feeling them
overpowered by lassitude. This lit-
tle circumstance made me quite sad,
as it showed me the extent of my
malady.
In the afternoon I dictated three
letters to De , and, at four
o'clock, having left him, returned to
my lodgings. As I was going up-
stairs, the porter called to me.
" A little box has come for you
from the railroad." I entered his
store-room eagerly. There was a
small pine box, bearing my name and
address on one end, and on the oth-
er these words, doubtless intended
for the custom-house officials, " Na-
tural Water."
It was from Lourdes.
I felt greatly excited; but did not
betray any emotion.
" Very well," said I to the porter,
" I will take it in a few moments; I
will return shortly." I stepped out
again into the street.
*' This matter is becoming serious,"
I said to myself. " De is right ;
I must prepare myself. In my pre-
sent state, I have no right to ask God
to work a miracle. I must set to
work to heal my own soul before I
can ask him to heal my body."
834
Oitr Lady of Lffurdts,
Reflecting on these coDsidciations,
I directed my steps towanl the house
of my confessor, the Abbe Kerrand dc
Mu:sol, who hved quite near me. t
Tell certain of finding him in, for it
was Friday, and he is always at home
on that day. So indcx'd he- was
upon diis occasion.
Hut se^-vral persons were waiting
to sec him, whose turn wuuhl natu-
rally come before mine. Some mem-
ber of his family had just arrived on
an unexpected visit His scrvaitt
InTormcd me of all this, and asked me
10 call ag.-iin in the et'cning about
seven o'clock.
1 resigned myself to my lot.
As 1 come to the street-door, I
paused for an instant. 1 wavered
between the desire of paying a visit
which I h.id greatly at heart and the
thought of returning home to pray.
I was very much incline<) to the dis-
traction, but finally the good inspira-
tion carried llie day, and I returned
toward the Rue Seine.
i took from the porter the little
box, to which was attached a notice
of the apparition at Lourdcs, and,
with both in ray hand, I hastened up-
suirs. On reaching my room, I
knelt down at nxy bedside and pray-
ed, all unworthy as i was to turn my
eyes tow.Anl heaven. Then I arose.
On enteiing, 1 had placed the liiilc
box and the pamphlet upon the man-
telpiece. I gazed a moment upon
the Utile case which contained the
tnystcrious water, and it seemed
lo me that some great event was
about to transpire in this lonely
chamber. 1 feared to touch with
ioipuie hands the wood which con-
tained tliis hallowed water, and yet,
on die other hand, I felt a lively de-
sire to open it at once, and not wait
until after 1 had been to confession.
This indecision lasted for a few rno-
tnents, aiid ended with tliis prayer:
" O my God 1 I am a wretched sin-
ner, unworthy of raising my v<
you, or of touching that whk
h-ive blessed. Hut this very
of misery ought to excite your
passion, My God, I cuinc
and to the Most Blessed
Mary, full of faith and reliance
you, and from the depths I
you. This evening 1 will c
my kins to your minister, bui
(aitti will not suffer mc to wait,
don me. Lord, and heal ro«.
you, O Mother of Mercy !
the help of your ui.' ^.ild
And, feeling strc.
prayer, I openc<l the U/x. It
taincd a bottle of pure water.
corked it, poured some of the
into a glass, and took a napkin
the drawer.
'ihese commonplace ]>rcpa
which 1 made with core,, w
companicd by a secret ^e
mcmor)* of which still
In that room I was not alone,
was thirre certainly ; and the Bli
Virgin, whom I had invoked, was]
there.
Ardent faith inflamed my
When all w.-is ready, I kiwU
again. *' O Blessed Virgin M
1 cried in a loud voice, ** beal I
physical and spiritual blindn
ing these wonls, with a h
confidence, 1 b.ithc<l su
both eyes and my furehcjil
napktu which 1 bod difiped m
water, 'i'his did not occupy i
than half a minute.
Judge of my astonishnteoi — I
almost .said my terror I Scarcdy
I touched my eyes and forcli
«ith the miraculous water ih
fell myself cured, at orKc, wid
transition, with a suddennc&i whii
can compare only to lightning.
Strange contnidit_-tion of hu
nature! .^ moment before I
trusted my faith, which promised
a cure ; now. 1 could not believe-
Our Lady of Lourdes.
835
senses, which assured me that the
cure had been worked.
> No ! I did not beheve my senses.
In spite of the startling effect which
had been wrought upon me, I com-
mitted the fault of which Moses was
guilty, and struck the rock twice. I
continued to bathe my eyes and
forehead, not daring to open them,
not daring to verify my cure. At
the end often minutes, however, the
strength which I felt in my eyes, and
the absence of all heaviness, lefl no
chance for doubt. " I am cured !"
So saying, I snatched up a book.
'* No," said I, " that is not the book
for me to be reading at this moraenL"
Then I took from the mantelpiece
the Account of the Apparitions at
Lourdes. I read a hundred and four
pages without stopping or feeling
the least fatigue. Twenty minutes
before, I could not have read three
lines. Indeed, if I stopped at the
hundred-and-fourth page, it was only
because it was thirty-five minutes
past five o'clock, and at this hour in
October it is almost dark in Paris.
When I laid aside my book, the gas
was being lighted in the shops of
the street in which I lived.
That evening, I made my confes-
sion to the Abb^ Ferrand, and ac-
quainted him with the great gift
which I had received from the Bless-
ed Virgin. Although in no degree
prepared, he wished me to go to
communion the next day, to thank
God for such an extraordinary favor,
and to strengthen the good resolu-
tions which it had caused to spring
up in my soul.
M. and Mme. de were, as
one may imagine, greatly moved by
this event, in which Providence had
assigned them so direct a part
What did they think of it ? What
reflections were suggested to their
minds ? What took place in the
depth of their hearts ? That secret
belongs only to them and to God.
What little I have been able to make
out, I am not at liberty to pub-
lish.
Be this as it may, I know my
friend's nature. I left him to his
own thoughts, without urging him to
the conclusion. I knew, and still
know, that God has his own time
and his own ways. His action was
so manifest throughout the whole
affair that I did not wish to interfere,
although my friends have never been
ignorant of my desire to see them
enter the only church which contains
God in his fulness.
I regret not being able to consider
these two beings — so dear to me — as
receiving firom the reaction of the
miracle of which I had been the ob-
ject the first shocks which truth gives
to those whom it seeks to conquer.
Seven years have now passed since
my miraculous cure. My sight is
excellent Neither reading nor hard
work, even when kept up late at
night, wearies my eyes. God grant
me never to use them save in the
cause of right.
836
Amcrka's Obiigations to France.
AMERICA'S OBLIGATIONS TO FRANCE.
The woes and crimes of unhappy
France have attracted the nuxed re-
gards of the world ; it has licconic
an agreeable and timely diversion to
look away from the distressing pic-
lure, to fin(i wliatever there is of
compensation in the glories and vir-
tue.', of her past; and the occasion is
thus created to review our own oli-
Hgations as a nation to thia now
stricken and humbled Kuropean
power, and to determine how much
wc are indebted to France for our
own independence and liberty. An-
other interest is added to ihe oc-
casion in the fact that this part of
our history lias been but scantily told,
and that, as the writer is peniuadcd,
our national vanity, notoriously ac-
cuuuUtcd as it is about everything
belonging to the Re^'olutionary pe-
riod, has hitherto pre\'cntcd a fair
and full confession of the obligations
referred to — has diminished the story,
if not aaually misrepresented it. IJut
it is a mistaken vanity, the very op-
pobitc of A manly ]>ride. A scnilinent
of the illustrious I.alayclte fits in here.
A citizen of both France and .A.mcrica,
he stood between the two, and sjtoke
Jiappily for eacli, saying : " Comme
uu Fratit,-ai5. doot Ic eccur br^e de
patrioiisme, je me r^jouis du r61e que
la France a joii*, et de I'alliancc
qu'clle a fait. Comiuc .\mcricain, jc
reconnais I'obligation, ct je crois qu'en
ccla cooai&tc la vraie digniti."
The sc\ ere truth of history and the
consfr.unt'i of true dignit)' alike com-
pel the st.itement, that but. for the
FrcrwJi interposition the cause of the
Ameiican colonists was likely to be
lost ; at least, that our indcp«
would not have been obtain
it was, and as completely 03
but for the succors of Fr*iacc
this proposition, tJie writer
may be made out fi-om a ■
view of tlie history uf thu pet
calling attention to some £ac
do not appear hitherto to ItaV
calculated.
Accustomed as wc are, in
back upon the history of our K
tionary struggle, to dwell u[
last signal triumphs, and du
disposed to measure the p
cvvnij by the conduaion* it
cult for us of this day to rcafi
narrowly it avoided defc4||H
what cxuemity it at one tin^H
C(L In the winter of :
time when lite aid i>
most urgently implored, the A
cause was almost at its lut
Many of its leaders had sccrO
spaircd of it, nud found it diffii
irajjose upon the public the >
nace of hope. In a private
Mr. Madison wrote: "How
dissolution of the army can I
vented in the course of the 1
(J7S0-1781I "is, for any nesi
now in prospect, utterly incxp1i<3
There w;is no money to pa
troops ; and the fact was tJ
war was no longer kept up
ill-digested and dilatory expc«
Meanwhile, the fate of arr
latcd against die colonis
fnrluncs of the field were as
the embarrassments of the 1
adrninistrntion. The more
States apiwjrcd to be already
Affterica's Obligatiofts to France.
