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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&int; 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.