837
the irruptions of the enemy upon an
indefensible coast ; and the whole
army of General Greene was soon to
be in full retreat before Lord Com-
waliis through the Stole of North
Carolina.
The two great wants of the colo-
nists, and which had become vital,
were motiey and z._fleet. " The sinews
of war " were nearly spent. The
paper money of Congress was fast
becoming worthless j the resource to
specific requisitions was a mere indi-
rection as long as the states suppUed
them by paper emissions of their own ;
and of this resource it was prophesied
in Congress that " what was intended
for our relief will only hasten our
destruction."
The want of a counterpoise to the
naval power of England was the
main point of the military situation.
Here was a fatal weakness; and
events had progressed far enough to
show that the hope of a decisive field
anywhere in the colonies depended
upon their maintaining a naval supe-
riority in the American seas. In
weighing the chances of the war, the
configuration of the Amerjcan ter-
ritory is to be studied ; and how vul-
nerable it was from the water had
already been proved by the events
of the war. At the time of the Revo-
lution, the breadth of the American
settlements from the Penobscot to the
Altamaha did not average more than
a hundred miles from the sea-line.
This jagged strip of territory, traversed
by estuaries and navigable streams,
was so accessible to the enemy's ves-
sels, that his navy might be considered
as constantly equivalent to a second
army operating on the flank of that
engaged on shore. Wherever Wash-
ington might move, this apparition
would cling to him— his flank con-
stantly threatened, and every move-
ment he made on land compelled to
calculate the possibility of a counter-
movement by the English fleet that
hovered on the coast, and might
develop an attack with greater ex-
pedition than he could change his
front to meet it. It was the thorn in
his side. When the baffled American
Commander spoke of retiring into the
mountains of Virguiia for a last des-
perate stand, it was not a rhetorical
flourish, as it has generally been ac-
counted, but a true military apprecia-
tion of the situation — the necessity
of a barrier against the naval power
of the enemy. If that barrier could
be made on the water by the inter-
position of a fleet, then he would be
(what he had not hitherto been) free
to operate on the land, and make
there a field that might be decisive.
But the element of any such strategic
combination was naval supremacy,
and, until that was obtained, he could
only hope at best for a desultory
warfare, with constant exposure to a
risk that he could neither meet nor
avoid.
Now, the two vital wants of Ame-
rica — a foreign loan and a Aaval ar-
mament — were those which were pre-
cisely supplied by France. A foreign
loan of specie, to the amount of twen-
ty-five millions of livres, was asked
of his Most Christian Majesty ; and
Franklin, reinforced by Col. Laurens,
was instructed to impress the French
king and his ministers with the es-
pecial need of a demonstration against
the naval power of England. The
succors were granted, and were be-
yond the expectations of the colonists.
In July, 1780, the first French expe-
dition, under the command of the
Count Rochambeau, landed at New-
port And from that moment a new
hope commenced for America, and a
new inspiration was to bring to sud-
den buoyancy a sinking cause. The
French force, however, was held
inoperative for some time for the
want of a sufficient navy to co-opfr
83S
Anteriea's Obligations to Francr*
latc; and to this end the supplica-
tions of Congress to ihe French
monarch h.id been redoubled. The
expedition of Rochambeau consisted
of nve ihouiand men. It was to be
letnforccd by a fleet from the West
Indies ; but the orders had miscarri-
ed; and it was more than a year
later when the second instalment of
French atd was made avnilable, and
the conditions realized which fixed
the last field of the war, and se-
cured that final ^"ictory to which
the French aids, by land and by wa-
ter, were each indispensable. To
this second aid reference will be
made in its orxler.
Usually, a foreign coniinj;t*nt is not
ihc best of the miUtary material which
a country may afford. 'I'he hireling
and the adventurer enter largely into
its composition, and its standard of
service is low and suspicious. But
this common imputation could not be
cast on the cxpctlitionarj' corps under
Rochambeau. Il was of the flower
of tlic French army, and nobility did
not disdain the service of the infant
Repubhc. The illustrious Lafayette
stood by himself, being a volunteer,
and independent of (he action of the
royal forces. "Tlie Marquis," as
Washington never failed to punctili-
ously call him, won all hearts in
America ; and, though accused by
Thomas J elTcrson, who, however, wa-H
habituidly envious, of having "a ca-
nine thirst for popularity," there is
good reason to behevc that he M'as
actuated by a solid attachment to
liberty and inspired by generous
motives. .■Vnyhow, he was destined,
as wc shall see, to perform one of the
most brilliant and critical services of
the Revolution. The Count Rocham-
beau was never popular in America;
his manners were haughty, and he had
a military cxclustveness; but he was
an cxcelienl soldier, and at one time
be gave a striking example of his
deference to republican prind
submitting to be arrested, in 3
of his ofhccTs, at the hands of 1
county constable, <?n the con
of a Nfiw England farmer for
acts of petty " trespass " on his
In his command, landed at Ne
there were names almidy ilia
in France, or destined to bccoi
Of such names were the Chi
de ChastcUux, perforining
of nujor-gencial in ihc c
corps, an enc>>clopicdut and the
of Voltaire; Bcrthicr, aftcrwarr
from the rank of an under
be a marshal of France an
of war ; the Count dc
brated in literary as well as m
life; the Duke de Lauzun, after
a general of the French Rcjji
the Count de Dillon, who, a few
later, met a tragic fate at the 1
of the Revolutionary party in Fr
I*ichegni, then a private in the
of the artillery ; Malthicu Di
subsequently a peer of France ;
bcn-Uubayct, aftcrward-i iniotsti
war under the French Rcpii
the Prince de Broglie, aften
field-maishal, and one of the
tims of the Revolutionary tribun
1794, etc.
Of the character of the s<:ildiel
have some pleasant and vitnd coa
porary testimony. The idea w
the sturdy American colonist,
backwoodsman with his Tower 1
kel, had furmed in advanrc of
French soldier, was not altogetli
complimentary one. It was gcao
a caricature, {Kipular at that day,
dapper, ill contrivei.1 indix-itloal
made ridiculous mistakes in the ]
lish language, ate froj^s, memor
in the lampoon of Hogarth as u,
ing one of the amphibious at Ibe
of a rapier, and had bat the one
tue 10 make amends for his eci
tricilies— a 1:011
Uouable, ihout ,
Americas Obligations to France.
839
cally inefficient The picture was
dispelled at the sight of Rocham-
beau's veterans — men who equalled
in stature and in strength the best
that England could display, who
were inured to hardship and fatigue
such as were scarcely supported by
the green backwoodsman, and who
marched hundreds of miles with an
order and steadiness that never failed
to be admirable. Mr. Madison, who
saw these troops file through Phila-
delphia, after the fatigues of a march
from the banks of the Hudson River,
thus testifies his impressions of the
spectacle : '* Nothing can exceed the
appearance of this specimen which
our ally has sent us of his army, whe-
ther we regard the figure of the men
or the exactness of their discipline."
Such was the brilliancy and the
solid worth of the first contributions
of France to her feeble ally. To es-
timate the motives and spirit of such
aids, what influences ranged an old
and brilliant monarchy by the side
of an infant Republic branded with
" rebellion," and intertwined fla^ so
opposite, it will be well to review the
relations of the parties to an alliance
so strange and exceptional.
France had no interests to cultivate
in America, no objects of ambition
to secure in a quarter of the world
from which she had deliberately with-
drawn. Her flag had not appeared
there since the Treaty of" Paris in
1756, and her subsequent cession to
Spain of her possessions on the Mis-
sissippi left her, for the present, dis-
embarrassed of all territorial claims
and interests in America. She had
no reason for any affection for the
English colonists now asserting their
independence ; ihey were the sons
of those who had fought against her ;
the traditions of the colonial wars in
America were yet fresh. On the side
of the rebel colonists themselves, there
was a suspicion of France — at least,
no disposition to expect any gene-
rosity from her in the struggle that
was to ensue. So little was that part
expected which she did eventually
take in the American Revolution,
that Patrick Henry (incredible as the
fact may appear to those who have
read only eulogiums on this person)
actually retreated at the last from the
Declaration of Independence, from
fear of France and her co-operation
to subdue the colonies. In a letter
to John Adams, written five days
after the Virginia Convention had
adopted the famous resolution of the
15th May, 1776, for independence,
he dwells upon the apprehension that
France might be seduced to take
sides against the colonies by an offer
from England to divide the territories
of America between them. It was an
unworthy suspicion ; but Mr. Henry,
who had but little originality, and
was a characteristic retailer of popu-
lar impressions, was probably in this
imputation upon France the echo of
a thought common at the time.
No grounds of sympathy were yet
apparent between France and the
struggling colonists ; nothing, as far
as the men of 1776 should see, but
recollections of old animosity and
present causes for distrust. Even the
sympathy of religion, which has
proved such a fruitful source of inter-
national friendships and alliances,
where there have been no other points
of coincidence, was wanting ; instead
of it, a sharp antagonism was the
fact. Protestant America, many parts
of it yet fresh with the persecution
of Catholics, had no reason to expect
favors from Catholic France. In-
deed, when those favors were given,
there was some disconlenled and un-
grateful outcry that \t was a design
upon the reVvgvotv o^ vW coVomsis •,
Z, deeply sovjtv >«^=> We &suusi of
$40
terua's ObUgatwns to France.
and that Uie muoicipa] authorities uf
Boston lud, on some occasion, walk-
ed in a Catliolic procession. Tbc
traitor, Benedict Arnold, in casting
about for reasons to derend his uea-
son, could find none more pUiuiblc,
ur, in his estimation, more likely to
be received, than thai the l-rench
alliance was alwuL to betray the reli-
gion of the colonists, .nnd that he,
therefore, had determined to lake
refuge iu Protectant England ! Such
an appeal to popular jjrejuiiice was
doubliess extravagant, even more so
than thai of Patrick Henrj' accusing
France; but both show the extent of
estrangement and suspicion whidi
France had to overcome before she
could convince America of her friend-
ship and generosity. And, unfortu-
iiatdy, oswc sliall presently painfully
see, such suspicion was never entirely
overcome, but was to remain to dis-
figure the last page of the history of
llie Revolution, and to attach to it a
story of ]>crmancnt disgrace to Ame-
rica.
When tlic colonies implored the
aid of France, through an address of
Congress in November, 17S0, the
appeal showed an extremity and tem-
per of the colonists which suggested
lltnt almost any price would be paid
for the necessary succore. How far
the French monarch might have
availed himself oK the necessities of
his suppliant ally, lud he been selOsh
enough to make these the measure
of his demands, is a coniecture almost
illimitable. To purchase the ai<l of
Spain, the American Congress had
been willing to retract former resolu-
tions, and to offer the almost priceless
boon of the exclusive navigation of
the Mississippi; and it was only the
fatuity and blindness of ilmt power
that had pieveiitcd the fatal conces-
sion. Was the aid of France worth
less ? and was the temper of concession
not to be practised upon by herself?
Jt has been ti^ual to
summary and cold cxj>lan.
aids which F>ance fu
American rause» by poiiui
effect to cripple her po
hereditary foe, England ;
trading from the gen
contribution, and rcpr
mere move on llie ili
board which the French
could not do otherwise tb
But tilts detfitclioD docs
good. Admtlling the fuU
the reasons which it in
France, there is much in b
with America that is yet
plained ; and there arc cucu
which make it one of the i
liar and unique examples
sity recorded in history.
been unusual for powerful
assist the weak on no otb
of synipatliy than having
common ; but it has seldom
case that such aid has been
without the powerful ally
terms for her u»n contribu
turning to her own advam
necessities she has been caj
to aid. IvJigUnd herself bjid
a precedent for the price
concessions. Slie liad osko
United Provinces, fot the pri.
support ag.-iinst Spain, that
expenses should be repaid,
the towns and fortresses of
should be held by her as ph
the conditions uf the alUance.
would hax-c been sustained
toncal exan)|ite, and by moi
in exacting very im[>onant
sions fcr her aid of the J
cause in circumstances in wl
aid WAS deemed \ital for the
of a struggle that already b
on despair. She aske>l nuthii
gave on anny and a tieet,
all the expenses of buih ana
She advanced money and repl
the almost empty treasury erf
America's Obligations to France.
841
And she yet enlarged the generosity
of her alliance by devoting her arms,
not only to a common operation, but
pledging at the outset the indispens-
able conclusion of her exertions in
the independence of America and the
territorial integrity of the States. In
the Treaty of 1778, "the direct and
essential end " of the alliance was
declared to be " the liberty, sovereign-
ty, and independence, absolute and
unlimited, of the United States."
The arms of France were thus
given directly to a cause of republi-
can liberty rather than merely in-
volved in a diplomatic complication.
What reasons could have induced
this apparent excess of generosity,
this singular spectacle of the ancient
monarchy of the Franks taking sides
with the infant republic of the Anglo-
Saxon colonists of America ?
The explanation is that the French
aid was a contribution of iht people of
France rather than that of its crown.
It sprung out of the popular heart
rather than the grace of a kind and
munificent monarch ; and it has this
circumstance of a tender and imper-
ishable souvenir to the American
people. It was a free love-offering,
the iirst dedication of their cause in
the sympathies of the world. That
republican sentiment which a few
years later in France sprang into
such fierce life, was already deeply
harbored in the hearts of her people ;
and the movement of the American
colonists gave it an opportunity of
comparatively safe expression ; while
all the romance of such a sentiment
found abundant material in the cir-
cumstances of the struggle, the dis-
tance of the theatre, its scenery bor-
dered by savage life, the novelty of
a people whose history was entirely
unique, and whose simplicity of man-
ners suggested comparisons with clas-
sical antiquity. The enthusiasm of
the French mind seized every attrac-
tive circumstance of the occasion.
It was entided " the crusade of the
eighteenth century." Again, it was
adorned with recollections more an-
tique, and it was said that " the Re-
public of Plato " had at last found
realization in the midst of a people
whose exclusive situation had been a
school for virtues hitherto unknown,
and was to afford an experiment that
had until then lingered in the specu-
lations of philosophy and the dreams
of poetry. The simplicity of Ameri-
can manners was taken as a charming
contrast to the court splendors of
Paris and Versailles. It was not
only Franklin's cotton stockings, but
every peculiarity of the American
citizen became a picturesque study
and the symbol of a new political
hfe. The memoirs of the Count de
Segur are among the contemporary
testimonies of the rage in the French
capital for everything American j and
we are specially told of " cet air an-
tique qui semblant transporter tout-
a-coup dans nos murs, au milieu de
la civilisation amollie et servile au
dix-huitifeme sifecle, quelques sages
contemporans de Platon, on des re-
publicains du temps de Caton et de
Fabius ! "
Of the operations of the allied
arms, our space only affords such a
sketch as may give some general
idea of the extent and value of the
French aid. Washington had at first
proposed, on the arrival of Rocham-
beau, to attempt the repossession of
New York City, and to crush there
the main body of the British army.
But the failure to arrive of the naval
forces expected from Brest and the
West Indies disconcerted the plan ;
and events were preparing another
theatre for the ft^al catastrophe.
The British post ^^vOi aimy \t\ "Vitgi-
tiU hecatne tVve c\,^ecUve point ot
tV iVpda^^^- 'VVtVb^^-c^^'^^ei
^^ aVU^ ^eeX. "«®-^ ^x\as.t as&utei-, \t
841
Americas Obligations to France.
vos to make its appearance in ihe
Chesapeake ; and Was>hitigtoa prc-
(>ait:d tu iBove his arnty from ilic
banks of tlie Hudson to the distant
scene of co-opcruuon. Fmm a tcro-
pontr)' observatory on the heights
near Newbury, tlie auxious com*
mandcr watdicd his army crossinj;
the blue stream ; and as he luuuntcd
his horse, to put himself al the head
of n m.irrh that was to toil over many
hundreds of intles to find a last and
efTulji^ent field, for away iii Virginia,
he wrung the hand of a French officer
who &tootl in the group around him,
9S expressing the new hope that had
dawned in his face, ojid repledging
ihc alliance that was to win its reali-
zation. Auil now ensued a combina-
tion of circumstances, in each one of
which the French arms detennined
a. crisis, and displayed a dramatic
spectacle.
Lafayette, "the boy" in Comwal-
lis's estimation, *' the tutelary genius
of American independence," as he
has been designated by a Virginian
historian and sutesinait (William C
Kives), was sent forward to Virginia,
to hold in check tlicre the haughly
enemy. Washington hail given to
this young Frenchman supreme cum-
mand of the operations in Virginia.
He justified a trust which the pride
of the state might possibly resent, in
his oven estitnale of the tpialjijes of
the noble foreigner. In a private
letter to a Cangnrssmon of Virginia
(Jones) he wrote : ^ The Manjuis
possesses uncommon military talents:
is of a quick and sound judgment;
]>er5cvcring and enterprising without
rashness : and, besides these, he is of
a very conciliating temper, and per-
fectly sober — which are qualities that
Tarely combine in the same person.
And were I to add that some men
will gain as much cspcricntc in the
coarse of three or four ycirs ns some
others will in ten or a dozen, tou
cannot deny the fact*
upon that ground."
elevated over the heads
cral Wayne an
When ihc 1 ,
defence of Virgmi.i, she
nigh conquered. She w
every direction to the en
the invader. Her public
recreanl, and under thr %%
cowardice. <
tensors has r^
of Uie times. In n letter
6th November, 1780, Jud|
ton wrote : " We had nt>
l>eIeg.^tcs on Saturday Is
with our empty ircasuiy. i
stances unfavorable at thi
Mr. Henry has resignetl
Congress; and I bear
intends it. It is also said
nor intends to resign. It
rowarrily to quit our pom
lling time.'* The city of
for which was to be reserv
tory stains beyond any otJl
can city, was ready to «ibl
to another occupation.
painful as the confession
the Virginian of to-day — off
pride of a state that ha.t
diously claimed her part
volutiuii— Virginia had gn
tant in tlic war. and dispcwi
Tccoune to ' unworthy
She had been prominent iti
to recommend the surriem
na%'igahon of the Misnssipi
to buy the alliance of S%
had twice proposed a di
and now, when Comwalli:
vancing, and Mr. jeffc
ing the governorship,
as we have seen, had fall
leaders in the ** bustling
less a person than Kii
Lee, then in retirement ai
bnd, was wiUing to so
liberties of Virginia to
OS the only resource of
844
Amerua^s ObHgatioiis to Fra>uf,
able obligations to France, except
«Hch as may yet exist in the hcaru
of our people.
Here, with llic illuiiiinaiion of Vork-
tow», wc M'ould Willingly conclude
the history ^i the Frutico-Aincncon
alliance. But there is a sequel not
to be omitted— A painful &tory that
berongii yet to the justice of history.
In the negoti;itions for pence that
foUoweil Yorklown, the Amerioin
Congms, new and timorous in diplo-
macy, betook itself to a refuge, the
shallounes^i of which is especially
conspicuous in diplomacy — th.it of
suppo∫ wisdom in a rauliiiude of
counsellors. It constituted no le!>s
than itx^ commissioiicn to treat at
l'.irijt. The selections were ill ; and
in same in&tances the worst that
could have been niaile. Of the 6ve,
Mr. jcll'erson did not attend. Mr.
Adjuos was personalty ilUtostcful tu
the French government. How far
Mr. Heury I^urcns might be sus-
pected of uodue ikiereacc lo EngUnd
tnt);hc ha«« been jadgcd from his
Ijunows Tower letter, the oii^iBg
hamitutxuis u^ which \aA opened
the doofs of his pnson ; and tl is said
thai iriWD dux letter was dirulged to
Coogiess it would hat^ recoBcd his
coBHoissutt, hod there not been
dMiti«9 of the aadtcmicitT of the ck)cti -
oir -Mrtimiy vas its tone.
Bui '.loe io Add ihM the s«b-
se^|«rM poodac t of Mr; Launss le-
peBcd the dunip of |iansalttr far
^m^lnl^; ; bomrvr. die French Goe-
onaMM soy ha«<t bad xonaa id be
ifc|liMi< tt Mb Miirxliix Mr.
lojr » of « w a^ kmi taapir. an
iUnfut nihcr dua a 1i|iti,Milin;
fltoittaBi^ pKcisHv that lowest aoboB
«r 4i|4(MHKT, thM m. » I 11 1 iw'mHi a
fMW «f ikccpcioa*— 4 port that can
be tm l Laimd oalr mb a fidm faft
H^ili^. the wU hn fiMlmd ih«
idva «f a iBilr a^ptt ^
bu cAdae itt jjaemwi whr
deception should be
necessary in diplomacy
other branch of public
deed, there is room in dij
the exercise of the higi
an arena for the busi
exacting coinpetttioiu of
skill, wiUiout callincr into
the weajjons ■ ■'
There is no y
strongly thnn the otiicc <
matist tests that sum of pa
the world calb ehanuter:
strong purpose, with its
happy stlcctinn of opfKHt
instinct, the ' ' thi
ness which ht- ..ret
greatness in history, rather
amount of learned accoe
or any traiaing of the
closet The diplomatiaC
quick, Tct strong and tn
niu^ liave unbounded
himself, withoac the
I'anity; be luusc be giaiid
diUtorr ; tboroaghly
the tnie fpiiii of the Freoc
that *■ be who leanu lo i
tcr oT bis fortBDC* He
the f»a^ tik patting tfa
stTOO£C5i posinle
and nreslof t b el c ek,J
power of iMrwwt He
a Bioe soDc fif vip f tm m
de&cate RKch viib the in
BftMSt ptaCtBC VrU Bv^OB
oaoog Ac ovdlBat * utm
oT ott men be mmt mam
knt motto, MHC^^ m mu
•tfyi
America's Obligations to France.
845
of the old traditional school of Euro-
pean diplomacy reminds one of the
duel in " Peter Simple." A sturdy
Englishman engages a master offence,
and while the latter practises the
most scientific attitude and has his
rapier poised according to the figures
of the science, he is infinitely sur-
prised to have it seized in mid-air by
the naked hand of his antagonist,
and himself run through the body.
Not secundum arium, but a most effi-
cient way of concluding the combat.
Of the open and best school of dip-
lomacy, Franklin at the French court
was a fair representative, the very
opposite of Jay. The philosopher
of Pennsylvania has never been justly
measured as a diplomatist j he had
been successful beyond all other
American envoys ; he was now the
Bismarck of the diplomatic collection
at Paris, although he unhappily gave
way to the leadership of Jay.
In the negotiations for peace that
ensued, Mr. Jay, leading more or
less willingly the other commission-
ers, was soon over head and ears in
an intrigue with the English ministry;
acting on that lowest supposition of
tyroism in diplomacy — that the other
party must necessarily design a fraud,
and that a counter-fraud must be pre-
PcU'ed to meet it. Congress had in-
structed that there should be made
" the most candid and confidential
communications upon all subjects to
the ministers of our generous ally,
the King of France"; and it took
occasion to give a remarkable ex-
pression of gratitude to France, its
resolutions declaring *' how much we
rely on his majesty's influence for
effectual support in everything that
may be necessary to the present se-
curity or future prosperity of the
United States of America." Mr.
Jay, who had taken the lead in the
negotiations, willingly followed by
Adams, " dragging in Franklin," and
resisted to some extent by Laurens
proceeded deliberately to violate
these instructions. He had con-
ceived the suspicion that France
was secretly hostile to an early ac-
knowledgment of the independence
of America, and wished to postpone
it until she had extorted objects of
her own from the dependence of
her ally. It is now known that
this suspicion was wholly imaginary.
But Mr. Jay and his colleagues act-
ed upon it, and were twisted around
the fingers of the English ministry
to the extent of treating with them,
without giving the French govern-
ment knowledge of the steps and
progress of the negotiation, thus
contributing to the adroit purpose
of England to sow distrust in the al-
liance that had humbled her. While
the American commissioners were
professing to the French minister
that negotiations were yet at a dis-
tance, they had actually signed the
provisional articles of a treaty of
peace with the crown of Great Bri-
tain. Worse than this, they had
agreed to a secret article, which stip-
ulated a more favorable northern
boundary for Florida, in the event
of its conquest by the arms of Great
Britain, than if it should remain in
the possession of Spain at the termi-
nation of the war. Spain was at
that time an ally of France; and so
it may be imagined how the latter
would be embarrassed by this secret
article, and how England might med-
itate in it an advantage in disturbing
the understanding of France and
America.
Mr. Jay, unconscious that he had
been made a catspaw of British di-
plomacy, felicitated himself that he
had made an excellent bargain and
done an acute thing; possessed as
he was with that fatuity of all de-
ceivers, that omits to calculate the
time when the deception must ne-
846
Americas Obligations to France,
ccssarily become known. \MieTt the
game that had been played upon its
.ally became known lo Congress, it
plunged that body into the roost
painful embarrassment. Mr. Madi-
son, in his diary of the proceedings
of Congress, thus rccoids its im-
pressions : " The Bcprratc and secret
manner in which our ministers had
proLCcdcd with respect to France,
and the confidential manner with
respect to the British ministers, af-
fected different raciobers of Con-
gress differently. Many of the most
judicious members thought they had
all been in some measure ensnared
by the dexterity of the British minis-
ter, and particularly disapprovc<i of
the conduct of Mr. Jay in submit-
ting to the enemy his jealousy of the
l-'rcnch, without even the knowledge
of l>r. Tranklin, and of the unguard-
ed manner in which he, Mr. Adams,
and Dr. Franklin had given, in writ-
ing, sentiments uoiriendiy to our ally,
and serving ^s weapons for the in-
sidious poliry of the enemy. The
separate article was most offensive,
being considered as obtained by
Great Briiflin, not for the sake ot
the territory ceded to her, but as a
means of disuniting the United Stales
and France, as inconsistent with the
spirit of the alliance, and as a dis-
honorable departure from the can-
dor, rectitude, and plain dealing pro-
fessed by Congress."
Congress did not extricate itself
from the dilemma; it could not do
it. Suppression of what
done could not be •
less was it possible t
tions to France ; the only
do was to say nothiog, an
the painful exposure work tl
The King of France had
an openness and an attenii
allies, the contrasts of whi<
the exposure one of great b
and shame, 'llic Count de Vi
had assured the American
sioners: "The king has I
solved that all his :i
satisficii, being dt'tt-:.
tinue the war. whatever adi
may be offered lo him, if
is disposed to wrong any
Now, when the articles were
into council tu be signed, ibe
monarch could not be oih
surprised and indignant,
royal restraint u[>od hi»
he could not forbear saj-ing,
bluntness that must have
American pride, and
sclf-fcUcitations of Mi,
did not think he had such
deal with."
The conn of France suMaii
insult with dignity, and yet
dence of a deep sense of
When inquiry was made whet
postulations would be made
American Congress, the reply
Marbois was heroic: "A gr(
tion," he answered, **doei
plain; but it feels and
bers."
The Catholic Church in Geneva,
847
THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN GENEVA-
In order to understand the events
which have lately taken place in
Geneva, and those that are preparing
there, it is necessary to cast a gene-
ral glance over the past and present
state of the Catholic religion in that
little commonwealth.
Most people know what Geneva
was prior to the French Revolution ;
an independelit state, separate from
the Swiss Cantons, reduced by Cal-
vinism to an aristocratic theocracy,
and shorn of those ancient democra-
tic franchises which it had enjoyed
before breaking away from Rome.
The dominant principle in its cus-
toms and legislation was fear and
hatred of the proscribed worship.
A minute and jealous care was taken
to repress the expansion of CathoH-
cism — one exhibition of which was
seen in the strict closing of the city
gates on the grand festivals of the
church, and the fine of ten crowns
imposed on those who held inter-
course with the Bishop of Annccy
on the occasion of his pastoral visits.
Under these circumstances, only a
small number of Catholics clung
with heroic constancy to the ancient
faith, and secretly practised their re-
ligious duties in the recesses of their
houses. There were in 1759 but
two hundred and twenty-seven Ca-
tholics in Geneva — and in this num-
ber even Voltaire and his hangers-on
were included.
It was the French Revolution that
forced open the gates, up to that
period so carefully closed, of this
Protestant Rome. Geneva became
under the Empire a French de-
partment, and the Catholic religion
in the persons of the imperial func-
tionaries was officially recognized.
Permission to erect a church was
granted ; but this first move toward
a less hostile attitude was not taken
without the bitterest opposition from
the old Protestant party. In the re-
modelling of Europe, after Napoleon's
downfall, it was found desirable to
provide against the absorption of
Geneva by uniting it to the Swiss
Confederation ; but in order to over-
come the difficulties of geographical
position, and make such an acquisi-
tion of territory acceptable to Berne,
it became necessary to join to Gene-
va certain strips of land from the
Catholic districts of Gex and Savoy.
The Genevans, who looked witli
dread upon this annexation, strove
to assure in any case their own su-
premacy, but the Catholics found
defenders in diplomatic circles, and
their cause was protected by the se-
veral treaties of Paris, Vienna, and
Turin (1814-1816). In virtue of
these, all civil and political rights
were guaranteed to the new citizens,
the Catholic religion was recognized,
its exercise in Geneva permitted, re-
ligious freedom solemnly pledged to
the annexed populations, and the
expenses of their public worship as-
sumed by the state.
At this period the Catholics were
not over a third of the whole can-
ton ; but they rapidly increased, less,
indeed, through conversions than by
immigration. In 1834, there were
25,000 Protestants and 18,000 Ca-
tholics. What was the attitude of
the Genevan government then? Pow-
er was still in the hands of the old
84S
The CathoHe Church in Gentva.
Protestant aristocracy — the strongest
and only organized party, and a
lingular admixture of good qualities
and dcfecbi. The patncion of Gene-
va was, indeed, a strange and nov
fasldtsapiicaring type. Living in
his old town surroundeil by ram-
IKirts, and in his old society even
more stringently dosed, clad in som-
bre colors, siicaking little and laugh-
ing less, vain, sii^ in his roannen,
with a stony cast of countenance,
he was devoid of generous sympathy
and largeness of heart, without, how-
ever, being altogether incapable of a
certain pecuniary lilwialiiy ; benign
to his clients, implacable to rivals,
marking out in everything a conven-
tional line, and merciless to the one
who should rross it ; a man of letters,
but an enemy to literary liberty, the
friend of onlcr, respecting traditions,
an ardent patriot, but of a nanow
and exclusive patriotism, he was at-
tached mote to his caste and party
than to his country. Often sincerely
pious, this Genevan gentk-man of
the old scliooi was sometimes a hy-
pocrite and Pharisee ; a fonnalist
himself, he was quick to cast the first
stone at the transgressor? of the law.
ilut what was strongest in this class
of men was the I'rotestant sentiment
in its most odious and intolerani
shape. Having seen with displeasure
the annexation of the Catholic dis-
tricts, and agreed very unwillingly to
the religions liberty insured by treaty,
this party found it hani to extinguish
its traditional spirit of bigotry. Eve-
ry movement of vitality on the part
of Catholics exdtcti distntst* and
looked like a revolt ; and procee<ling
10 open acts, it struck successively at
the libeity of instruction, the freedom
of the pulpii, and the right of endow-
ment. The attempt to enforce civil
marriage failed only when Sardinia
thnfttcued to intervene. Catholics
were eyed with disfavor, and of the
thousand servants of the gc
only fifty-nine belonged
creed. I*inal!y, if Protcs
obliged to endure the ofi
tcncc of the Roman Chare
ed to them quite proper
make it a state afiair. TH
cd from the Pope m 18(9
fer of jurisdicuoa over Cc
the Aichbibhop of CliamU
Bishop of Lausanne — ili
object being to subject ih
clerg)- 10 the direct influeni
ernniL-ni, through the dcpa
the slate to which the \
Switzerland had long been
ed, and in particular by
conciliatory and somewhat
racter of Monseigneur de
In fact, an agreement
up with the bishop, by
civil power was pcrmitte
fere in the nomination of
act from them an oat
and circulate episcopal cha(
after, a law made the
ry for all documents e
the diocesan or papal auAi
few official honors and «
niary advantages were ihB '
pcnsatinn made to Catbol*
prejudice done ihcir liberty,
however, sirugglcd [»«
against all exertions to cntli
and continued in spite of e
cutty to increase and gain
This success they owed chici
courageous pastor, tiie Abb
" an adtnir-iblc man for a
as his friend Lamenoais u.^
of him ; one whose indetatj
dustry, fcarlessitcss and dfi
duty made every sacri^cc b'
travelleri Kurope m the in
his flock, and Turin, Ber
Munich, Rome, heard liii
their cause He had &iea
places, and corresponded m\
kings, and the great men of
and, during the contiDua
Tlu Catholic Church in Geneva.
849
ties which he carried on against Pro-
testants, wrote some severe things,
for the most part anonymously, but
other times under his own name,
wherein the only subject_of regret
is too great fieriness and irony. He
used to watch the ballot-boxes while
reciting his breviary, which drew from
M, de Maistre the remark, " When I
see his way. of working, it recalls the
sixxess of the apostles." M. Vuarin
had said, ** A priest who is nam-
ed pastor at Geneva should go,
should remain, and should end
there" ; and, true to his own word, he
died there, parish priest, in 1843,
having been appointed under the Em-
pire. Before his time, it was only
now and then that a cassock ventur-
ed to appear in Geneva : at his fune-
ral, two bishops, two hundred priests,
and thousands of Catholic laymen
defiled through the streets of the old
Protestant city.
It turned out, however, that Ca-
tholic progress only irritated the in-
tolerant spirit of opposition, and at
the centennial jubilee of the Refor-
mation, in 1835, the inflamed pas-
sions of the multitude broke out in
insults and deeds of violence against
the faith of the minority. The Pro-
testant Union, a sort of secret socie-
ty, was formed to sustain and encour-
age exclusivism and anti-Catholic
feelings ; and when a collective ad-
dress, signed by the clergy of Geneva,
denounced the movement to the bi-
shop, the council of state, in retalia-
tion, refused to admit the nomination
of any priest who should not have
expressed regret for appending his
name to the paper. At M. Vuarin's
death, Geneva was for several years
deprived of the ministrations of his
successor, M. Marilley, who had
been arrested by the public officers
and conducted to the frontier. Such,
in 1846, was the position of the
church : misunderstood in her spirit,
VOL. XIII. — 54
the full measure of her rights with-
held, strong only in the energy of
her defenders. Then a political
change took place, which considera-
bly modified the situation.
In the plain on the other side of
the Rhone, facing the steep hill where-
on are the dwellings of the Ge-
nevan aristocracy, along which are
drawn out the narrow streets of the
old town, and on the summit of which
rise the city hall and St. Peter's
church — that Acropolis of Calvinism
— extends the democratic and labor-
ing suburb of Sai/ii Grrvais. Here
for several years a work had been
going on whose gravity the ruling
class of Geneva did not comprehend.
A radical and demagogical party, in-
timately connected with the revolu-
tionists of other countries, was being
organized. Its newspapers, pamph-
lets, and the affair of " Young Italy "
in 1836 revealed its boldness and
vigorous action. On the occasion
of the Sonderbund disturbances in
1846, the radicals got excited, the
Faubourg St. Gcrvais rose in tumult,
and after a sanguinary struggle the
conservatives were put down, the
old town was occupied by the victo-
rious workmen, and the power of the
state passed into the hands of the
leaders of the insurrection — M
Fazy and his friends. The extinc-
tion of the ancient oligarchy was
known to be their object. Catholics
had kept aloof from this conflict, feel-
ing little sympathy with the revo-
lutionary passions of the radicals,
whose pretext, moreover, for rising
had been the aid extended by the
Gervevan government to their co-re-
li«; -5^5 ot ftic ?^xviw\iMTvd. But
W\^ ntvcem ^ovitTAVe xie^w party
850
The Catholic Church in Geneva^
had no leligkius prejudices, and,
ncitiicr Catholic nor Vrotcslant, ail
he cArcd for was to bring about the
ruin of the Calvinist aristocracy. In
so mucli (as the Bi:>hop of Lausanne
obsL-rvcd in 1849), he was actlotj to
ihc advantage of Catholics. After
the radicals had destroyed iJic ram-
parts of the old tovm, Geneva began
rapidly to change a]>[>earaiK:c : en-
tirely new quarters were soon laid
out, 5tranj;ers came in large numbers,
and tlic Catholic population visibly
increased with tlie immigration. In
1850, the canton counted 34,3 1 a i'ro-
testants and 39,764 Catholics ; ten
years later, the figures stood 42,099
of the latter tn 40,069 of the
fom\cr.
The radtcaU had ihc good sense
also to respect the liberty of Catho>
lies; they gave them ground to build
another church on, and in the cen-
tral part of the new districts, hard
by tlic railway-station, a Gothic edi-
fice, which people used to call the
cathedral -citadel — the temple 01' lib-
erty — was erected. Thus little by
litUe the two classes were drawn to-
gether, despite so many profound
differences. 'ITic conservatives them-
selves contributed to this, for the con-
cessions to Catholics were iheir chief
point of opiMsition : and in ihtr next
electoral campaign they took for
raU>'ingcry, '* Fazy sold to the pa-
pists." Thereupon it became a ne<
cessity, if Catholics would keep their
rights, to vote with the radicals; they
did so in 1855, and the conservatives
were utterly defeated. Things re-
mained in this state until tS6o, the
government continuing to respect
Catholic liberty j the bishop also was
allowed to return to Geneva, and
Fazy ably defended him against the
narrow prejudices of a few frienils.
When ihe church of Onr Lady was
finished, the consecration sennon was
preached by the eloquent mouth of
the man who to-day exercises
the faithful of Geneva, althougli
different qualities, the influctK
Al. Vuarin once hatl. This
Abbe MermiUod. Uotramrocll
attachments either to person c
tVt clever, firm, yet ptacific, uni
the authority of -virtue all the cJ
of talent and character, hia
ideaia no one could gain<^y, a
devotion to the church the Hoi
ther has on more than one occ
publicly recognued. Ncvcftli
if the rule of the radicals
some respects profitable to
it was bane/ut to them oo
one account. The sou
and intellectual corruption w
tiplicd in the canton ; fi
received the same concessions
ligion ; the professorships in t
demy were bestowed upon tl
raies of every form of Chiu^
and all the while on active }
tlsm was sprratling immoral
ments and infidelity among
pie. In this state of atliirs,
position daily waacd
after fifteen years of adra
the radicals were defeated (iS(>i)
the conservatives, rcjuvenAied
transformed into an indci
party.
IT.
The party that now came
no longer the same old ptird]r
cratic one of former times;
allies among the !■
pular society, kno' .•
established in the very centre
working Quartier de Saint O
fumislted it with brawny arrosj
clubs to repel at the polls
Icncc which the radicals had
ed. From 1861 to 1S64,
dents gained ground rapidi;
bloody riot« that disturbctl
:n die last-named year only
New Publications^
853
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Patkoh Saints. By Eliza Allen Starr, informed to profit by them. There
Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. New are twelve illustrations. The book
York: The Catholic Publication So- is well printed and eleffantlv bound.
ciety. 1871. " b J
This is an uncommonly interest-
ing and readable book. Lives of
saints, especially of such as those
who form its subject, ought, of
course, always to be interesting to
Catholics, and even to others ; but,
unfortunately, the abundance of
facts which are often put in a small
space, and the dry and sometimes
Dttsystematic way in which they are
presented, make them usually, per-
haps, unattractive to any except
those who wish to make what is
called spiritual reading, and put
them, if not entirely beyond the
reach of children, at least much less
useful to them than they might be
made, and than they have been made
in the present work. The aim of the
author has been to bring out the
lives of the servants of God in their
true light, as something more won-
derful than any fairy tales or fictions,
as, indeed, they are ; to satisfy the
natural desire of the young for the
marvellous with what is not only
wonderful but admirable, and to sup-
ply the place of fiction — to some ex-
tent, at least — with truth. And in
order that they may answer this end,
they arc told in an attractive and
conversational way, with occasional
digressions and episodes, and the
style is such that, instead of search-
ing about for the most interesting of
the lives to begin with, one begins
at once wherever he may happen to
open, and keeps on till it is more
than time to leave off. For, though
these sketches seem to have been
intended principally for children and
young people, there can be no one
who will not be pleased with them
or who is too far advanced and well
Nevf.r Forgottrn ; or, The Home of
THE Lost Child. By Cecilia Mary
Caddcll. London: Burns, Oates &
Co. 1871. For sale by The Catholic
Publication Society, 9 Warren Street,
New York.
Details of the self-denying lives
of those who devote themselves to
works of charity, under the rules of
a religious order, are always inter-
esting to the earnest Catholic. In
this attractive volume, we have a
touching record of the devoted
lives of the Sisters of the Good
Shepherd, woven with the story of
one who came to them dead in sin.
but was brought to life, faith, and
peace, by the blessing of God on
their unfailing efforts. There is no
charity that calls more urgently in
these times for the courttcnance and
help of pious souls living in the world
than this twofold task undertaken by
these'good sisters — the raising of fal-
len women to lives of purity, and pro-
viding a place of refuge from temp-
tation for destitute young girls.
All other efforts to reform aban-
doned women seem to bring forth
but little fruit, while the nuns of
the "Good Shepherd," both in this
country and abroad, have been in-
strumental in rescuing a vast num-
ber from lives of infamy, and bring-
ing them to true penance. This
volume is interesUnf; and instruc-
tive, and cannot faU to impress the
reader with its iTutMulness. May
o^Y dear Lord, VtvTQugW its pages,
ev -te in tna.oy ^Q^^^ asVitig for
854
Ntoi PubtuQtwn4,
Thb Catpchism Illltctratid hv Pas.
SAr.ES FROM -niK Holy ScRirruRKS.
Compiled by ihe Rcy. John R Etag-
ahawc, MisMonnr)- Rector of Si. Eliu>
betli's, Richmofid, England. Boston:
Patrick DoDttlioe. 1871.
"This compibtion is intended.'*
says the author, in his preface. "10
assist uur childrca in acquiring- a
better knowledge of Holy Scrip-
ture." But it will also prove use-
ful and suggestive to those who
hiive to teiLch children, even should
the Latter not use it themselves. \x%
plan is ^-ery simple and good, the
most appropriate passa^^cs of Scrip-
ture being selected in Illustration of
the successive questions and answers
uf the catechism, and appended to
them, the text being in one column
and the illustrations in a parallel
one. Such a plan is, of course, very
difficult to cirry out with perfect
success, and the author docs not
claim to have always m.ide ab$o>
lutely the most appropriate sclec*
tion ; but one would be very foolish
not to duly appreciate what is f;ood
where perfection is evidently next
to impossible. An appendix is add-
ed, with references to the principal
texts quoted, which can be used in-
dependently.
The Holy Exsrcibe or the Pbese:<cr
OF (jod, Iq ibrec parts. TranstAtrd
from ihe French of T. F. \*.Tubert. of
the Socii'ty of Jesus, St. Loul<: P.
Fox. Publisher, Ko. 14 Sonili Fifth
Street. 1671. For sale by Tlte Cirhft-
lie HublEexiion Society, g Wat reii Street,
New York.
This is a beautiful little book, and
contains n prcat deal in a very small
space. Its purpose is sufficiently ex-
plained by its title: to make Chris-
tians practically familiar with, and
conslanllyaltcnlive tn, the presence
of God, surely one of Ibc greatest of
all means of sanctification, and one
specially necessary in this nf^c and
country, in which there is Buch m
tendency to distraction and 1
occupation of mind. The I
lion is good, and the type cl
A Brief IltsroRicAL Skktcii or T
THOLIC ClIURCn OK LoMG Istjtrc
Patrick Mulreiuin, Piulcssor of
lie. etc.. etc., etc.. etc., otc. N««
P. 0'Sh». iSji.
Truly thisisa world of diMpj
menis, When this bouk. hnndv
bound and printed in bold ty
delirately tinted paper, waf
before us. and upon reading' tl
nierous titles of honor ivhic
author, with more franknctft
modesty, h.ad appended to his
we hastily came to the concJ
that the Catholic Church on
Island had at last found a w
and erudite historian. AKis f*
vanity of human hopes! £
had perused a dozen of its hui
and thirty pagesy we di-'
the brilituut and c-
which we fondly hoped c.>i;t
)itcnirygem beyund price, en
nothlo^ but a paltry iniit-tlioi
paste. Our chagrin was the g
on account of tlie import^iO'
the subject, nlfurding. as it
many salient p.iintS">f interest
deserve to be perpetuated in
thing like good language "
per melh'Mi 1 but candor
to say that this book seems
like a 8cr.ip-book. made up,
shod newspaper paragraph
tically retouched and slrul
thcr. And then the reck
icring of polyglot adjtxri
continuous recurrence of the
words and forms of cxprcssi
forgetfulness of facts within
knowledge of most of the
children of Brooklyn, and the
cusable ignoring* of the sim
of grammar, which charac
production, are, we venture
unparalleled inthi? history of tni
book-making. The last ch
however, surpasses all the othoi
verbosity. In thus comtag
New Publications.
855
the public as the historian of the
Catholidof Long Island, the author
seems to have forgotten that the art
of book-writing can only be learned
by years of patient study, and that
the high-sounding phrases which
would do well enough for a class of
young students are altogether out of
place in the pages of a book intended
to be placed in the libraries of our
most intelligent citizens. Literary
vanity is generally a harmless and
sometimes an amusing weakness,
but, when gratified at the expense of
serious subjects, it d(;^crv'C5 neither
encouragement nor the charity of
our silence.
The Histowcal Keader. By John J.
Anderson, A.M. i vol. i3nio, pp. 544,
New York : Clark & Maynard. 1871.
This work, compiled for the use of
schools, has many merits and some
grave defects. The task of culling
from the best writers choice pas-
sages descriptive of striking histori-
cal incidentsisone that requires much
judgment and experience for its pro-
per performance ; while the difficulty
of avoiding even the appearance of
national prejudice or religious bias
is almost insurmountable. Most of
us have our favorite authors, whose
merits we are apt to exaggerate, and
whose peculiar views we too often
accept without much investigation.
Professor Anderson is not free from
this weakness, though, as a rule, his
selections are made with discretion
and fairness. Milton's eulogy on
Cromwell is one of the exceptions,
for we hold it not good that our
children should be taught to reve-
rence the memory of that monstro-
sity whose hands were so repeatedly
imbrued in innocent blood. Froude's
" Coronation of Anne Boleyn " is an-
other, for, as the readers of The Ci\..
THOLic World well know, very littW
dependence can be placed on ■(^^
historicai veracity of that pei-^j^t^^
man. But the most serious mist- ''^,
of the compiler lies in the fact that
only American, English, Scotch, and
French history, with a few passages
from ancient authors, is presented ;
Ireland, Spain, Germany, and other
European countries being com-
pletely ignored. Taking into ac-
count the vast number of children
of (Jerman and Irish descent in our
public and private schools, who
ought, we think, to be taught some-
thing of the history of their ances-
tors, we should expect that at least
one-half of this book would be de-
voted to extracts from the historians
of these races, whose writings are
now as accessible to compilers of
history as those of any other nation-
ality. Of Spain, the discoverer and
first colonizer of the New World, we
have not a word ; and Italy, the birth-
place of Christopher Columbus and
Amerigo Vespucci, the cradle of mo-
dern art and poetry, is altogether
overlooked. In this respect, there-
fore, The Historical Reader is sadly
deficient in universality and com-
pleteness. The Vocabulary attached
will be found useful, and the Biogra-
phical Index would be more interest-
ing if the writer had used his adjec-
tives less generously, and more reli-
able if he had not insisted on calling
Burke a British statesman and Gold-
smith an " English" writer.
A History OF THE Kingdom of Kerry.
By M. F. Cusack, Boston: P. Donahoc.
London : Longmans, Green & Co.
1871. 8vo, pp. 512,
This latest contribution to the
historical literature of Ireland is in
every respect worthy the genius and
industry of the accomplished author
of The Illustrated History of Ireland,
and otherworks of an historical and
v: Q«tapV\\ca\ c\\Mae\.eT . Hitherto
remote C(»it\\.'j ot Kerry has
the
^
<6=
,»*^'
8S<5
iVrtf I^tbiuatioHS.
ontor and politician O'Coniielt : fur
the meagre and antiquated history
of the county by Smith has long
since passed into oblivion, and can
scarcely be found in any of those
recepuicles for worn-out authors.
called second-hand book stores. It
remained for Miss Cusack (Sister
Mary Frances Clare), who, of all
contentpomry Irish writers, seems
most imbued with a passionate de-
sire to produce and reproduce inci-
dents illustrtlive of the past f^lories
and sufferings of her native country,
to undertake the task of writinK' a
hiutory of this, in many respects, the
most interesting of the thirty-two
roitiiticsof Ireland, and it must be
confessed that, considering the uii-
ptomisinf^ and liniilcd nature of the
subject, she has performed it with
wonderful accuracy and success.
The hrgc nnd !inndst>nie volume
before us. as a local history, may be
considered a complete narrative of
uvt-r)' event connected with Kerry,
from the very carli«st period of the
traditional epoch down lu the close
of the Sfvcntcenth century, w^ith
occasional glances at the affairs of
adjacent counties, when necessarily
connected wtlh those of herfavorite
locntily. Several, and not the least
attractive of the chapters to a scien-
tific student, are devoted to the geo-
logy, topf 'gr.iphy, and arch."Col<tgy of
Kerry and other kindred topics, in
the prep;iration of which the author
has been assisted by some of the
best scholars in Ireland, whose
readiness in thus contributing the
result of long years of study and ex-
perience not only docs credit to
their generosity and gallantry, but
(lemonstratcstliat MissCusack's pa-
triotic and charitable efforts are fully
appreciated by those who know her
well and arc best fitted to appreciate
the value of her labors. The ap-
pcndix. which is very full, will be
found particularly interesting to
such of our leaders OS derive Ihcir
descent from the ancient Kerrj'
finiilies, containing, as it does, a
minute and doubtless correct pedi-
grees of the O'Conoors. <
ghucs, O'Connclls, O'h
SlcCurlhys, and other aepi
names are indelibly associa
the history and topogr.ipli
County.
The illustrations of loc:^
are passable, we have sect
but the letterpress ts excel
the whole mechanical oxcc
the work is worthy of the
and very creditable to the t
enterprise of Ute publishers
Mam'AI. of Opomi:tii:cal
Tr=:|MAI. ASAI-VSIt. By
S.j.. amhor oi '.•:■• --,1
Elementary Oci a
on Altfcbia ; Pii^u ~ -.i ... >2all
in Woodstock (ro)lejr<>.
John Muipliy & Co. 1S71.
" We leave it to the rc^ider,
Father Scstini in hisprrface.
by the way. corresponds to t)i
in shortness. " to judge wl
without detriment to liicldh
cfl'orls to combine comprvh
ness with brevity and ex:
have been successful."* It »c
us that they h.ive. It Is impt
to understand analytical gee
and the calculus, the princtp
which lire dcvclojK*<l in this
without patient thuught aod
cation of mind ; dilTuse cxplai
may be written, no doubt, wfail
enable an ordinarj- studen
the actual text of his less
will not be likely to set h
working on its own accoua
the discovery of the nicani
sentence which srems obscu
Is only so from the student*
of menial eiercise in th^^c n\
is of more real -■ ,|
same lime gives ,
the most copious L-'tucid
use these is like l;tking a
a djrk place; it
is immediately ai . t_
allow the pupils uf ihe eyci
8S8
New PublicatioHS.
Union. We regret to say that we
regret the nppcnrnnce of the work.
There is such abundance of mate-
rial accessible (o the ordinary stu-
dent, even wilhuut entering upon
the \i\^i manuscript material which
the liilu lluckingliam Smith spent
his life in delving, thnt exactness is
of the utmost necessity.
Mr. Fairbanks evidently (|uotes
his Spanish authors at second-hand,
^nd must be unfamiliar with the
Spanish lunguuge. No one at nil
conversant with it would quote
Cabe2a de V»ca. as ho repeatedly
does, under (he name of Dc Vaca.
Cabeza dc V-ica is the family name,
meaning Head of Cow— an odd
name, but with its analogy in our
Whitehead, Mulford (nmle-ford),
Armstrong, etc:. Tu quote him as
"Of Cow ■' is like citing wne of the
English names as Head. Ford, or
Strung. (Quoting Garcelasso as
L'lnca also betrays ignorance. The
Spanish article is El, while the elc*
vation of Mencndez Marques to
the Marquis rle Menendcz is equal
to Puss in Boots, who made mar-
quises offhand,
It is not surprising, then, to find
the period from ijfrS to 1722 em-
braced in 34 pages, and in those
only four references to liarcia, and
these not all correct, though in the
228 pages given by the Spanish his-
torian of Florida to that period
much interesting matter might have
been found.
Nor is his acquaintance with the
works thai have appeared in Hng*
lish such as we aliould expect
The later portion of the history
seems more within his grasp ; but
without entering into loo great de-
tail, we misa any reference to Far-
mer's account of the siege of Pea-
aacola.
Much of the spncc in the earlier
portion is devoted to the French
colony and its bloody extinction by
MencndcK. and to Gourgiics's attack.
In this niattcr he does not treat the
matter as Sparks did years ago, or
Parkman recently. By all these
writers, moreover, some poiM« ai
overlooked. The piratir.
ter of the French ciui
after the Reformation, ma<]c ti
a cloak for their murdrrs an-! ;
cy ; the object in sc'
which was to form a i >
lions against Spant«ih l
ItiC long-settled dcturnn • i
the Spanisli crrtwn to root oat any
colony planted in Florida, upon
roost plausible pretext the occaJdi
would give ; the overt acts uf ,
cy of the new French coU
Florida ; and. finnlly, the
position of botli parties, neither
whom, in case of victory, wi
have dared to keep any of tbc
my as prisoners.
He takes thcDeCourguesaci
as the French give it.
them, multiplies forts at r-
bul wc muse confess that vm
disciepancics in it which h
ways excited our di-' 1 ' Ii
the storj' is accept^
French Catholic wriui*.
Pink amto Wirrrs TvnAxitv. A
Novel. Ky Mr!>. Ilaniei U.
bosion : KotK:ns Broiliers.
Mrs. Stowo has given vis in t?)ii_
volume, with her usual d
of purpose, a true pic int-
drawn, of fashinnabl'
cd at our popular u..: ..
and in many of our
homes. The author'*
pronounced on alt su
nerally given with ch...... *. .. -ti
ergy and earnestness. If not alwai
withdiscrtmin.-itinn. So grapl
her descriptions that the res
see the places she describes,
a clear insight into the hearts
characters.
U is well that one whose
ings arc always so ex;
should show up the
tion of inanncia an
prevail in wh.it is ic^
" high life." and in i
Stovt^e has given an . i^
New Publications.
859
lifelike picture of the everyday well-
known scandals that are sapping
the very foundation of our existence
as a nation.
It is hardly just, however, to put
all the folly, all the extravagance,
and all the sin of our demoralized
belles and beauty to the credit of
France ; poor France has enough of
her own to bear. French morals,
French manners, French novels,
French literature, and even the
French language are put down in
this volume as the source of all in
the morals of this country that is
not pure and elevating. The root
of the trouble lies nearer home, and
spreads far back to the childhood of
these vain men and women, when
they were taught that to enj<^ them-
uhfes was the great end for which
they were made. " Have a jolly
time in life, honestly if you can, but
have the jolly time any way," is the
chief lesson given to the children
and young persons belonging to the
world of to-day ; and this peoples
our places of public resort with the
" fast" and the shameless.
A poetic picture of New England
life is Mrs. Stowe's specialty, and
refined, cultivated, quiet Springdale
is refreshing after the flirtations and
assignations of the watering-places.
We find in these pages a just and
charming tribute to the Irish char-
acter as wife and mother; while the
author's views of marriage are in
accordance with the teachings of the
Catholic Church, and it is no small
merit in the book that it strongly
advocates the doctrine, " one with
one exclusively, and for ever."
Th» Life and Revelations of Saint
Gerteude. By the author of "Si.
Francfs and the Franciscans," etc.
London : Bums, Oates & Co. Boston:
P.Dooafaoe. 1S71.
This is another of the " Kenmare
series ofbooks for spiritual reading."
It needs no other recommendation.
The profit to be derived from a de-
vout reading of the revelations of
this great saint is inestimable. They
cannot fail to have a lasting influ-
ence on the mind that opens itself
to their teaching. If some may ob-
ject that such' a book as this is too
mediaeval forthe nineteenth century,
we answer that there are plenty of
chosen souls who look back to the
middle ages as the millennium of
the Church, when earth was nearest
heaven.
St. Peter : his Naue and his Officf.
By Thomas W. Allies, M.A., Author of
" The See of St. Peter the Rock of the
Church," and other Works, i vol. i2nio,
pp. 299. London: R. Washbourne ;
New York: The Catholic Publication
Society. 1871.
This work, partly drawn from the
Commentary on the Prerogatives qf
St. Peter, Prince of the Apostles, of
Passaglia, and partly the composi-
tion of the learned author, was
first published in 1852, and elicited
the highest encomiums from the
most learned portion of the Chris-
tian world. Its republication at this
time, when so much is said, and so
little is actually known, by persons
not Catholics, of the apostolic suc-
cession, and the divine power vested
in the visible head of the church, is
exceedingly well timed. The book,
though small in compass, contains
not only all the leading incidents of
St. Peter's life, but irrefutable proofs
of his holy mission and supremacy
in the church. Those who have any
doubts of the primacy of the See of
Rome, or who wish to satisfy them-
selves as to the extent of the power
delegated to our Holy Father, should
give Mr. Allies's book a careful and
serious perusal."
Goi.D£u "Words ; o«., 'W.k-xinis of t\ie
Cr 5 By r. H. WamWvon, M. A. i
vrT* Vn 18- V^it\Ao-^-.^^«^V^«"*
86o
Ntui PuhlicatioHs,
Is, as the author candMly confesses,
made up mainly from selections m.iHc
from the writings of the celc-
bntted Thomas a Kempls. To iay
this is to pronounce the highest
eulogy that can be expressed, fur we
believe there is no person who
cluims to be Christian, nnd who hs^
read The F^ltfftvin^ of Christ, but
admits Uiat. of all ttie uninspired
writers, its author is foremost in
wisdom, piety, .ind practical illus-
tration. Thou^ih in large, clear type,
this work is so judiciously condens-
ed that any person can carry it in
his pocket, and thus have it ut all
limes for reference aod edification.
The Catholic Publication Society
has just published new editions of
Cahitn's History of tAe Cathalie Church
und Myliuii J/istoryo/ Knj^t<tnd, Both
works are continued down to the
present time. The Society also put>-
lishcs a new and improved edition
of FifHry'i H iloriiat Catfchiim, re-
vised, corrected, and edited by Rev.
Hcory Foiiuby. Thiscxccllent work
is intended a« a class-book for
iichools. and, ifordered in quantities.
the Society is prepared to furnish It
at an extr.iordinarily low price. The
Society has also in the hands of the
binder Fr. Formby's Pictorial Biblt
and Chunk Jfisiory Stari/s. This
work ou);hl to be introduced into
our schools.
Mr. P. F. Cunninf^hani. Philadel-
phia, has in press Cifuas. a story of
the time of Nero, the burning of
Rome by that tyrant, and the de-
struction of Jerusalem, Mr. Dona-
hoe, Boston, announces as in press
n Ct?mptnJium of Irish iliilt^ry, Ned
Kuihern, and Tkt Spouse of Ckriu —
all by Sister Mar)- Francis Clare;
also, Tht Afonl's of (he Wat, by Mon-
talembcrt : a Lif^ of Pius IX., and
Itatliids of Irish Chivalry, elc. by R.
D. Joyce. Messrs. Kelly, I*lct h
C'O., Bjltimorc, announce as in press
Mary BfneMi til ■Ai\>\ llie P t Art of Am-
ttMrh. Messrs. Murphy A Co., Ualii-
more. have Just complete
Church Rcgiiltrt. comprisj^
tisni. Matrimony, Cnnfini)!
termenl«. etc.— in all, thi
Registers and four Church
uniformly bound and put up ij
boxes.
A Ml&TAKtC ('
A. liokcivcll dcM Lcirrc
mcnt wblch wan uijiOn in car last :
In Ihe article '■ Tlic Seni'ir mi Sm
rcspecilDK ihc vicw-i
by thit ^nllcman in :
Valley, on ihe s.iil»jri:i »]
aToreuJd article. Mt. II
quGatlycciiiiradicteii :i ini«t}»
mfsinierprctiiiion ol' h\s. lanxui
Inland seciafian papers, ivhict
him ny that Catholica. if ihcy rv
nme a lar^c tnaiciiiy of ihc |>ti
coutiiry, would sup(jie«!t icll){ii>i
What ho rejlly dtd say was lit,
cvcnr Mtppc^scd, they waulJ, \\
anco wiib Cailiollc pi<-
law tlic tcacliiiif; oT i>i
subvciaive of tulMniL-. . ii
Mr. tiakewcll iiatof, al&u, ihi
ncrcr letracicd Uic vitw» whl
prcsftvd ill his published WTliln|
iubjcct, and uys that ihoy wen
ed by two only of the CatholU
pen ai the time.
Fnim G«o>
Tk« Cool
Fiom IjONi.Miai, Ckcu & Co.,
tl.» 1 ..,fi.i. «»,t 'h.-l'.irlylsnltfcl
J*n>Li >nt)THi! Tl
Wnmrii <; in -v-fa
Uic Out o( A^
m«f nu>il a -i Ni
S. H. ButVe, •"in-r .1, 1 at m<
oiBnKUml, Vol. 1.
From lloBH'., (»t.'. S r'-> , T.'inrttvijl
of ^L If <
ol ilw S -
il.i
L:
-r.